It’s Like That (9 page)

“A new video found online just yesterday shows a Navy SEAL and an active duty Army soldier held captive until the US government agrees to meet the demands of the unnamed European terrorist group. This group has listed demands such as American citizenship and political immunity in exchange for these brave soldiers’ lives. We have a short clip of the video, but please be warned: this video is extremely disturbing, and we are unable to show you more than about a twenty-second clip.”

The newscaster droned on for another minute or so before the video flashed up on the screen, grainy and dark. Callie slid off the couch and crawled over to her television to get a better view. The camera bounced a little and showed two people, a man and a woman, hands bound behind them, blindfolded, on their knees. She’d hoped they were wrong about the condition he was in, but if anything, they’d downplayed it.

His hair was long and he had a full beard. His clothes were torn and dirty, and she couldn’t tell what the original color was. His face was swollen and splotchy with bruises, and an open gash ran from his forehead, down his left cheek, and to his chin. He was so thin! The heavy muscles that had bulged impressively just a few months ago were diminished. His cheeks were hollow and gaunt.

Callie tried in vain to suppress the sob squeezing her chest. She grabbed her remote and paused, pressing her hand against the screen and whispering softly, “God, Chris. What have they done?”

She let her eyes drift to the female soldier and gasped at what she saw. The woman hung her head while Chris held his head high. Her hair drooped in dirty strands around her face, and Callie couldn’t tell if it was blood or dirt matting the strands together. She had dark stains covering nearly every piece of clothing she wore, and Callie realized with a start that it was blood.

She rewound a little and listened to the words this time. A deeply accented voice was yelling from out of the camera’s reach. The words were difficult to understand, but she could tell they were giving instructions to their prisoners. The woman obviously complied, listing off their demands in a flat, toneless voice. When the disembodied voice yelled at Chris, though, the video cut out and went back to the female newscaster.

“No!” Callie screeched.

“As previously stated, the video is disturbing and we are unable to air the full content.” She went on to drone on about terrorist groups and government policies but Callie had stopped listening. She flipped off the television and made a beeline for her laptop.

It wasn’t hard to find the full video. It was new enough that it hadn’t disappeared completely from the Internet, and popular enough now that the first result that popped up on the search engine was a direct link. She waited for the video to download and watched in horror.

* * * *

They were filming them. Disgusting. The one that called himself “the prophet” had tied their hands and blindfolded them, and taken great pride in telling them they were about to be put on display for the entire world. Chris suffered only a moment, hoping against hope that his family wouldn’t have to see it. For the most part though, he tried to think only of himself and Harris. He’d go crazy if he thought of his mom or sister or…her. He pushed that away quickly before pink heels and a silver anklet could enter his mind.

He catalogued his pains instead. His fingers still ached where the fingernails were trying to grow back in, and the cuts on his back had just begun to heal. They never let them heal completely before reopening them, though, so he was sure he was due for a visit to what he’d begun to think of as the “chain room.” His knees ached from bearing his weight for so long. They’d kept him on his knees since last week, when he’d gotten another beating. He’d tried, he really had, to avoid it. But they made it impossible. They’d figured out early on that he wanted to protect Harris. Every time they raped her or beat her he’d rage against them in whatever way he could. They used that against him. When they figured out they could torture him all they wanted without getting anything from him, they’d turned their attention to her. She was just a kid. Not even old enough to buy a drink. She’d been stationed in Germany and taken a weekend trip to France. They’d got her there, but figured out pretty quickly she had no information that was useful to them. But they’d kept her instead of killing her, using her as a means to an end.

She’d broken somewhere along the way, and now her only words were when they told her to speak. She was willing herself to die, and Chris suspected she was slowly but surely succeeding. So last week, when they came in for their weekly rape session, one after another, he hadn’t been able to watch her lie there silent and unmoving. He’d managed to grab one of them through the bars that held him prisoner and given the asshole one hell of a concussion. His satisfaction was brief, though, as they barely paused in the rape, and chained him on his knees and proceeded to beat the living hell out of him.

He had to give them one thing though: they were smart. They knew how to keep them both alive, in constant agony. But something was going wrong. He could smell the desperation on them. If they were smart enough to keep up this level of torture for this long, they were smart enough to know that the US government wasn’t going to give a terrorist group citizenship, no matter who they held hostage. So why this, why now?

Harris was speaking beside him, repeating the demands “the prophet” was yelling at her. When she was done, the bastard started yelling at him to give the rest of the demands to the government. Fuck that. He had his own demands.

“Lieutenant Chris L. Paulson, United States Navy SEALs. service number 3854276.” He paused, waiting for them to urge him on. A quick swipe of a chain across his back let him know they wanted him to continue. So be it. “These sons of bitches are begging the United States government to call in a squadron of Apache helicopters and shove hellfire right up their asses.”

He got a boot to the face for his trouble, and fuck! It hurt! His nose spurted blood and he suspected by the way he wasn’t able to breathe that it was broken again. When the fog cleared seconds later, he realized his face was shoved against the floor and they were screaming at him again. They wanted him to list the rest of their demands. Fuck it.

He sat up and spat out what felt and tasted like blood before speaking again. “They’d also like you to level this fucking building and hunt them down like the animals they are.”

Boot to the nuts this time. He crumpled, trying to catch his breath and let the pain fade. Before it faded though, they’d jerked him back to his knees and someone whispered gleefully, “You’ll pay for this later.”

He grinned and choked out, “Looking forward to it.”

* * * *

Callie bit her fist hard enough to draw blood. She wished she hadn’t watched, oh how she wished she could unwatch it! But it had been good to see that he was alive. She blew her nose noisily and sobbed into the tissue. He was fighting them. That meant there was some part of him they couldn’t break, and he was trying to survive. She understood why he wouldn’t cooperate, but she wished he’d just do what they wanted so they wouldn’t hurt him anymore. She refused to acknowledge that cooperating with them would go against everything she knew to be true about him.

She snapped her laptop closed and looked around for her phone. When she found it, she called Sara, not worried for one second about the time.

“You watched it, didn’t you?” Sara’s soft voice answered the phone.

Callie held back the tears. “Yeah. I want to know when they go. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”

There was silence on the other end as Callie waited for the answer. “Yeah. I’ll tell you if I know.”

“Why haven’t they already gone to get them?” Callie whispered.

Sara sighed. “It’s the government, Callie. It’s complicated, and that’s not something Alan would tell me even if he knew. Maybe they keep moving. Maybe they’re lucky, maybe it’s a leak.” She paused and then continued, “Also, I don’t think they’re necessarily in a hostile country. If a team of SEALs show up and start wreaking havoc and they’re not there…well, all kinds of political hell will break loose. That’s what I think, though. Alan’s never said that.”

Callie took a shaky breath. “Thanks, Sara.”

“Callie.”

“Yeah?”

“I know you care about him. But Chris has his faults. And if he comes back…”

“
When
,” Callie emphasized.

“When he comes back,” Sara conceded, “He’s going to be…different. This will change him.”

“I know,” Callie said in a small voice. “I know.”

“Just don’t build it up to be more than it was and try not to expect too much.”

Callie bristled at that and closed her eyes. “Okay.”

They hung up, and Callie made her way back to the bedroom to snuggle with his shirt. She took several deep breaths and realized Sara was right. She’d known him three days. When he came back, it was going to be like starting over. He probably hadn’t spared her a second thought.

Late April

Chris tugged Harris’ limp body until she rested on his shoulders. She was a tiny thing to start with, and the months of imprisonment had whittled her down to almost nothing. They were going to die here if he didn’t get them out. He’d broken some bones in his hand to pull the cuffs off, and managed to reset his thumb, but it was still swelling and changing color. Getting the ankle cuffs off had been harder but he’d managed to pick them with a tiny screw he’d painstakingly pulled out of his wrist restraints. Once he’d figured out the locking mechanism, getting Harris out hadn’t taken very long. The door to the room they were held in was unlocked, because really, why lock a door when the people in it are bound hand and foot? There were two guards in the next room smoking cigars and watching television. He’d broken their necks silently, and was now praying there were no more.

He was running on autopilot, his training and experience taking over. He was grateful for that. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

He thought it was night, but couldn’t be sure in the windowless structure they were being held in. Everything had started blurring together, and he could actually tell his mind was starting to slip. If that happened, they’d never survive. He made his way carefully, silently, to what he thought was an outside door. He wouldn’t be able to open it carrying Harris, so he set her down, being careful not to jar her, and adjusted the firearms he’d taken from the two dead guards. Opening the door silently, he saw it was indeed an outside door, and judged that it was maybe just before midnight. A mountain range towered over the building, probably no more than a couple of miles away. He could make it there and then figure out where to go.

There was no one in sight and he pulled Harris back over his shoulders and whispered, “Hang on, soldier. I’m getting us out of here.”

She was silent, but then, he’d expected her to be. He didn’t know if she’d ever find her way back to sanity.

He almost made it, was nearly out of sight of the building when he heard the alarm raised behind him. Angry voices shouted and gunshots rang through the night. He wasn’t overly concerned about the gunshots, though. They were out of range for anything but a sniper. He didn’t rule that out, but hoped if they
had
a sniper, they’d at least shoot them both in the head instead of taking them alive. He picked up speed, jostling Harris on his shoulders and adjusting her slightly. She grunted.

He noted absently they were in a desert, as the sand caused his feet to sink with every step. A searing pain tore through his left knee, but he barely slowed down. He had to make it to the mountain that stood maybe a mile away. Then he could climb out of sight and out of reach of the vehicles they were probably loading up now. He had to make it or die trying.

* * * *

3 weeks later

Callie packed up the last few tests she had to grade and locked her classroom door with a relieved sigh. These tests marked the end of school, although there was still a week left of classroom time before summer vacation. She, like every other teacher, planned to play games and let the kids watch movies. Most of them probably wouldn’t even show up, especially since the last three days of school didn’t count against them if they were absent. This last week was pointless, but it was required.

Callie tossed her schoolbag into the passenger seat, started the car, and then rolled her eyes when she remembered she’d driven to work listening to an old ’80s band. She had just changed the selection when her phone beeped. She dug it out of her purse and saw a text from Sara.

“R u home yet?”

She sent back: “Not yet. Y?”

Sara responded, “Call me asap when ur home.”

Callie shrugged and pulled out of the parking lot. Sara probably wanted her to come over for poolside drinks since it was Friday. She’d have to turn her down, though, at least until these papers were graded.

She forgot to call Sara when she got home, sitting down instead to grade her papers. It didn’t take long, no more than a couple of hours, and by the time she remembered and found her phone, she had seventeen missed calls. The phone started ringing again in her hand, and she answered it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sara shrieked at her.

“At home. Sorry, I forgot to call. I was grading the science tests I gave today.”

“Are you sitting down?”

Callie frowned and made her way to the couch to sit down. “I am now. What’s going on?”

Sara took a deep breath and said, “Chris and the female soldier turned up in the Czech Republic. Some farmer found them wandering in his field and took them to the hospital. The hospital called the embassy. They’re both really bad off. They don’t know if the female will make it. But they’re sending them to Bethesda as soon as they’re stable enough to travel.”

Callie froze, unable to move except to blink rapidly.

“Callie? Are you there?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.