Chapter 9
"He saved my life. Even Jay saw it! He helped me pull him out of the water and bring him here and you know he would only do that if he knew-"
"I do not care! That man is a spy, and I do not trust spies."
The second voice had a small French accent hiding in the background of his words, similar to the one he knew he had even though he had lived in New York City for five years of his life.
"Then why should we trust you."
Silence.
"Because I am in charge of this base."
More silence.
"Look, Anthony is telling zhe truth."
This time a slight German accent. He was sure it was German because it reminded him of the one his past girl friend had back in his crazy years in that same city.
"Even so, what do you want me to do with him? If I report him to central, he is dead. We cannot let him leave either because he will die on his own."
"But-"
"And we certainly cannot deliver him to his team mates. No, so what do you suggest we do?"
Silence.
"I'll keep him."
Rainier laid soundlessly on a hard, uncomfortable bed. His muscles were painful and the familiar heated itch throbbed under his skin. How he just wanted to rid himself of this awfully thick blanket these idiots had wrapped him in. Didn't they understand he was going to die from this internal inferno?
"You must be out of your mind!" the French voice roared with horror.
"Look man, give me a chance ! I owe this man... or maybe you don't know anything about honor..."
Silence.
What was with all the unsaid words and palpable tension in the air? Why weren't they pulling this damned blanket off?
"Fine..."
Defeated.
"At least let me talk to 'im first."
"Don't touch his mask..."
Unspoken words.
A shuffling of feet and the hushed hiss of a door closing.
Next thing Rainier knew, a hand came down hard on his face. It seemed to connect his vision from the inky blackness of semi-consciousness to the real world. He saw what he knew he was supposed to dread, but understood little of the situation from the haze that still engulfed him mind.
Looming above him was the RED spy.
The man that his team had come to fear for the number of team mates he had claimed, and the man he knew was in charge of this small American military base off in the north of French occupied Netherlands.
Suddenly he heard words he never thought he would hear in an American base.
French words.
"You better listen, and listen well," the spy slipped a glove-clad hand into the crevasse of his suit-opening and withdrew his butterfly knife with skill and ease. "One fucking toe out of line, and you are as good as dead, you hear me, boy?"
Boy? This man did not look that much older than himself, though he might have been mistaken. Either that or he looked so helpless and small on this awful bed that the other spy was jumping to conclusions.
"Yeah..." he replied in slurred french.
Rainier was not sure he had even said anything until he saw the spy maneuver the butterfly knife back into it's closed position. With a firm nod, the other spy reached silently to his own neck-tie and began untying the tight knot. Rainier was not sure what he was supposed to be witnessing until he felt the fine silk cover his eyes.
Rainier's first thought was that it smelled of sweet cologne.
He heard the door hiss back open, and more shoes clacking against what he guessed was tile. He felt the presence of another person shuffling along his left side and soon heard the clank of metal against metal. The bed rose into the air and the presence shifted from his left around to the top of his head. The tiny squeak of flesh against metal as invisible hands gripped the railing. The louder squeal of wheels against the tile.
He was off to what he hoped was a good place.