Chapter 10
Renee wearily ran a hand over her face. Alone in the dark, there wasn't much else to do but sleep. No one had replaced the light bulb. Apparently, they were content to let her sit in darkness until she lost her mind.
Groggily, she sat up and reached for the flashlight that Reed had left. The room swayed and lurched as she moved. She squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into the blanket on the floor, waiting for the dizziness to subside. The wounds on her back burned and throbbed, and her body ached. The dizziness was almost constant, and her head felt oddly heavy and muddled.
She clicked the flashlight on, sighing with relief. With no idea how long the batteries would last, Renee tried to use the light sparingly. Each time, turning it off and letting the darkness close in around her again filled her with dread.
At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, Renee quickly turned off the little flashlight and stuffed it into her pocket.
The door screeched open. Sayid stood in the doorway, his face harsh and his mouth set in a firm line. "Get up," he ordered in English.
Before Renee could move, two more men appeared behind Sayid in the doorway. Their faces were concealed behind black ski masks. She stared at them, frozen, unable to move. Oh, God, what is this?
Sayid jerked his chin towards her. The men burst into the room and grabbed her roughly, each seizing an arm.
Renee cried out in pain as they yanked her to her feet. "Please! You're hurting me!" she gasped.
"Walk," the one on her left snapped. They didn't loosen their grip or slow their pace. Renee stumbled, trying to place one foot in front of the other, as they dragged her out of the room and down the hallway. Pain blazed through her shoulders and arms from the rough handling. She groaned through clenched teeth.
The room that they entered was just as dingy and grimy as the one that she was being held in. The only difference was that this one had a window in one wall. After sitting in darkness, the harsh lights overhead and the sunlight filtering in the window were nearly blinding. Renee squinted as her eyes watered. She closed her eyes against the glare, lifted her head, and let the pleasant warmth wash over her.
They turned her away from the window, lifting her so her feet came off the ground as they pulled her across the room.
Sayid watched her. "Are you frightened of me?" he asked in English. She didn't answer. He smiled, that cold, creepy smile that sent a chill down her spine. "Indeed. As you should be."
A third man stepped into the room. Renee felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart flew into her throat as terror struck deep, making her light-headed. In his right hand, he carried a large knife with a wicked-looking blade.
She lifted her gaze to meet Sayid's. "What is this?" she asked desperately in Arabic. "What are you doing?"
"Kneel down," the man on her right barked.
"No!" The sound was somewhere between a growl and a yell. Renee lashed out, fighting as hard as she could in her weakened state. She flung her head back, hitting him in the face. He staggered and lurched, pulling her backwards. Her uninjured right leg came off of the ground, and Renee seized the opportunity and kicked hard. She heard a thump and a grunt as her foot made contact. Both of the men were losing their grip on her arms, and Renee felt herself sliding towards the floor.
A fist crashed into the side of her face. Pain exploded in her skull as black streaks erupted in her field of vision. She sagged, fighting against a wave of nausea and dizziness.
They shoved down hard on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees on the floor.
The man with the knife grabbed a fistful of Renee's hair and yanked her head back. "Please," she choked out as he held the blade against her neck. "Please, don't do this."
So it had come to this, she thought grimly. She'd been reduced to pitiful pleading and waiting. Her head was throbbing, and dizziness made the room spin around her. She swallowed hard, fighting the rising nausea. The two men clutched her arms in an iron grip, their fingernails digging into her skin. The knife was pressed tightly against her neck. It would only take one movement from the hand that held it, and she'd be dead.
I don't want to die, she thought frantically. Not now, not here, not like this!
She watched numbly as Sayid pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
/ / / / /
Jack tugged at the sleeve of the gray sweatshirt that he'd been given. It was too big, but nothing else fit over the cast on his arm. His clothes had disappeared somewhere between the ambush scene in Kamistan and one of the treatment bays here at Balad. They had found replacements for him – a pair of hospital scrub pants, an olive green t-shirt, and a gray sweatshirt with "ARMY" printed across the front in large letters.
He reached the end of the hallway and stopped, leaning against the wall.
"Nice to see you on your feet," Jamie said from behind him.
Before Jack could answer, he was interrupted by something striking the side of his head and glancing off of his ear. Startled, he turned around and spotted a small paper airplane on the floor by his feet. A second airplane sailed through the air, crashed into the wall, and dropped to the floor.
A child giggled. Jack stared at the unexpected sight: a tall, broad-shouldered man in camouflage fatigues with US Air Force insignia, standing behind an Iraqi boy leaning on a pair of crutches. The child didn't look any older than five or six years old. His face and arms were dotted with cuts and shrapnel wounds, and his right foot and lower leg were heavily bandaged.
"Most of our patients are American and coalition personnel, but we treat Iraqis too," Jamie said. "Iraqi hospitals have improved, but they can't provide the level of care that we can here. Most of our civilian patients have burns or IED blast injuries. We also treat insurgents when they're brought in by Americans or Iraqi police. They're blindfolded so they can't identify anything or anyone here." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Our mission here is to rebuild and stabilize the country, and medical care is one way to do that. Anyone who comes through these doors is a patient and is treated equally, no matter who they are."
Jack watched the pair.
"I won," the airman declared, playfully raising his arms in a triumphant gesture. He pointed to the plane that had crashed into the wall. "Mine went farther."
The little boy grinned, his eyes dancing with laughter. "Mine," he said in accented English, pointing to the second plane on the floor. He tapped his own head, pantomiming the plane hitting Jack, and burst into giggles. "Sorry, mister."
Jack gave him a thumbs-up. "It's okay. I'm okay." He leaned over to pick up the paper airplane, and nearly toppled over as his head reeled. "Oh, bad idea."
Jamie grabbed his arm as he closed his eyes against the sudden dizziness. "Whoa, easy. You okay?"
Jack nodded as he grabbed the airplane from the floor and slowly straightened up again. "Damn concussion," he muttered irritably. "Thanks." Jamie let go, but took a few steps closer.
Upright again, Jack adjusted his grip on the plane and pitched it towards the little boy. "Here," he said with a smile. It glided through the air for a short distance, then dropped to the floor and skidded to a stop next to one of his crutches.
The child picked up the plane. "Again!" he requested, grinning.
The airman chuckled. "Okay. Let's go back this way." He motioned to the other end of the hallway. "Yallah."
The boy had evidently figured out how to navigate on crutches. He raced down the hallway, reached the end, and stopped to look over his shoulder. "Yallah!" he called out, beckoning with one hand. The word meant "let's go", but in this case, his tone clearly implied, "Come on, hurry up!" Laughing, the man retrieved the second paper airplane and followed him.
Jack watched them go.
"Looks like that little guy has the lieutenant wrapped around his finger," a female voice said behind them.
Jamie grinned. "Hey, paper airplane races are a perfectly valid form of physical therapy."
The young woman chuckled. Jack glanced at the name patch on the pocket of her uniform jacket. "Sergeant Gibson. You're taking care of Laila Khouri, aren't you? How is she?"
"Call me Caitlin," she said. "And yes, I am. She's becoming more stable. Still intubated, but I think we may try to extubate and transition her to an oxygen mask tomorrow."
"Has she been able to say anything about the ambush in Kamistan?" Jack asked hopefully.
Caitlin shook her head. "Not yet. We have her on some sedative medications, to keep her pain under control and make her more comfortable until the breathing tube is removed. She's opened her eyes and mouthed words a few times, but she's still pretty out of it. She did mention the attack once, and asked about you and the others, but she wasn't in any condition to hear my answer."
Jack sighed.
Caitlin met his gaze. "Trust me, Agent Bauer, we know what's at stake here. As soon as Laila is coherent and able to respond, we'll debrief her and see if she can tell us anything else about what happened."
As she walked away, Jamie motioned to two folding chairs that had been placed against one wall. "Want to sit for a minute?" Jack nodded, gratefully lowering himself onto one of the chairs. Instead of sitting in the second one, Jamie leaned back against the wall.
The phone in Jack's sweatshirt pocket rang suddenly, startling them both. "This is Bauer," he answered.
"Hello, Agent Bauer. You recognize my voice, I think."
Of course I do, Jack thought. "Sayid," he acknowledged.
"I'll get to the point," Sayid said simply. The phone chimed. "Look at the photo that I just sent you."
Jack pulled the phone away from his ear, and Jamie leaned over to see the image on the screen. It was a picture of Renee, on her knees and being held between two masked men, with a knife pressed against her throat.
Jack felt the blood drain from his face. The fact that he was already sitting in a chair was the only thing that kept him from collapsing. Jamie gripped his shoulder. With trembling fingers, Jack pressed the speaker button on the phone and sat it on the chair.
"I want to talk to Renee," he managed. "Let me hear her voice."
"Fair enough," Sayid agreed. There was a scuffling sound. "Say hello."
"Jack?" Renee's voice sounded choked and strained. "Jack, they have…."
"I know. I can see the photo. Why are you doing this?" Jack demanded, addressing Sayid. "What do you want?"
"There are eight prisoners in US custody who I want released."
Jack shook his head incredulously. "What? What makes you think I can do that? A decision like that would come from government officials who are much higher up the chain. Neither Renee or I have any authority to make that happen."
"You may not have that authority, but you know the people who do."
Jack ran a hand through his hair. "I…"
A sudden yelp came from Renee.
"Renee!" Jack called sharply. There was no answer. "What did you do to her?"
"I'm here," she managed. "The one holding the knife… he cut me."
"Enough to get your attention," Sayid said. "Relax, Agent Bauer. She's bleeding, but it won't kill her." He paused. "Do you know what cats like to do to their prey? They play with injured mice. You know, maiming them, watching them suffer, taunting them as they try to get away, and then finally, mercifully, killing them."
Jack gritted his teeth, seething. "You sick son of a bitch."
Sayid didn't acknowledge that. "You have seventy-two hours to make negotiations."
With that, the line went dead.
To Jamie, Jack looked like he was about to cry, throw up, or faint – or all three. He sagged, burying his head in his hands. "Oh, God."
"We have people working on trying to trace Sayid's calls," Jamie said. "Our military knows he has Renee, and they're doing everything they can to find and retrieve her."
"If somebody would equip me with weapons, I'd go out and look for her myself," Jack replied.
/ / / / /
Back in her room, Renee leaned against the wall. Now the gash on her neck was throbbing along with the mess on her back.
While she had been out, someone had apparently decided to take the time to replace the light bulb on the ceiling. This one was dimmer than the first, and flickered eerily every so often. Even that was better than no light at all. She prayed this bulb would stay lit. The thought of being plunged back into darkness was nearly unbearable.
Her heart was pounding, and each breath seemed to require twice as much effort. She couldn't tell whether the feeling was from her physical condition or from terror.
A lock clicked, and the door was pulled open. Renee weakly lifted her head. Khalid stood in the doorway, looking at her silently. His gaze traveled over her, and his eyes widened slightly.
"Do I look that bad?"
"You look sick," he said. "And that cut on your neck is deep. What happened?"
"Sayid. One of his men." Renee lifted her gaze to meet Khalid's. "They held a knife to my throat." Her voice cracked. "Will you do something for me?"
"What?"
"Use your gun. Please."
"What?" He stared at her, startled.
"The pistol," Renee repeated. "I know you have it." Her eyes filled with tears, and she didn't bother to wipe them away. "You know what Sayid plans to do with that knife, Khalid. In seventy-two hours… I don't want to die that way." She drew in a shuddering breath. "You know what I'm asking. Please. When it's time, promise me you'll do it. Or give it to me and I'll do it myself."
"I… I…" Khalid shook his head wordlessly. He turned on his heel and abruptly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Renee leaned her head back against the wall. I don't want to die here. Not like this. She tried to take a deeper breath. No, I won't die here.
There was no way she would give Sayid what he wanted. She would fight.
Jagged shards from a broken light bulb would be useful… but there was nothing that she could climb on to reach the bulb. And even if she had been able to reach it, the dubious-looking tangled wiring meant she'd probably electrocute herself in the process.
The bucket in the corner would certainly be a gross, smelly distraction, as well as something hard that she could throw. But in her current condition, Renee had no idea whether she would be able to lift and use it.
Her fingers brushed the small flashlight in her pocket. That would work. It was small and light, but hard and solid. With enough force behind a strike, it could easily be a very useful weapon.
Renee leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
She was too weak to fight for long, and failure would be deadly, but she had no intention of giving in easily. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to move.
..