Chapter Five
Connor stared at his phone. The news stream of anchor Cynthia Halstrom was mid-story.
"You're seeing live now Vice President Trumbull, or I should say, Acting President Trumbull, meeting with the full cabinet. Unanimously, the cabinet has agreed to invoke the 25th Amendment, declaring President Benjamin Asher incapacitated. It's a grim affair, and certainly not the way any vice president wants to assume the highest office—"
"Hey," came Mike's voice. Connor jumped, startled at the man's sudden appearance in his room. Connor half-hid the phone, not that it mattered. "You don't have to watch that."
"I know." He swallowed. "I keep hoping for some update. Some breaking news crap that someone stumbled across my dad, and he's safe—" His voice cracked, and he didn't bother finishing his sentence.
Mike pulled Connor into a hug.
"Me too."
There were other videos that surfaced every day of his dad, released by the captors. He knew it, but Mike and the other agents were keeping it from him. He could look them up easily too—but he couldn't bring himself to watch while his dad was beaten. The only comfort he took was that if the worst happened, someone would have told him. That hadn't happened. Hopefully it wouldn't.
Connor's eyes fixated on the photo of him and his parents, sitting by his bedside. He tried not to think about being an orphan. He kept praying his dad would make it. But he wasn't naïve. He knew what his dad could be suffering through.
"Mike," he found himself saying.
"Yeah, buddy."
"Last 4th of July, Dad passed out," he said. He knew his dad kept it quiet. Somehow, he knew Mike did not know about it. Mike let go of Connor and watched him with wide eyes as he continued on. "We were watching the fireworks. Dad used to always make comments through the shows, like how he liked the colors in one, or analyzing how they blew up. But he suddenly wasn't talking anymore. He was breathing fast, and his eyes were shut, and then he just … slumped back."
Mike was trying not to overreact at the news, and failing.
"It was only a few moments before his eyes opened again, but…" Connor could see it again. "I've never seen him afraid. Not like that." He swiped at his eyes, amazed his eyes could produce any moisture still. "He wasn't there with me. He was in some nightmare."
Mike pulled Connor back in another hug.
"I'm afraid he's terrified," Connor said softly into Mike's sleeve. "And there's nothing we can do."
-0-0-0-0-
Ben had started counting the days by the videos. He figured the point of this one was to make anyone back home feel guilty.
Day 2 was some hits, kicks and a good knee to his side that broke a rib. He remembered blocking one kick with his handcuffed hands, enough to throw off one of his captors. It didn't do much good for long. It gave Ben a small measure of satisfaction because they cut the video after that.
Day 3 was him being stripped of his shirt on camera. He didn't know what the point of that was until they strung him up by his wrists from some hook wedged in the ceiling. They used a cattle prod.
Day 4 consisted of demands that Ben knew would not be met. If Yula was telling the truth about not being President anymore, who cared what anyone demanded? He was expendable. But the public opinion battle would be hard to win if he kept showing up on live streams as a human punching bag.
Day 5 – and by now, he really isn't sure how much time passed between the videos because his burn marks from Day 3 still seemed too fresh – he was threatened by one of his captors with a knife to his neck. They cut him just deep enough to draw blood before they cut the video. All in all, that was one of the better days.
Day 6 was Ben being tied down to a table and then held down by the two men. He thought that was overkill until they draped a towel over his mouth and nose. Yula, disguised in a balaclava mask, poured a bucket of water over his face. It dawned on him the message they were sending the world. "Just look at what we're doing to your President. The same things you do to your enemies." Ben was sure he would drown by bucket #2. His muscles strained against the restraints, ignoring all other pains he'd suffered before just to fight to survive. He blacked out at one point, only to start coughing when bucket #3 was empty.
Ben was pretty sure they left him alone for a full day after that. He just wasn't sure why.
The door to his black pit opened, and the light made Ben wince. The soft glow swayed within his container. It was a lantern, and Yula set it by Ben on the floor. He flinched away from her when her fingers brushed his hair from his forehead.
"I've been told to shave you," she said, her fingers ghosting down to his chin and cheeks. "I think it's to keep you looking as familiar to people as possible. So they know it's you. For now."
He would love to hit her but his arm was shackled to the wall. Lack of energy was another deterrent.
He heard the tinkling of instruments by him, and the drips of water in a bowl. She dipped a cheap plastic razor in the water, tapped it on the edge of the bowl and leaned over his face. She started to draw the razor over his skin, gently—which surprised Ben. Her fingertips lightly touched his face. He looked away from her, knowing on some level she was messing with him.
"Are you relieved?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she didn't get upset, but continued: "The responsibility and loyalty you have to your country is no more. They discarded you as their leader, and another takes your place. In some ways, it's a coup."
Ben thought about telling her to read the Constitution, or go to hell, but he made himself stay quiet.
"In some ways, I've freed you," she said. He glared at her, and Yula grinned. "I said 'some.' But it's true. You have no obligation to them anymore. It's like a divorce."
At that, she slid a finger down his cheek. Ben moved his head back but suddenly she seized him by his hair. He glared at her, but it only made Yula smile. He hated her.
"Do you still think about your wife?"
Something inside Ben made him want to lash out. He caught himself clenching his fists before he made himself relax and not react. But she caught it. She let go of his hair and slid her hand down the side of his face, down his neck, to his chest. Ben wanted to recoil. He stared at her, unwilling to flinch.
Yula set the razor down and leaned closer to Ben. With each inch, she watched carefully, gauging Ben's reaction. Ben let her come closer. Closer.
She pressed her lips to his, thinking—well, Ben didn't care what she thought. His fingers grasped the razor she had set down.
Quickly he brought it to her neck, the cheap blade set against the tendons.
"You think that will kill me?" Yula said, her lips just hovering now over his. He hoped it would but knew better. Even if he killed Yula, he'd be left chained to the wall and still at the mercy of the other captors.
"No," Ben answered quietly. "Now get off me." He gave her a shove. Yula's eyes flashed with anger. Ben had no problem with scorning her.
"You'll wish you hadn't done that," she hissed. "You think you'll find any kindness from anyone else?"
"You're trying to mess with my head, not shower me with kindness," he shot back.
Yula kicked the razor out of his hand, making Ben hiss in pain at the blunt pain to his fingers. She lunged at him, pinning him at his chest with her knees.
"Every day, you will scream and bleed, so America can't forget about you. They won't give in to our demands. We know this. But they'll be the fools of the world, embarrassed every time we stream you in captivity. Like a dog." Yula grinned. "And when I'm told to finally let you go, it won't be to death. We'll sell you to the highest bidder."
Ben tried to shut out what she was saying, not that it was any worse than he imagined, but knowing this was their plan for him weighed him down with helplessness and fear.
"Already, many are offering to pay. Terrorists who want to execute you. Extremists who want to program you into a radical. Traffickers who want you for… so many reasons." She thrived on threatening him, Ben saw. "And when that time comes, you'll think back to this moment, wishing you were here again. With me."
Yula kissed him harshly, digging her knees into his chest as she leaned over him more. Ben groaned at the pressure on his bruised torso, but she didn't let up. Ben tried to push her off, but she didn't let up. He tried to turn his head away, but she grabbed him by the hair again, forcing him to still.
She finally released him from her kiss, out of breath. "Now hold still."
Grabbing the razor again with one hand and giving a firm yank with the other tangled in his hair, Yula finished her task and shaved him.
Ben had a variety of nicks and cuts when she was done.
-0-0-0-0-
Mike was officially assigned to Presidential detail still. But he knew President Trumbull would grant him leave—maybe.
"You want to what?" President Trumbull said skeptically.
Mike didn't waver. "I want to go out there. Track down where he could be, follow any leads—"
"You know we have all—all—our intelligence sources tearing up every source and corner of the earth looking for him," Trumbull said. "You're not plugged into that world."
"No, but the closer I am, as soon as they turn up something, I can go in and –"
"Rescue him?" The look of pity in Trumbull's eyes made Mike angry but he kept it in check. "This isn't your fault."
"He's got no one on his side right now, no one with him, and that's my fault," Mike argued back.
Trumbull leaned back in his chair. "This isn't like the other times. Wherever he is, the world around him is going on. There's not massive chaos that you can shoot your way through. As much as I hate to admit it, we have to be careful. The whole world is on edge about what we're going to do, and as much as I want to go in guns blazing and take down every country remotely linked to this, I can't."
Mike knew what he meant, but the sarcastic corner of his mind was itching to comment on how quickly Trumbull had become a backseat diplomat.
"I understand, sir."
Trumbull sighed. "Can I give you another option?" Mike nodded. "Join Connor's detail—if you want, and for as long as you want. You can come back to the Presidential detail whenever you want too, so it's not a demotion. And, if we get close, if we hear anything that we can start moving on, I'll send you to be there."
Mike let the President's suggestions sink in.
"Thank you, sir. I'd like to take you up on that."
It was as good as he could hope for.
-0-0-0-0-
There was one positive thing about not being president anymore. He didn't have to make the call about what to do about some American hostage in a distant land.
Or ocean. Ben had no idea where he was still but he was bobbing up and down and side to side with the rest of the boat.
Either way, he wasn't in the hot seat anymore. What happened to him wasn't his decision.
Ben berated himself as soon as that thought came to mind. Since when did I become so passive? Why did he bother to learn to fight and defend himself if he sat back and got beaten and tortured?
He had to fight. But he knew he didn't stand a chance. Not now, not like this. Or did he? He wasn't Mike Banning. Crazy and over-confident weren't things he felt in life- and death-situations. So how did he take control?
Hearing Yula declare so eagerly that he was to be used to embarrass and bring down his country made him want to defiantly fight back. Or not allow it….
What if he took himself out of the equation? Mike understood what Ben asked in London, to kill him so Ben couldn't be used for propaganda. Should that be his path now?
He couldn't give up. But he wanted to. He was tired. And his chances of being rescued….
Ben felt a lump come to his throat. That news anchor's question came back? "Don't you fear it happening again?" or whatever it was she'd said…. Yes! And now in the thick of it, with no hope, was it bad he just wanted to lay down and submit to the fate that would come sooner or later?
Yula's taunts flooded his mind next. The possibilities of where he'd end up after this… another round of torture, maybe in some desert camp, or left to languish in a dark cell, or worse… to have to serve or do something against his will…
When he was thirteen, his parents took the family dog, Copper, to put him down. The dog was 6 years old, still young in terms of life expectancy, but he was constantly ill. Ben's dad said that Copper deserved a better quality of life but since that wasn't there, it was better to end the suffering. Ben was that dog now….
He started to shake. Maybe it was the fever that had been hovering since being water-boarded, or maybe this was a breakdown. Ben covered his head with his arms as best he could, hiding himself in the darkness of the metal container.
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a/n: please review (and thank you to those who have!). As a sparse fandom, it's very motivating to have any hints that someone is reading. Thanks!
