Thanks for continued reading & reviews. This chapter was necessary to keep the story going– just remember that nothing is ever as it seems in Spooks...
Lucas kept his eyes wide open until a gentle streak of sunlight tickled the inside of the curtains. He rose, rolling his shoulders and ruffling the hair at the back of his head with a hand, walking to reveal some light for the room. He drew the curtains back as quietly as possible, but still Zaf rolled over onto his side, shielding his eyes against the sun's brightness and grumbling.
"Tea?" asked Lucas. Zaf mumbled in agreement, pulling himself into a sitting position.
Lucas clattered the mugs and spoons a little louder than necessary, whistling to himself. As he had hoped, he heard stirrings from upstairs, and then the firm, fast footsteps of the man making his way downstairs. Lucas caught him in the reflection of the knife rack eyeing Zaf before reaching the kitchen.
"Morning," said Lucas brightly, his face stretched into a smile. "Tea?"
"No," replied the gravelly voice, then as a side thought, "Thank you."
"No problem." Lucas turned away, spinning the spoons in the mugs of tea, the metal tinkling irritably against the sides. At least it masked the heavy silence that had descended on the house.
The man shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to make of Lucas. He eventually sat down at the kitchen table, dragging a hand through his shoulder-length hair and clicking his knuckles.
"How long have you been in Turkey?" asked Lucas politely, turning round to face him.
"A while," returned the stranger. His voice was monotonous, his accent strong. He jerked his head towards the lounge. "How's your friend?"
"Pretty run down," said Lucas. "But he'll be okay."
"How long are you staying?" the man asked slyly. Lucas didn't take the bait, offering a vague: "We'll see how it goes" as a way of response before taking a mug of tea to Zaf.
You okay? Lucas mouthed to Zaf, making sure the man couldn't see. Zaf nodded, taking a brief sip of the tea.
"Where's the best place to get a signal?" asked Lucas, returning to the kitchen and showing his phone to the man.
"Just across the street," the man grumbled as a reply. Lucas nodded curtly and headed outside, the door slamming audibly behind him.
The man made his way into the lounge, taking a seat on the sofa opposite Zaf.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked.
Zaf looked over to him. "No, I'm fine, thanks." Zaf's tone had been casual and friendly, but his head was spinning. He had agreed with Lucas that he was stable enough to fight the man off if he tried anything while Lucas went to call Harry. But the truth was that Zaf was struggling to stay calm. The man opposite him was making small talk but just biding his time. Plotting how best to kill them.
This man had talked to his captors, associated with the people who tortured him incessantly with smiles painted on their faces. Zaf swallowed and didn't make eye contact, instead trying to get the man out of the room: "Actually, have you got any more blankets? It was cold last night."
"Sure," said the man, walking slowly to the stairs. Zaf watched him until he was out of sight, throwing aside the blanket on his lap and getting to his feet, feeling a dull ache spread through his body. He clenched and unclenched his fists gently, watching a fresh pool of blood escape from the scratches across his knuckles.
The soft sound of a blanket being thrown on the sofa made Zaf turn around too quickly. The man raised his eyebrows a little: "Here you go."
"Thanks," said Zaf, his voice horribly uneven. He coughed once, going to sit back down.
Where the hell was Lucas? He swore to Zaf that he would be a minute or so maximum – he just needed to call in a status report. Zaf drew in steady breaths and tried to tell himself that Lucas would be back soon.
"Why are you so injured?" asked the man.
Zaf shifted. Should he lie? Whatever he said, he knew it would cause a sharp wash of memories. Zaf swallowed hard.
"I got beaten up," he said, with as much casualness as he could muster.
"Well, it won't hurt for long," said the man, in a way that could be interpreted to mean that Zaf's wounds would heal. But as Zaf moved his eyes from the floor to the face of the man he swore he saw a glimmer of malice in his eyes.
Zaf rose again. "My friend, he-"Zaf's voice was cracking- "should be back any minute."
"Would you like some more tea?" the stranger replied with a tight smile.
"Please." Zaf was desperate to not have to look at him anymore; to get this vile person out of sight. But then he realised that letting him out of sight was a terrible idea...
...
Lucas dialled for the third time, pacing the hot streets. The reception was awful – he had reached Harry only once and could hardly hear what he was saying. Lucas sloped back to the house again, attempting another call. Mercifully, he heard Harry's voice: "Lucas, what's going on?"
"They knew about the escape plan. We need somewhere safe to go, tonight."
Lucas was so close to the house, nearing the cracked wooden door, when he heard the thud. His eyes were drawn instantly to the blade that had struck cleanly through the wood.
His feet pounded. Lucas opened the door with a kick. The man held another knife, poised, seconds away from throwing it directly at Zaf.
Lucas yanked the other knife from the door and pushed it into the man's back with murderous efficiency. He choked, crumbling, dead within seconds, but he had already thrown the other knife.
"What the hell is going on?" boomed Harry voice from the phone. Lucas was frozen to the spot for a second before jolting into action.
"Shit." He went to Zaf quickly, trying to pinpoint the wound with his eyes, but a steady spread of blood was masking Zaf's shirt and the blanket he had been clutching.
"Harry, send me directions for this doctor, now," Lucas barked, slipping his phone back into his pocket before going over to the body of the man and tugging off his jacket, bringing it over to Zaf to use to compress the wound.
"Can you walk?" Lucas asked Zaf, whose face was rapidly draining of colour.
"Maybe," Zaf replied, his voice hoarse. He moved slightly and instantly crushed a hand to the wound on his side, his face split with agony.
"The car's close. We need to get you to a doctor," Lucas insisted, supporting most of the other man's weight and reaching for his backpack.
"Okay," murmured Zaf, biting down on his lip and squeezing his eyes closed.
It was an effort made worse by the stifling heat and the uneven paving slabs, and took several minutes to bundle Zaf into the car and for Lucas to receive the directions from Harry. The doctor's house was about twenty minutes from here. Lucas didn't honestly know if Zaf would still be conscious by the time they arrived.
"Keep it compressed," instructed Lucas, his tone desperate. Zaf nodded weakly and rested his head back against the leather seat.
The tyres sputtered up dust from the road as Lucas manoeuvred the car as quickly as he was able, oblivious to the occasional speed limit that they encountered. He reached into his pocket, other hand still clasping the wheel, and speed-dialled Harry.
"If you don't tell me what the bloody hell is going on right now Lucas, I'll put you on a flight to a country you've never heard of so fast that your head will spin."
"The guy at the supposed 'safe' tried to kill Zaf. I got him before he could finish the job, but I was still too late. He's been stabbed."
"Good God. He's been through enough already. How is he?"
"Bad," replied Lucas, not trying to disguise the worry in his voice. He glanced back over at Zaf.
"Shit."Lucas hit the acceleration. "Zaf, wake up!" he yelled, reaching out to shake his shoulder.
"Lucas, talk to me."
"Harry, he's not breathing."