Beyond Breaking
By WritePassion
He never saw the RPG coming. Suddenly, Melissa and Kent were instantly barbecued in their car, and seconds later, while Sam recovered from the concussion of the explosion, a big guy packing some serious heat banged on his window. Resisting was useless, so with hands up Sam got out, but he wouldn't make it an easy abduction. The guy had no choice but to drag him down the street to a waiting vehicle. He quickly glanced up at the bridge and saw that Fiona's options for escape were closed off by two teams of men approaching her from both ends. It killed him that he couldn't rush to her aid because he himself was in just as much, if not more, trouble. As they shoved him into the back of the car, she plummeted into the river feet first. He closed his eyes, praying for a miracle that the impact didn't kill her and she could make a clean escape.
As the driver pulled away from the curb, Sam struggled against the hands that held him in his seat. A fist came from the side too fast for him to duck, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was the smirk of the big guy with the big gun.
Sam came to and tried to move, but his ankles and wrists were bound to an old metal and vinyl chair with zip ties. They were wide and thick, and there was no way he could break them. His jaw ached, and he worked it to make sure it was okay. Great, it's not broken. I guess that's something to be thankful for. He heard footsteps on the iron deck and he slumped his head, relaxed his body, and pretended to be unconscious.
"He's still out, boss."
"Good. The longer he stays that way, the less we have to worry about him acting up. Keep an eye on him, and if he tries anything..."
"Waste him?"
"No, not yet. We need him alive for now."
"Why? What good is he gonna do us?"
"He's going to give up whoever sent him out there to spy on us, and then we can end all this crap and get back to business as usual."
"You think he's working for that guy who tried to get Melissa and Kent to work for him?"
"Just shut up, will ya? Shut up and keep your eyes on him. That's all I pay you to do. That and keep him in line."
Footsteps faded away. Sam exhaled softly, his chest barely moving; he was so quiet, the other man in the room moved cautiously to his side in order to see if he was still alive. He sensed the guard closing the distance, just a few more inches, until his breath stirred a few strands of Sam's hair. Come on, get closer buddy. Get closer. The guard reached out and touched Sam's shoulder, but he didn't respond, so the guy did exactly what he wanted him to do; he got closer until his face was just an inch away.
Without hesitation, Sam brought his head up and clipped the guard's chin with such a force, he heard teeth snapping together as the man stumbled backward. Sam tried to kick out at him, but his ankle was tied too tightly, and when the guy bounced off the wall and recovered, he realized how futile the attempt was. But he had to do something. Sitting there unable to move his limbs drove him crazy with frustration. His thick skull and smart mouth were the only weapons he had left.
The guard cursed, stepped forward, and threw a right punch that caused Sam to see stars. Everything went blurry, and he blinked to keep himself from succumbing to the darkness. "Ohhhh, hey...that wasn't bad. Where'd you learn that one, charm school?" He anticipated the next blow and it wasn't so debilitating. "Better luck next time, bozo." He steeled himself for the punch to the gut and laughed with what little air he had left. The guy was big, but he was slow. Sam saw his onslaught coming from a mile away. Now all I've got to do is just keep irritating the guy, get him tired and fed up, and then maybe he'll end this whole thing. Even if it means I don't get out alive, there's no way I'm gonna let Mike and Fiona walk into a trap.
When Harrick bragged that he was in Special Forces, Sam knew he was in for a really bumpy ride. However, during his years as a SEAL, he was well trained in how to resist the effects of intense physical abuse, deprivation of food, water, and other necessities, and hours of interrogation. He knew all the psychological strategies, and obviously Harrick knew them too. Although it had been a few years for Sam, there were some things he never forgot. I have to buy time for Mike to take this guy down, but I can't waste too much time and have them wind up getting sucked into this web.
During the heat of the day, the inside of the ship was like an oven, and the humidity only made it more oppressive. Sam sweated, but it brought no cooling relief. He couldn't keep up the ruse of being unconscious forever, and the next time Harrick came in to interrogate him, he slapped Sam's face to rouse him. The blow felt as if his face had been raked along a gravel road. He'd endured worse, and he silently vowed to stay strong no matter what Harrick tried. With every question fired at him, Sam offered up a sarcastic reply. It was all he could do to keep the smirk off his face when he saw how it annoyed him. Watching the drug dealer's lips twist around words that were better left unsaid brought Sam some pleasure. Considering he had so little time left, it felt really good to get a rise out of his captor.
But keeping up the taunts drained his energy, especially since he hadn't had anything to eat or drink for awhile. One time they left him completely alone. It's too quiet. Maybe they took off and they're going to leave me here to die. He listened to the soft lapping of waves against the boat hull. Damn, even some of that nasty river water would be good right now, but I can't get to it. I forget, how long can a human body hold on without fluids? A short time later, his captors returned and switched between interrogation and using him as a punching bag. One blow cracked a molar, and he spit out the trophy at his captor's feet. The blood in his mouth became a crude sustenance against the incredible sense of thirst. They left him alone to stew in the closed room. Only a few small portholes offered any light, which dimmed as the sun went down and eventually left him in complete darkness.
I wonder how Mikey and Fi are doing. God, I hope she made it out of that river okay! If I know Mike, he fished her out himself and now they're working on a plan to get me out of here. I can't let them sacrifice themselves for me. This guy is just salivating for a chance to take us all out at once, and he's got the men and the firepower to do it. NO, that's not the way this is going to go down, not if there's anything I can do about it!
For hours Sam tried to stay alert and come up with a plan. He had good stamina for a guy his age, but it wasn't good enough, and stress and deprivation took their toll. Consciousness faded away, and he was helpless against it, so he drifted off to sleep. Nothing and no one woke him until the next morning when Harrick came into the room. His lackey ripped the duct tape off Sam's mouth, and the interrogation started all over again with the same results.
"Enough of this," Harrick said finally as he pulled out a camera. "Your boss wants proof of life, so we're going to give it to him."
"Well, since this is going to be my last picture, I better make it look good, huh?" Sam stretched in the chair despite the pain, relaxed into a casual pose that was more appropriate for a party picture than his last photo, and posed his hands like two pistols at angles. He trusted that Mike would get the picture and its meaning, and then he would back off and let things run their course. Sam would die, but Mike and Fi would be safe, at least for awhile.
"Nice."
Great, he doesn't have a clue. Sam smiled. As the man walked out of the room, he asked, "Hey, can I get some wallets of that photo?"
"Funny guy." He glanced at the guard. "Show him what a Green Beret is made of." The door slammed shut, leaving him alone and isolated with the one guard.
There's got to be a way to get out of here, but after I leave this room, then what? There are a lot of guys on this boat. Would I make it down the hall without being shot? Sam was so focused on his thoughts, he didn't see the guard's fist until droplets of blood flew sideways when his teeth cut the corner of his mouth, his head snapped back, and everything went dark.
"Sam? Sammy, darling, can you hear me?" Veronica. Her soft voice was like a dream come true. "Open your eyes, honey. Come on, Sammy. Come back to me."
He fought his way to consciousness. Why is this so hard? Why can't I move? Oh yeah, the ties. They're gonna cut off my circulation soon if I can't loosen them up a bit, and they just seem to get tighter the more I try. A groan escaped him as he struggled, and when he opened his eyes, he discovered that it was night again and a storm rumbled in the distance. He glanced down at his right wrist and noted the time. The watch hands glowed a weak fluorescent green, showing him that it was 2230 hours. It was easier to think in military time when he was in the middle of a job like this, being treated like a prisoner of war. How long since I last saw the outside? I figure it's gotta be three days.
Mike and Fi must have come up dry on ideas to get me out of here. Or Mike got the picture and figured out the message, and he's backed off on trying. Good boy, Mikey! Just let it be. Get this guy after he's taken me out, when there's nothing to lose anymore. Hopefully, they'll get this over soon. Don't know how much more of this I can take. If I were 20 years younger, I could last for weeks, but I'm not, and I've let myself slip. Yeah, if I make it out of this, I'm gonna have to work on that. But if I ever have any hope of doing that... If I keep working these ties, eventually the fatigue will snap them. Question is, what will give first? Me or the bindings?
I really wish they'd just get this over with, stop playing games. I know them all. Hey, I've used a lot of 'em myself in the name of justice and war. They can only let me stew so long, because if they think isolation and dehydration will make me talk, they've got another think coming. They don't know Sam Axe. I'm not an easy nut to crack. Even at my age.
He lost track of how long he sat in thought and worked on the bindings. The walls began to lighten and become visible, and he knew that another day was beginning. Will I be around to enjoy it? Man, I've been in some sticky situations before, and I've held out, but can I do it again? Or should I just start confessing my sins now, get it over with, and make peace with my past so I have nothing to regret when they finally end this? The only thing I'm really sorry about is not finding Veronica sooner and spending more time with her. Was she for real? Did she really love me? I wonder how she'll take it. Will she mourn for me? And for how long? Ah, she'll probably find some other hotter, younger guy in a week and forget all about me. I don't want her to forget. If I ever get out of here...
Harrick came to the room and interrupted his thoughts. This time, he didn't ask any questions. Now it was just a waiting game, attempting to strike fear into Sam with talk about his execution, hoping that would be enough to break him. Harrick had no clue who he was dealing with. Sam could go all day without revealing any hint of anxiety about his short future. He even gave him ideas for dumping his body.
"There's this nice little park down in Coral Gables, you can dump me there. Give me a pencil, I can draw you a map."
Harrick smirked. "That won't be necessary. We'll deal with you later." He turned to the guard. "Keep an eye on him. If he does anything, you know what to do."
You can't fool me, Harrick. I saw that look in your eyes. You underestimated me, and maybe, just maybe, you even have a little respect for this guy you think is just some dumb old man in over his head.
Harrick returned with a canteen, and they locked eyes as he unscrewed the cap and stopped within inches of Sam's feet, bent to eye level, and offered him a drink.
You must think I'm really stupid, trying to pull a humanitarian act on me. Screw you. Doesn't matter how much I need it, I won't cave and let you have your little triumph. He turned his head away, not buying the sympathetic look on Harrick's face.
"Come on, we need you to keep up your strength for a little while longer. I want your boss to see we've been taking good care of you."
Sam turned back, his gaze boring into the man's cold expression, and narrowed his eyes at him as he asked, "And why would I want him to think that when it isn't true?" His mouth was so dry, it seemed as if he were talking around marbles. I want that drink so bad, but I'm not going to let you see how desperate I am.
Harrick smiled thinly. "Drink, if you know what's good for you."
He's not gonna take no for an answer. But he's right about one thing; I need to keep up my strength in case I get rescued or escape and have to hike it out of here on my own power. Sam kept his eyes on him as he reluctantly drank, even while his body craved the liquid. Can't take too much or I'll get sick. Just enough to hold off the edge. Small sips, that'll do for now. The cool water ran down his chin and soaked into his shirt, bringing some relief from the ever-present heat. It was clean and tasteless except for the tinge of iron from his own blood.
"Good, huh?" Harrick straightened and stood over him. "Now, I'm expecting a call soon from your boss. When he calls, I want you to talk to him. If you're really nice, I'll end your life quickly." He shrugged. "If not, I'm going to take my time killing you bit by bit."
Whatever. It doesn't matter any more. This is it, showtime. I just hope Mikey doesn't take a risk trying to rescue me. Just call him and get it over with!
Harrick set aside the canteen and opened his phone. He dialed Michael's number and it rang. At the same time, a phone trilled and echoed off the walls a short distance away. Sam almost laughed when he saw the bald shock register in Harrick's eyes, even though he kept his stony expression.
I sure hope Mike is ready for this guy. He's really pissed.
Harrick tore out of the room. From his vantage point, Sam saw Michael attack when Harrick was most vulnerable. He cringed as his captor rebounded and offered a stunning blow in response. If he were a weaker man, Sam would have closed his eyes against the brutality going on in the hallway. Instead, he cheered on his friend. "Kick his ass, Mike!"
As the two men struggled and got closer to the door, Sam pulled against his bindings but there was nothing he could do to help his friend. Then the two went down on the deck. Michael was in a chokehold, and if Sam didn't do something quickly, Harrick would kill them both. He pulled himself up enough to make the chair hop a few inches across the room. He did it again and again and turned himself so his back was to the heavy metal door. Then he threw himself against it, and it swung closed with enough force to slam into Harrick's head. He couldn't see what was going on, but he heard a gunshot.
Oh God, please don't let that be Mike. Not Mike!
"Now, I don't know what kind of rounds you have in here, but if they're Teflon coated, you've got about a half hour. If they're hollow-point...I wouldn't make any plans."
Sam had never been so relieved to hear Michael's voice. Seconds later, his friend swung the door open and entered the room. Sam almost cried at the sight of him.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, never better, Mikey."
"I got your message." Michael locked on Sam's gaze as he cut the last binding.
"So why didn't you listen? I warned you to stay away."
"That's why you're military and I'm a spy." He grinned and extended a hand to help Sam stand. "I was never much good at following orders." Sam's legs failed him at first, so Michael held on until he could stand on his own. "You think you can run?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Michael chuckled. "Not really."
"Alrighty then. Let's get out of here."
Michael gently pushed him toward the door. They stepped over Harrick, who was quickly losing blood and lay in a stupor. Ignoring his garbled threats, they ran to the ladder that took them to the top deck, out the door, and toward freedom. Sam ran despite every muscle in his body screaming in protest. He'd been stagnant too long, but at that moment he didn't have a choice. He was two steps ahead of Michael on the gangplank and the thundering of feet pursued them. As soon as their feet hit solid ground, the ship exploded and the blast picked up his weakened body, threw him to the packed dirt, and stole him of his breath.
"Sam? Sam, are you okay?"
He heard his voice, but he couldn't respond. Michael rolled him over and he caught a glimpse of the cerulean sky before everything went dark.
Sam regained consciousness in the passenger seat of the Cadillac and Michael was driving. His friend noticed him stirring, and he turned. "You okay, Sam?"
"Yeah." He glanced over at Michael and said, "Hey Mike, thanks...thanks for getting me out of there. You shouldn't have, but..."
"What do you mean, 'shouldn't have'?" Michael's eyes were intense. "You're my friend, Sam. There's no way Fi and I were going to leave you back there." He smiled. "Besides, we accomplished our mission. Harrick is dead, and there are a few less scumbags on the streets."
"Yeah. So where are we going?"
"Back to the loft. Fi's waiting, and we'll get you patched up."
"Appreciate it, brother." Just when Sam thought he could settle into the seat for awhile, the OnStar beeped and sent Michael on a chase for the mysterious person on the other end of his phone. Doesn't he realize what his obsession with this burn notice is doing to him? What about us, the people he cares about? Ah, if I were in his shoes, I'd probably do the same thing, but jeez, there comes a time when you just gotta let it go. Despite his personal feelings, he let Michael borrow the car. After he called Fiona, Michael let him off at the curb and drove away. Will I ever see him or the Caddy again? What's Veronica going to say when she finds out I let him take it? He swiped at the beads of perspiration on his forehead and winced as the salt and grime etched into his cuts. The adrenaline from the past couple of days was wearing off, and every ache became magnified. Standing around waiting was getting harder and harder. If Fi doesn't show up soon, she's going to find me passed out in the grass, right here.
"Oh, Sammy, I missed you so much," Veronica purred in his ear, her warm breath tickling him. "I was so worried about you. What happened out there?"
Sam lay on Veronica's bed, and the silky duvet made it feel as if he were floating on a cloud. "How...how'd I get here?"
"It doesn't matter, honey. You're here now, and I'm going to take good care of you." He let out a deep sigh and enjoyed the attention. She agonized over him and ran her hands across his body with a feather-like touch. If he hadn't been so sore...
"I see you're in good hands now, Sam, so I'm going to take off."
He opened his eyes again and focused on Fiona, who stood near the door looking like an interloper ready to make a break for it. Sam smiled at her reassuringly. "Thanks, Fi. Once I get a little shut-eye, you and I, we'll go looking for Mike." He groaned as Veronica made contact with his ribs. "We'll find him, Fi."
She nodded. "I'll keep in touch, Sam."
He blinked, and she was gone. "Veronica..."
"Yes, sweetie?" She kissed his bruised cheek.
"Look, I know you're excited to have me back, but...I'm afraid I'm just not up for this. Not now." He paused and licked his dry lips. "Can you get me some water?"
She looked at him oddly but complied, and over the next several days he recovered from dehydration and the beatings. Other than the time he was held captive, it was the longest he'd been without a beer in recent memory. But he wasn't stupid. He needed to take care of himself if he ever hoped to rebound from this and the cracked ribs and other injuries he sustained. He stayed with Veronica and she spoiled him to the point where he never wanted to go back to his place. Yet no matter what she did, nothing could stem his restlessness. I need to get back to a state where I can function again. Every day I waste is one more day that Mike slips away. I'll call all my contacts, cash in every favor I can, and do anything I can think of to find him. He risked his life to save mine, and I'll do the same. This isn't over until we find him.