Emilio said something to Taylor, and she replied. Then she asked for agua, and Emilio replied with a smile. He was not subtle.
Brodie noticed that Emilio’s five men were not outside the door, so they must have gone off to help break camp. Or it was lunchtime. In any case, it looked like it would be just Emilio outside the door, guarding the two shackled prisoners—one of whom was probably going to get a beating, and the other was going to get raped. This was not good. So this was not going to happen.
Emilio glanced at his new watch, then said something to Taylor and left, closing the bamboo door behind him. Brodie had noted that there was no padlock on the door—which would have been redundant—so if Emilio was not posted at the door, Brodie and Taylor could theoretically drag or carry the log outside, and down to the river. No prison is escape-proof, and this one—which seemed more like a punishment hut than a prison—had been constructed to hold a single prisoner, which was why he and Taylor were sharing a set of leg irons attached to a weight that one person couldn’t lift. Well, this place had held CIA Officer Ted Haggerty, whose blood was still on the floor, but it wasn’t going to hold Scott Brodie and Maggie Taylor.
The smell of cigarette smoke came into the hut, and Brodie looked at the bamboo door and saw movement through the open slats. Maybe Emilio.
Taylor was leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed. Brodie asked, “What did Emilio say to you?”
“The usual.”
“Specifically.”
“Scott, let me worry about—”
“I’m not looking for graphic descriptions—I’m looking for Intel.”
“Okay… He said he was going to take me to the women’s hut in about fifteen minutes for a shower and a good time in bed.” She added, “And all the water I can drink. And some food.”
“So we have fifteen minutes before he comes for you.”
“I guess.”
“That means he has the keys.”
She nodded.
“Okay…” Emilio had the keys and he had a stiffy. And he was apparently alone. Sounded like all the qualifications Emilio needed to become a dead man.
Taylor said, “I know what you’re thinking, Scott. I can’t help you… I’m too weak.”
“You’re stronger than you know.”
“I’ll be stronger later… after I get some food and water.”
“I don’t want you to pay for that food and water. Or the shower.”
She reminded him, “You said I should do what I have to do. I’m doing it.”
“The situation has changed. We need to get out of here.”
“You said nighttime was best.”
“We don’t have that long.”
“Let me rest… I’ll think about it.”
“All right.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Sorry I’m so out of shape…”
“You’re in great shape.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’ve got a few hours of gas left.”
“I’ll bring you some food and water.”
He wasn’t sure if Taylor could do that, or if she’d even be coming back. Time was running out faster than their options.
He changed the subject and said, “Well… we finally got the answers to everyone’s questions.”
“Worley already had those answers.”
Brodie nodded. And so did Trent, and everyone else in the Intel establishment who had anything to do with Operation Flagstaff, including, apparently, the previous occupant of this cell. The only thing Worley and friends didn’t know was the exact location of Camp Tombstone. But, assuming Haggerty had made some sort of report before he was captured, then Worley had a general idea of where Mercer’s camp was, and it would take Worley about twelve hours to get recon drones on station—or less, if he could cut through the red tape. Then… either a Special Forces raid, which could take a week to put together, or a rain of Hellfire missiles, which could take days to get clearance for. Meanwhile, Maggie had fifteen minutes before getting raped, and Camp Tombstone was about to move.
Taylor had sent their last grid coordinates to Dombroski—who was now waiting for their sat phone call from Collins’ aircraft. The question was, would Dombroski pass those coordinates on to Worley? Or would Worley call Dombroski for an update? Hard to know what these guys would do. They held the same rank in the same army, but that’s where the similarities ended.
In any case, Kyle Mercer now believed that Camp Tombstone was on someone’s radar and might soon become his graveyard. So he did what any good guerrilla commander would—you don’t wait to see what’s going to happen; you break camp and fade