sleep. “I want you getting some shut-eye so you don’t blab so much,” the cracker jihadist had drawled. Which suggested to Birk that the bearded one really did appreciate the savvy—and always suave—correspondent’s premier importance.
It wasn’t the first sign that Raggedy Ass had understood that he and his hostage had a confluence of interest, as Birk thought of it. The most telling indication came when his abductor, at the very last moment, realized that cutting apart his prisoner-cum-spokesman like a roast chicken would, indeed, make it tough for Birk to communicate clearly.
If they couldn’t torture Birk, there was always the captain. Captain Moreno had screamed himself hoarse when the jihadist had clamped the cutters down on his thumb. The Waziristani couldn’t let the world think that he’d backed down from his very first threat. The captain’s thumb, a grisly but convincing imposter, now hung below Birk’s collar. The captain continued to bewail his wound.
Birk wished he’d shut up. What a wuss. He needs to man up. It’s just a fucking finger. You don’t see me blubbering.
The jihadist eyed his most famous hostage and said, “I’m going to get another finger.” He glanced at the captain, whose eyes opened wildly at the unwanted attention. “And I need you sitting still so I can hook it on your shirt while it’s nice and fresh.”
“Righto,” Birk replied, appreciating that Raggedy Ass wanted a proper display; both of them had seen that a finger, especially one hanging severed-side up, leaked a paltry amount of blood.
Birk had come to respect Raggedy Ass’s keen understanding of visual content, but that was to be expected because the young man, no doubt, had grown up on Sesame Street and had developed a bold sense of color in the broadcast spectrum. Besides, under any set of circumstances, red was always a vibrant consideration.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” Raggedy Ass went on. “Ordinarily, I’d never give a man an alcoholic beverage, but you were shaking so bad yesterday that it was pathetic. It makes us look bad, like we’re mistreating you. So how much of this,” he held up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label that he must have unearthed from the captain’s private reserve—Blue Label!!!—“do you need to stop shaking?”
“Oh, not much. Not much at all. A wee taste should do it—every now and then.”
“I don’t want you drunk. You start looking or sounding drunk, and I swear to Muhammad, peace and blessings of Allah be upon Him, that I will cut off your head with this.” He held up the all-purpose wire cutters.
“No, of course not. I’d never get drunk. I don’t even like to get drunk.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “I totally understand your concern. It would be unseemly.” Now give ’er here. “The best way to keep me, let’s say, medicated, would be for me to have a few sips every hour.” That truly was how Birk had remained functional for decades. The thought of finally being able to sip away after all this misery was a bounty beyond belief. Thank you, Johnnie Walker, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him.
Raggedy Ass held out the bottle with two fingers, like it was leprous. Because of the awkwardness of Birk’s heavily wrapped hand, the reporter had to clench the cap between his teeth to unscrew it. Still, he performed this feat in a flash. Ah, the sweetest scent this side of fresh-squeezed pussy. Birk spit out the cap and took what might well have been the most satisfying swig of his long drinking life. Then a second and a third swig before he saw Raggedy Ass go bug-eyed. Warmth flooded from Birk’s belly like the most wonderful glow imaginable, lighting up every cell in his body, even numbing him to the ungodly screams once more rising from the captain.
For chrissakes, shove a sock in his goddamn pie hole.
* * *
Alicia had ordered the crew to set up by the hotel entrance, where the van had been. She’d also corralled three members of the National Defense Force to stand in the background in full combat gear. Only feet away was where the waterspout had savaged a garden.
Jenna rushed out of the hotel accompanied by Nicci, who had gushed in a breathy whisper on the elevator that Alicia was “wonderful.” Jenna could have done without the effervescence but thought that maybe Alicia needed a little loving to crack her emotional carapace.
If so, it wasn’t immediately clear that love had done the deed. The news producer positioned