CHAPTER 13
It was dark, but not even cool, hot already and the sun was only beginning to rise. Hawke tried to force himself to his feet, but his battered body refused to obey, the pain and stress of every move almost unbearable. He groan in pain as he shifted positions ever so slightly, every bone in his body aching as he did so. Anymore escape plans would have to be postponed for a while he realized because there wasn't any point in getting beat any more when he wasn't likely to make it anyway.
As he straightened to relieve some of the strain on his aching ribs, his bloodied rubbed against a rough spot in the bamboo railing. Running his hand across it and pressing down, he realized it was loose, something his captors had obviously failed to notice so far, but how long that it would remain that way he couldn't count on. There was no debating, no contemplating. When darkness fell over the camp again tonight he was getting out.
Quan was playing with him, trying to make him believe there really was no reason to continue with his hunt for Saint John or even with life, but he couldn't really be dead, and Dom and Cait were still alive at this point - that in and of its self should be enough reason. Somehow he was going to get out of here.
\A/
"Have you heard anyone?" Caitlin asked.
"Not since they left with String," Dom answered downheartedly, "and that's been a while."
"It feels like it's been an eternity. How do you think he's doing?"
Dom just shook his head. "I wish I knew."
She played with the door latch again even though she'd had no luck in picking it earlier. "I want to do something to help, but how can we if we're trapped in here with no way out?" She banged her fist against the door in frustration. "What good are we doing anybody here?"
\A/
"Sir, we have reason to believe Quan Van Dao has left the country and should be arriving in Vietnam anytime, if he wasn't already," Marella reported.
"Hawke failed?" He knew everyone had their downfall at some point, but those two words didn't quite seem like they should be used in the same sentence. Stringfellow Hawke didn't fail; he won, even if it cost him. He had known Hawke, at least as an acquaintance, for almost ten years, and while he couldn't say he knew vast amounts of personal information on him, he couldn't recall him giving up or not completing a mission.
"It appears so. If we have any agents in the area, I could check with them and see what the situation is. Perhaps we can send someone else in…"
"There isn't anyone over there currently," Michael said. "And there isn't anyone available at the moment who is trained well enough to fly in and-"
"I could go, with your permission, sir."
He didn't wasn't to risk Marella, but neither did he Hawke and Airwolf along with its crew. And that was something he couldn't afford to allow into the wrong hands. The Committee wouldn't like it, hell, he didn't like it but what had to be done had to be done.
"What kind of condition do you guess Hawke would probably be in?"
"I have no idea sir."
"Considering the circumstances give me your best guess."
"I doubt he has been fed very well, if at all, and if any force has been used for interrogation... and taking into account his smart mouth," she added almost silently to her calculations. "I'd say we need to get him out with the next day or two for minimal risk of lasting serious injury. Of course, I could be totally omitting a crucial factor," she reminded.
"I understand that." He sighed, deliberating his options. "Give it another hour and a half. If we haven't heard anything by then I'll have an F-14 fly you in so that you can arrive just before nightfall."
\A/
Blood ran down from a profusely bleeding cut just above his left eye, dripping onto his flight suit and staining the gray material. The last slap still stung, but hopefully this would soon be over. He tried anything he could to keep his mind off the pain, carefully trying to plan his escape as another fist came across his jaw.
"You don't do anyone any good dead, Hawke, so why are you so intent on ending up that way?"
He only received an icy glare in answer.
Quan pulled his head back by his hair, holding a thick bladed knife to his throat as he whispered his threat in a low menacing growl.
"I know you're not a man of many words, but you better learn to find your tongue soon because time is running out for you my friend, quickly running out." He pressed the blade closer, a stream of cool blood now flowing freely from his neck. Hawke remained silent, praying that this could just be over as the scarlet red rivulets ran down his skin and his vision grayed.