Page 6 of The Hijack

“March,” one of the men growled in that same unfamiliar Asian accent.

I looked around, seeing that I had been right about the dock. We were on a medium-sized yacht attached by rope to a wooden deck. I considered dropping off the side of the ship and making a run for it. But there wasn’t a lot of cover unless I dove into the ocean.

As if reading my mind, one of my captors came up behind me and pulled a bag over my head. I was effectively cut off from the light and dependent on them for direction. While I could still hear the wash of the waves hitting the hull, I was no longer sure that I could get away unscathed.

They pushed me toward the edge and helped me off into the arms of another marauder. The guard twisted my arm behind me, not bothering with handcuffs this time. He had some kind of formal training dealing with prisoners. The way he held my arm eliminated all of my advantages. I wouldn’t be able to escape without twisting violently, and since he had all the leverage, he wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

I was pushed down the length of the dock to a car. Shoved into the backseat, I had a moment to myself before the enemy climbed in beside me. I took the time to yank the blindfold off. We were near a jungle, the first line of trees encroaching on the parking lot.

My captor responded by slamming the butt of his machine gun into my forehead. Pain raced from my eyeballs to the back of my skull before settling in my jaw. I closed my eyes and slept through the last leg of my journey.

When I woke next, I was in a cage. There were no restraints and no blindfold, indicating that the place they had taken me was so remote they didn’t need to bother. The air settled thick and hot on my skin, beading droplets of sweat across my chest and the back of my neck. It was difficult to breathe, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the injuries I’d sustained or the tropical climate.

I climbed to my feet, mentally checking all of my vital systems for damage. There was still some pain behind my eyes, but it wasn’t debilitating. My arms and legs felt solid, and my heartbeat was steady. It looked like I would live.

Outside of the cage, I could see one guard sitting on a plastic chair. There was an automatic rifle in his lap, but he wasn’t paying close attention to it. Instead, he was smoking a cheap cigarette, flicking ash between his legs.

I turned away. Neither he nor I were particularly interested in each other. Once I got free, it would be another story. But for now, I was trapped, and he could care less. I wandered around the enclosure, about five feet square in the middle of the jungle.

One wall was made of corrugated steel, blocking my view of whatever lay behind me. I knew from experience that was probably the weakest part of the entire cage. If I could manage to create a hole, it would be a simple thing to peel it back far enough for me to climb out. I just needed some kind of tool to help me get started.

There was nothing inside the cage except a dog’s water bowl. I picked it up, realizing how thirsty I was. Sipping nearly the entire amount, I forced myself to stop. There was no telling when they would come back to refill it, and I needed to prepare for the worst. Although the dog bowl and the cage were both good signs in a way. They meant that my captors intended to keep me alive at least for a little while. Long enough for me to get away, I hoped.

I paced the floor for nearly an hour. It felt good to stretch my legs, and I was hoping to get the guard used to seeing me move around. That way, when I finally attempted to break free, he wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late.

I wasn’t prepared for another three guards to appear. They were dragging an American man with them, blindfolded and cuffed. I stood back mutely as they opened the door to my cell and tossed him in. I noted the key they used and who held it. Not that I planned to need it, but it was always good to have a plan B.

One of the guards stayed to make lewd hand gestures. I flipped him off, not caring if the middle finger meant the same thing in this part of the world. He got the gist. With a sloppy smile, he wandered off, grabbing at his crotch. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating form, determined to shoot him in the head if I was ever afforded the chance.

I glanced down at the man who had just been deposited into my circle. I wasn’t ready to trust him yet. Just because he was allegedly in the same situation as I was didn’t mean he wasn’t an enemy. He could be working with my captors, or even worse, the American government.

“Hey,” I said, reaching out to poke him with my toe.

He batted my foot away, rolling over to sit down against the far wall. He glared at me, trying to decide whether I was worth spending breath on. This was going to be a short relationship if he clammed up. Not that I cared. The only person who was important to me was Theo, and the only thing that mattered was getting back to him. If he was dead, heaven help the person who put him in the ground. I would have my revenge.

“Lincoln, service number 88,” the newcomer growled.

“CIA?” I asked.

He stuck his chin out, refusing to cooperate.

“So am I,” I replied, crouching to be on his level. “Clark, service number 40.”

“What are you doing here, Clark?” Lincoln asked.

“Same as you, I suppose,” I replied, not wanting to show my hand too soon.

“It looks like the solid wall is the best bet,” Lincoln drawled, a faint Southern accent breaking through the bureaucratic speech.

He didn’t look at the wall or make any indication that he had come to the same conclusion I did. It was a tossup as to whether our single remaining guard spoke English. If by some miracle, he didn’t, then Lincoln wasn’t going to give him any visual clues to our conversation.

“I agree,” I said evenly.

“I’ll get his attention, and you see if you can go out the back,” Lincoln suggested.

“It may be the point of least resistance, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy to get open without a can opener,” I explained.

Now he did look around, scouring the ground for an implement we could use to pry a hole in the wall. There was nothing beyond a few clumps of grass and a rotted board. Lincoln kicked the board with one foot, either testing it or pointing it out to me as a potential fulcrum.