Chapter 26: Root shivered (rated T); Gotta have a knife (rated T); out of her seat (rated T);

Queens, NY, January, 2015

Dripping.

That was her first sense of anything, as awareness returned. Dripping somewhere nearby.

And the cold. So cold. Root tried to draw her legs closer to her to stay warm, but heard the sounds of heavy metal chains, rattling. Chains, dragging over concrete floor, catching, and stopping her. Root pulled, but it didn't give, just rattled a little more. She pulled harder. It didn't give.

Sudden anger flared, and Root tried to sit up and open her eyes at the same time. That was a mistake. Her head spun and everything that'd been quiet before, when she was out of it, screamed for attention now that she'd come to. Root groaned and hung her head down, fighting the wave of spinning from moving too fast.

And closing her eyes didn't help at all. Note to self: go slow.

Root could feel a pulling on the skin of her face when she grimaced. She managed to reach up with a free hand and felt around. Her head hurt and there was a swollen spot on the side of her head. Her hair was stiff, caked with something dried in her hair; and on her face, too, on that side. Vague memories then, of something that happened. A hotel room. Someone there in the room with her. Who? Couldn't quite get there when she tried to roll it back. But at least the effort of remembering took her mind off everything else for a while.

She opened an eye, slowly this time, without moving anything else. All she could see was an expanse of white. Slowly, it came to her – this was a sheet. Wrapped around her and tied at her feet and above her head. Only one arm was free from the sheet, she found - her left, and that stuck out from the sheet up in the air. Root could feel something metal, a shackle?, on her wrist on that side. Her arm pulled taut, chained on that side. The leg on the other side, the right side, wouldn't move any closer, either. Metal around her ankle, cutting in. And a chain on that leg, too.

Crap. Now she was remembering. The bar. The woman she'd picked up there. The hotel. Damn. It was a setup. And she'd walked right into it. Damn it!

Root tried to think, but her brain was just so slow. She needed to figure this out. Options. Consequences. Who were they, the ones who had her now? Root had only a few shadowy glimpses of memory from the hotel: being held by three goons, thrashing around, slammed with something hard – a few times. Oh, and firing her gun, too. No, that must have been before she was held.

Crap. She better get it together if she was going to get herself out of this.

A door creaked open and a little light glowed through the white sheet covering her head. Footsteps approached. Boots. With heels. Short, quick gait, and light steps. This was a woman. Root could see the outline of her form through the sheet, approaching, blotting some of the light coming in from the doorway. And then her perfume. That scent from last night. Yes, it was her, Fan, from the hotel.

Fan walked right up to Root and squatted down next to her head. Root felt a hand on her, sliding along the contours of her face; then again, like she was stroking Root through the sheet. Root thought better of flinging the hand off her with her head. Go slow.

"You awake now," she heard through the sheet, with a heavy Chinese accent. Root didn't speak for now. Moments passed, and then:

"Nothing to say?" and Root heard Fan laugh, loud and long, her hand stroking her face through the sheet. A slow burn started inside her. Lucky for her Root was shackled like this because some of her favorite tools of the trade began to come to mind: electric wires, pliers, hot steam iron and the like. Root was sure she could find something that would get Fan's undivided attention when the tables turned. In the meantime, she just had to figure out what the game was, and play her hand.

Fan stood up and turned back to the door. Root could see her shadow through the sheet. At the door, Fan paused and turned around again. Root could hear something heavy dragging on the floor somewhere behind Fan, like down a long hallway from the sound of it. Then people were talking. All Chinese – Root couldn't tell what they were saying.

In the low light from the doorway Root could see three, maybe four figures there. Fan's shadow backed up and then two of the others stepped through the doorway, dragging something long and thick between them. Root heard Fan's voice give a quick command. And then there was a sound, like a metal valve creaking open, far away at the end of the hall. Followed quickly by another sound, like rushing; something coming her way, fast. Hard spurting sounds from the doorway came next and then it hit her, at nearly full force, in the chest.

Fire hose - high pressure cold water that swept her off the concrete floor and slapped her back against the concrete wall. Root's head slammed the wall hard, and the jet of water pounded her, pinned her on the wall, thudding on her chest, then lower, drenching her whole torso with the harsh power of the hose.

Splayed out as she was on the chains, there was little she could do to protect herself. Up and down her body that force battered, slammed her head back, then battered her body again, skidding her all over the rough wall behind her and pushing the breath from her chest.

Then as fast as it had started, it was over. Her body slid from the wall and landed hard on the floor. Root lay there gasping, mummified in cold, wet, bloody-white sheeting that clung to her like second skin.

Hard to breathe, but she didn't have the strength to move. The sheet strangled her breathing. Gasping, choking, the contours of Root's gasping face were visible through the wet sheet like a membrane smothering her; Fan approached her slowly, her arm bent toward her face, as she aimed a video camera.

"Ah, this good," she said, walking right up to Root, recording this ending, too, of their first little session. She cut the filming then and lowered the camera, reaching out to yank and untangle the sheet from Root's torso.

"Careful now," she said, as Root flopped over on the floor, gasping. Fan backed away then and walked the camera back to the waiting men, who threw the hose into the hallway for the next time, and took the camera from Fan.

"Make sure her friend see this," Fan said in English again, so Root could hear. She barely did, lying there, choking and coughing on the floor. Her mind clamped on to that thought, though. So that's the game: I'm bait.

The door creaked closed, a metal door; and the light plunged to nothing. Root could hear their footsteps retreating in the hallway until there was only silence around her. She lifted her head, pushing against wet sheet, listening.

Dripping. The sound of water dripping everywhere around her now. Root was soaked, bound in a thin, wet, cotton sheet, stretched and shackled by her wrist and an ankle, lying on a bare concrete floor. In winter.

Cold. So cold now.

Root shivered inside the bloody wet sheet.

Abuja, Nigeria, January, 2015

Eke drove into the spot off the highway where they'd taken Olawale after the escape from the school. Kara looked around her as they pulled into the clearing, a hundred yards in from the main road. They'd passed a sleek black sedan idling at the side of the highway as they turned in. That would be Greer, waiting for them. Her phone buzzed and Kara held a brief discussion with him before she hung up. She pocketed the cell, and rested the handle of her gun on a bent knee. She was perched on the front passenger seat, facing backwards, with her back against the dashboard of the car.

"So this is the place?" she asked. The kid in the back seat nodded.

"Stop the car over there," she said, pointing with her chin at a spot in the shade. Eke rolled to the spot and stopped the car. Kara reached over and cut the engine, pulling the key from the ignition. She reached into a pocket and dropped the key inside, then felt for something else.

"You. Move over," she said to Adebisi in the back seat. He grimaced as he slid over from the middle to a spot behind the passenger seat. On the seat where his thigh had rested before, a dark red stain appeared. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his thigh. He closed his eyes when he saw it.

"You, get in the back." Kara held her gun on Eke then, as he pushed his door open and hesitated there for a moment.

"Don't even think about it," Kara warned - and she saw his shoulders drop in defeat. He pulled the door open in the back and slid into the seat.

"Close it," Kara said, pointing at the door next to him. He reached over and pulled it closed.

"OK, so let's have our little talk. We're running out of patience with you boys. We'll need that name. You just need to tell us the name we want, and you boys will go free. See? We can be reasonable."

Kara looked from one to the other. They were sweating, and the kid with the shirtsleeve tied around his thigh looked like he was in a lot of pain now, too. Neither one spoke up.

She rested her gun on the side of her knee while she opened her hand. In her palm was a small pocket knife she always carried with her. Gotta have a knife – kind of her personal motto. She held it out in front of her.

"You know, normally I wouldn't bother with one this small. Can't really do much damage with a little one like this," she said, clicking it open and holding it up where they could both see the blade, " – unless you know how to use it, that is. Then you can do some serious damage."

Kara looked at the two boys in the back seat. The one with the bandage seemed to have forgotten whatever was distracting him before. He was staring at the knife, instead. She looked over at the other one and he, too, was staring, his eyes as big as saucers.

"So, let me ask one more time, my last time asking this nicely – the name." The two boys looked at one another and then back to Kara.

"Miss – please – we don't know any name to give you. If I did, I would tell you," Adebisi said, and Eke nodded in agreement.

"Well, that's gonna be a problem for me. I can't exactly go out there to my boss with nothing, can I?" She let that sink in for a minute, watching their faces.

The driver. He was the one who was going to crack first, she decided. His face gave it away. She showed him the knife again, moving it so the light reflected off the blade.

"So, the thing about a knife like this is that most of the vital organs are in there pretty far. Hard to reach with this. But someone skinny like you – well, I just have a bunch of choices." Eke's eyes somehow expanded even more. He put his hands up in front of him, waving them as if to keep her away.

"Olawale is the only one who might know. None of us know. I swear. I swear. I swear." He broke down at the end and started sobbing. Adebisi looked stricken. How could he have said Olawale's name like that?

"Hmm. Now where do you suppose he's off to?" Kara said. The one kid was sobbing into his hands. But the other, yes, he looked like he might have something to say.

"You know, don't you? I can see it."

Kara turned to him, then, and sized him up. There was a problem. She could see that he wasn't going to give the man up. She could see it in his eyes. He needed to see she meant business. In a single, lightning-fast motion Kara plunged the knife into the thigh of the sobbing kid. He screamed and wailed in the back, reaching for the knife, while the other one cringed in horror.

"Don't do it!" she shouted. "Don't pull it out. If you do, you'll never make it to the hospital. Bleed to death on the way," she said.

The kid leaned back against the seat, with his hands clenched together, whimpering. The other one still had that look of horror on his face.

"He only has a little time, my friend. If you don't tell me where Olawale is, well – it'll be your fault you let him die," she said.

He caved then. He started spilling his guts to Kara, describing a place Olawale had, not far from where they were right now. He wasn't sure exactly where. Olawale was always careful. He didn't know that Adebisi had seen him turn off the highway heading there one time. Adebisi didn't know where the place was, but it was somewhere near the big rock, Zuma Rock. That's all he knew.

Kara took a deep breath.

She looked from one to the other.

Adebisi closed his eyes. This might be it. Now that she had what she wanted, she could just decide to shoot the two of them right here in the car. He kept his eyes closed, praying. Then he jumped when he heard a noise.

It was the car door. The car door opened and when he looked outside, she was reaching into her pocket out there as she was leaving, walking back toward the main road. She had the key in her hand and she dangled it where Adebisi could see and then tossed it into some bushes a few meters away. He watched it hit and memorized the exact spot. Eke was moaning at his side. He looked down at the knife and saw the wound oozing dark red blood. Adebisi ripped his own shirt open in the front and slid it off him. He wrapped it gently around Eke's thigh, on either side of the knife and pulled it tight. Eke cried out and started sobbing again. Adebisi put his hand on Eke's shoulder to comfort him.

"I'll be right back. I have to get the key. You stay here and don't move," he said softly.

Adebisi turned to look for the foreign woman. He couldn't see her, so he opened his door and got himself out of the car. His leg was hurting, but he had to try to ignore it. He closed the two doors on that side and headed for the bushes where she had thrown the key. He limped as fast as he could, and after a quick search, the glint of the metal attracted him to the key.

Adebisi looked back to the car, then to the road where the woman had gone. She wasn't anywhere he could see her. Adebisi limped to the car, got in, and started it up, swinging it around in the clearing and back toward the main road. By the time he'd made his way as fast as he could go over the rutted road, the black sedan was missing. He turned to the right and headed back for Abuja, weaving, honking for the cars to get out of his way. He just prayed he could get there in time.

In-flight, over the Atlantic, January, 2016

In a lull during the preparations with the on-site Team in Queens, the three of them took a little break when the steward walked through, encouraging them to eat. Once they landed, it was going to be heavy for the rest of the day and through the night tonight. Reese said the three should try to catch some sleep for an hour, after they'd dined. Shaw grabbed a seat in the second compartment, a leather one that reclined, and tossed a thin blanket over herself. Reese stretched out on the long leather couch in the main compartment and threw his leather jacket over him. Harold limped to his computer to idle it, but just as he was going to click the icon, an alert popped up on his screen. His mind began to race. He sat down in front of the screen and clicked on the message.

A new screen opened in front of him, the delivery from the Machine, and a video sat there, queued up. Harold clicked on it and could see movement in a dim hallway, and then an even darker room with something light on the far side, down low. It looked like a light-colored tube, but difficult to make out in the low lighting. Then there was a sound, louder and louder, followed by the gush of fluid from the end of a hose, like one of those thick fire hoses at the ends of hallways inside a building. Water spurted and then gushed full force. Harold watched as the hose was directed at the white tube on the far side, and Harold could see the tube lift up - by sheer force of the water shooting out of the hose at it. The tube hit back against the wall behind it and as it jostled around in the jet of water, Harold suddenly realized what he was looking at.

"No, no, no," he said, standing up in front of the screen. Reese lifted his jacket from his head and peered at Harold.

"Everything OK, Finch?" He sat up. By the look on Harold's face, things were not okay. Reese threw the jacket to one side and got up from the couch. In a couple of strides he was there at Harold's side, looking down on the screen. Harold had seated himself again, and re-started the video so Reese could see it start from the beginning. They watched it to the end, the sickening end, when they could see Root gasping for breath, wrapped in a blood-stained sheet, half-drowned, battered by the wall and the floor. That close-up at the end was hard for them to bear, so far from being able to help.

As the video ended, an Asian man came on, the same one who'd uploaded the previous kidnapping video into a security camera where the Machine would be certain to find it. The man smiled into the camera.

"You come quick," he said. "You friend very wet. Cold. No last," he said, staring into the camera.

Then he grinned one more time and the video ended.

Harold queried the Machine for the location of the upload, and a grid appeared with a blinking red light. Harold frowned. It was far from the area in Queens where the Zheng had held Shaw and Reese in that basement of the hair salon. The two men looked at each other.

Shaw had watched the whole exchange from her seat in the adjacent compartment. She saw Harold's expression, and then Reese watching something on the screen that made his face turn to stone. When Reese looked over at Harold and Shaw saw him say something too low for her to hear, she read his lips:

"Don't let her see this," he'd said, and Harold solemnly agreed. Something was clearly wrong.

Shaw was out of her seat before Harold finished his nod.