Foreign and Domestic: A Get Reacher Novel (26 page)

The other guy said, “Have a seat,” and pointed to a long wall with no windows.

Cameron looked around the room. Checked out the bathroom. And then he said, “Where’s the girl?”

The guy said, “Forget about her. Sit down.”

Lane walked into the room and said, “Did you think we were going to take you to her? That would’ve been dumb on our part. We can’t have you knowing where she is. Like I said, I underestimated you once, but I’m not doing it a second time. Not that you’ll escape, but in case you get a lucky break, I don’t plan on having you anywhere near her.”

Damn!
Cameron thought.

Lane said, “Sit down.”

Cameron said, “I need the cuffs off of both of us so I can help him.”

Lane nodded and said to the guy, “Toss him the key. Don’t hand it to him. Stay out of his reach.”

Smart guy,
Cameron thought.

The other guy threw the keys to Cameron. He kept the MP5 pointed downward, but his trigger hand was on the gun and ready. Cameron could tell he’d been startled sober by Cameron’s actions at the other house and wasn’t going to let him take advantage. He was going to make it harder for Cameron, but Cameron wasn’t worried.

Cord couldn’t stand anymore. He dropped down to his knees and turned his hands out toward Cameron. Cameron put down the first aid kit and picked up the keys from where they’d landed. He unlocked Cord and then himself, which was a bit awkward and took him a moment. Cord had stumbled back against the wall. He grabbed his shoulder.

Cord said, “Cameron, I’m feeling woozy. Not sure how much longer I’ll be conscious.”

Cameron said, “Hang on.”

He dropped the handcuffs and the key to the ground and opened the first aid kit. Inside, there was gauze, some dressings, and a roll of bandage. There was a sewing needle and some black string, probably for stitching. There was also a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Cameron grabbed the bottle and said, “Take off your shirt.”

Cord struggled to lean forward, and he unbuttoned several buttons.

The process was too slow, so Cameron said, “Move your hands.”

He grabbed both sides of Cord’s shirt and pulled them in opposite directions, ripping the buttons right off. He released the fabric, and Cord pulled his arms out of the sleeves. Underneath it, he wore a white cotton T-shirt that was now soaked in blood. He pulled it over his head and kept it balled up in his hand.

Cameron picked up the bottle of alcohol and said, “This’ll hurt.”

Cord nodded.

Cameron poured a quarter of the bottle over the entry wound from the gunshot.

Cord screamed in agony.

Then Cameron turned him over and did the same to the exit wound. He examined both wounds and then pushed his hand down on the back wound, pressing hard to stop the bleeding. He kept his hand there and said, “We need to stitch up the exit wound. It’s pretty big. I think the front will be okay with tight wrapping.”

Cord said, “Do it!”

Cameron said, “I’ve never done this before, so lean forward and try not to move.”

That was when Cameron noticed for the first time that Lane was smiling. He seemed to enjoy seeing his old teammate in agonizing pain.

Cameron didn’t know much about sewing, but he got the gist of it. He didn’t concern himself with trying to make a straight line. Under the circumstances, he thought that faster was probably better. He grabbed Cord’s shoulder tight with his hand, applying a tremendous amount of pressure to it to keep Cord from squirming around too much. Luckily, the needle was already threaded with string. That saved a lot of time because Cameron was not good at things as tedious as putting the tiny end of a string into the barely-larger hole at the end of a needle.

He had to make more than a few stitches into Cord’s wound to pull it shut. The entire process took five minutes during which Cord struggled not to scream.

By the end of it, Lane’s smile had grown even wider.

Chapter 37

CAMERON FINISHED SEWING UP CORD’S
wound and then wrapped a dressing tightly around his shoulder so that the bleeding at the entrance wound would clot. Then he wrapped the rest of the dressing snugly around Cord’s chest, under his arms, and around his back to pull his ribs together. He wasn’t medically trained and had no idea if it would work, but his idea was to use the dressing as a splint. He thought it might keep his ribs from moving around too much.

Cameron sat down and leaned against the wall with his hands cuffed behind him and around the exposed wood framing. Cord lay on his back, his arms extended above his head and cuffed around a different stud. The nameless guy had been left to watch over them. Alone. That was fine by Cameron. He had been hoping for that. Even though he and Cord were both restrained, it gave him better odds.

The guy was busy on the computer. He watched Raggie half the time and amused himself on the computer the other half. He started laughing out loud. Looked to Cameron like he was watching YouTube videos. Cameron had heard of that site and how people went there to watch pets doing funny things or kids trying stupid and life-threatening stunts.

Cameron whispered to Cord, “How’re you feeling?”

“Not my best day.”

Cameron nodded.

Cord said, “They killed Lucas.”

Cameron said, “I know. And they almost killed you. Be grateful they didn’t.”

“We served in Africa and Iraq—twice. I’ve known him for twenty years. I think his dad fought in Korea. He was a real soldier.”

Cameron said, “I know. I came from a family of soldiers. I could tell he was a good guy. He really cared about Raggie.”

“Is she alive?”

“Over there. On the laptop. You can see her. Looks like a live feed. She’s being held somewhere else.”

“Does she look okay? I mean, is she healthy?”

“She looks scared. I can’t see her very well. We’re too far away, and they’ve got her in the dark.”

“So how can you see her?”

“Night vision cameras. She probably doesn’t even know they’re watching her.”

Cord said, “She knows. She’s a smart one. The only reason they even got to her was Graine. That bastard! I’m going to put a bullet in him!”

Cameron said, “Relax. First things first. We gotta get out of here.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?”

Cameron shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Chapter 38

RAGGIE DIDN’T LIKE ANY OF THE MEN
she’d seen so far. But then again, they were her abductors, so there was no reason to like any of them anyway. But she particularly didn’t like the one who had been sent to watch her now. Not one bit.

He had wandering eyes. He’d looked at her twice now. He walked in past the barking dogs and opened her door and turned on the light. He said he just wanted to check on her, but she knew he wanted to let her know he was there and that they were alone.

The first time she’d seen him was when they were filming that stupid video that she didn’t want to be a part of. And the second time had been an hour ago when he’d showed up to replace their leader—the quiet one.

This guy was called Valentine. She’d heard his name. She’d tried to remember all of their names so she could tell her dad later. She knew he would rescue her. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the Secret Service wouldn’t let her die, but then again, Graine had been one of her dad’s friends. He wasn’t Secret Service, but he’d been a cop and was once with her dad when he was in the Army. She’d known him ever since she was a little girl. But she didn’t know him as well as she knew Lucas.

Lucas had been like a second father to her. Sometimes he felt more like her real father than the one that she had because he was always around whenever he wasn’t working. He came to all of her birthdays and every major event in her life. She remembered one year he’d taken her to Australia to watch a huge surfing competition on Bells Beach. It was one of the most favorite weeks she’d had in her whole life.

Lucas would find her—that she knew for sure.

But she didn’t want to wait. One thing her dad had taught her was never leave your life in the hands of others. Always try to take steps to ensure your own safety. Pack your own parachute and that sort of thing.

What if Lucas wasn’t coming? What if no one was coming?

She had to take matters into her own hands, but then she thought about how she only had one hand. She smiled a bit for the first time since she’d been taken.

Raggie had decided to escape or die in the process. It was better to die trying than to die the way they wanted her to. But how the hell was she supposed to get out?

She’d been sure that they had been watching her with a camera that could see in the dark. What the hell was that called? The neighbor kid back in South Africa would know. He was always playing video games. Dark vision? Whatever. She needed to get their attention. She was frustrated because so many things had to fall into place in order for her to escape. She needed one of them to get close to her. Then she needed that person to remove her handcuffs. But how was she going to do that? She had no idea yet.

After that, she needed to use her one hand to grab a weapon. Her first choice would’ve been a Glock. That was a gun her dad had taught her to use—she was comfortable with it because it was lightweight and easy to fire. She wasn’t big on guns, but he had insisted on her being competent with them. In particular, he wanted her to know how to handle one safely.

In this case, though, the weapon she had chosen was one she’d found lying around. She knew she was in a veterinary clinic—the barking dogs and the giant farmer’s sink made that pretty obvious. Even though it was dark, she had found the sink’s pipes using touch and sounds. She had slipped off her shoe and felt around with her toes. While doing that, she’d discovered a big bottle like a gallon jug. It was mostly empty. She could hear the liquid in it swish around every time she tapped it with her foot.

Since she figured her captors were watching her, she decided to kick at the pipes while pulling the bottle back to her. That way, they wouldn’t know wat she was really doing. She managed to move the liquid bottle over to her, and she studied it. Without lifting it in her feet and possibly giving away her potential plans to her captors, the closest she could get it to her face was to rest the bottle next to her right hip. By twisting her back and peering over, she could look at the label.

After being locked up in the dark for hours, her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the lack of light. She couldn’t see too far away, but she could see quite well up close. The label was bright white, which was a good thing, but the small print was impossible to see. She could, however, clearly see the large letters indicating what was in the bottle. It wasn’t what she had been hoping for—but much better. She thought a veterinary clinic was probably required to lock up all hazardous materials and narcotics. But the chemicals that people tended to leave out were cleaning products.

Raggie had hoped that the chemical inside of the jug was bleach. But it wasn’t bleach—it was ammonia. That was the word she could see clearly on the bottle.

Ammonia caused severe chemical burns. Raggie had seen on YouTube some of the effects of ammonia when it made contact with skin. There were stories all over the Internet of people who’d had ammonia thrown in their faces. As she recalled, most of these stories were gruesome. She remembered one where a guy in Iran had thrown it in a woman’s face and then raped her. Later, the guy was caught. Iran had a crazy law that whenever someone committed a vile crime against someone else, the victim had the right to call for an equal punishment against the aggressor. The woman had lost her eye because of the chemical, so she had called for the prisoner’s eye to be taken out and for him to be raped by other inmates on a regular basis. The judge in the case agreed to the severe punishment, and to this day, the rapist was still getting his.

Raggie remembered this story. How could she forget? She wasn’t a savage. She was a good person. But in this instance, it was kill or be killed. She didn’t care if one of her captors lost his eyes. All she needed was for one of them to come close to her. So far, she hadn’t heard a peep from anyone in almost twenty-four hours. But Valentine seemed to be her best chance.

VALENTINE WATCHED FROM THE NEXT ROOM.
He smiled. Raggie was just the right age.

He was still drinking. He’d stolen one of those small liquor bottles from a motel in Memphis three days ago. His vice hadn’t always been such a problem, but he’d been running out of luck. He’d pissed off a lot of his employers due to his excessive drinking.

He was working for a mobster in Memphis. Some rich moron who liked to hire ex-military for different things he considered to be special assignments. Most of it was spying on his competitors or protecting him during meetings with other mob families from Atlanta. It was boring, low-level stuff even though he liked to think it was important. He liked to think it was like the jobs he’d had had in his heyday. But the truth was that nothing he had done in Tennessee or anywhere else in the US compared to the dangerous operations he’d performed ten years ago in Iraq or Afghanistan.

But even in the small time jobs, Valentine was messing up. His drinking had gotten worse. And that’s why when a job came along that got him out of Memphis, his employer had given him rave recommendations. Of course, he was taking a risk doing this because the kind of guys who were looking for a couple of extra men for an operation on American soil weren’t the kind of guys you lied to. Not that Valentine’s old employer was keen to this. He probably had no idea exactly who he was lying to. He had no idea how insignificant he was compared to some of the hardened warlords Valentine had met in the past.