I apologize for taking so long to update my story….work's been crazy lately. It's only a short chapter but I figured you'd want to know what's going on. Thanks as always for all the wonderful reviews! Please don't stop letting me know what you think; I very much appreciate all of your comments.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The look on Ortez's face was one that could only be described as nasty anticipation; the cruel smile the gangster wore made it clear that he had very much been looking forward to seeing Seeley Booth again. "Yes, it's me, Agent Booth" he said. "I knew that you would recognize me." The tattoo on his cheek rippled as Ortez's nasty grin widened even further. "You know, I was very disappointed with the lack of respect you demonstrated towards me the last time we met" he snarled menacingly. "You must have known that I could never allow such disrespect to go unpunished…"
Booth tried to sound nonchalant as he finally found his voice. "Well, I'll be damned…Roberto Ortez…you're looking just as ugly as ever." His lips pulled back into a tight grimace. "You know I could recommend a good plastic surgeon to take that thing off your face…" Booth knew that baiting Ortez wasn't necessarily the smartest move for someone in his situation but it sure as hell beat cowering like a scared dog. Ortez's smile disappeared and he took a step back, barking orders to his assembled thugs to drag the FBI agent out of the metal box, by his ears if necessary.
Ignoring the rush of pain as the handcuffs cut into the already black-and-blue skin around his wrists, Booth pressed his back firmly into the rear wall of the crate, readying himself for what he knew was coming. Two of Ortez's thugs stepped forward, reached into the metal box and made a grab for his legs to haul him out. Avoiding their hands, Booth drew his knees up to his chest, forcing them to lean even deeper into the crate… He knew that he was completely outnumbered and hopelessly restrained but there was no fucking way he was going to just sit here and passively submit to Ortez's demands… He waited until the thugs were leaning off-balance half inside the shipping crate, then, with his shoulders braced against the cold metal, Booth lashed out, his shackled legs slicing through the air with lightning speed as his coiled muscles released a violent succession of kicks toward the unsuspecting thugs. The closest man was caught completely off guard with a smashing blow to the chin; his head snapped back with a sickening snap and he crumpled to the ground. Booth's second kick lashed sideways, hammering the second thug brutally with both feet just above the elbow. The man screamed as his elbow bent the wrong way, Whimpering, he withdrew quickly, falling onto his backside as he retreated, cradling his broken arm and eyeing the FBI agent with loathing.
Booth fought to sit upright again as the two remaining thugs surged forward. He managed to get a few more shots in with his feet before his flailing body was hauled unceremoniously out of the crate and thrown heavily to the concrete floor of the hangar. 'Here we go' Booth thought as Ortez stalked towards him, his face a mask of fury. Booth pulled his knees up into his chest again, trying to protect himself, his eyes clenched tightly shut as the screaming Ortez unleashed a series of vicious kicks into the torso of the handcuffed, shackled, and helpless FBI agent. Booth grunted loudly as all the air was slammed out of his lungs; pain seared through his ribcage, increasing in intensity with each kick the gangster delivered. He tried desperately to roll away from his enraged assailant, unable to draw a breath as the blows continued to smash without mercy again and again into his ribs.
Finally exhausted, Ortez stopped the attack. With his chest heaving, he stood back and drew a pistol right-handed from behind his back. Kneeling cruelly on Booth's chest with one knee, the gangster reached down with his left hand and grasped the battered agent firmly by the chin, holding his head immobile. Booth thrashed his body side to side but was unable to break free as Ortez, who was grinning maniacally, forced the barrel of the pistol into Booth's mouth. The agent gagged and coughed as the gun was pressed into the back of his throat and he found himself wondering if he was about to die.
"You will learn some manners, Agent Booth" Ortez hissed, "…and I am going to enjoy teaching them to you…" Smiling, he pulled the pistol out of Booth's mouth and swung the firearm down sideways, brutally smashing Booth hard across the left side of his face and lacerating the skin over the cheekbone. Ortez stood to his full height and stomped one foot down harshly onto the FBI agent's chest, causing Booth to cry out in pain. "That was lesson one, Agent Booth" Ortez spat. "We're just getting warmed up…"
Booth gasped for air as the blood dripped from his face and he struggled vainly to breathe. His chest was on fire. After what seemed like forever, he was finally… gratefully… able to suck in some much-needed oxygen. 'Ouch… oh fuck… He knew at least a couple of his ribs were broken and he just hoped he hadn't punctured a lung as well; it sure as hell felt like it. Damn it…
Booth's head continued to spin as Ortez turned and walked towards a large black sedan that was parked at the other end of the hangar, gesturing for his men to follow him. The FBI agent grunted in pain as his body was lifted roughly off the concrete and he was half-dragged, half-carried towards the car. His eyes widened in fear as two more men got out of the car and popped open the trunk as they approached. No... …no fucking way…not in the trunk… God, no… Booth felt panic rising at the thought of being locked in the small space; he began to thrash against his captors, desperately struggling against the restraints on his hands and feet. His efforts were useless and he cursed at them as he was dumped roughly into the trunk of the sedan. The pain in his chest momentarily forgotten, Booth felt the bile rising in his throat as sheer panic flooded over him. He heard himself pleading as the trunk lid was slammed shut and he was plunged into darkness.
His breath was coming in ragged gasps and he closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of self-control, anything to stop his phobia from taking over. Breathe…just breathe…. Booth opened his eyes to utter darkness, and snapped them shut again in terror. His distress increased even more as the vehicle accelerated forward and he was thrown blindly against the rear of the trunk. He could feel the cramped space closing around him; it felt like he was suffocating. The memories surfaced, unwanted, uncontrollable. An image of the filthy, vermin-infested and impossibly cramped "isolation" cell in which he was kept during his captivity and torture in the Middle East flashed across his mind. He could once again feel the unseen scorpions crawling over his body in the dark and had to bite back the scream that threatened to come. Oh God…. It felt like his heart was about to explode…. He hadn't had a flashback in years…
"Breathe… I'm just in a car… breathe… I'm just in a car … breathe… I'm just in a car …" Booth spoke the words aloud over and over, trying to force the nightmarish Gulf War experience from his mind. He kept his eyes shut, trying to focus on the pain of his broken ribs instead of the horrors in his memory. Somehow Booth managed to find a small level of control as he repeated his mantra over and over. "Breathe… I'm just in a car… breathe… I'm just in a car … breathe… I'm just in a car …"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dr. Temperance Brennan paced impatiently up and down the hallway outside the judge's chambers in the Miami courthouse. She was seething; it had been over two hours since they had arrived in Miami and the judge was still waffling on the warrant. Two hours that they could have been using to search for her partner had been wasted. She snorted in disgust.
She stopped pacing and looked up hopefully as the door opened and FBI Deputy Director Cullen finally appeared. He had a look of angry triumph on his face and he carried an envelope. "He finally signed it" Cullen's voice was sullen. He tucked the papers into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "I had to push hard for this one though…the judge didn't want to take the chance he might look bad…the Bastard. This is one of my agents we're talking about here…" Cullen looked like he was ready to shoot someone. Brennan found herself wondering just how hard the Deputy Director really had "pushed" and wishing she had been there to help.
She sighed with relief…they finally had the warrant. Why did the words 'Thank God' suddenly come to mind? Booth was definitely corrupting her…it wasn't as if any supernatural power had interceded on their behalf ... not scientifically feasible at all, she told herself. "Booth…we're coming" she quietly whispered as she followed Cullen to his truck. "Hang on Seeley….we'll find you". Brennan shook her head self-consciously. She knew empirically that Booth could not possibly hear her and yet she was strangely comforted by the irrational hope that, somehow, he would.