Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,56

came away from Sara’s throat and the men dropped her to the ground. She held her hands to her wounds and found the blood flow to be minor. They were superficial cuts.

Trung spoke to the men in rapid-fire Vietnamese. They sprang into action. King, Queen, and Sara were bound, hands behind backs with zip-tie handcuffs, then shoved into the largest of the tents.

King’s eyes widened upon entering the tent. The odd collection of devices, tools, and tables told him more about the tent’s purpose than he wanted to know.

Trung walked in front of his three prisoners and grinned upon seeing the expressions on their faces.

King’s concern.

Queen’s rage.

Sara’s fear.

He stepped in front of King and spoke quietly. “Today you will learn to speak your first Vietnamese word, su? ‘tra tâń.”

King didn’t need a translator to understand the word. It would be one he remembered for the rest of his life.

Torture.

TWENTY-FIVE

ROOK’S BODY SHOOK with rage as he tried to launch himself at the dark figure lowering Knight’s limp form into the pit. Bishop’s bulging arms held him in place while his whispered warning kept the silence. “Know your enemy, Rook. It’s too soon for revenge.”

Rook stopped and watched without speaking as Knight slid down the wall, head first. His arms were free, dangling down below his head. With his feet bound together by a rope that led up and over the edge of the pit, Knight looked like a fresh version of the dead villagers hung next to him. Just another side of beef in the meat locker.

The thick figure set the torch down, further obscuring itself from view, but in the dim flickering light its orange hair could be seen. The hair struck Rook as odd because everything else about the figure looked human . . . though hunched, like an old man . . . or an ape. As the figure bent down and tied off the rope Rook knew he wasn’t watching an ape. Apes weren’t intelligent enough to tie knots. And they sure as hell couldn’t get the jump on Knight.

Before they could see it clearly, the form turned and walked away. The torchlight faded in the tunnel.

When it was no longer visible, and the chamber descended once again into darkness, Rook switched on his flashlight and dashed to Knight’s side.

A wreath of light hung on Knight’s body. His protective flak jacket had been removed. Tatters of black fabric dangled from his shredded fatigues. The small screen of the outbreak monitor on his wrist had been shattered, though the device still functioned. Wounds cut across his chest. Yet his body, his limbs, seemed mostly hale. As Bishop arrived, Rook lowered his light, illuminating Knight’s face.

Rook stepped back and covered his mouth. Not so much from the sight of Knight’s limp body, but more to remind himself not to shout a string of curses. What little of Knight’s face wasn’t caked in blood was pale. Rook leaned forward. It wasn’t his skin that was pale, it was dust. He’d been dragged through the forest and caves, and dust had clung to his face. Rook reached up to check for a pulse, but Knight confirmed his physical state before Rook’s hand reached his throat.

He coughed.

Knight was alive!

Rook dropped the flashlight and fell to his knees. He placed one hand under Knight’s blood-soaked head and the other under his back. Bishop reached up and cut the rope binding Knight’s ankles. In a flurry of motion, not caring who heard, Rook kicked the bones at their feet away until a small clearing had been formed. He gently placed Knight on the floor. “Hang on, buddy.”

Bones clattered behind Rook as Somi stumbled over for a look. She paused, supporting her weight on the wall, the knife wound stabbing pain into her body with every breath. “Keep quiet.”

Rook glared at her.

“They’ll come back,” she said.

Rook stood while Bishop began inspecting Knight’s wounds. “Look, lady. I don’t give a damn about how you might do things out here in the magic forest. We take care of our own.”

Somi pursed her lips and nodded. She’d never worked with Delta operators before, but she could see they had different standards when it came to living—and dying. She found it . . . inspiring. Thinking about her betrayal, she winced inwardly. Her loyalty to the VPLA had never faltered before.

But she had experienced firsthand how Trung rewarded loyalty. These men were different. They had earned her respect. Her goal now was to escape these tunnels and then disappear.