Freedom Earned Page 7

  I wanted to kick myself. The thought that I was on some Thai beach worried about giving away my location to my longtime friend was ludicrous. What was I going to do? Hide forever? My chest clenched, in a sort of spasm as it did sometimes when I was stressing. Hands balled into fists, I gritted my teeth and considered what my Commanding Officer would say if I were found in a Thai jail. Or worse… never found. I would be considered a deserter, at best. A crazed Marine gone murderer at worst.

  Fuck all this. I needed to piss. To clear my head and figure out my next move. I moved back down the decline and toward the water. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe all that other B.S. was behind me, and now I could relax, feel the sand in my toes and simply enjoy it. I simply needed to go down there, explain what had happened, and find some way to make it right.

  Finding the shore, I leaned against a rock—still buzzed from the beers—and relieved myself. I formed a little lake next to the lapping waves, lost in the moment and glad none of it had splattered on me. The realization hit me as I finished that one strong gust of wind could have blown my stream back on me.

  Tucking my little guy away, I turned to head back and do what needed to be done. Only, halfway into my turn a thud sounded, along with piercing pain. The beach turned on its side and I stumbled forward, head spinning, ringing in my ears. I turned, hand up and ready, or so I thought, when again something hit my head, this time causing me to fall, everything going black as I processed the sight of a man with a long object in his hand. Another stepped out from beside the first, both looming over me as everything went black.

  12

  My mind wasn’t processing what had happened at first, all of it a blur. Kosum… what was going on with her? Everything about my training told me to look at those closest to the situation first. Kosum and Jason were, therefore, my prime suspects. Except, no, my dazed mind was playing tricks on me again. It hadn’t been her there at all. It had been that other woman, the one from the boat.

  A groan and I rolled over, thinking I was still on the beach. Maybe I had been robbed or had a kidney stolen. While my mind was swaying, I couldn’t be sure how much of it was me, but when I pushed myself over I saw that I was on the back of a speedboat. Nothing large like the boat we had come to the island on, but a little dinghy with barely enough room for the guy driving it, an empty seat next to him, and me tied up in the back.

  Survival instincts took over and I started going through my options. If I threw myself from the boat, rolling off or whatever to get into the water, I would likely drown. My other option might have been to try and get the guy riled up, hope to somehow take him out even while bound.

  I had another major problem in that I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Bile rose from my gut, eyes shut as I puked, and then I was out for the count. For what seemed an eternity, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The stink of puke hit me like a kick to the nostrils each time I woke, and at times I wasn’t sure whether the sky or the blurry sides of the boat were real or part of a dream.

  I felt like hell. A blow to my head had left me unconscious, but for how long? We had discussed this in boot camp’s medical training, some recruit asking about how blows to the head often left people unconscious in movies. Sometimes a kick to the gut, too, but the drill instructor didn’t feel the need to address that one. As for the former, though, as far as I could recall, any injury that left one unconscious was a concussion. I hadn’t been unconscious for too long, it seemed, and that was a good sign. Sometimes unconsciousness could last days or even longer, which could be a signal of major brain injury.

  Trying to put my hand to my head but instead meeting the resistance of my chains, I was reminded of a news article. Something about a guy dying because he had been punched in the head and his brain had swollen. Situations like that were definitely out of the norm, and I had taken my share of punches over the years, and even a good kick or two. Nothing ever like this though, and certainly nothing that had left me unconscious.

  Again, everything went black, but then I was being slapped, woken up, and carried off the boat by two men. There was no point in struggling, considering how dizzy I still felt and the fact that the chains were still on tight.

  “What is this?” I tried to mumble. Then, raising my voice, added, “Tell me who you are.”

  Chatter in Thai, then one of them told me to shut up. I caught a glimpse of a fluorescent sign, blurry at first and then becoming clearer. Nothing that could help me, though—it read, “Beer,” and that’s all. I could see a line of old, wooden buildings on one side of the street, jungle everywhere else.

  I wanted to ask more questions, but these two clearly weren’t in the mood. They had me in the back of a small truck, fastened down so that all I could see was the starry night, then the truck roared to life and we were off. My head banged along with every bump we went over, intensifying my already splitting headache. Soon the truck came to a halt, and I saw foliage, then another building as they pulled me up, and I was thrown over the side of the truck and dragged inside.

  They dropped me on the floor and left me there, disorientated and feeling sick from the pounding headache. It was time to make my move. The truck was driving off as I rolled over, pushing myself up. My drunken and confused state had kept me from doing so earlier. Now, I was able to stand well enough. The chains were the type punks in the U.S. used to wear attached to their wallets, hanging off the side of their pants. A thin chain, one that wasn’t locked in place but simply tied around and then fastened with some rope threaded between and tied again.

  I started working at the knot while assessing my surroundings. Old wooden planks. Walls of a house, judging by the small mat that made up a bed in the corner. And me, where was I? A glance down filled my mind with another question—why was I nude? I couldn’t remember anyone taking off my clothes or when that had happened, but it made the idea of escape that much more complicated.

  Exposed, chained… my mind felt sluggish, slowing again. The simplest explanation could have been that some customs agent had flagged me, made it so that the right people were in the right place. But why me? I had access to top-secret intel and all that when on base, sure, but that wasn’t going to do them any good anywhere but in the metal box of a room in Okinawa—the SCIF. Was I simply an American Marine captured to prove a point? The idea of me being used for ransom was laughable.

  “Assholes!” I shouted to see if anyone was there. The knots were proving more of a challenge than I had expected, so I figured there was no reason to put off the inevitable. The longer I sat around wondering, the harder that would be on my psyche. For the moment, at least my adrenaline was pumping too hard to allow fright. I wanted to believe that it was simply my training, but doubted it.

  For a long while there was silence, giving me the chance to take in the room more fully. It almost had an old log-cabin feel. Comforting in any other situation. An abandoned one, clearly, as the machine in the corner was broken, radiator next to it rusted over. Through the windows, I spotted a dock. My view wasn’t clear, but there might have been a small boat there.

  A creak sounded as the door opened. A man entered, a woman behind him. The man didn’t look familiar, but the woman was one from the barbecue. I had seen her right before being struck, but had she been part of the original group? I couldn’t remember. Maybe it was the fact that my head had been hit hard enough to knock me out, or maybe I was just an ass, but now my mind was telling me they all looked the same.

  As I worked at the knot, talking came from their direction. It sounded as if a third person was there, maybe another woman. Then the door creaked again, and I saw through the window that the two were exiting. Dammit, I needed to get out of there, fast. A speedboat whirred to life, growing distant, so that I supposed it was those two leaving.

  I was damn close to getting the main knot undone, but the door opened behind me. I spun, covered myself at the sight of the two men and one woman entering, and waited.

  These three were not ones I’d seen
before. For one, the woman looked to be in her forties, and all the other women I had seen or interacted with either on the beach or at the barbecue had to be in their early twenties at most. She was petite, hair cut short with blonde streaks dyed into it, and had an intense gaze. Not once did she look at me in those first few minutes. Instead, she simply went to the front door and took up position there as a lookout.

  Still, I wondered if there was a connection here. If the man I had attacked had family here, and this was his vengeful aunt. Or maybe the guys were her brothers.

  A laugh came from one of the men, both speaking in Thai, and then the shorter of the two—a bald man with very red cheeks, even visible through his dark skin—gestured at my nudity. The other man looked to be more of a mix, half Thai but I couldn’t place the other half. His skin was darker, eyes a bit more Western, and his nose was long and hooked.

  “Why so shy?” the bald one asked.

  I glared, eyeing them for weapons, searching all around the room for exit strategies. “My guess is, you know who I am. Which means, you know my government will come looking.”

  It was a bluff, somewhat. Maybe they thought I was worth something, which meant they didn’t likely have a clear understanding of my real role. It wasn’t a big leap to assume they thought all intel people were like Jack Ryan or the others from the shows and books.

  The tall man gestured to a chair in the corner. “Sit.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  He glared. “We can get you clothes. Water.”

  “First, tell me what’s going on here. Why are you doing this?”

  He motioned to the chair. I approached, noting that the woman still hadn’t glanced over. Careful to avoid splinters in my ass, I did as commanded, ignoring the realization that I needed to piss sooner than later. First, I wanted to see what I could learn from these people.

  While the bald man went over to converse with the woman, the tall man eyed me a moment longer before saying, “No reason to keep you in the dark. You will be handed over.”

  “To?”

  “A group you won’t want to be handed over to.” He smiled, as if that had been pleasant news. Clearly, he enjoyed this more than he should have.

  “For what purpose?”

  “Because we say so.”

  He ignored a slew of words coming from the woman, likely chiding him for saying anything at all. Which meant it was probably true. They wanted to trade me for something, but what? The tall man gestured to the other man, who walked over. The latter grabbed a nondescript black shirt and pair of black shorts and tossed them my way.

  Now the tall man grinned, watching me try to figure out how to dress with the chains on, and then laughed. “You are a funny one.”

  I was pissed—sometimes a good emotion for a Marine. As warm as this country tended to be, currently, a chill ran up my spine and tingling up my thighs. I didn’t like that or the fact that my head still hurt like hell. I was nauseous to boot. The way this guy was acting didn’t help me feel any better. When I had a chance, I’d show him how pissed I was.

  A door creaked open behind me, and then another figure entered. I turned to the open door and saw that one of the first three who had tried to intimidate me was now cooking in the next room over. When I turned to see the newcomer, the woman was there, a knife to my cheek.

  “You won’t find redemption here,” she said.

  The newcomer, though, had entered my line of sight. I knew this guy. He had been at the club in Koh Samui.

  My paranoia was proving true—this was all connected. But what about Chanchai on the beach? I decided to take a chance.

  “Where’s my buddy?”

  “Who?” the lady asked.

  “At the beach and back at the club. My friend. You have him, too?”

  “We don’t give a shit about your friend,” the woman said.

  The newcomer spouted off a few lines in Thai, then stepped over to me as the woman pulled the knife away. He looked me up and down and smiled. It was an eerie smile, the effect enhanced by his yellowed teeth. He had a thin goatee of wispy hair, practically no eyebrows, and a stare that could freeze Cerberus himself.

  After a moment of staring, he grunted.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “You did this.” His English was harsh. “You cause trouble.”

  “All I wanted to do was relax and enjoy a vacation, man.” I glanced down at the black clothes in my hand, covering my lap. “Maybe you untie me, send me on my way, and we forget this ever happened?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Not likely.” The woman played with her knife. “You’re worth something to us.”

  I glared, looking for ways out. “I’ve seen your faces. When the cops ask—”

  “You think we give a shit about the cops?” She laughed. “We own the cops, you little shit.”

  Her English was superb. I wondered about that. “You went to school in the States?”

  She furrowed her brow, said something in Thai, and then walked into the back room.

  The others eyed me, speaking in hushed tones, and a shiver ran through me. What had I learned so far? Breathing slow to calm myself and focus on this question, I put the pieces together. It was related to the club events that had transpired after meeting Kosum. They knew I was in the Marines, maybe the intel part. One of these guys looked like he might be half foreigner, but I couldn’t be sure where from.

  Whoever they meant to hand me over to likely had some connection to what I did in the Marines, I imagined. Otherwise, why would they know that fact about me? Further, as far as I knew they weren’t targeting other Americans, Jason included, so that meant this was specific.

  “You’re Hezbollah,” I said, eyeing the half-foreigner.

  His head whipped around at me, eyes narrowed. “No.”

  “Bullshit.” Maybe he wasn’t, but judging by his reaction, he was connected in some way. “I know enough to put that piece together.”

  Mumbling to himself, the man stepped up to me and hit me across the face. Damn, that stung. The thing was, though, that my work in the Marines had direct connections to the terrorist organization. I had only been one of several analysts involved in the case that had stopped a would-be bombing in Tokyo as they had begun to expand their operations east. What value I would have for them was beyond me.

  Still, it was the only reason I could put together for my being here.

  “You’re with them, no doubt,” I said, spitting blood. “But here’s the thing—I’m only an analyst. What good is that going to do you? Hell, your bosses will probably be more pissed at you bringing them a nobody than if you had literally not brought anybody.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The bald man came at me with a push that sent my chair back, my head slamming against the floor. Damn, that hurt. At least I didn’t lose consciousness this time. I must have struck a chord, because he was on me, knee on my throat, fist raised to strike me.

  Shouting drew my attention. The lead woman was there a second later, pistol at bald-man’s head. While I couldn’t understand what she was saying, I had no doubt it had to do with leaving me alone until it was time for the handover.

  “Get the fuck off me!” the man shouted, and the fact that he spoke to her in English surprised me, but not as much as his attack on her did. Directing the anger he had been about to unleash on me, he knocked her pistol aside and caught her with a punch to the side of her head.

  She stumbled, nearly dropping the pistol, but then lifted it again and fired. A bullet grazed the man’s shoulder, and he roared, going for her again. The other two were shouting as they ran for cover. Me, I was lying there on the overturned chair, still chained and nude, cringing, hoping that I would survive this night.

  An involuntary flinch sent my hands up, and I realized they weren’t chained anymore! The fall had managed to dislodge something. While the rope was still tied, the chain connected was broken
. Another shot and more cursing, then the guy had the lady, pushing her so hard that they disappeared from sight.

  I leaped up, taking my chance. Heart racing, body numb and legs tingling as they had apparently started to fall asleep, I staggered for the nearest door. On the way, I scooped up the black clothes they had given me and fled into the night.

  Except, I wasn’t free yet. This door led outside into a courtyard garden area with concrete block walls. I tossed the clothes over before I jumped and pulled myself up and over, then dropped on the other side. Without a doubt my body would be scraped up, but at the moment my focus was simply on surviving. Considering all the adrenaline running through me, I could have likely had a knife in the gut and barely noticed.

  Grabbing the clothes, I moved through the jungle, tearing through trees to the point where I could see in.

  Apparently, the others hadn’t even noticed I was gone. From my vantage point and as I dressed, I was able to see the woman, her face contorted with anger, shouting. Then two more shots went off, and finally the bald man collapsed.

  “Where’d you go?” She stormed through the house, clearly looking for me.

  Moving to where I could better see, I watched as another man stepped into her path. He shouted back at her and brandished a blade, but she aimed the pistol at him. Steady. Calm.

  Thai, followed by, “You won’t fucking dar—”

  She apparently didn’t like his tone, because she let loose a shot that tore a hole in his chest. He staggered toward her, got another shot—this time in the neck—and then lurched forward to grab her. Instead, he fell face-first, twitching…and then was still.

  Holy shit, she had killed two of the people on her side! I stared in shock at the blood splattered across the kitchen wall, then at the slumped-over form of the man. As the other guy shouted at her she calmly walked up to the fallen man, nudged him with her pistol, and grunted, satisfied he was dead.

  When she turned her pistol on the last remaining guy, he shut up.