Joe stepped back and looked at the cave entrance critically. Not bad, he thought. He checked his bearings then left in search of something to eat. He found some berries but since he couldn't recognize them, he thought it prudent not to tempt fate and bypassed them. Eventually, he settled for some bark. He climbed into the tree and took some bark from well above eye level and put some into his shirt pocket for later.
While he was in the tree he looked around to see if anyone were looking for him. He frowned when he saw three separate groups of men heading down the mountain from the north. His frown grew deeper as every few hundred feet one of the men would break off. Obviously, there was a full-scale search party after him. Noting how rapidly they were advancing, Joe quickly cut more bark then hurried down the tree. He held the canteen up to his ear and shook it. Almost full. That was good because he didn't have tome to find and purify water before those goons reached him. But maybe...
He emptied out his pockets to see what items he had. Besides what he had taken from the Assassin and his own pocket knife, there was a pack of gum, some coins, a yo-yo, and an empty wrapper from a honey bun he had eaten the day before. There hadn't been a trash can around so he had stuffed the wrapper into his pocket.
Grinning, he carefully unfurled the wrapper then folded it carefully. He put all the items back into his pockets then made his way back to the cave, picking up a few sticks and rocks he spied along the way which might prove useful.
He was glad it was summer because a fire would be out of the question. Tonight, he would eat his bark; work on his trap and try to think of a way to rescue Frank.
He reached the cave and moved the branches. Entering, he rearranged his canopy and sat down. He kept a small branch to sweep away minute debris from an area in the corner, then laid the bark down. Next, he emptied his pockets, laying everything out within easy reach.
He opened the canteen and took a drink. Closing it back up, he pulled his shirt off. Ahh, much better, he thought. He picked up the key to his bicycle lock and a small rock and set to work.
The two men tossed the ants on to Frank and the Gray Man, dropped the jars and ran for the door. Wolfe exited last, shutting the door and locking it.
As the ants landed on Frank, he automatically whipped his shirt over his head, stomping around on the ground. He groaned as he felt the little insects penetrate his flesh. He slapped at them then unzipped his jeans and dropped them; shaking his head as he did so. Stepping out of his pants, he beat at his head, trying to kill the critters which had lodged there.
He glanced up and saw the Gray Man still struggling to get his shirt off as the ants crawled over his hands and along his face. Frank took a step forward and grasped the front of his shirt and pulled. The buttons popped as he continued pulling it open and down. Gray dropped his arms as Frank slid the shirt off of him. As it fell to the floor, Frank began slapping at the insects on Gray's face.
Ten minutes later, they stopped moving. Breathing heavily, Frank fell on to the wooden chair he had been tied to. He watched as the Gray Man sat down, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Are you going to be okay?" Frank asked in concern.
Gray nodded. "I...I need...to lie down," he managed to get out. Frank stood up and helped the Gray Man. Half carrying him, he took him to the corner of the room and helped him to the floor.
"You're hot," Frank said, concerned. The Gray Man closed his eyes. "Hey!" Frank shouted, standing upright and going to the door. He began pounding on it. "Open up!" he screamed, pounding louder. His hands were beginning to hurt but he kept banging until he saw the knob turn. He backed away from the door and waited until the door was open.
"He needs medical attention," Frank told the two men who stood there, their weapons drawn and ready.
"Like that's going to happen," one of the Assassins sneered.
"You won't get anything out of him if he dies," Frank tried to persuade them.
"But we will from you," the Assassin pointed out, grinning.
Frank gritted his teeth in frustration as the two prepared to leave. "Wait! How about some water?" he pleaded.
"And what do we get in return?"
"What do you mean?" Frank asked although he was positive he knew the answer.
"If we give you water, you have to give us information," came the expected response.
"How much water?" Frank asked.
"As much as you need," he was promised. "We'll even throw in some clothes."
"I want the water first," Frank bargained.
"Agreed. Bring him," he was ordered.
Frank pulled the Gray Man up and into a fireman's carry. He followed one of the men out of the room and down a corridor. They made a left turn and went down another corridor, coming to a stop at the next to the last door.
Inside, Frank eased the Gray Man to the floor. "Running water," the Assassin said, turning on the faucet at the sink. "And there," he added, pointing to some clothes which lay folded upon the closed toilet, "are your clothes. Now, it's your turn."
"What do you want to know?" Frank asked, mentally crossing his fingers and hoping it wouldn't be something too damaging or impossible to lie about.
"We'll make it easy on you this time," the Assassin said. "Tell us anything."
Frank swallowed. This certainly wasn't the response he had been expecting. "Spit it out, kid," Frank was ordered.
"Sean Sherman," Frank said, remembering the name he and Joe had invented. Shortly after starting to work for the Network, he and Joe had realized that at some point they might be forced to divulge confidential information. They also knew the information would be checked out so they also "invented" complete histories for their imaginary spies, including cases solved and false information gathered. When the information was checked out, if they had a spy at the Network, the "person" under scrutiny would be labeled as deep undercover.
"Who is Sherman?" the Assassin asked.
"He's one of the Network's men," Frank responded. "He's undercover as an Assassin."
"Indeed? And what name does he go by?"
"I don't know," Frank answered.
"You realize if you're lying, your friend there will pay the price," the Assassin informed him.
"Yeah, I kind of figured," Frank replied.
The two Assassins left the room, locking it behind them. At once, Frank set about getting the Gray Man cooled down.
Joe stopped moving and held his breath. He heard the unmistakable sound of boots striking turf and the rustle of leaves as the enemy approached. Had he done a good enough job hiding the cave's entrance? Was the person outside already aware of it's existence?
He could feel his heart race as the steps grew nearer. The branches at the entrance rustled as the Assassin passed by but the covering held fast. As the footsteps receded, he let out the breath he had been holding, with trembling hands he set down the rock and newly formed hook he had made from his key.
He waited twenty minutes in silence; barely moving. Then, feeling somewhat safe, he moved to the entrance and parted the branches. His heart leapt into his throat and he gasped as his blue eyes met brown ones.
While he was in the tree he looked around to see if anyone were looking for him. He frowned when he saw three separate groups of men heading down the mountain from the north. His frown grew deeper as every few hundred feet one of the men would break off. Obviously, there was a full-scale search party after him. Noting how rapidly they were advancing, Joe quickly cut more bark then hurried down the tree. He held the canteen up to his ear and shook it. Almost full. That was good because he didn't have tome to find and purify water before those goons reached him. But maybe...
He emptied out his pockets to see what items he had. Besides what he had taken from the Assassin and his own pocket knife, there was a pack of gum, some coins, a yo-yo, and an empty wrapper from a honey bun he had eaten the day before. There hadn't been a trash can around so he had stuffed the wrapper into his pocket.
Grinning, he carefully unfurled the wrapper then folded it carefully. He put all the items back into his pockets then made his way back to the cave, picking up a few sticks and rocks he spied along the way which might prove useful.
He was glad it was summer because a fire would be out of the question. Tonight, he would eat his bark; work on his trap and try to think of a way to rescue Frank.
He reached the cave and moved the branches. Entering, he rearranged his canopy and sat down. He kept a small branch to sweep away minute debris from an area in the corner, then laid the bark down. Next, he emptied his pockets, laying everything out within easy reach.
He opened the canteen and took a drink. Closing it back up, he pulled his shirt off. Ahh, much better, he thought. He picked up the key to his bicycle lock and a small rock and set to work.
The two men tossed the ants on to Frank and the Gray Man, dropped the jars and ran for the door. Wolfe exited last, shutting the door and locking it.
As the ants landed on Frank, he automatically whipped his shirt over his head, stomping around on the ground. He groaned as he felt the little insects penetrate his flesh. He slapped at them then unzipped his jeans and dropped them; shaking his head as he did so. Stepping out of his pants, he beat at his head, trying to kill the critters which had lodged there.
He glanced up and saw the Gray Man still struggling to get his shirt off as the ants crawled over his hands and along his face. Frank took a step forward and grasped the front of his shirt and pulled. The buttons popped as he continued pulling it open and down. Gray dropped his arms as Frank slid the shirt off of him. As it fell to the floor, Frank began slapping at the insects on Gray's face.
Ten minutes later, they stopped moving. Breathing heavily, Frank fell on to the wooden chair he had been tied to. He watched as the Gray Man sat down, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Are you going to be okay?" Frank asked in concern.
Gray nodded. "I...I need...to lie down," he managed to get out. Frank stood up and helped the Gray Man. Half carrying him, he took him to the corner of the room and helped him to the floor.
"You're hot," Frank said, concerned. The Gray Man closed his eyes. "Hey!" Frank shouted, standing upright and going to the door. He began pounding on it. "Open up!" he screamed, pounding louder. His hands were beginning to hurt but he kept banging until he saw the knob turn. He backed away from the door and waited until the door was open.
"He needs medical attention," Frank told the two men who stood there, their weapons drawn and ready.
"Like that's going to happen," one of the Assassins sneered.
"You won't get anything out of him if he dies," Frank tried to persuade them.
"But we will from you," the Assassin pointed out, grinning.
Frank gritted his teeth in frustration as the two prepared to leave. "Wait! How about some water?" he pleaded.
"And what do we get in return?"
"What do you mean?" Frank asked although he was positive he knew the answer.
"If we give you water, you have to give us information," came the expected response.
"How much water?" Frank asked.
"As much as you need," he was promised. "We'll even throw in some clothes."
"I want the water first," Frank bargained.
"Agreed. Bring him," he was ordered.
Frank pulled the Gray Man up and into a fireman's carry. He followed one of the men out of the room and down a corridor. They made a left turn and went down another corridor, coming to a stop at the next to the last door.
Inside, Frank eased the Gray Man to the floor. "Running water," the Assassin said, turning on the faucet at the sink. "And there," he added, pointing to some clothes which lay folded upon the closed toilet, "are your clothes. Now, it's your turn."
"What do you want to know?" Frank asked, mentally crossing his fingers and hoping it wouldn't be something too damaging or impossible to lie about.
"We'll make it easy on you this time," the Assassin said. "Tell us anything."
Frank swallowed. This certainly wasn't the response he had been expecting. "Spit it out, kid," Frank was ordered.
"Sean Sherman," Frank said, remembering the name he and Joe had invented. Shortly after starting to work for the Network, he and Joe had realized that at some point they might be forced to divulge confidential information. They also knew the information would be checked out so they also "invented" complete histories for their imaginary spies, including cases solved and false information gathered. When the information was checked out, if they had a spy at the Network, the "person" under scrutiny would be labeled as deep undercover.
"Who is Sherman?" the Assassin asked.
"He's one of the Network's men," Frank responded. "He's undercover as an Assassin."
"Indeed? And what name does he go by?"
"I don't know," Frank answered.
"You realize if you're lying, your friend there will pay the price," the Assassin informed him.
"Yeah, I kind of figured," Frank replied.
The two Assassins left the room, locking it behind them. At once, Frank set about getting the Gray Man cooled down.
Joe stopped moving and held his breath. He heard the unmistakable sound of boots striking turf and the rustle of leaves as the enemy approached. Had he done a good enough job hiding the cave's entrance? Was the person outside already aware of it's existence?
He could feel his heart race as the steps grew nearer. The branches at the entrance rustled as the Assassin passed by but the covering held fast. As the footsteps receded, he let out the breath he had been holding, with trembling hands he set down the rock and newly formed hook he had made from his key.
He waited twenty minutes in silence; barely moving. Then, feeling somewhat safe, he moved to the entrance and parted the branches. His heart leapt into his throat and he gasped as his blue eyes met brown ones.