PART 4
Three Weeks Earlier
2300 Zulu
Somewhere In New England.
Mac looked around at the eight by ten room that she now called home. She had no idea where she was or why she was still alive. Most of the things that had occurred were still very much a blur. She remembered speaking to the Admiral and how the CIA needed her and Webb to finish cleaning up things with Sadiq Fahd who had been killed just days before they were sent off. There was something about Meredith's diamond and the Lieutenant that was stealing government made diamonds. Brazil, they went to Brazil. And then there was a gun shot and blood. . . lots and lots of blood.
Standing up, she nearly collapsed as her mind swam from whatever they had injected her with. Injection, yes! She was remembering now. She remembered an old stone building and the lettering outside saying something about an asylum. She remembered having her hands tied behind her back. She fought hard, yet they managed to subdue her by injecting something straight into her arm. It felt like fire in her veins and then everything had disappeared.
As the minutes went into hours and the hours became days, she realized that the CIA was keeping her alive, without anyone knowing about her outcome. She figured that everyone back home probably thought she was dead. For all she knew, there may even be a plot at Arlington and a headstone with her name on it.
When the drug finally wore off, Mac managed to peak through the small window at the door. All she could see was a long white hallway and a door just across from her. "Hello?" She said out loud but was rewarded with silence. She was alone.
Mac had heard the stories of people that were thrown into some place out of the way. Hell, everyone did. The people that knew too little to be killed but too much to be set free. It was those stories that kept movie studios pining for new plots about rogue government agencies. Scrutinizing the cell that she was in, she couldn't help but think that Harm's father had gone through something like this. Harm. . . Where did that thought come from? She sighed at the thought of him rescuing her. But, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn't going to happen. Not this time.
After their last conversation, he probably didn't care if she was alive or dead. Why would he? All she did was hurt him. Again.
And if he even remotely cared, how could he trust her again? She was now a criminal, a murderer. She remembered the night in Brazil: the belch of a gun shot in the air and Clayton Webb's dead body. As the pieces of the puzzle came to her mind, she remembered blood. Clay's blood on her hands. She'd killed him.
"Ah, so you are finally awake?" Mac heard a voice, and turning to the door, she found a man staring at her from the small window. She didn't know who he was but something about him oozed CIA.
Mac took a few steps back. "Who. . .who are you? Where am I?"
"Who I am is not important and you are somewhere in New England." He said before opening the door. "I am sorry to do this to you, but we find that a Marine Colonel with your talents needs to be subdued in order for things not to go awry."
Just then, a few people walked into the room and had Mac pinned down to the bed. "No! NO! Get off of me!" She yelled and fought against them as much as she could until she felt the jab on her arm and soon everything was a haze.
Satisfied that she was too out of it to harm anyone, the man walked into the room and sat next to her. "Such a beautiful woman in the Marines. . . Tsk tsk tsk." He ran his hand down the side of her face and stopped at her collar bone.
"I . . . love the corps." Mac managed to say, her words slightly slurred but understandable. "Why are you. . . keeping me?" Her breathing began to sputter and turn into short irregular breaths. Mac felt a numbness in her mind almost as if a dense fog was reeking havoc on her neurotransmitters. The things that she had remembered moments ago were now becoming pieces again. She brought her hands up to her head and rubbed at her temples until exhaustion started wearing her down. "What do . . . want from me?"
The man laughed and stood. "Well, my dear, you know a bit much more than you should. And until we get the information that we need, we can't just dispose of you."
Mac's head lolled to the side. She could feel her mouth start watering and her eyes start to grow heavy, but she couldn't stop it. As much as she wanted to maintain her dignity, the liquid that was pumped into her veins were taking effect. It was one of the worst things she'd ever felt. She'd lived through alcohol poisoning and probably a thousand hangovers. That all seemed like minor occurrences compared to the hell she was currently experiencing. "I. . . don't know. .. nothing."
"We know differently. . . but it doesn't matter. We'll see what you have to say after some time here alone." He patted her leg and stood. "I'll be back . . . goodbye Colonel."
Mac sat there a few moments longer. She wanted to cry but she couldn't. She felt desperately trapped in a body that she had no will power over. Her mind was becoming scraps of memories that she couldn't tie together anymore. Nearly an hour into fighting the drugs, she decided to give up and let sleep take a hold of her.
They always followed the same routine. Mac would wake up, someone would enter the cell hours later only to inject her again. The only times that she remembered points of clear lucidity were when she was being fed. As for cleanliness, the men taking care of her opted for sponge baths when she was under the effects of the medicine.
The reasons for her being there were slowly dissipating from her memory. She didn't remember much of anything anymore only that she was a Colonel and something about a man with a strange name. . . Rah . . or Rabb. or something of that nature. Why her mind kept trying to bring him up, she didn't know. Rather, she didn't have the strength to care anymore.
Then it happened, out of the blue someone forgot to shoot her up. Mac could see clearly everything around her as the drugs stopped taking effect. Her internal clock began to work again and she was soon keeping tabs of everything that she could. A few days later, after hearing some argument down the hall about not keeping the patients "in check," they came to her. She didn't fight the men or the shot that she knew was coming. Instead, she took it and waited for them to leave the cell. Once they did, she would immediately drop to the ground and start cranking out push ups, sit ups and any other exercise she could muster within her confines. She was trying anything to get her blood pumping and stop the drugs from taking their usual vegetative effects on her. The plan, which she had read in a novel, had indeed worked.
For days Mac waited. A time would come that they would drop their guard and that is when she would take a chance and escape. And then the day came.
Daniel, the nighttime guard, walked into the room. Mac, pretended to be suffering greatly. It was a long shot, but it was all she had. She figured that nighttime security would be easier to deal with than the usual muscle that walked around during daylight hours. When he turned his back, Mac pounced on him and managed to knock him out. She stripped him of the uniform and donned it on. Even though it was two sizes to big, it would be better than her running around the place in just a hospital gown. After taking his gun and keys, she laid him in her bed making it look as if she were occupying it. Locking him in the cell, she made her way down through the halls. It was late, nearly two am, she conferred with her internal clock.
Making it down the hall she saw that she was indeed the only one in that area of the place. Using Daniel's keys, she unlocked a set of double doors and walked into, what looked like, a mess hall. Running through the area, she headed into the kitchen and unlocked the area that warehoused the food for the institution. There she waited. At six am, a food delivery truck carrying one extra piece of cargo, Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, made it back to the real world.
Once she felt the truck had come to a stop, she came out of her hiding place. Moving to the front of the truck, she grabbed whatever she could find and hopped out. Crossing the street, she shrugged into the thick leather jacket that she found in the front seat and made it over to a small motel. Looking around, she took a deep breath. She was happy to be out and be alive, but her happiness subsided when she realized that she had no where to go and no money to so much as rent a room for the evening. 'Harm.' The thought popped into her head and before she had a chance to fight it, she headed to the payphone just outside the motel and made a collect call. "Mac." His voice sounded as if he knew she was going to call. She was relived, so relived that he had answered. She quickly let him know her whereabouts. "I'm coming." Was the final thing that he had said. He'd save her again.