Once her men were on watch around the farm, she returned to Becker’s room, not wanting to delay the interrogation any longer. She wasn’t surprised to find his eyes were still closed, and his breathing as steady and deep as it had been when they brought him in.
But enough was enough.
“Mr. Becker,” she said, slapping his face. “Mr. Becker, time to wake up.” When he didn’t respond, she slapped him again. “Mr. Becker, open your eyes.”
Nothing.
Very well, then. She walked over to the table and opened her bag. From inside, she removed two boxes, one that contained her syringes, and another that contained her drugs. She selected a stimulant, drew the appropriate dose into the syringe, and returned to the bed.
“Last chance,” she said.
No movement.
She stuck the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger. Though his appearance remained unchanged, she knew it would be only a matter of minutes before he was wide awake.
She set the empty syringe on the table and decided to visit the toilet while she waited, to make sure nothing interfered with her work once she got started.
Eli had woken as the vehicle he was in pulled to a stop. Hoping to stave off another beating for as long as he could, he’d kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow and deep so no one would know he’d regained consciousness.
Doors were opened and fresh air rushed inside as his abductors climbed out. A few minutes passed before another door opened and his gurney jerked left and right before being pulled outside. As his bed rolled over rough ground, he heard the men around him tell each other to “watch it” and “go left” and “not so fast.” Finally, the rolling smoothed out, and Eli knew from the echo they’d entered a building.
When the gurney stopped, he heard the others walk off and a door shut. Then silence.
He remained motionless for several minutes before he allowed himself to crack open an eyelid. He was in a small room, with cream-colored walls and a window covered by linen curtains. The door was on the other side, by the foot of the bed. He could see the edge of a table in that direction, too, and a black, thick-sided duffel bag sitting on top of it.
Very carefully, he lifted each of his hands, checking to make sure there had been no adjustments to the leather cuffs that tethered them to the sides of the bed. The one on the right was tight as ever, but there was still play in the one on the left. That was the cuff he’d been working on right before his captors had come in and beat the crap out of him at the last location. Thankfully, they either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t thought it important enough to check.
He started rotating his hand back and forth again, hoping to expand the cuff enough so that he could slip it off. He could tell he was close; maybe another quarter inch would do it. What he wouldn’t have given at that moment to be one of those people who could dislocate their thumbs at will.
As he twisted again, he heard someone right outside the door. Immediately, he dropped his hand to the side and closed his eyes. The door opened, and from the sound of the steps, he knew it was the woman. She had a different way of walking from the men, less labored and random, as if every step was calculated to land at a specific angle and pace — confident, assured.
“Mr. Becker.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Eli felt the sting of her hand against his cheek.
He almost opened his eyes, came so damn close. If she’d hit any harder, he would have.
She told him to wake up and slapped him again. Again, he simply rolled with it, playing the part of the unconscious prisoner. It wasn’t that hard. The drug they had given him wasn’t completely out of his system yet and helped suppress his response.
“Mr. Becker, open your eyes.”
After a few seconds of silence, he heard her walk to the table at the foot of the bed and begin rummaging through the bag.
When she returned, she said, “Last chance.”
If he wasn’t afraid before, he was now. It took everything he had not to open his eyes to see what she was planning. His imagination was more than willing to fill in the details, picturing an array of torture devices from knives to Tasers to pliers and things he didn’t even know the names of. When the needle pricked his skin, it was almost a relief.
As she walked back to the table, he felt only a slight burning sensation at the point of injection, but a moment later, before she had even left the room, the burn began to spread.
Like a jolt of liquid electricity, the drug raced through his body, cycling up his heart, making it pound so rapidly it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. His lids shot open wide, his whole face tensing at the sudden surge of energy.
His breaths came hard and fast as his muscles began to contract.
Stop!
Involuntarily, his fingers curled in toward his palms and his feet yanked at the cuffs holding them to the bed.
Stop!
He gritted his teeth, trying to regain control.
Stop it!
One by one his muscles began to relax, until he was finally able to breathe almost normally again. But then he caught sight of the door.
She’s coming back, and when she does…
With renewed purpose, he began twisting his left hand against its cuff again, his gaze switching back and forth from the restraint to the door.
He felt his hand slip a little, so he pressed his thumb as tight as he could to his palm and pulled. Resistance at first, but it lasted only a second before his hand popped free.
He immediately reached over and undid the cuff on his right wrist, then sat up and leaned toward the restraints holding his ankles. That’s when he heard her steps in the hallway.
Close.
Too close.
No way he could free both feet before she got there.
His gaze fell on the black duffel back. Without a second thought, he scooted down as best he could, stuck a hand inside the bag, and grabbed whatever was in reach. Just as quickly he lay back down and covered his hands with the sheet.
Blindly, he tried to identify what he had grabbed. A plastic case a bit longer and thicker than a cigarette box, something that felt like a wooden chopstick, and a metal instrument with a palm-length handle at one end and a blade at the other. A scalpel?
As the door opened, he flattened his hand but didn’t bother closing his eyes.
The woman smiled as she entered the room. “Mr. Becker, nice to see you awake again.”
“Where are we?” he asked.
“No place important.”
Her hand was on the bag now. He could let her look inside.
“I want to go home. Please. Let me go home.”
She looked over. “All you have to do is cooperate and you can go anywhere you want.”
“I’ll…I’ll cooperate,” he said, sounding defeated. “I’ll tell you whatever I know. I just want to go home.”
She lifted her hand from the bag and took a step toward the bed. “I’m pleased to hear that. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble. Why don’t we start at the beginning? Tell me why you were looking into Operation Overtake.”
Another step. At his hip now. Not close enough yet.
“You promise not to hurt me again?”
“If you truly cooperate, there will be no reason to hurt you.”
He’d have only one shot at this, so he waited.
One more step. “Mr. Becker?”
He nodded as if he’d come to a decision. “Overtake. I…I was looking…”
“Looking for what?”
A little closer, dammit!
“For…for…” he said, hoping to draw her in closer.
Instead, she turned back toward her bag.
“For the girl,” he blurted out. “I was looking for the girl.”