about the area.
She drew the low, one-story building where Zach was probably being kept. A quarter mile away was their munitions storage.
When she finished, she slid the paper toward Winston. “Zach is here,” she said, trying to sound as if she really knew where he was being held instead of just guessing. “It’s not a main training facility, which is in our favor. Also, Zach’s men were there less than a month ago. The debriefing information should still be accurate. The plane will drop us off about thirty miles away, and we’ll drive until we get within sight of the perimeter.”
“We?”
She nodded, trying to act casual. “Rick Estes is coming with me.”
Winston was a pro. He might wear expensive suits and silk ties, but there had been a time when he’d been the best field agent in the agency. Not by a flicker of his pale lashes did he give away what he was thinking.
“Why Estes?”
“He owes Zach, too.”
“I wasn’t aware Agent Jones inspired such loyalty.”
She didn’t bother commenting on that one.
After a few moments of silence, Winston shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“But we—”
“No, Jamie. I’m not the heartless bastard you think I am. I didn’t abandon Zach to those animals. He’s a good man and a friend. I’ve already sent in a team. Half the group couldn’t get close, the other half suffered fifty percent casualties. Enough people have died. I’m not risking any more just to bring home a corpse.”
She hadn’t known. She could feel the blood draining from her head. The room tilted, but she didn’t give in to the weakness.
She swore under her breath. “We have a better plan.”
“Backed by that famous intuition of yours?”
She ignored the sarcasm. “You sent in a team. This time there’s just going to be the two of us. Rick will create a diversion, and I’ll get Zach out. We’ll rendezvous at the jeep, then meet the plane.”
“Sounds simple. Why didn’t we think of that?” He glared at her. “Jamie, you’re not stupid. What do you think you can do that hasn’t already been tried?”
“We’re going to blow up the munitions.”
That got Winston’s attention. He leaned forward in his executive leather chair. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m aware of the potential problem.”
“Problem? Problem? We don’t know what’s there, Sanders. That’s a hell of a lot more than just a problem.”
For the first time since entering Winston’s office, she was the one to look away. She and Rick had discussed this in detail. Blowing up the terrorists’ ammunition and weapons would be a terrific diversion. There was only one catch. No one knew exactly what was stored there. If their intelligence was correct, then Rick could safely blow it up. If the intelligence was wrong—if the terrorists had more-powerful bombs and explosives—then the blast would not only take out the stash, but Rick, Jamie and everyone else in the vicinity, including Zach.
“It’s a calculated risk,” she said softly. “One Rick and I are prepared to take.”
Winston glared at her. He punched a button on his phone. “Get Estes in here.” He broke the connection without waiting for a reply. “I assume he’s lurking around waiting to hear the outcome of this meeting.”
“Yes.”
Winston swore. “You’re putting me in a difficult position.”
She drew in a deep breath. The relief was as tangible as the chair she sat in. “I’m sorry for that,” she said.
Winston glanced at her. “No, you’re not.”
“I know.”
“You’ll need a transport plane, a jeep. I assume Estes already has his supply list ready.”
She nodded.
“You really think Zach is still alive?”
“I know he is.”
“You could be risking your life for a dead man.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come!” Winston called.
Rick Estes entered. Jamie looked up at him and smiled. “We’re in.”
The cell was twelve-by-twelve, but Zach Jones couldn’t appreciate his spacious accommodations. The chain that ran from the floor to the metal collar around his neck was so short, he couldn’t stand without choking. Not that he had the strength to stand anymore.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. At least he could lie down if he wanted to. When he lost the will to do anything else, he collapsed onto the dirty straw in his cell and listened to the rustling of unseen creatures.
By his figuring, he’d been a prisoner for about three weeks. He could be off by as much as four days. Some of the “sessions” with his captors left him unconscious, and then the rising and setting of the sun went unnoticed and unmarked. The days they left him alone slipped by easily, aided by the feverish sleep that claimed him. The days they came for him were endless hours of pain and suffering as he struggled to maintain a slim hold on sanity. He’d surrendered his humanity the first time they’d beaten him with the chains. Now he just wanted to live long enough to get out.
A fly buzzed nearby, but he ignored it, as he ignored the scabs on his face and his cracked lips. He hadn’t had any food or water for over twenty-four hours. He knew what was coming. They starved him to the point of weakness and dehydration, then they beat him. They came when his reserves were at their lowest. Then they left him to heal just enough to endure the torment again.
Every inch of him was bruised and bloodied. He didn’t think they’d broken any bones. At least, not yet. He’d called upon all the training he’d been given in order to survive this ordeal. He hung on to the fact that it wouldn’t continue forever. Either he would be rescued or he would die.
There was no middle ground.
After three weeks of being chained, his swollen, beaten muscles had become so weak he couldn’t walk. He could barely feed himself. The fever came and went. Several sores were infected. He was in bad shape. If they didn’t get him out in the next few days, they might as well not bother.
In his lucid moments, he thought about the various plans they might employ to rescue him. He figured teams had already been sent in and failed. He knew Winston would weigh the cost of his life against the risk to other operatives. Zach didn’t know how much his boss would think he was worth. Maybe that line had already been crossed.
Maybe
