"Cage!" Riley's eyes were wide as saucers as she shouted into their coms.
"Cage, what's happening?" Matty's voice was steady, in control.
"Oh my God," Riley breathed, her voice barely audible over the chaos. Guilt and terror flooded through her; did she just get her new friend killed? She couldn't tell; Cage's body cam was destroyed by the bullets. The fallen agent didn't respond, which only deepened the analyst's concern.
"Cage, what's your status?" Matty repeated, ever the professional.
The other agents on the tarmac were yelling, too, about Cage, that they had an agent down. Almost none of them had body cams, and the ones that did didn't have a view of her. The agent who'd provided her cover fire, Simmons, ran towards her, relying on the others to take out the remaining six guards.
"Cage," the young man said urgently as he came to her side. There was blood under her body, and for a moment, Simmons went cold, even under the harsh sun. But upon closer inspection, he found that while the blood was under her head, the three bullets hit her chest. One destroyed her body cam, but all three of them were stopped by her vest. He checked her pulse, finding it not only still there but beating strong, and the source of the blood was a small head wound. He felt relief flood through him as his colleagues took down the last few guards, managing to get three of them alive.
"Cage is alive," he reported into his coms, hearing Riley's audible sigh of relief. "All three shots were to the vest, and she hit her head when she fell out of the plane; she'll be fine when she wakes up."
"What about Mac and Jack?" Matty demanded. Simmons stood up, turning and watching the plane carrying the two missing agents climb higher into the sky. His jaw tightened in anger and regret.
"We lost them."
When Cage came to, she was back in their base with Riley, lying on a cot behind the analyst's station. One of the Phoenix doctors—Emerson, she thought his name was—was sitting in an armchair to her left, reading a book. The agent groaned and shifted, and both Riley and the doctor turned to her.
"Hey, Cage," Riley sounded almost nervous when she spoke, guilt under her words. "How're you feeling?"
"Like I took three shots to the vest," Cage replied with a good-natured chuckle, sitting up carefully on the cot. Emerson was at her side quickly, taking out a penlight and shining it in her eyes. "What happened?"
"When you fell out of the plane, you hit your head," Riley explained.
"Yeah, you definitely have a borderline-moderate concussion," Emerson nodded. "The bullets also gave you a bruised sternum, and I'm almost positive that my colleague told you not to use that cast of yours to bash anyone's head in."
"Well, desperate times," Cage shrugged painfully, brushing her hair back from her face. She turned to Riley. "I'm pretty sure I know the answer, since we're still in Brazil, but...what happened to Mac and Jack?"
Riley's face fell. Cage could tell that she was barely holding it together, and felt a pang of sympathy.
"They couldn't stop the plane," the analyst told her. "They're gone. We lost them."
"For now," Cage reminded her. "I saw who has them. It's Selam Asmara."
The young woman's eyes lit up, happy to have a lead, and she turned back to her computer as Emerson helped Cage to her feet. Riley pulled up everything she had on the man, leaning back in her chair.
"Alright," she said with a sigh. "Selam Asmara. Fifty-six years old, born in Kalamazoo, Michigan, genius IQ, went on to work for the NSA at age twenty-three, married Victoria DeWalt a year later, led the charmed American life...and then turned traitor, started selling military secrets, got a lot of soldiers killed, and when investigators started closing in on him, he took his wife and ran to join his great-uncle and his cousins in Kuwait. His little brother followed shortly after. False intel about his location led to the deaths of six operatives and the capture of two others. Jack came into the picture about a year later. Asmara's wife turned him in in exchange for protection. Jack and his team went in, took out an entire cell, and captured Asmara and his great-uncle. They found the two missing operatives, but...they were too late to save them. One was DOA, and the other died of his injuries two months later. Selam's uncle died a few years ago, and not too long after that, Selam escaped while he was being transferred to another facility."
"And what about Selam's wife?" Cage jumped slightly when she heard Matty's voice; she hadn't realized they were in a call.
"They brought her back to the states," Riley told her, frowning at her screen. "She got a new identity...and a damn-well protected one; I can't find it."
"Keep looking," Matty ordered. "She might be Asmara's next target. Cage, can I talk to you alone for a moment?"
"Sure," Cage agreed. She gave Riley and the doctor a smile, then stepped out of the small rangers' station they'd commandeered, closing the door behind her before calling her boss.
"So, what did you see while you were on the plane?" Matty asked as soon as she answered the call, wasting no time.
Cage looked down, shifting uncomfortably, her stomach churning as she recalled the sight of her two friends. "Mac is in bad shape," she admitted finally. "Much, much worse than Jack; if I had to guess, I'd say Asmara is torturing Mac to get to him. Mac was covered in bruises, had a cut on his head, and his leg was absolutely coated in blood. Couldn't tell what the injury was. He was also soaking wet, so I'm betting they're waterboarding him. He was unconscious by the time I got there."
"And what do you think?" Matty pressed, trying to hide how much her description made her stomach churn. "Will they be able to hold out until we locate them?"
"I'm not sure," Cage admitted. "Physically, Jack will definitely be fine, and I think Mac is stubborn enough to hold out as long as we get to him soon. Psychologically...They're making Jack watch them hurt Mac; I think we can both imagine how well he's handling that. There's not a whole lot Jack wouldn't do for him."
"But would he tell Asmara whatever it is he wants to know?"
"I don't even know if Jack knows the answer to that question," Cage gave a helpless shrug.
Matty's jaw set in frustration. She knew Jack could only let Mac get hurt for so long before he'd have to do something to make it stop. After a moment, she shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," she concluded, sounding more confident than she felt. "We know who we're dealing with now; we have something to go on. We managed to get three of Asmara's people at the airstrip; I want you to talk to them."
"Done," Cage agreed. At that moment, Riley came outside.
"Bozer and the others found where they were keeping Mac and Jack," she reported.
"Where?" Cage demanded, pouncing on the lead.
"I just sent the coordinates to your phone."
"Keep me updated," Matty ordered from the other end of the line. Cage promised to do so, then hung up, climbing on a waiting ATV and heading for the coordinates Riley had given her.
She arrived at the compound—a small-ish, brick structure with only very small windows, well-camouflaged into the surrounding trees—to find several agents patrolling the outside and Simmons waiting for her out front.
"Ma'am," he greeted her as she turned off the ATV and dismounted. "Good to see you up and around. We've already cleared the building; there's no one inside."
"Where's Bozer?" Cage asked, not seeing him.
"Downstairs, waiting for you, ma'am," Simmons replied. "I can show you the way."
Cage nodded, allowing the agent to guide her into the building and down a set of dingy stairs to a much better-lit lower level. Bozer was standing about thirty feet down the hall, leaning back against the wall, his eyes a thousand miles away.
"I've got it from here," Cage told her escort, thanking him. As Simmons headed back upstairs, Cage walked towards Bozer.
"Boze," her voice seemed to jolt him from his thoughts. "What did you find?"
"Where they were keeping Mac and Jack," Bozer replied flatly, shifting from foot to foot in clear discomfort. Cage gave him a sympathetic look, putting her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm going to take a look; do you want to stay out here?" she offered, knowing how hard this was on him; it wasn't hard to see how much he and Mac depended on each other.
Bozer nodded gratefully, and Cage took a breath before walking into the room and closing the door behind her. Upon turning around, she froze, her stomach churning at the sight of the room. Covering her mouth lightly with one hand, she called Matty back. Her director answered almost immediately.
"What do you have, Cage?"
When Mac woke up, he was once again restrained to a chair. He could feel the tape and cable ties around his wrists and ankles, but didn't dare open his eyes, lest his captors decide to start in on him again. He needed a break—just a short little break—if he was going to keep going. He was still determined, still hopeful, still mentally ready and able to fight, but his body just needed to rest, even if only for a few hours.
"You don't have to fake it, kid," Jack's voice made the young agent relax slightly, reassuring him just with its presence. "They're not here."
Slowly, carefully, Mac opened his eyes and lifted his head, even more tension in his body dissipating when he saw his partner sitting across from him. He shifted in his chair, his jaw twitching as he blinked his slightly foggy vision clear.
"Jack," Mac's voice was weak and scratchy, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
"That asshole took me onto the plane...left you by the car...and when he got me onboard, he drugged me, and I passed out."
Jack nodded, his expression somber, lacking his usual smirk and smile. That alone made Mac's stomach clench.
"Riley found us," the older agent said at last. "Agents came to try and stop the plane. Cage was there."
"Well...obviously that wasn't successful," Mac didn't like the look on his face, the even tone of his voice.
"No," Jack shook his head. "Cage stormed the plane all by herself. Asmara shot her."
"Oh my God," Mac breathed, his voice shaking again, trying to keep it together. "Is...is she...?"
"I don't know," Jack told him helplessly. "She fell out of the plane before we took off."
"Shit," Mac muttered under his breath. The pair lapsed into silence for a minute or two before Mac found his voice again. "What are you thinking, Jack?"
"Just that...maybe this has gone on too long," the older agent admitted. Immediately, Mac shook his head, wincing as his skull throbbed with the movement.
"No, Jack, don't talk like that," he said desperately. "You can't seriously be considering giving up."
"Why not?" Jack challenged, hopelessness in his eyes. "Look at you, Mac. He's killing you. Cage might be dead. We're not in Brazil anymore, so I don't know how Riley's gonna find us. I can't watch you die and do nothing to stop it."
"By doing nothing, you are doing something," Mac argued. "If you tell him whatever it is you may know about Victoria, then you're gonna die, she's gonna die, Cage will have gotten shot for nothing, and I will not only probably die, too, but I will have been tortured for nothing. By now, Riley knows who's got us; it's only a matter of time before she finds us."
"And until then?" Jack raised his eyebrows at him. "He's not going to go easy on you, Mac. It's going to get worse after that rescue attempt, probably. Are you sure you're ready for that?"
Mac hesitated, swallowing hard, his stomach lurching at the thought. His extensive injuries burned, and even breathing was a struggle. Still, he forced himself to nod.
"Yes," he confirmed, his voice not wavering for a moment. "You were the one telling me to trust Riley earlier, Jack; time to take your own advice."
"I ever tell you how much I hate it when you use my own words against me?" Jack asked with a sigh, not looking at him.
"Once or twice," Mac laughed until the pain became too much, coughing violently in his seat as Jack flinched from the noise. When the coughing fit subsided, Mac took as deep of a breath as he could bear. "Jack, promise me you won't tell him."
Jack studied him as he writhed in his chair, clearly trying hard to hide how much pain he was in. It broke his heart, seeing him struggle like that, seeing him trying to put on a brave face. Unsure if he was telling the truth, the former Delta nodded. "Okay."
"I want to hear you say the words," Mac growled. "Promise me, Jack."
Jack flinched, letting out a weary sigh, and forced himself to meet Mac's blue-eyed gaze.
"I promise you, Mac, that I will not tell Asmara what he wants to know."
Mac relaxed visibly in his seat, relief in his expression. The pair once again got quiet until the young Phoenix agent cleared his throat.
"Where are we?"
"Not sure," Jack replied with a shake of his head, happy for the subject change. "They drugged me, too, about an hour into the flight. Lower dose than yours, I bet."
Mac looked around their new prison, trying to get his bearings. This room was much darker than the last. It looked almost like a basement in a house, except devoid of furniture or any sort of boxes, save for their two chairs, a third chair set up between them, and the tool cart off to the left. Over his left shoulder was a set of rickety-looking wooden stairs. To his right, much to his dismay, there was a faucet in the wall about a foot and a half off the ground, like one might see in a garden. The ground beneath them was slightly sloped, likely towards a drain behind him, and when he looked down, sure enough, two pairs of handcuffs attached the front bar of his chair to a metal loop mounted to the floor. The young agent's shoulders sagged, dread in his expression, as he straightened back up.
"I'm so sorry, Mac," Jack sighed, guilt lining his features. Mac shook his head.
"Don't be," he said dismissively. "It could be worse."
"How?" the older man didn't seem convinced.
"Well, for starters, I could be all alone in here," the blond man pointed out. As much as it killed him that Jack was being forced to watch this, as much as he wished it didn't have to be that way, having him there was definitely a comfort. "No partner to keep me sane. No one to help me keep my head on straight. And, y'know...it could be Murdoc."
Jack couldn't help but laugh, finding Mac's version of optimism hilarious, in a sad kind of way. "Yeah, I guess there's that."
Mac smiled at him, happy to have gotten him laughing, but that smile vanished completely when they heard a deadbolt slide out of place at the top of the stairs and a door open wide. Heavy footsteps creaked down the wooden stairs, making Mac's heart pound in his chest, unable to see who was joining them but able to take a guess. He watched Jack's jaw tighten and his fists clench, and he let out a shuddering breath.
"Good to see you awake, Mac," Asmara's voice made the tortured young agent flinch involuntarily. His voice, usually light with sinister undertones, was now much harsher. "You almost had me worried for a minute."
Mac didn't answer, not daring to look up. He heard a second person come down the stairs, closing the door at the top, as Asmara took his seat, glancing between him and Jack, his mouth a grim line. Mac looked over to see where their second interrogator was, and was met with a brutal punch to his left orbital. The young agent cried out, turning away as a new cut above his eyebrow began to bleed. Abel shouted something at him in Portuguese, but again, Mac had no idea what was said.
"Forgive him," Asmara waved a dismissive hand. "He's upset. Your friends killed his partner. I'm sure you can imagine how devastating that feels."
Mac shook his head quickly, blinking blood from his eye, as Abel turned his attention to the tool cart.
"Now," Asmara gave a sigh, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Let's get back to it, then."
What's up, guys? Sorry this one is kind of short; I have one more final before I can work on this as much as I want. It's biochemistry. I got this. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and I promise, there will be a lot more action and whump in the next one. In fact, depending on how it goes, you might end up getting 3 chapters in a day. It'll make sense when you get there.