POCKET CHANGE
by Sharon R.

Chapter Eight
Playing the Game

If there was one thing Carter was sure of, it was that Luka was right about the locals: they did not like him as much as they did Luka. He was hurting, thirsty, hungry and exhausted. His back felt as though he had been branded like a bull, over and over. Yet, beyond the aches and pains of his body, his spirit was still standing, and he had hoped that they would be freed.

"Ouch!" Luka was removing what remained of the back side of Carter's shirt to examine his wounds. The cotton had dried and scabbed with the blood making the removal difficult, and without proper instruments, it was not easy on either of them. "Ow…" He arched his back as Luka pulled, yet, more of the shirt from within the sliced flesh.

"Don't be a baby, Carter," Luka spoke coyly. "Well, I've seen worse. We need some clean water." Luka walked to the door and pounded on it, causing Carter to jump. "Hey…. We need some water." He pounded just as fiercely on the inside as the rebels did on the outside when they came to get the doctors. Only the rebels were not exactly eager to let in the Avon Lady.

"Luka, hey," Carter was getting nervous about Luka's fury at the door, "hey, it's okay. They won't leave us in here all day." He lay down on his stomach, exhausted, airing his wounds. "I just want to sleep anyway."

One more kick to the door and Luka gave up. "What happened? Did you piss them off?"

"Evidently." Carter's eyes were closing as he began to drift off. "I just stood there all by myself for an hour or two. Then it was like open season."

"They're playing us against each other." Luka was standing against the door, hands behind his back. Looking over at Carter and seeing the shape he was in, he knew exactly what happened.

"Well, I pissed off my guy and it looks like you paid for it."

"What do you mean?" Carter was awake now and turned on his side. "Someone actually talked to you?"

"His name is Jules."

"Like the family Jewels?"

"Something like that." Luka was hesitant to share everything with Carter. The food, the water.

"I think he's the one in charge. Speaks with a British accent."

"Hey, I speak a little English. I'd talk to him." Carter eagerly volunteered.

"It's not that…" Just then, Luka was interrupted by the door opening. A faceless arm thrust in a bucket, rag and a few bottles of water. Luka opened a bottle and poured it over Carter's wounds. "I hope you don't get an infection."

"Me too." Carter spoke as though he were a boy being read a bedtime story. "Tell me more about this Jules."

"Well," Luka was again hesitant to divulge the comforts of his own interrogation, "I don't know much. I do know that he wants information about Joseph and Sean."

"Let me guess. You didn't play along."

"Nope. And to make matters worse, I showed poor manners and refused his fine food. Pissed him off."

"Was this about an hour or two into your meeting?" Finally, Carter was putting two and two together.

Luka nodded and the two exchanged knowing looks. They remained through the day listening to what little they could hear, nodding off hoping to curb the exhaustion they had built up. Every few hours or so, someone would bang on the door, the two would don their hoods and one of the rebels would enter the hut yelling unintelligible words at the top of his lungs. Keeping the prisoners hungry, thirsty and tired was obviously the tactic of choice.

"Talk to them, Luka. Tell them anything, anything except about Joseph and Sean. Just keep them busy." Carter was desperate for a reprieve.

Luka, on the other hand, was not willing to play house with Jules. "He's scum, Carter."

"Sounds like he's full of himself." Carter stretched out, painfully. "I don't know. If he just wants to talk, and that keeps the dogs off me…"

"Okay," Luka conceded, "maybe I can play some subtle head games with his simple mind - see if I can divert attention away from you."

With the evening sky came more rain. It pounded on the metal strips of the hut, covering up the voices outside and their own growling stomachs. With what little water they were given long since gone, they were once again into that part of the cycle where their bodies pulled from within to rationalize the parchness. Their minds became the fulcrum, balancing their body's desperate need for food and water against the innate need to survive with some sort of functioning sanity.

That night became the second of many such nights. Luka escorted to a remote location, joined by Jules with enticements of food and water. All in return for conversation with the egotistical despot, who thought himself to be a major demi-god; ruler of all who crossed his path and breathed his air. While Carter was either left behind to ponder his life within the confines of the hut, or dragged off to be the muse of the despot's underlings and wanna-bees.

Jules continued to ask about the two doctors. He wanted to know intricate details of their suppliers, who brought the medicines and from where they came. Luka continued his vagueness, claiming that they were not allowed to know details to protect the program itself.

"Look, you need to understand that I cannot tell you the information you want." Luka grasped to hold onto the weak security his conversation gave Carter. "I will tell you all that I know, agreed?"

Jules nodded in agreement. "I think I understand. And I will be equally forthcoming with you." With this, he lifted his water bottle in a mock toast.

At one point, after several days and nights - possibly weeks - of which the two doctors could only guess on the exact passage of time, Luka found himself falling into Jules' life - speculating about the psyche that drove this man to do what he did. At the same time, Luka remembered Joseph talking about surviving captivity as a hostage and one piece of information in particular that stood out: make direct eye contact with your captors to make them put a human value on your life. Luka strained to make the effort but it seemed that Jules was more than comfortable connecting eyes with him. It made Luka nauseas.

"Tell me about yourself, Luka." The mad man's words were slow and methodical. Satisfaction came with bits and pieces of Luka's soul as he played the game.

"I ask you first. You seem to enjoy putting me at a disadvantage." Luka was taking a walk on the wild side, quite literally. "Tell me about Jules." With that, Luka picked up the plate of food and took a bite. A small gesture to signify that he was willing to partake of the sport, this time in exchange for Jules' answers.

"My parents were killed by warring factions when I was a little boy. I was taken in and raised by British missionaries. Spent a couple years in England at University, but my calling was here in my homeland. You understand that, don't you Luka?"

This made perfect sense to Luka. He, too, fought for his country. He managed a courteous nod.

"When I returned, I met a beautiful woman. She took my breath away." Jules spoke with a quieter voice now, almost as though sharing an intimate secret. Smiling, averting his familiar gaze away, almost vulnerable, Luka thought. "She gave me two children. They had her beauty, her sweetness. My son was slight, but strong willed - and - funny." He wiped his mouth, handed off his dish and stood up. A pattern now familiar to Luka. But this time instead of standing safely on his side of the fire, he walked around and sat next to Luka, who shivered inside just slightly at the feel of the man's body heat. He could have sworn he felt a slight vibration even. "When my oldest child was eight years old, government troops invaded our village. They knew my political power." He paused to glance at Luka, to make sure he had his attention. "They killed my wife and children in front of me and left me with their cold bodies."

Luka was taken aback by the suddenness of Jules' confession, making him sit up straight.

Jules hung his head, speaking in hushed tones out of ear shot of his protection hiding in the jungle nearby. "They cut off the heads of my children. Held my wife's face close enough so that their blood splashed into her eyes. Then they shot her in the head. She was pregnant."

Totally out of character, as Luka knew it, Jules stood and walked away. "I am sorry, Luka. I have to go now. Please take some food back to your friend." Hands in his pockets, head hung low, he abruptly left the campfire.

Luka reached down and grabbed the plate, the man in charge of taking him back and forth added a few round slabs of Chapati, hooded Luka for the hike and escorted him back to the hut where Carter was waiting.

He had been given a reprieve that day. Made to stand again without water and food. But Carter was only pushed around, the subtle pounding burning his existing abrasions. It lasted only a short time before he was led back to the hut, water in hand this time.

Luka entered with the plate of food. Carter could smell it long before the doors closed and they removed their hoods. "Where did that come from?"

Luka gave him the plate but Carter hesitated to dig in. "Don't worry, Carter, I already tasted it for you."

The food was the first for Carter in many days, other than the occasional Chapati or corn. "What did you have to do for this?" It tasted great, and he appreciated every bite.

"Nothing," Luka scratched his head, "but listen, Carter. He has a weakness, and its one that I know all too well."

"I'm listening." Carter gulped down the rest of the dinner.

"His parents were killed by troops when he was a boy. Then some years ago they came back and killed his wife and children in front of him, to make a point." Carter was paying attention now. "It's a weakness in his spirit. I can work off that, gain his trust and confidence."

"Maybe buy us time to escape?" Carter was thinking ahead. "Luka, you do what he tells you, you know? Play the game, eat his food if he wants you to. But don't piss him off. With one of us staying strong we have a chance to escape. But if we're both weak, well, nothing will change."

That day was relatively quiet for the two. Water was still scarce, as was food. But they were left alone. They both got their share of sleep and as nightfall came their ears became their best friend again. The jungle had noises for the day and night. And at night when the jungle chatter came to a halt they knew that rebels were walking nearby, and they were usually making a house call.

That night they were caught off-guard as the door flung open and the man who originally caught Carter with the Vancomycin stormed in.