Hours had passed. Alex found the numbness in her shoulders and arms spreading with each passing minute now. Sweat ran down her neck, stinging brutally where it ran into a shoulder wound that had begun to bleed again.
Blearily she tried to focus on something, anything, to stay awake. The ironic thought of how mad Kersey would be if he came out to question her and found her already dead and out of his reach brought a grim smile to her lips. She could almost picture his fury even now…
Heavy booted steps trudged closer. Pain dulling her senses, she didn't hear them until they were only feet away. Malevolently she raised her eyes to meet the guard's, glaring angrily back, daring them to break her.
Ignoring her angry gaze, rough hands cruelly held her shoulders while the rope that held her wrists was slashed away. Staggering as what support she had was yanked away, Alex stumbled to her knees. Reacting instantly, thick fingers twined themselves brutally in her hair, yanking her to her feet.
Yelping in pain, she stumbled upright. A rifle slamming into her back in the same instant, painfully reminding her just who was in charge. Furiously, she straightened, throwing back her shoulders defiantly.
Again the AK-47 came up, prodding her painfully forward. This time she silently fell into step, her defiance all but gone.
Fighting down the panic that threatened to engulf her, she stumbled along. Where was Michael, anyway? She wondered in desperation. Surely, he hadn't abandoned her. Or had he? Asked the niggling little voice at the back of her mind spitefully. She knew full well the Firm's policy about captured operatives - that was what had gotten her involved in this mess to begin with. And suddenly she wasn't too sure.
"Well," remarked Kersey raising a mocking glance her way, as she pitched clumsily into his tent. "Decided to come talk to me, Ms. Morgan?" he asked sneeringly.
"Apparently that decision was made for me," she retorted, her green eyes narrowing angrily.
"Enough!" he barked, his palm crashing down on the desk impatiently. "I do not feel like playing this game with you any longer. Who are you? And how did you find us?"
Giving her a hard slap, he sent her slamming to the floor, looming over her forebodingly. Senses reeling, she tried to shake off the stinging blow where her head had hit the ground. Gingerly, she got to her knees, picking herself up off the dirt floor. The coppery, bitter taste of blood strong in her mouth as she did so.
Fury for everything she'd lost blazed in her eyes as she raised her head to face him. "It doesn't matter who I am or how we found you, Kersey," she spat. "We found you, and this is far from over!"
His features contorted in fury, he absorbed her answer. "Fine," he snarled. "Let's see how you feel after my men have questioned you. I have a feeling you knew Giselé St. Clair? Let's see if you fare any better than she did."
Swallowing hard, Alex raised her chin meeting his eyes, willing herself not to tremble.
"You say they shall return for you? Well, we'll see exactly how much they want you, when I finish with you." Idly he picked up a lethal looking knife from his desk. Slowly, he fingered it, his eyes amused as he traced a thin red path down her cheek, blood trickling down her neck and the blade glinting wickedly in the dying afternoon light.
Shoulders aching with strain, Tristen set the Huey UH-1 down amidst a whorl of wind in miniscule. Wearily, she stretched before turning to face Michael.
Tensely, he tightened the thick canvas straps on the pack he held, before slinging it over his shoulders. Questioningly, he raised uneasy eyes to meet hers.
There was a long, hesitant pause before she spoke. "I'll wait for you here, Michael. You just make sure you make it back, okay?"
"Tristen?" he queried, reaching for her arm.
She shrugged him off. "Somebody's got to stay with the helicopter and guard the escape route. Besides," she said, breaking his gaze and staring down at the floor of the cockpit with sudden interest, "one person has a better chance than two of slipping in there and out again undetected."
Noting the worry that had seemed to cloud her eyes for an instant before, so unlike her, he gently squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Thanks, Tristen," he murmured."It'll all work out, you'll see." And with that he was gone.
Through a haze of tears, she stared down at the floor. "I hope so, Michael," she whispered, knowing no matter what happened, in that instant he was lost to her forever. "I hope so," she repeated her teeth clenching on a sob as she began checking the armament left on board.
Trudging in grim silence through the dense undergrowth, Michael approached the guerilla camp. Surely it hadn't been so far before, he thought freezing, his heart pounding in his throat as the snap of a twig. Clammily, his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest, fear tasting sharp and bitter in his mouth.
At last he moved on, stealthily creeping into the darkening shadows around the camp. At the edges of his hearing, the dull thud of booted feet resounded, reminding him just how precarious his position really was. Shrinking into the shadows, he cocked the 9mm he held, trying to decide his best chance for finding Alex - assuming of course, she was still alive, he thought.
The harsh rustle of canvas in the wind caught his attention. The dim light of a lantern filtered out, as the flap of a tent was lifted. "Enter!" a familiar voice bellowed irritably.
"Bingo," he whispered in triumph. Strong, slender fingers flexing, he adjusted his grip on the gun he held. Poised weapon in hand, he took a deep breath before plunging into the waiting darkness.
Uneasily, a hot breeze stirred the heavier air. Concentrating on the rough wood shack on the other side of the camp, a rivulet of sweat ran down his cheek unnoticed.
Crouched, he covered the ground between his position and the building in a limping lope.
Squinting through the grime covered window, he peered into the darkness beyond it searching for some sign of the red-head. "Shadows," he muttered frustrated. "Only shadows. Where the heck is she?"
Turning away, his blue eyes scoured the camp, searching for any other places she might be hidden. "Alex," he whispered hoarsely, "where are you?"
As if in answer, a low moan reached his ears, barely heard. "Alex," he rasped thickly, back beside the darkened wood building in a heartbeat. Desperately, he searched the shadows a second time.
Nothing. Frustration ate at him as he peered into the darkness to no avail. At rope's end, he stole around the side of the building eyeing the door warily. The crunch of every painful step feeling like it was screaming his position out.
Stepping back, he stumbled up the few steps, slamming his full weight into the door. Shuddering, the wood groaned in protest but held. Possessed by a sudden frenzy of urgency Michael slammed his shoulder hard against the door once again.
Splintering the wood split apart in jagged, angry spears. He moaned, pain ripping through his shoulder even as the door crashed to the ground with him on it. Clutching his shoulder in agony, he shook his head trying to clear away the numbing haze that clawed at his senses.
Voices clamored across the camp, awakened abruptly from sleep. Even now he could hear the echo of shouts as the alarm was raised. Jerked to alertness, he struggled to his feet, his leg threatening to give way with every step.
"Alex!" he shouted his voice rough with desperation . "Alex, where are you?!" Feverishly he shoved aside the wooden crates piled around him, praying he hadn't been wrong.
Toppling one of the smaller crates, over turned by his frantic hands. Even as it slammed into the ground, guns spewed out. Heedlessly, Michael ignored them, his thought only on Alex.
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he spun, 9mm in hand. Instinct born of long years of experience sending him ducking behind the nearest crate.
A wavering figure stepped into the pale light, a forgotten machine rifle clutched in its hands. Numbly, clouded green eyes dark against waxen skin stared into his. And slowly the gun slid from his fingers.
Eyebrows arching, his bark blue eyes widened in disbelief. "Alex….?" he grated hoarsely. A thousand questions seemed to pound in his brain as he lunged across the crate.
Even as he touched her, she crumpled like a rag doll suddenly gone limp. Instantly his arms closed around her, catching her before she could fall.
"Alex?" he cried, lowering her gently to the concrete floor. "Alex?"
Only silence met his panic-stricken words. Eyes closed, she didn't answer.
Hands suddenly trembling Michael searched desperately for a pulse, a thin rivulet of her blood trickling darkly across his fingers as he did so. "Alex?" he whispered again, his voice desperate.
Utterly still, she lay there, so close and yet so abruptly out of his reach once more.
"No!" he screamed, his face a sculpture in agony, pain ripping through his soul like a double edged dagger. "No," he moaned his voice ending in a near sob. Knotting his fingers in her thick, flame-colored hair he bowed his head in defeat.
Outside the sharp retort of rifle fire drew nearer. Booming, the explosion of a detonated grenade shook the camp as a dark green, heavily-armed Huey abruptly swept down from above the trees. Slamming the camp with machine gun fire. It razed a of destruction straight through the center of the rebel camp.
Cursing, the guerilla soldiers let loose return fire. Thudding heavily against the metal hull, their bullets pounded into it.
"Ah-ghh!" screamed Tristen in pain as a single stray bullet slammed through the windshield in front of her, shattering it and peppering her with shards of plexiglas.
"Where are you Michael?" she panted, swinging the helicopter around tail first, and sending a deadly rain of fire, through the guerilla troops. Flinching, she swung hard to the left avoiding a jeep that had abruptly become inferno almost beneath her. "Michael!" she cursed even as she yelled his name.
Long, slender fingers clasped around his wrist like a band. Tightening they clung there like a limpet. Raising his head, Michael numbly opened his eyes as he did so.
Startling pale green eyes stared back into his. In a daze, he stared back hardly daring to hope. "Alex?" he whispered.
"What took you so long?" she rasped weakly, never once breaking eye contact.
He grinned joyously, "You're alive! Thank God, you're alive!" Gathering her into his arms, he crushed her to him, holding her body tightly to his.
Body aching and nose squashed against his shoulder she grinned wryly. "No joke," she gasped as he held her tightly to him.
