Tempe, Turmoil and Triumph
Chapter 21
17 hours later they were arriving in Kazakhstan. Sully was tired. So tired. Booth on the other hand felt like he had just woken up-this familiar feeling coursing through his veins felt so right so natural. Even the blast furnace heat felt like coming home. Better not let Gordon Gordon in on that, he thought to himself. All these years later and he fell right back into it. Sully and Booth had gotten off the plane and met their contacts. They were given their topographical maps and disposable international satellite phones as well as two duffle bags full of 'gear'.
Their guide led them to the base of the foothills and explained who they would be meeting next. Their horses were fully packed and they were ready to go. Booth, feeling comfortable in the saddle and ready to roll was already worried about Sully. He was apprehensive and unsure of himself, and it was transmitting to his mount. The horse was stamping and snorting, tossing his head and side-stepping. "I thought we were going to ride in trucks or something," Sully said with a slight grimace, "It's been 20 years since I was on a horse."
"Sorry Sully-we'll make better time over the mountains than around them and we'll be able to blend in better."
"Okay, man-you're the ex-Army man not me- I trust you"
Their guide started off and they followed. Booth was focused on Brennan, all he could think about was finding her, getting her and holding her, he was so intently focused on her that he was already over the mountains and miles ahead.
~Meanwhile~
Brennans fever had broken and she was getting restless. It had only been a few days and she was still very sore. She was going to ask Hoot to let her go outside when he came in with her noodles. Except this morning, it wasn't the shy helpful young man that came into her room, this time it was a much older, harder man. He pointed to her shoes and the hat hanging on the wall-then pointed outside, all the while holding the gun on her. Unsure of what was going on, she obliged because of what she was afraid would happen if she didn't. When Brennan got outside she saw the source of the water-like sound, a huge field with women all dressed like her, bent over between the rows and working diligently while 20-30 men surrounded them with assault rifles, there was military equipment off to the side of a much larger hut and huge vats of liquid on trailers.
Brennan was pushed over to the field by the larger man-he kept pointing to the plants, and the more she balked the louder he shouted in the foreign dialect and more roughly he pushed her toward the field. "Its best that you don't fight him ma'am," a young woman's voice came slightly hushed from her left, "it'll be easier in the long run". Brennan went over to the woman and asked her what was going on. Handing her a canvas sack and showing her what to do, she said, "start picking ma'am." She then told Brennan in that same hushed tone how she had been pulled off a bus 3 years ago and brought here.
Well, not here exactly, but brought with them. She said at first a nice young man had come to see me, then him, indicating the man with the rough voice and hands. "I've been picking leaves ever since- I had hoped my family would find me, but I gave that up a long time ago. Now I just pick my leaves and keep my mouth shut. I get to eat, I'm warm at night, and I can see the sun during the day- so I guess it could be worse," she finished softly. Brennan had been silent during most of the conversation, she told the girl that when her man came for her she'd take her too, "thank you ma'am, " the girl said, "that's a nice thought, but let's just worry about today, okay?" her voice was dead, deader than a 19 year olds should be.