Chapter 10

 

Nick gave Oleg, the bald leader of the gang, the PIN number for his credit card. The man returned a few hours later, furious that his “boys” had only been able to withdraw five hundred euros worth of dirhams from an ATM.

“It’s the bank’s daily limit for withdrawals outside of France,” Nick explained. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You call bank, tell them change limit!” Oleg peered threateningly at Nick through the wire mesh. Nick wanted to tear the man to pieces, but his wrist was still handcuffed to the fence that separated his and Isabella’s cage from the next one over. Not to mention the fence that Oleg was behind.

Nick said, calmly, “I’m telling you, Oleg, calling the bank won’t do any good. It’s the bank’s rule for all foreign cash withdrawals.” Nick hoped that by calling the man by his first name would make him feel closer, a well-known tactic.

“Do not call me Oleg,” the Ukrainian said darkly. “You think we are friends?” He chuckled. “You want hump me from behind, homo?”

“I’m just trying to tell you that five hundred euros is all I can get myself, it’s the goddam bank rule.” This was a lie, of course, but Nick hoped Oleg was too ignorant of how things operated in the civilized world to know any better. If Nick could make him believe it, the Ukrainian would probably keep both him and Isabella alive until the bank account was emptied, at which time Oleg would try to squeeze more money out of them, somehow, before he finally killed them both.

The bald Ukrainian studied his face for a long moment, cracking another sunflower seed with his teeth, and spit out the shell. “Okay, you thinking about it while my boys have some more fun with your bitch-whore.” He turned away. “Igor! Sasha!”

“No!” Nick shouted, yanking his raw wrist against the handcuffs.

The two young men appeared and eagerly dragged Isabella out of the cage again. She was too far gone to resist now, her dirty bare feet dragging the floor so lifelessly she might have been a corpse. She hadn’t uttered a word since she had been returned after the first session—she just lay slumped in the farthest, darkest corner of the small cage, quietly sobbing.

Isabella’s faint screams soon echoed through the basement from upstairs somewhere. Nick ducked his head and tried to cover his ears with his upper arms so he wouldn’t have to listen to it—the sound of her being gang raped, and being helpless to do anything about it, tore out his soul.

What in god’s name has happened to me? he thought, and he began to weep. Nick was a man who virtually never shed a tear over anything, and yet now he sobbed like a baby. It seemed like ever since Raj Malik had put him and Elaine in the black site, everything had gone uncontrollably downhill, like an airplane in a graveyard spiral. He had never considered himself either lucky or unlucky, but what had happened to him during the past few weeks was undoubtedly a streak of bad luck beyond anything he had ever experienced. To get tangled up with Isabella, of all people...to not have recognized her for so long...and then to rough up the wrong guy in a bar. Not to mention all the things that had gone awry when they’d first arrived in Tangier, with the rental car being stolen, the trouble with the battery chargers and phones and computers...

“Get a grip, man,” Nick muttered to himself, wiping his eyes on the back of his free hand, ashamed of himself for losing control. But he felt as if he were swirling down some dark, endless tunnel. The longer this nightmare went on, the weaker and more helpless he felt.

This isn’t you, he told himself, giving his head a firm shake. You’re one of the CIA’s top extractors! You have to get yourself and Isabella out of here.