He watched with a sense of some detachment as they dragged the bound and hooded figure into the room. The prisoner kept his head down as he felt a swift boot to the back of his knees, causing him to fall to the ground in a heap. Hands tied behind his back he was unable to right himself, rough hands grabbed him under each arm and positioned him so that he was kneeling.
He glanced at the prisoner's captors but didn't recognise any of the faces, they were faces that were covered with swathes of cloth, the only areas visible were their cold and unforgiving eyes. He recognised immediately the language they spoke, the men screamed at their captor in Farsi. He didn't know much of the dialect but enough to pick up the words 'traitor' and 'vengeance', he swallowed deeply and pulled at the bindings on his own wrists as the men began punching and kicking the immobile figure before them.
He bellowed at them to stop, to have mercy on the man bound before them, he grew increasingly frustrated when they ignored his pleas. Soon the men began sniggering and laughing as they watched their prisoner gasp for breath, begging for them to stop. He heard the words 'pathetic' and 'coward' as the men continued to torture the hooded figure.
He hung is own head in shame, unable to offer his fellow prisoner any assistance, tears fell involuntarily from his eyes as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. He hung his head and caught sight of his ripped US Army uniform, covered in blood and dust and felt shame at being naïve enough to get caught by the enemy. He hoped the rest of his unit had managed to get out of the province and back to base as he clung on to the faint hope of being rescued before he too was subjected to the whims of his captors.
He winced as he heard the sound of something hard and unyielding striking flesh and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of nausea as he watched the hooded figure slide bonelessly to the ground, lying face-down and unmoving. He prayed that the man's suffering would soon be over.
For the first time he took a good look at his fellow prisoner, he gasped in shock as he realised that the other man was not wearing a uniform like his, the man was dressed in black pants and a torn and tattered shirt, the colour of which had been marred by layers of dirt and blood. There was something familiar about the way the man dressed but as hard as he tried he was unable to put his finger on what it was that made him think that he knew the man.
His eyes and those of his captors shot towards the corner of the room as they heard the sound of a heavy metal door creaking open. The men who had so mercilessly beaten the bound and hooded man scurried to another corner of the room and bowed their heads in reverence to their master. Dragging his eyes from the imposing figure that had entered the room his gaze fell once more on the other prisoner who lay unmoving on the floor, seemingly unaware of the presence of another person. He silently hoped the man was already dead and would be spared any more pain.
The men shuffled back over to the figure lying on the floor, following the orders of their master they dragged the man towards the wall in the far corner of the room and left him in a seated position. He heard the sound of a gun being loaded and then the unmistakable sound of the hammer being cocked. All the while he kept his eyes on the unmoving man at the other end of the room trying to figure out what it was that was so familiar about him. The thought flittered around the edges of his brain but refused to make itself known, he growled under his breath in frustration knowing that time was running out. He knew he needed to make the connection; both of their lives were depending on it. He pulled on his bindings tighter as a sense of foreboding washed over him. In his mind he heard the hands of a clock ticking, with each second that passed the chances of his and his fellow prisoner's escape lessened.
All too soon time had run out, one of the men moved forward it his master's command and pulled the hood from the bound man's head, it was then that his panicked mind allowed him to make the connection. The head of his fellow prisoner was listlessly resting on his chest, the man seemingly unconscious. The same man that had removed the hood pulled the man's head up by his hair; even though the hair was matted with blood and dirt he would have recognised that distinctive colour anywhere. He didn't need to look in the man's face to know who he was, he knew already.
Recognising the figure before him he pulled harder on the ropes that held him but they refused to budge, he watched helplessly as a bullet was placed cleanly between the eyes of the other man as blood sprayed the wall behind him. He screamed and pulled even more as he watched the man tip sideways and fall to the floor. It didn't seem to matter how much he screamed or how loudly he shouted the words, he was unable to make a sound. Over and over he tried to get the word out, a word that for many years he had never had the chance to use but now it seemed more important than ever to try, and he would keep trying until they killed him too.
Calleigh had been on her way to the ballistics lab after concluding the team meeting, feeling deflated at the lack of progress they had made. Deciding that her time would be better to keep her mind occupied she carried the bullet that Eric had passed onto her and hoped that she would be able to match it to another logged in the IBIS database. She knew the chances were slim, the Malucci's had been careful so far and it seemed unlikely that they would slip up on something as traceable as a handgun. It seemed futile but she knew she had to try, she owed it to Horatio, he had taught the team to never leave any piece of evidence unturned, We follow the evidence and find the criminal, wasn't that what he always used to say?
Pushing the thoughts of Horatio to the back of her mind she willed herself to concentrate on the job at hand, the best chance the team had of finding him and bringing him back in one piece depended on her ability to be able to separate her heart from her head. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily; praying that she had the strength to do what was needed.
As she closed her eyes she heard a noise emanating from Horatio's office, her mind still on full alert she reached for the service weapon at her hip and pulled it out. Making her way further to the office she heard a voice shouting the same word repeatedly. Re-holstering her weapon she made her way quietly into the room and watched the restless figure on the couch, an errant tear slid down her cheek as she listened to the pained voice.
She made her way over to him slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Kyle, it's ok," she said softly as he repeated the same word again and again.
Seeing that she was not getting through to him she called his name again, louder this time. "Kyle, you're dreaming. You need to wake up."
His sudden movement caught her by surprise as he shot up into a seated position; his clear blue eyes wide open as he screamed, "Dad!"
He sat gasping for breath as his eyes slowly fell back to Calleigh, he repeated the word again as he ran a shaky hand through his hair but this time the word was filled with such a sense of longing and despair that it threatened to make the woman in front of him burst into tears.
Saying nothing she pulled him towards her and enveloped him in a fierce embrace as more tears spilled from her own eyes. She felt the young man's arms go round her as she rocked him gently and told him, "We'll find him. We'll bring him back alive and well, I promise."
He held onto her tightly, grasping on to whatever small piece of his father he could still find, he heard the conviction in her voice as she promised him she would return the man who had become such an important part of his life back to him. He hoped desperately that she would be right, from such a difficult beginning he had grown close to the father that he never knew he had. The few short years that they had known each other had been some of the happiest times that he could remember, he had a father he was proud of and it had spurred him on to be a better man too and with a father like his he knew he stood a chance of being able to do just that.
His father had brought some much needed stability into his life and with it he had flourished, turning his back on his troubled past and building a new life for himself. His father had become his pillar of strength and he knew without him to guide him the foundations that he had worked so hard to build would crumble to the ground around him.