POCKET CHANGE
by Sharon R.

Chapter Eleven
Understanding Agreements

The sound of gunfire rang out in the distance all night, and not just the random shots that had previously earmarked their lonely nights in captivity. It was louder, more frequent and most importantly, closer. There seemed to be more activity around them as well. Feet scurried in and out of camp. At times, frantic voices carried into the hut as Carter and Luka were almost forgotten among the chaos. They were kept awake that night, not by the sick mentality of the rebels wanting to deprive them of sleep, but by the commotion and disorder closing in around them.

For the very first time since their arrival, they heard the distant sound of a truck making its way over the ruts of the makeshift road - the engine and gears lugging away, tires burning rubber as it came closer, stopping and then moving on. Although the two had spent the better part of an evening at their respective "beds" in opposite corners, this new development turned their heads towards each other as they each gathered that things were about to change.

They were depleted, emotionally. No more were they bickering with each other. Becoming close buddies, discussing football games on Mondays at the water cooler would never happen. That was okay. But they had spent so much time with each other, and shared so many of their thoughts, whether intentional or not, that they had become adept at reading each other. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was an instrument of survival. With the silence of this night, they knew exactly the foreboding the other was feeling as well as the sensation and discomfort of the familiar, yet unwelcome arms of fear wrapped around them.

"What do you suppose that is all about?" Dawn was about an hour away and Carter, very sore and in the early stages of dehydration and starvation, contemplated his fate that day. He had assumed that the Foundation was negotiating a release, and that Luka might not be included. The rebels could just as easily kill him or keep him around for his skills as a doctor. It all depended, Carter thought, on Luka's ability to appease them and stay in their good graces. But in order for that to happen, the secret illusion of the eventuality of escape had to be maintained between them, and Carter was determined to keep that hope alive for Luka.

"Well, could mean anything. But by the sounds of the fighting out there, I would guess that they are getting ready to move out." An interesting but realistic assumption by Luka, except for the fact that he truly believed that he would never be leaving the jungles, at least not alive. Carter would be ransomed. He was more sure of that than of the possibility of his own release. Keeping that hope in front of Carter was Luka's way of getting through the day.

The two stood by the tiny portal they considered their only window, taking turns looking out at the action taking place in the pre dawn hours. With their faces pressed up against the boards it was hard to miss the exhaust from the truck lingering in the air with the heavy dew. Carter thought it gave him a bizarre sense of home, except this wasn't mass transit. He was determined to get Luka out alive as he, himself, was sure that his own release was imminent with the wiring of funds from the states. "I don't think we can wait any longer. They didn't seem to give us much thought last night." He looked at Luka's face as he spoke quietly. "All we would need to do is get one guy to open that door. Drug him, take his gun, get out…"

Luka was less than enthusiastic about the plan, but didn't want to shake Carter's optimism, sanguinity he needed to give himself hope. With the sound of rebels battling in the distance, they wouldn't get far. He could tell from his past experience as a soldier in Croatia that it had gone beyond small arms fire. The big guns had moved in - rocket propelled grenades, land mines and other tools of destruction. "You're right. Something's going to happen here, but I'm not all that sure about taking you with me, Carter. You're not well, and besides, if they really know who you are and are negotiating a release, you could essentially walk out of here."

"Maybe." Carter slid down the wall to give his sore back a break. "But if we wait much longer, all the money from the Carter Foundation won't prevent us from getting caught in the cross fire when the other factions close in on the camp. If I remember correctly, there aren't just two sides to this thing, and they all hate each other."

"I guess we have to choose our poison." Luka was not comfortable being the facilitator of the escape plan, especially having to balance Jules' ego and Carter's welfare.

"It's a good thing you didn't kill that little kid with the ear infection," Carter mumbled as he tried to catch a little morning shut eye.

Carter laughed but Luka didn't. "Well, actually," Luka cleared his throat, "the kid's sclera and membranes were icteric. I just didn't…"

"Oh, great." Carter let out a nervous chuckle as he chalked this whole chapter up to Murphy's Law. "Let's hope his jaundice is a temporary thing."

"Yeah, well, it's not like we had anything we could give him. Better to let the idiot leave thinking we've cured his kid than to just give him more bad news on top of that shiner you gave him." Luka let out his own exasperated sigh and lay down on the floor watching the bits and pieces of young morning sunlight sneak through the cracks in the walls and fall on the floor and boards of the hut like a fine piece of modern stained glass, the mold growing on the wood acting as a substitute for the leading.

"So Jules got his rocks off watching us play WWF yesterday." Carter wondered how that scene would affect their plan. "He's convinced that we are at each other's throats, and that you think I've caved, giving him information. What are you going to do now?'

"You think I should give him the satisfaction he wants? This is no game anymore, Carter."

"But, if you can just give him another day or two, we'll have time. They're not going to do much more to me. They're not stupid. Money is the only thing keeping them going."

"I can't, Carter." Luka's anger was building. "That animal is using us."

"No, he's using you. And if you turn on him I would bet he would get angry enough to kill you on the spot just to teach his men, and maybe me, a lesson. Remember, he doesn't know that you know the truth, that all he has been telling you is a farce."

"But the more we keep up this charade, the more they'll keep dragging you off and beating you. It has to stop. It's getting us no where." Luka stormed over to the door and banged on it. "Hey," he shouted, "I want to see Jules, now. JULES!"

"Jesus, Luka. For once, can't you just save yourself?" Carter knew it was worthless to try to talk Luka out of anything. He sat with his head propped on his hand waiting for the inevitable.

Luka continued pounding on the door shouting at the top of his lungs for Jules. With the limited French Carter had, he knew enough to translate the obscene words Luka was throwing out as poignant insults aimed at getting attention. Eventually he got what he wanted as the door flew open and Luka was pushed back onto the floor, an old rifle thrust in his face. This did nothing to deter him as he grabbed hold of the barrel and used it to push the rebel holding it back into the wall with a thunderous crash. The rebels may not have understood what Luka was asking for, but they did hear their leader's name barked again and again.

Not wanting anything to do with Luka's new dose of rage, Carter sat motionless shaking his head. "You're just making it worse," he mumbled.

Beyond either of their expectations Jules suddenly materialized in the doorway, making an appearance where he had thus far taken extra steps to remain detached from the squalor Carter and Luka called home. Carter hadn't seen him since the day they were taken hostage, but there was no mistaking the man who stood out not only from the filth, stench and grime of the two of them, but also the other rebels who were noticeably living a class or two below their leader. His clothes were neat and clean, maybe even pressed. His khaki shirt was tucked into the belt-hiked pants with the stealth of nobility. Cuffs buttoned, brass buttons shined, and even an unused handkerchief folded and tucked into his breast pocket, he exuded the confidence and cockiness his immature underlings would never grasp, and he got off on just that notion.

Entering the hut, his men stepped aside giving him the girth of space afforded leaders, royalty, or in Jules' case, feared murderous torturing dictators. His nose twisted and turned as the trenchant smells of the living arrangements the hostages had become accustomed to rudely hit him in the face. The smacking of his mouth alone as he worked to get a piece of food from between his teeth, put obvious fear into his men as they tweaked.

Luka was too pissed to care, walking up to his face; into his face. The other rebel men stepped back perhaps in awe, perhaps in fear, of one or both men. They had probably never seen anyone challenge their powerfully loathsome leader. Even Carter rose to his feet not sure of what the confrontation would bring, but not wanting to be in a position where he would have absolutely no chance of defending himself. Luka was obviously almost a head taller than Jules giving him the edge, had this been a playground quarrel. But Jules never broke a sweat. He was cool and conceited, even laughing at Luka's brashness.

"Do you and Dr. Carter have something you want to tell me? Hmm?" His calm demeanor contradicted the mood of the group, his grin displaying his gold crowned tooth. "Perhaps you have finally come to your senses."

"We had an agreement," Luka spouted at him between his clenched teeth.

"No, Luka," he answered with the cool deportment of a corporate executive, "we had an understanding." He embodied the vile flavor of evil as he spoke in his even, drawn out British accent and shared condescending smiled with his soldiers. "You understood what I wanted, and I understood what you wanted." Just inches apart, he never took his eyes off Luka's. "But something we can agree on is that neither one of us got what we wanted, isn't that so, Carter?" He mocked both of the doctors as he then turned his head slowly, grinning at Carter.

Carter lost any reserve he might have had at the outset. "Here's something else for you to understand. You will get no money from my family, my organization or anyone else if all you deliver is damaged goods. In my world, it's COD. How's that for an understanding?"

Jules looked back and forth between Luka and Carter before finally turning and walking over to Carter. "You see, my parents were good God fearing people. They believed in 'spare the rod, spoil the child'. Seems your parents spared the rod. Hmm, Carter?"

With that, Jules kneed Carter in the gut doubling him over in pain. As if that was not enough entertainment, he placed his foot squarely on Carter's shoulder and thrust him across the floor. Taking in the glory of his torture, Jules headed over to where Carter was recoiling, without even looking back at Luka whose protests were subdued by the rebels holding him back. Carter propped himself up on his side, one arm holding his gut, gasping to get his breath back. He didn't want to even look at Jules, but the animal was bending down looking him straight in the face, entertained by his own torture. Not wanting to waste the moment and opportunity, Carter gathered what little saliva and snot was left deep within his ravaged body and hocked it in Jules' face, landing the gob just below his eye.

Jules barely flinched taking his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the thick smattering from his cheek. "Well, well, well. You do have a backbone. Understand this, Dr. Carter. If I recall, nobody ever said anything about trading your sorry ass for money." He gave orders to his men who then grabbed Carter, dragging him out of the hut in quick fashion, not giving him a chance to even get to his feet.

Luka didn't have any time to say anything to Carter. He reached out to him from the grips of the men restraining him, but was too late. A confluence of words spoken in that elusive African dialect directed Carter's three guards through the doorway as they disappeared.

"You lied to me," Luka spit out with the posture of deception. "You had no wife, children."

"Ah, but I was raised by British missionaries." His portly, well fed gut jiggled as his self indulged humor acted as a contagion with his men who seemed to add their own forced snickers, even though they most likely couldn't comprehend one of their leader's words. "It's not my job, Dr. Kovac, to be honest and polite. You know what you have to do. I think you need some time to think about this."

"And Carter?"

Jules opened the door, but before disappearing, turned around, stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket, smacking his mouth once again trying to get that elusive piece of food out from between his teeth. He began to say something, but stopped short, shrugging his shoulders instead, closing the door matter-of-factly behind him.