THE TEMPERATURE INSIDE the vehicle rose ten degrees in the seconds before King jumped out. I’ve heard that when angered, a Shadow Warrior’s body temperature elevates. I think my father mentioned it once. Feeling the heat sweep through the car is different from hearing about it. King’s reaction when learning I’m the new secretary of defense is entirely unexpected. Laughter would have been more understandable.
I fear the U.S. government withheld the key pieces needed to solve this riddle. Bottom line… I’m expendable and I knew it before I took the oath of office. One brave moment in my life is turning into the nightmare I feared it would be.
The driver stomps his foot on the gas and takes off, leaving King behind. Neither man in the front seat acts like I’m in the car. I’m left alone to ponder the situation with nothing but questions. I give it a shot by asking something simple. “How long until we reach our destination?”
They ignore me and I sink back against the upholstery of the older model car that is typical in this country. I read about what Cuba was like before the war, and I remember the government essentially froze the country in the 1950s. This car is an antique and yet I’m surprised at the soft purr of the engine. Sadly, the lack of air conditioning is making me drip with sweat beneath my suit.
My gaze travels over what I can see of the two men. They’re as large as King. I’m tempted to sing a bad rendition of “Monster Mash” to see if that gets their attention.
First official day on the job and I create a national incident. Not good.
The half-open windows do nothing to cool the interior. I shrug off my suit jacket and intentionally huff loudly when I settle into the seat again. At least I’m off the plane.
We travel for thirty minutes before entering the city. Some streets contain demolished sections while others hold untouched colorful buildings. I expected more of the former. The driver eventually makes a sharp right and we pass through a gated entrance. Two guards stand to the side. They’re dressed the same as my escorts. If there was still a stock market, I’d look into leather straps and silver buckles.
Yes, I’m fairly mouthy when reciting snark in my head. At least to myself I can pretend I’m not totally spineless. I try really hard to shake off the self-doubt that dogs me by taking a long slow breath.
Inside the gates is drastically different from the area outside. Lush tropics fit the climate but it’s so far from the world I left behind and I’m stunned by the simple beauty. The vehicle stops and a few seconds later the driver drags me out. He’s as tall as King, his face a little thinner and maybe not as striking, but he carries himself like the other men. His meaty hand around my upper arm is all that keeps me upright as he wrestles me to the large structure in front of me. I barely have time to breathe in the delicious scent of flowers and greenery that I’ve missed for far too long. The double doors open and he releases me with a massive shove that sends me back to my hands and knees.
The heavy-handedness is completely unnecessary. I’m fully aware who the boss is.
“Stand up or I will carry you,” he sneers.
Welcome the liaison pleasantly has ended abruptly. I pull myself up on wobbly legs.
“Come,” he says in much the same snarl as King.
I adjust my skirt and do my best to remain dignified. Who am I kidding? Anyone behind me just enjoyed a nice image of my rear end covered in white, military issue, granny panties. The humiliation is too much but what’s a secretary of defense to do? I doubt tears will work. Screaming at the top of my lungs has its merits and I almost give in. I bet the echo throughout the cavernous rooms would make it worthwhile.
Instead, I continue following through the white stone corridors like a docile lamb and almost miss when he turns several corners, which are only a few yards apart. I skip a few feet trying to catch up. I almost fall at the last quick turn and use the wall to support myself. My darned shoes need to go. Finally he opens a door and holds it for me. I enter before realizing it’s a small, empty room. With a solid thud, the door slams behind me and I’m alone.
I thought it was stifling in the car. That’s nothing compared to the sweltering heat in here. No windows or air vents. I check the door and as expected, it’s locked. I walk from one end of the room to the other. Approximately eight by eight. I glance up. A skylight gives the room light along with added heat. I stop and turn around in a slow circle. They can’t possibly mean to keep me in here for long. The heat will kill me. I’m sweating like a pig as it is and I need water desperately. I pace for a few minutes before realizing it only makes me warmer and my need for water stronger.
Defeated, I slide down the wall in a corner of the room until my butt hits the cool Spanish tile.
I wait.
Wicked thoughts of killing a Shadow Warrior or two runs through my mind. I have no watch to check the time. Old mechanical windup watches are hard to come by now that they’re the only ones that work. I count by threes as I tap my foot. At two thousand I throw my shoe against the door. At five thousand I throw the other.
I’m so desperate I make imaginary pictures by connecting the grimy, cracked paint on the walls. I come away with a large-nosed man and half a camel before I give up. Picking dried blood off my knees kills another ten minutes. The only conciliation for the heat is I’m too dehydrated to pee. Even licking my lips is now out.
Eventually my head spins and my stomach turns queasy. I really don’t want to expend the energy it will take to stand and pound on the door or scream at the top of my lungs. I doubt it will accomplish anything. Exhaustion creeps over me and I finally lay my upper body against the tiles so my cheek rests against the cool floor. I close my eyes.
No one touches her flits through my brain. Does being jerked from the car and thrown in this oven count?