Hidden Pearl (38 page)

His smile returned. "All right, what would make you take me seriously, cause you to consider my proposal?"

"
Is
this a proposal?" she asked, again trying to delay long enough to think what she should say.

"It could be."

She managed a smile. "That is so typically male."

He laughed. "You are everything I would need in a wife. I can see it happening between us."

In a million years, you murderer,
she thought, casting her glance down so that her eyes didn't reveal her thoughts. "I cannot imagine marrying a man who would hurt my friends," she said, determined to somehow get S.T. and Hank free.

"You want to see them?" he asked, smiling, "to assure yourself they are safe? The savage was disciplined, of course, but nothing… uh life threatening."

"Yes, I’d like to see them both."

He shook his head. "I'll come back later and let you know if it will be possible."

She wanted to hit him, to beat her fists against his chest. She even gritted her teeth against the impulse to lash out verbally. "How is Hank?" she asked, forcing herself to concentrate on something besides S.T. "He seemed to be disturbed when I last saw him, is he better?"

"I'll check on both of them, then get back to you."

"How soon?"

His gaze was probing.  She knew she was walking a narrow line. It would only take one wrong word, and he'd know she loved S.T.

"As soon as possible, my dear."

"After I see them, could you let them go? I'm quite concerned about Hank's mental state."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't please you in all things. It would be irresponsible of me though. When stolen items have been returned and possibly an apology given, we might consider the next step." He smiled. "I'd do whatever I could for
you
."

She knew that would never include freeing S.T. or Hank, and if she married Peter Soul, she would remain a prisoner the rest of her life--however long that might be. He’d find out on any phony wedding night that she had lied to him, but she had to make him think there was hope. Perhaps that way he would try to please her. It was a slim hope, but the only one she had.

#

S.T. suspended from the ceiling by wrist manacles attached to a chain, his toes barely touching the ground, became aware of his surroundings slowly. The strain on his arms was almost as great as the aches and pains he felt from the torments that had heaped onto him.

He knew Sharon had been used to whip him as a shaming as much as hurting. She didn't have the strength to do the damage George would've and did do with his fists. He didn't know if Soul had tried to save him from worse or believed the humiliation of being whipped by a woman would be greater than any pain inflicted by the whip.

He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, to forget where he was, what had happened. He felt like an idiot. When would he learn? He cursed himself for not denying Christine and Hank when they'd insisted on coming with him.

"Sarge." Hank's hiss penetrated his bout of self-pity. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and turned his head enough to see Hank where he was tied to the chair near the wall of the warehouse-like room where they were being held.

"Sarge, are you going to be okay?" Hank asked. S.T. might have been concerned for his friend’s sanity, but he saw the intensity in his gaze and realized he was telling him something as well as asking a question.

"In a week... maybe two,” S.T. managed. “How about you?”

"They won’t break me, Sarge. Don’t worry about that.” Hank nodded his head toward a table. “I know they got spies everywhere but I won’t break. You can count on me."

S.T. tried to moisten his lips and found it impossible. So, Hank was telling him the room was likely bugged. Anything they were to say had to be coded in some way. He decided his role was to show concern for his friend’s delusion. “Hank, where do you think we are?”

Hank chuckled. “You know that.”

“I know but do you?”

“The Cong got us, been torturing you,” Hank said, forcing a mock patience into his voice

“You’re kidding.” He managed a smile.

“What are we going to do, Sarge?”

"I do have a plan," S.T. said.

Hank winked. "It better be a doozy."

"Well, it’s not quite that good, but it’s all I can come up with… on short notice." He imagined himself drinking an ice cold Coke, then a glass of water, trying to give the visions enough reality to fool his body.

"Wish I had my camera."

S.T. cast him a disbelieving look. “You can think about photography at a time like this?"

"It's how I'm keeping myself sane, Sarge. I'm worried about you though."

"I’m okay. Welts sting and itch but... I don't think they want to hurt me too badly. They want something I have." He realized also they had avoided marking his face which meant they had in mind something not here. He knew what that would be but how did he use that to get them all out of there?

"Sarge, you gotta be strong." He grinned.

S.T. pointedly met his gaze and soundlessly mouthed the words. "Big rock on hill behind where they caught us--my gun behind it."

"Get us out of here, okay Sarge, come on please, think of a way," Hank babbled, grinning. The leprechaun look had never seemed so strong in Hank’s face.

"It might have to be you. Can you?"

There was a silence, then. “Don’t know.” He grinned again. “Cong are out there. I’m tied up. I can’t help you, Sarge."

S.T. tried to clear his head. Between the various beatings and his own raging thirst, he was having a hard time thinking straight and could only admire Hank’s presence of mind. “They’ll break me, Hank,” he lied finally. “I’ll have to give them what they want.”

“No,” Hank moaned with a wink.

“Yes. I can’t hold out. I’m weak, don’t have much fight left.” S.T.’s smile was cold. “After they break me, maybe then you can make your own deal with the devil.”

“You saying sell out?”

"A smart man saves his own hide."

“You’re selling out.” Hank moaned again. “Traitors all around me. I can’t stand it. I thought you’d be the one to hold firm, to not break. I hate you.”

“Every man has his breaking point, Hank,” S.T. said, knowing it was for the benefit of the probable bug but probably also true. There was a point at which he would break. He just hoped Soul didn’t discover what that point was. He had a game to play, one he couldn’t afford to lose.

"You really going to give in to them?" Hank's voice broke with a sob on the question.

"Long term, it's the only thing... that might save us."

"If you knew you’d do that, Sarge, why've you been taking a beating? Why not give up right away?"

S.T. knew the real answer was his belief they would be off their guard if they felt he’d been broken. He would only real have a chance to turn this thing if they didn’t think he had any strength or will power left, but Hank was probably right that the room was bugged with George on the other end of the wire; so he considered a more cautious reply. “I tried to hold out. Just wasn’t strong enough. Pride was behind it,” he said finally, knowing there was an element of truth in it. “Pride isn’t enough though. I’m tired of being hurt.”

"I don’t think I can trust you anymore,” Hank wailed.

“Don’t trust anybody, Hank,” S.T. said knowing that it was a truth from his past. Now he trusted Hank and Christine.

“What are we going to do?"

“We’re going to wait.” S.T. reached his hands up to grasp the chains. “I’ll have to take them to the bank?”

“What bank?”

“You don’t need to know.” S.T. looked pointedly at Hank, then slowly mouthed, “When you’re left here alone, you have to get free, get Christine out of here.”

Hank’s look was equally pointed. "Boy, I’ll tell you this,” he said, “you do worry me, Sarge, you truly do."

"Don't make me laugh," S.T. muttered. "Hurts too much."

"Yeah, well, I get the feeling you don’t trust me. I know about stuff like military logistics. You could trust me. Hey, you ever play chess?” He mouthed the word--Stormy.

S.T. chuckled despite his knowing it would hurt. "Dammit all, Brannigan," he growled as the pain shot through him, "you'll be the death of me yet."

"Nah, you're doing too good a job at it all by your lonesome."

At hearing someone at the door, Hank slumped down in his chair as far as the ropes would allow, and S.T. closed his eyes, letting his weight hang more loosely on the chains. He resisted the nearly overwhelming temptation to watch as the door opened, then closed. Steps came toward him, stopped a few feet away.

"I know you're awake."

S.T. slowly opened his eyes to see Soul standing in front of him, in his hands a pitcher and glass on a tray. “I’ve brought you water,” Soul said. “I assumed you must be thirsty.”

“And what’s the price?”

“Since when has water ever cost money?”

“You’d sell water to your dying mother,” S.T. retorted. He knew he was taking a risk of being slapped again, but he also felt angry at being hung up like a side of beef. His only way of fighting back was with his brain. He was otherwise helpless and he hated knowing it. Twice this man now had put him in that position. He had to fight to control his fury.

"My goodness and here I was hoping you'd be more cooperative, that you and I could talk reasonably."

"I get resentful when I'm chained."

"I'm here to make your condition more comfortable." Soul moved to a small table and poured a glass of water. "Actually I’m on a mission of mercy, you might say."

"Talking about mercy brings your brother to mind,” S.T. said.

Soul looked at him thoughtfully. “So you know George is my brother. What else do you know, my friend?”

“That I’m no friend of yours.” S.T. wanted to ask about Christine, felt a desperate need to know she was safe, not being held in the torturous condition he found himself, but he didn't dare give away his concern. It would give Soul too much power over him and worse could endanger her.

Soul shook his head and made a tsking sound. “So rude. Do you really want that drink of water?” Soul asked.

"I'm not overly fond of what you put in your drinks around here."

Soul laughed, his humor apparently restored at the mention of his earlier possession of S.T. "So, you did realize you'd been drugged. Well, you needn't worry about this.” He poured some of the water and took a big drink of it himself.  He poured more water, then walked over to S.T. holding the glass out. “Would you like this?” he asked.

 “What about Hank?”

“How noble, your comrade before yourself,” Soul said with a small smile as he stepped back. “Or are you foolishly worried it is drugged despite my drinking from it, that I might have immunity to it. I don’t mind your fear. A little fear in you is a healthy thing. I want you to remember that at any point, when I want to turn you into the living dead, I can do so. You do remember what it was like to be a mindless slave, don't you?"