"Man, it feels so good to stretch! Don't you think so, Zeldie?" Refreshed after a quick power nap, Sam glanced over at the table in the center of the room, was met with Esmeralda's deadpan stare. She was pissed at him, no question. Beyond pissed, really. As though he hadn't been a courteous host the past four days.
Four days down in the cold, dimly lit little room. Four days of sarcasm, threats, and the occasional peeing in a bottle that they silently agreed to never speak about. She'd been smart about the whole thing, he mused. When he'd offered water, she'd drank. When he'd offered food, she'd eaten. Not much on conversation, but he could see her mind racing every time he put a picture in front of her face.
It wasn't as though he'd been idle during the past ninety six hours. He'd considered and rejected countless escape plans, cursed the lack of cell phone service down in their hideout at least a dozen times a day. But mostly…mostly he'd been taking pictures. Armed with a tiny digital camera, he'd begun taking hundreds of pictures. Thousands. Some of her, of course. He'd need proof to send back to his superiors that The Ghost was indeed in his grasp. But mostly he took pictures of her pictures. It was impossible for him to take every picture she had with him. There were simply far, far too many. But with a digital camera, there wouldn't be a need to bring along any extra cargo.
He spent hours upon hours snapping pictures of her pictures, one at a time. When he was finally done with those he took pictures of her souvenirs, of her passports and documents. They'd be unusable after this, of course. The Academy would only attempt to use her aliases to track her. But they could be used to find out what sort of traveling she'd done in the past. It had given him a quick little thrill to find a last, more recent stack of pictures and find his face in the middle of them. Mardi Gras, he thought with a quick grin, and remembered the instant she'd lifted the camera and taken the shot. A smooth, calm gesture. He'd had to admire her guts then, too.
But now the pictures had been taken, the food was almost gone, and he was getting antsy. He wasn't used to staying in one place either. Or being stared at all the time. And she was always, always staring. He had a fleeting, resentful thought that she was likely filing away every last detail about him, right down to the size of his shoes. Sometimes, when she annoyed him enough, he stared right back. And boy, did that piss her off. Not used to being seen, he mused, used to being part of the background, nonexistent. It was ridiculously amusing watching her eyes flare with annoyance as she held direct eye contact rather than let herself look away. Many an hour had been passed with staring contests. He found it much more fun than she.
Knowing he was running out of time, Sam kicked back a bit in his chair, reached out for the duffle bag he'd brought with him. Beyond the survival essentials, he'd brought along a few tools he thought might be necessary. Toys, really, the kind usually reserved for spy movies. He always got a kick out of them. Mindlessly, he plucked a ring out of the bag, rolled it between his fingers. The gem popped out, much as the ones on Esmeralda's rings had, but rather than blades, this one had a tiny little injection needle at the end. A bit of pressure, and whoever was on the receiving end was going to be taking a sudden three hour nap. A handy tool for knocking out guards in your way, but useless against a school full of spies. It would have been easier, so much easier to get back out if he hadn't had the extra cargo. Human cargo was invariably noisy, difficult, and not prone to laying quietly while you carted them out of their safety zone.
He'd just started to toss the ring back in the bag when he had an idea. His eyes lighting up, he straightened, dropped his chair back on all fours as he palmed the ring, stared down at it as the gears in his brain began to spin. Conscious human cargo was noisy and difficult. Sleeping human cargo, on the other hand…Slipping the ring casually onto his finger, Sam looked over, saw that Esmeralda was staring idly up at the tiny boat hanging from the ceiling. A glance at his watch showed him it was about an hour until sundown. Enough time, he mused, to pack up what needed packing. The thought of fresh air was enough to make him grin like a fool.