Chapter 9: On the inside
Late May 2002
Even though Lorne had given the appearance of a disheartened soldier not paying attention, his eyes had missed nothing in the moments before his captors had imprisoned him. It was a small village – they wouldn't have too many places to hide away their captives and he was pretty sure they wouldn't risk taking them anywhere too distant. That meant there were either additional cells in the same building he was in or the six marines were being held in the manufacturing facility itself. He didn't allow himself to think about the alternative – that they weren't being held anywhere because they'd already been disposed of.
Evan had also noticed how close they were to the mountainside and he'd seen what looked like an entrance – a set of heavy doors attached to a building that literally disappeared into the rock. There were two guards standing at those doors, plus at least two others higher up the slope keeping watch. Getting in was going to be difficult without his Afghan captors voluntarily taking him inside. He'd have preferred to act immediately, to release himself and head straight for the facility but he knew that would be foolhardy and would only succeed in tipping his hand. For now they thought him nothing more than a disgruntled deserter with a grudge against his own unit. He just had to work out how to create the opportunity to capitalise on that and get them willingly taking him where he needed to go.
Scuffing a foot through the dirt on the floor, Lorne cleared a spot by the wall and sat down awkwardly, leaning his back against the wall and shifting his shoulders in a futile effort to get the restraints around his wrists feeling more comfortable. He was tired and hungry but too wired to really be feeling the effects of either. Still, he closed his eyes, relaxing his posture even as his mind continued to work rapidly.
It couldn't have been more than an hour before the lock grated, clicked and the door swung open, revealing the same Afghan who'd questioned him before.
"Listen, can we talk about getting me out of here?" Lorne pre-empted whatever it was the man was going to say to him.
Without warning a booted foot landed squarely in his side sending him pitching sideways with a pained grunt.
"I will ask the questions," the man ground out, watching dispassionately while Evan struggled to sit up again – a difficult task with his hands tied behind his back. "We will start with who you are."
"Private Harold Marks, U.S. Marine Corps, service number 2137045," Lorne snapped out crisply as though it were something he'd repeated many times in the past.
"And what was your position?" the man demanded.
"When?" Lorne asked stupidly, earning a hard slap to his right cheek this time.
"If I were to hire you for my army, what could you do for me?" the man restated his question in a slow measured voice.
"Ah ... driver I guess would be the closest," Lorne replied uncertainly.
"You are a ... driver?" the man asked incredulously.
"Hey, it's not just the guys with guns who fight wars," Evan said defensively. "My job is just as important – how else do you get troops from one point to another, right?"
"How indeed," the afghan muttered sarcastically. "And you are sure your people will pay for your return," he said sceptically.
"I'm sure, okay," Lorne insisted.
"I do not think so ... to do so would be a waste of resources," Evan's captor shook his head. "No – best we kill you now before you can waste any more of my time."
"No!" Lorne shouted, pressing his back hard against the wall and forcing himself to his feet with its support. "Maybe we can come to an arrangement. I know ... things."
"What things could you, a lowly driver, possibly know that would make feeding and housing you worthwhile?"
That was said with a heavy dose of sneering but the guy hadn't left ... yet. Lorne swallowed hard, letting his eyes meet his captors and then looking away nervously. He licked his lips, dry after a night without water, and swallowed again. Everything about his stance screamed reluctance but with a deep breath, and obvious steeling of himself, in the eyes of the Afghan in front of him he betrayed his country in an effort to save his own hide.
"I can give you the locations of some of our bases," Evan offered in a rush.
"We already know where to find your people," the man sneered. "You make your presence too obvious."
"Helman Province, near Kajaki," Lorne shot out with obvious desperation.
This time it wasn't a slap but a fist that struck his cheekbone and grazed off his eye, immediately setting up a throbbing pain and the beginnings of a headache. He growled as though frustrated, shaking his head a couple of times and then looking up at his captor again.
"You insult me with old information," the man said. "The village was bombed by your people a week ago." Turning dismissively he walked towards the door.
Evan let him get to the point of having a hand on the doorknob before he spoke again.
"Jaghori," he said in a low tone. "Off base weapons store up in the mountains. Mostly M-16 assault rifles – favoured weapon of the corps – but there'd be a few other items valuable enough to be worth my life."
There was silence, the Afghan standing with his back to Evan. "We shall see," he said finally, turning the knob and leaving Lorne alone again.
"Yeah, we'll see all right," Lorne muttered, rolling his head and wincing at the pain that was now the right side of his face. He'd given them the information he'd been cleared to reveal ... there had been an Afghan weapons cache at Jaghori, one the Afghans would find cleaned out when they went to check it out. The location was far enough away and remote enough that it would take time for anyone to get there to verify Evan's story. It bought him some time but he'd have to do whatever it was he was going to do very soon.
Before he could make any decisions the door slammed open again and his two 'friends' from that morning strode in, grabbing him unceremoniously and dragging him out.
"Guys," Evan pulled against their hold but without proper purchase on the ground and with his arms tied could do nothing more than use his weight to make their trip difficult. "Let's not be hasty here."
His heart was beating up a storm as they continued striding along silent and purposeful – for a few moments there he really did think they were going to line him up against the rocks and execute him and his mind was cycling rapidly through his limited available actions and hoping like hell that the SARs team were watching from somewhere they'd be able to intervene. Only when they approached the doors into the mountain that Lorne had seen before, the guards standing aside as they were opened from the inside, did he start to relax a little.
"Bring him," the man Lorne had decided was the leader waited for them.
Inside the facility it was cool and dimly lit – the impression he got as they hurried him forward was of narrow stone corridors that led further into the mountain. They passed a couple of closed doors before finding the one they were heading for. Again the door was opened and Lorne thrown inside a small, empty room.
"If your information proves accurate we will discuss what more you can reveal to keep you alive," the leader said from the doorway, spinning and striding away before Lorne could make any comeback.
"I'll look forward to that," Evan muttered sarcastically. Standing in the middle of his new cell, he looked around, noting the lack of windows or any other exit besides the one he'd come through. "Phase two complete," he thought, sliding down the wall to sit.
Rocking forward he got onto his knees, leaning unsteadily with his toes bracing his weight. Contorting himself so that he could sit within the circle of his bound hands, Lorne grimaced as the shoulder he'd fallen on earlier protested his efforts. Raising his boots and tucking his legs in tight so that his knees pressed into his chest, Evan stretched out his arms and literally forced them over his feet, the rope grinding against his skin painfully as it rotated to accommodate the new position.
Now that his hands were in front of him, he reached down, working his fingers inside his boot until he could just grab the tip of the thin knife he'd concealed there. They'd roughed him up a little when they'd searched him in the trees but because he'd been so protective of his backpack hadn't searched him again after they'd restrained him in the first cell. They'd believed what he'd wanted them to believe - that anything valuable he owned was in that backpack. The knife had been in his boot the whole time and now Evan gratefully pulled it out, carefully bracing it so that he could cut the rope between his hands.
Free, he rubbed his wrists, shaking his arms in the hopes it would ease the aches he'd acquired. Standing up, Lorne approached the door, squatting down to examine the lock. It wasn't a complex arrangement – nothing more than a simple pin tumbler lock he could have picked in his sleep. As silently as possible Evan did just that, releasing the locking mechanism with a faint click.
He froze, listening for the signs that his actions had been detected. When he was sure that wasn't the case he stood, putting an ear to the door. For sure there'd be at least one guard outside, maybe more depending on how important the head guy thought Lorne was. Lying down on the floor, Evan pressed his cheek to the cold stone, directing his gaze under the door where light from the corridor created a faint silhouette.
One set of boots, standing directly in front of the door. That was handy ... assuming more guards weren't standing further down the corridor of course.
Sitting back up, Lorne thought for a moment, trying to work it through inside his head. What would the Afghans be likely to do, given they thought him an inept deserter and with the outer doors more heavily guarded?
"They wouldn't waste men on me," he reasoned internally. That was enough – he had to act, had no choice because every minute he delayed was one minute closer to them finding out his information was out of date.
Carefully Evan turned the door handle, tiny movements one at a time until he'd be able to open the door fully. Still holding it closed, he took a few deep breaths to psych himself up and then slammed the door open rapidly. He felt the resistance as it made contact with the guard and powered through that, leaning all his weight against the door like a defensive guard stopping the quarterback.
The guard slammed back against the opposite corridor wall with an audible thud. Lorne didn't wait for an invitation, rushing forward and grabbing the man's gun while he was still disorientated. Slamming the butt to the back of the guards head Evan had the satisfaction of seeing him crumble to the ground. Searching him quickly, Lorne found a set of keys and a radio and pocketed both.
Getting up he dragged the guard into his now unoccupied cell, gagging the man with his own shirt and leaving him locked inside. Now armed, Lorne shouldered the rifle and ran down the corridor, heading further into the facility.
Authors Note:
Service numbers went out in 1972 and were replaced by social security numbers. The last ones issued to the Marine Corps were numbers 2,100,000 to 2,800,000. I have no idea on the format of ssn's in the U.S. so I decided to just have Lorne give a fake service number instead of a fake ssn number - it probably doesn't matter either way but you know me, this is the kind of thing I worry about! This information sourced from Wikipedia.
