He couldn’t have given them the precise location of Dr. Noah Lind, and that was because he didn’t know where his uncle was. They could fill him with a dozen drugs, but it wouldn’t matter. You can’t tell someone what you don’t know.
In truth, Devon did know what city his uncle was living in. He even knew the general area, but he didn’t have an address, nor did he have a contact number, which was also something his handlers had asked for. Only his cousin Victoria had that information. Victoria and her father lived close to their uncle Noah, and over the years, she had grown close to him, particularly after Victoria’s father died four years ago.
Devon wondered why they wanted to talk to his uncle. That was the biggest question of all. His captors had initially told him they wanted to discuss a business proposition with his uncle, but Devon believed that was a lie. Making a business proposition wouldn’t require kidnapping. Whatever the true reason, Devon believed it was likely why his uncle had disappeared from public view in the first place. About two years ago, Devon’s father had told him that Noah had decided to drop off the map. When Devon asked him why, his father had said it had something to do with Noah’s work as a biophysicist.
A loud clang drew Devon out of his thoughts. They were coming, which meant it must be one o’clock. They came at the top of every hour to check on him. While there, they would take away whatever he hadn’t eaten, so Devon quickly stuffed the remaining food in his mouth.
Seconds later, the two guards appeared at the door. After the larger one punched in the code, they entered and went through the usual routine: the larger guard pointed a rifle at Devon while the smaller one made a quick search of the room’s interior. He surmised they were looking for any signs that he was trying to fashion a weapon.
After the search was complete, the larger guard came and stood in front of Devon. “How do you feel?”
It was a strange question coming from him. Surely he wasn’t trying to be nice. Perhaps they were using a different tactic.
“A little weak and groggy,” Devon answered. “But okay, I guess.”
“How was the food?”
Devon shrugged. “Same as always.”
The guard stepped closer. Devon could smell the rancid scent of coffee and cigarettes on his breath when he spoke. “Are you complaining?”
“No, I just—”
The guard grabbed Devon’s arm. “A day or two from now, you’re going to remember these as the good old days.”
Devon frowned. “What are you—”
“Shut up. You don’t talk until you’re asked to.”
Devon said nothing.
“You’re going to get one last chance to speak and one chance only.” He pushed the muzzle of his AR-15 into Devon’s cheek. “Do you understand?”
Devon nodded.
“Now, tell me where your uncle is. Tell me exactly where he is.”
The emphasis on the word exactly seemed to indicate they already knew what city Devon’s uncle was living in. Devon wondered if that had slipped out during one of the drug-fueled interrogations. He hoped not.
“Tell us!” the guard shouted.
“I don’t know. He and I weren’t close. I haven’t talked to him in almost—”
The larger guard pulled the rifle barrel back slightly then brought it hard against the side of Devon’s head. Pain seared across his skull like hot flames, and his ears rang loudly. Devon brought his hands up.
“You had one last chance, and you blew it,” the smaller guard said.
Devon’s vision blurred. He was in so much pain that he had trouble understanding what they were saying.
“But you know what? I’m happy you didn’t tell us,” the larger guard said with a smile. “You want to know why?”
Devon stared at him but said nothing.
“I’m happy because our boss has run out of patience.” He grabbed Devon’s hand then gripped his index finger tightly. “That means I get to play.”
He bent Devon’s finger back in an unnatural direction. Devon shouted in pain as his finger was pushed farther and farther back. Just when it seemed like the bone was going to snap, the guard released his grip.
Devon expected the torture to continue, but strangely, the two guards turned and exited the cell.
After closing the door, the larger one looked at Devon, a wicked smile playing on his face. “That was just a little taste of what’s coming. The real fun begins tomorrow.”
Devon remained perfectly still for a full minute. He had never experienced so much pain before. Finally, he lay back on the bed.
As he closed his eyes, he focused on a single thought: he would attempt to escape that night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ZANE WATSON ARRIVED at the Lugano train station at 5:37 p.m. Assuming it was on schedule, the L1 was due to depart in about forty-five minutes. That would give him just enough time to do what he came to do.
After backing the white Peugeot into a spot just south of the station, he slid his Glock 17 under the seat. He wanted to take it with him, but he also knew it would be too risky. If he was caught wandering around on a train with a weapon, he’d find himself spending the night in a Lugano jail. Ross would be able to maneuver his release through back channels, but by the time he got out, it would be too late to find out what had happened to Carmen.
The original plan was to meet in Bellinzona. Carmen’s train was supposed to arrive there at four, at which point she would disembark and meet Zane at a local Starbucks. They had arranged it that way so Carmen could shake off anyone who might be following her. Much to Zane’s surprise, she never showed up. Concerned about her welfare, he was headed to the station when he received a cryptic text from her. The message contained only four words: Going on to Lugano.
A couple of things about the text concerned him. First of all, it was an unexpected change in plans. Why were they going on to Lugano? Maybe they needed more time to talk over the proposal, or maybe there was some other reason. But he found it odd that she didn’t give a reason.
The other thing that bothered Zane was the text’s short length. The message seemed to have been typed in haste, as though Carmen had little time to compose it. Perhaps that was a sign she was in danger or hadn’t even written it. Zane had thought about texting a couple of follow-up questions but decided against it in case her phone had been compromised. If one operative was in danger, there was no sense in alerting someone to his presence.
As Zane crossed the parking lot, he checked the GPS tracking app on his phone. Carmen’s device hadn’t moved in the last hour. That was another concern. He assumed she was in her room, but he had to ask why she hadn’t moved. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.
For now, there was only one thing he could do. He would board the train and look around. He had previously purchased a ticket in case something like this happened. If he found her, he would keep his distance and try to determine what was going on without compromising her undercover status.
Upon entering the station, Zane went straight to a small café and purchased a coffee and a copy of the local Lugano newspaper. After tucking the newspaper under one arm, he walked out to the platform and got in line to board the L1. Fortunately, the queue was short.
When he arrived at the front, an elderly man with a thick, walrus moustache scanned his ticket. The wand beeped confirmation, but instead of waving him aboard, the man nodded at Zane’s coffee. “You have no bags?”
Zane smiled. “My wife has our things.”
The man looked at Zane’s left hand, presumably to check for a ring. He seemed ready to ask another question when someone in line shouted for him to hurry up. The man grumbled something under his breath then motioned Zane through.