Michael and Devon had been captured and were currently prisoners. They had each been handcuffed with their hands behind their backs. Now they were in a basement room, with nothing but the metal chairs they were sitting on. At least they weren't handcuffed to the chairs. Or to each other.
Michael had borne the brunt of their captors' ire. He was definitely going to be sore and bruised tomorrow. But they hadn't taken his commlink, likely assuming it was just a normal watch. And, more importantly, they had left Devon alone. So far.
Michael was trying to turn on his commlink, though it might not work through the cinderblock walls. He wasn't having much luck and was about to ask Devon for help when several men came in the room.
One of the men approached Devon, and Michael tensed. Not that he was in any position to do anything. Without a word, the man hauled off and backhanded Devon hard enough to send him sprawling to the concrete floor. The man laughed, as did several of the men with him.
"Listen, old man. You'd better tell me what I want to know."
Devon struggled to his feet and then pulled himself up to his full height. "You are nothing more than a pathetic little hoodlum. And I will not be telling you anything," he said in an imperious tone as he glared down his nose at the man.
Michael groaned silently, afraid of what the man was going to do to Devon. Though he was impressed by his boss's bravery.
"We'll see about that, old man," sneered the man. "Perhaps some time alone with your thoughts will soften you up."
"Oh, I very much doubt that," murmured Devon.
"Take him away!"
Two other men grabbed Devon and hustled him away, none too gently. The man turned to Michael with an evil grin.
"You'd better be more cooperative. Or your elderly friend will suffer the consequences."
"What do you want with us?" Michael demanded, not bothering to hide his concern for Devon.
"All in good time, Knight. All in good time."
The man left, taking the rest of the men with him and leaving Michael alone. That told Michael this man was not in charge. Not that he had seemed bright enough to be pulling off a sophisticated operation like this. However, he clearly didn't know what questions to ask either Michael or Devon. That meant he had to wait for whoever was in charge to get here, which gave Michael time to escape. And to rescue Devon.
He tried one last time to turn on the commlink, to no avail. Then, he stood up and tried to get his arms in front, but there wasn't enough slack for him to step through. Michael paced, more to keep his legs from going numb than anything else.
After about a half-hour, he heard a noise at the door. He quickly sat down, just as it opened.
"Ah, dear boy. I trust you are well."
Michael looked up in stunned disbelief. There was Devon, no longer handcuffed. He did look somewhat disheveled, though.
"Devon?! How –"
"I escaped from German POW camps. Twice. Before you were even born," said Devon mildly. "This basement was no trouble at all. Now, let's get you out of those handcuffs, shall we?"
Devon walked behind Michael and did something. Michael heard a slight click, and the handcuffs came open.
Michael rubbed his wrists. "You carry lockpicks?"
"Good heavens, no."
"Then how –" Devon held up a small, flat piece of metal. "What is that?"
"A collar stay, of course." Devon carefully inserted it into the point of his shirt collar. "I find the plastic ones bend too easily. Metal ones keep the collar much more presentable. And now, before we leave, if I could impose on you for some assistance."
"I'm surprised you need anything from me," said Michael, not quite under his breath.
"I had to dislocate my left shoulder to get free of the handcuffs." Michael stared at his boss, who added somewhat depreciatingly, "I have a rather high pain threshold."
"Wilton should have made you Kitt's driver," muttered Michael, as he popped Devon's shoulder back into place.
Devon had a ghost of a smile as he indicated the open door. "Shall we?"
The two men headed out, passing by two unconscious thugs in the hallway. Michael just looked at Devon.
"They were not as familiar with the London Prize Ring Rules as I am," said Devon blandly. He then explained, "The rules for bare-knuckle boxing. Versus the Marquis of Queensbury rules, which cover gloved boxing. There are two other unconscious hoodlums down that hallway, though I believe this hallway leads to a staircase."
Michael shook his head in disbelief. The two men went down the hallway Devon had indicated and reached a staircase. As soon as they were at the top, Michael raised his commlink.
"Kitt? Can you read me?"
"Yes, Michael, I can. Is Devon safe?"
"Devon is masterminding our escape. I'm just along for the ride."
"I . . . see. I have already alerted the authorities. The police are on their way and should be here any minute now."
"See you soon, pal." Michael turned off his commlink and turned to face Devon. "Okay, Devon, what is going on here? I mean –"
"You, Michael, like those hoodlums, underestimated me because of my age." Devon had a note of mild reproof in this voice.
"Well, yeah, okay," Michael acknowledged a bit sheepishly. "But –"
"Michael, do you know why I am as old as I am?"
"No, not really. I mean . . ." Michael wasn't sure what the correct answer to that question was.
"Because I have survived everything life has thrown at me. As Nietzsche so aptly put it, that which does not kill me makes me stronger, as long as I am willing to learn from the experience. And I have always been quite the apt student."