Tasha came to a halt, and leaned her palm against a tree, her lungs aching from running almost an hour nonstop. She sank to the ground. Her arm throbbed with a deep, piercing pain; she didn't know if she could keep running. At the moment, she couldn't even move.
As soon as her breathing slowed, she gathered up the strength to prop herself up against the tree and dig some aspirin out of her pack. She popped three pills into her mouth and swallowed them with a sip of water. She took another long drink, and then twisted the cap back on the bottle again.
Searchlights flashed through the woods behind her, but she'd made it through the border fence, dodging guards. She was back in Muldavia; that gave her some comfort. She was in the same country as Jason, at least.
I can't just sit here—even now, they could be trying to wring the information out of him. I don't know how long he can hold out; we trained for this, but what they put us through was mild compared to the lengths the enemy can go.
An image flashed through her mind of Jason, lying in a cell, surrounded by enemies hurting him—she shuddered, and cut the thought from her mind. But it gave her motivation enough to push herself to her feet and head down the mountain.
Something glinted through the trees. She crept toward it; it was the car she'd borrowed a few days ago and had to abandon. Elation flooded her. What were the chances the car would still be here? It was pushed off the side of the road, halfway in the ditch. She climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over a few times before it rumbled to life. "Thank you, car," she said, and patted the dashboard. Then, keeping the headlights off, she drove down the road, heading toward the capital.
Driving sent shooting pains through her arm, but it was better than running through the woods. At that rate, it would have taken her days to get to Rakima, if it wouldn't have killed her first.
She realized she should at least try to return this car to Elsa and Ezra. It would mean that she might not have transportation to Rakima, but maybe they'd allow her to take it anyway. She couldn't just assume they would give it to her, though.
She drove down the winding road, then out onto the plain. It took all her concentration to stay focused; she'd lost a lot of blood, and running to the border hadn't helped. Whenever she caught her mind drifting, she'd snap herself out of it, only to wonder how she could possibly rescue Jason and James in her condition.
After about an hour, she pulled up in the driveway of the farmhouse. Maybe I shouldn't be here, she thought. In any case, I probably shouldn't wake them in the middle of the night. But if I wait until morning, it might be too late!
They'll probably keep Jason alive, at least for a while, she told herself. But by that time, he might have given away the location of the transmitter.
Do I really think so little of him that I don't think he could hold out for one night? Maybe he can, maybe he can't, but at this point, salvaging the mission means less than saving Jason.
She got out of the car, crept up the steps, and knocked on the door. Just as she did, a car rolled into the driveway. She climbed over the stair railing and flattened against the side of the house. As the man got out of the car and walked down the sidewalk, she realized it was Jensen.
She stepped forward; he drew his gun.
"Wait!" she said. "It's Tasha."
"Tasha! You were not captured with the others?"
"You know they were captured?"
"Just before I left Zohr, a helicopter came with two prisoners. I only saw one of them; they said he was one of the fugitives."
"Who was it?"
"I think they said his name was Jason."
"Was he all right?"
"He was limping, but he did not look as bad as most prisoners when they come to Zohr."
Relief filled her, though she knew his reprieve was probably short-lived. "You didn't see the other man?"
"I thought the other was a woman."
"No—the woman ended up being a traitor. It's a long story. But the man—he's the king."
"He's the king? Do you mean the king? I thought he had died as a baby."
"No, he's alive! He's been living in Czechoslovakia—but now they're probably going to kill him. We don't have much time left."
"We have to get him out of there."
"We—?"
"I work at Zohr. There has to be a way to use that to my advantage." A hard racking cough seized him.
"Are you all right?" She grasped his arm, helped him to the steps. She sat down beside him, her head spinning. How are we going to do anything, in our condition? she wondered. She didn't know if she could gather the energy to stand up again, let alone infiltrate a prison camp.
His coughing subsided; he sat there for a moment, looking off into the distance. The lights of the town twinkled in the distance like stars.
Jensen pushed himself to his feet, grasping the railing. "Come on in," he said. "You can get some rest before we figure out what to do next."
Tasha followed him into the kitchen. He led the way through the dining room to the stairway. "You can sleep in my room if you like. I'll sleep on the couch."
She shook her head. "I couldn't impose. I'll just take the couch."
He hesitated, then nodded and climbed the stairs. Tasha stepped into the living room and flopped down onto the large, puffy couch. She buried her head in the pillow, drew the afghan over her, and drifted off to sleep.
She shot awake. A clock ticked into the silence; dreams still clung to her mind. When she tried to recall them they fled, like a star that dims when you look at it directly. The only thing she remembered about them was that she'd been trying to rescue Jason.
Her arm throbbed. She took some more aspirin and drank the rest of the water from her water bottle, then devoured the last of the bread from in the pack.
Footsteps creaked down the stairs. Tasha froze, not knowing who it would be.
A tall, thin silhouette. Jensen. "I cannot sleep," he said, "knowing that your friend and the prince are still inside Zohr."
"I can't sleep either," said Tasha, feeling guilty that she had slept, at least for a little while.
"I think I have a plan," he said.
He told her that he would give her his spare uniform, and take her to Zohr when he went to work in the morning. They'd create a distraction—he was fuzzy on what it would be at this point—and she'd sneak inside. After they found James and Jason, they'd get them out by pretending they were transferring the prisoners. Tasha wasn't too sure about his plan, but she didn't have many alternatives. As for distractions—"We could make a bomb," she said.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," he said.
"You're in the wrong profession, then. You've got to think of them as the enemy."
"But if there's a serious emergency, there will be a lockdown. We don't want anyone looking too closely at us."
"That makes sense. Well, maybe we could make a smoke bomb."
"That might work, although we will have to time it perfectly."
Jensen gathered some garden fertilizer from the barn, and they poured some into hot water, boiling it down to get white residue of potassium nitrate. Then they mixed it in with sugar, heating it slowly until it was the consistency of peanut butter. During their preparations, Tasha explained what had happened —escaping to Czechoslovakia, finding the prince, and Elena's betrayal.
More footsteps creaked down the stairs. A white-robed form dashed into the kitchen, long red hair streaking behind her. "Jen!" The girl ran to him and wrapped her arms around him, letting out a steady stream of Muldavian words. Her eyes caught Tasha's.
"Hi," she said. "What are you making?"
"We should not tell you," said Jensen. "If things go wrong—"
"Tell me!"
He lifted her by the waist, kissed her cheek. "Lara, if I can't resist your questions, I won't be able to resist others with more…persuasive methods."
Lara stirred the nitrate/sugar mixture, and then helped pour it into a cardboard container. Tasha added the fuse. Jensen went upstairs to get the spare uniform while Lara sat with Tasha in the living room.
"Are you going to go on a secret mission with my brother?" said Lara.
"I suppose you could say that. But your brother's right—you shouldn't know any more about it than you have to."
"I want to go with you." Her pale face was filled with eagerness.
"Your parents wouldn't like that," said Tasha.
"I want to do something that will help the resistance."
"You know about the resistance?"
"Yes. But Mama and Pa think it's too dangerous to join."
Jensen came back downstairs with a uniform slung over his arm. "It is too dangerous—for an eleven-year-old girl, anyway. But if we can get the king on the throne, it will soon become safe for everyone."
"It won't happen overnight," said Tasha.
His eyes flashed. "I know that. But I am tired of watching bad things happen, and doing nothing about it. Even if I am the only one, I am going to stand by my king. Even if it means my death."
Lara jumped up from the couch, hugged Jensen around the waist. "Please, please come back," she said.
He stroked her hair, but didn't reply, his face grim.
Tasha went into the bathroom and pulled on the tan Muldavian uniform. It was too big for her, but if people didn't look too closely, she might be able to pass for a soldier. She looked in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ear, and stood tall and straight. I could have been a soldier, she thought, like my father and my brother. Order, discipline, working together in unity—But I think the life I want is the life I've chosen. Despite all that's happened, one thing I know: I was born to be a spy.
She gave herself a smile in the mirror, breaking her solemn expression. Adrenaline surged through her; the pain was gone for the moment. Maybe this[i] will work,[/i] she thought. Tugging her soldier persona back on, she marched back into the living room, where Jensen saluted her.
He taught her how a Muldavian salute differed subtly from an American one, gave her some basic protocol to follow in case she was stopped, and some short Muldavian phrases. She tried them out; he said, "Very good! Most of the time you can speak English, but you need to lose the American accent."
She laughed. "I thought it was you that had the accent," she said with a Muldavian tone to her voice, and Lara and Jensen laughed.
"You almost have it," he said. "We will turn you into one of us yet."
Ezra and Elsa came downstairs in their dressing gowns and asked what the commotion was. Tasha told them about her escape, and about the king; she left Jensen the task of telling them—or not telling them—what they planned. She would ask to re-borrow their car if—when—she got back.
By this time, the sun was peeking over the horizon. Elsa went to fix breakfast, while Ezra went out to do some chores. After half an hour, Tasha sat at the table with the family, eggs and bacon on her plate. The food replenished her strength like nothing else; even though she'd only gotten several hours of sleep, she felt like she could face anything that came next.
At about 7:00, Tasha said goodbye to Elsa, Ezra and Lara, and climbed into Jensen's blue two-door car. They raced off toward Zohr with the smoke bomb in her pack.
After half an hour, near the western hills, a huge cement building loomed up ahead, surrounded by barbed wire.
At the gate, Jensen saluted and handed over his ID; the guard nodded. Tasha gave a salute, heart pounding. Thankfully he didn't ask for her ID; he just waved them on.
Jensen pulled up in the large parking lot. She handed him the smoke-bomb, and then followed him toward the building. Along the sidewalk, prisoners milled around, some of them standing close to the barbed wire fence. A young mother held her baby girl; she looked terribly thin, with huge, sad eyes that drank in the world. Tasha longed to reach out for her, help her somehow. She raised a hand toward the fence; the baby's fingers brushed hers—
"Tasha!" said Jensen. "You can't show that you're sympathetic."
It wrenched her heart to tear away, but she did, hoping against hope that what she did here would help somehow in the long run.
They neared the staircase. On the landing at the top, two guards stood, rifles at their sides. Jensen put the smoke-bomb behind his back, and Tasha touched a lighter to the fuse. Then, he dropped the bomb to the grass, and as he ascended the stairs, Tasha kicked it gently to the side, next to the barbed wire. She went up the stairs after him, forcing herself to stay focused, not give into fear.
She stood behind Jensen as the soldiers checked his ID; he spoke to them in Muldavian. Then he turned and said, "What's that?" Beside the stairway, smoke was billowing, sending a burning smell into the air. The guards dashed forward, and Tasha dodged them, entering the building.
Inside, her footsteps echoed down the hallway, as if she were walking into a mausoleum. A soldier rounded the corner; her heart froze, but she forced herself to keep going. He saluted; she saluted back, and he passed her without a second glance. She took a deep breath, and headed toward the next cellblock, where Jensen had said he'd seen Jason.
She turned a corner to another long row of identical cells, and peered into the windows in each of the vault-like doors.
Despair tugged at her heart as she neared the end of the hallway without finding him. Perhaps they'd taken him to another part of the building. They'd have kept him alive this long; she had to hold onto that hope.
She peeked into the final cell. At first, she could not see anyone, but then she realized someone was standing along the wall, shackled to it. It could be Jason, by the look of his green shirt and disheveled brown hair.
She fumbled for the key Jensen had given her, and twisted it in the lock.
Jason looked up when she entered, pressing back against the wall as if in fear. Then his eyes lit up. "Tasha?" he said.
"Jason. I'm here." She pressed her hand to his face, her palm cradling his chin. She wanted to smother him in kisses, but thankfully restrained herself. "I'm going to get you out of here." She unlocked the metal cuffs and he brought his arms down with a gasp of pain. His wrists were raw and bloody; other than that, she didn't see a mark on him, which filled her with relief. She'd gotten to him before they started their interrogation, at least.
"How did you get in here?" he said.
"I've got a friend on the inside. How have they been treating you?"
"They haven't given me anything to eat or drink—I've been cuffed to the wall for hours—other than that, I'm fine."
She searched his eyes; she wasn't sure he was telling the whole truth, for there was a shadow in them she hadn't seen before.
"Let's get out of here," she said.
"You get no argument from me," he said. "We have to get James first, though."
"Jensen is going to find him. I've got you, Jason. We're getting out." She put her shoulder under his arm to support him, and stepped toward the door.
Just then, the door swung open. Tasha backed up, shielding Jason with her body.
Soldiers crowded inside, rifles aimed at her heart.