21 |

San Julián Air Base
Pinar del Rio, Cuba

 

Special Agent Galitz shoved the feelings of self-pity and inevitable doom deep down, and instead focused on the problem at hand. They would be tortured for days and weeks on end until they gave up their secrets, and then they would likely die. There was an outside chance the Cubans might set them free once they had the intel, but she doubted it. The equipment they had been testing was of no practical use to the Cubans—they simply didn’t have the technology to take advantage of it. They could never duplicate it, they could never properly use it, and if it broke or malfunctioned in some way, it might as well be a box filled with trinkets.

But the Chinese or the Russians could take advantage, and would pay handsomely, and she and Meinke would likely be a condition of the sale. Her guess was the Chinese would win in any bidding war, and that country had never shown any concern for human rights. They would be transported in secret to China and never be seen again, tortured beyond what any human could expect to withstand, and they would eventually give up their secrets willingly just to end their suffering. And once the Chinese had everything they needed out of them, they would be either left to rot for the rest of their lives in some hellhole of a prison, or be executed in secret. They would never see their loved ones again. They would never see their homes again. Their fates were sealed.

Unless she could figure a way out.

She examined the monitor they had her hooked up to. It was primitive compared to what she had seen back home, and she highly doubted it was connected to any sort of central station. She rolled her legs out of the bed and performed a quick self-examination. She appeared to be in one piece, her only injury her head, and it was throbbing from the effort. She steadied her breathing, closing her eyes as she struggled to regain control, and after a few moments, the pounding had subsided enough for her to attempt to stand. She pushed to her feet, keeping one hand on the edge of the bed, and after a brief moment of dizziness, felt well enough to move.

She stepped over to Meinke’s bed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Scott, wake up.” But there was no reaction. She gave him a little shake, and he groaned. “Scott, you have to wake up.”

Another groan then his eyes fluttered. He stared at her for a moment, confused, then passed out again. She stepped back, deciding she might do more harm than good in waking him up. The fact he had woken for a moment was good news, as far as she was concerned. It meant he wasn’t in a coma.

Unfortunately, with him the weaker of the two, whoever ended up torturing them would start with her, or worse, use him as leverage against her. This was a situation they had trained her for but had never expected to occur. Too many things had to go wrong. Engine failure on the edge of a hurricane during a dark mode test had never been considered.

She pulled the monitor along with her to the window, stretching as far as the power cord would allow, and peered out, confirming they were on a military base. A MiG took off, making her almost certain this was San Julián Air Base.

She frowned. It meant they were far from the shoreline, though even if they were right on it, there was little she could do. Even if she somehow commandeered a boat, she’d have to get 12 miles offshore, radio in, and wait for rescue, all while hoping the Cubans obeyed international law.

Something she was confident they wouldn’t do.

If she could get out of the building with Meinke, she might commandeer a truck and get off the base, but their escape would be detected almost immediately. This was a sparsely populated area, and they were on an airbase with access to airplanes and helicopters for any search.

She sighed.

If I get out of this, I’m learning how to fly an airplane.

She stared over her shoulder at Meinke. The only way the two of them were getting out of here was with him on a gurney, and a patient pushing a gurney down the hallway would never go unnoticed. She needed a disguise. She needed to appear as if she were a staff member transferring a patient. They were on the ground floor, which made things a lot simpler. No elevators, no stairs. In fact, if it weren’t for Meinke, she could go out the window.

The door opened behind her and she spun away from the window. A nurse walked in and came to a halt, her eyes wide.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Galitz smiled pleasantly at the woman. “I know. Sorry, I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She headed back to the bed as the nurse approached. The young woman lowered her voice.

“Stay in bed or you’ll get in trouble.”

Galitz’s chest ached at the words, the poor girl an innocent in all this. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

The girl reached forward to help with the leads of the heart monitor when Galitz grabbed her hand, jerking her forward and spinning her around. She wrapped her other arm around the young girl’s neck, then locked it in place as her training taught her. The woman struggled and Galitz squeezed harder, praying she didn’t break the girl’s neck, for this was the first time she had ever performed this maneuver outside of training, and in training, they never locked down long enough for someone to pass out.

The struggles became weaker and Galitz took that to indicate she had the right amount of pressure cutting off the blood flow to the woman’s brain, and in less than a minute, she had slumped in Galitz’s arms, passed out. Galitz, her head pounding from the effort, pushed the young girl in the bed then stripped off her clothing. She removed her own hospital gown and quickly dressed, frowning at the ill-fitting clothes, a lifetime of malnutrition taking a couple of inches of height off this poor girl. But it would have to do. If things went well, she’d only be visible for a few minutes, and she’d have to pray nobody noticed.

With both their shirts opened, she transferred all the leads to the young woman, the machine protesting until the final one was in place. She buttoned up her shirt, then that of the nurse. She checked the monitor and confirmed the woman’s blood oxygen levels were already recovering and she would be fine. She quickly fastened the restraints to hold her in place, then grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped it around the woman’s mouth. She patted her on the cheek. “I’m sorry about this.”

She hurried over to the window and took a proper look now that she wasn’t restrained by the leads. Their room was at the rear of the building, and several ambulances were parked along the back. If she could make it to one, she could hotwire it and perhaps make it off the base. It was a long shot, but she had to try something.

She caught her reflection in the window and yanked off the bandage wrapped around her head, tossing it aside. She stepped over to the door and pulled it open a few inches, peering out into what was a corridor lined with rooms, empty for the moment. She spotted a wheelchair farther down the hall. She regarded Meinke. He was in a hospital bed, and though it could be moved, it would be far more challenging to deal with.

She made a decision.

She stepped through the door and walked with purpose toward the wheelchair. She grabbed it and spun it around, then pushed it back toward her room.

It screeched horribly, her panicked mind amplifying the sound to epic proportions.

She reached down and unclamped the brake, then hurried back toward her room as a door opened farther down the corridor. She stepped inside and closed the door, pressing her back against it as she struggled to control her hammering heart and pounding head. She pushed the chair over to Meinke’s bed and turned off the monitor. Stripping him of the leads, she pulled the IV off the hook and tucked it between his arm and chest. She positioned the chair, then rolled his legs out of the bed, dragging him upright by yanking on his arms. She bent over and draped him over one shoulder, taking as much of his weight as she could, then twisted, spinning him from the bed then dropping him into the chair. She picked up the IV bag, tucking it into his lap, and straightened him up as best she could.

She pushed the wheelchair to the door and Meinke’s head rolled to the side, unfortunately making him more conspicuous than she’d like. She had a good tan but ill-fitting clothes. If examined closely, she would never pass as Cuban. The one thing she remembered from all the books and briefings was to act as if you belonged there. She was in a nurse’s uniform, pushing an injured man in a wheelchair in a hospital. There was nothing out of the ordinary in that.

She pulled open the door a couple of inches and didn’t see anyone, though heard voices coming from the opposite end of the hall from where she wanted to go. She listened. It was a casual conversation. A man and a woman talking about what they would do after work. She got the distinct impression he was hitting on her, and that she was receptive. It should keep them both preoccupied, and she didn’t have any time to waste. The doctor could be back at any moment, or anyone else for that matter.

She yanked open the door then backed out with Meinke in tow. She kept her back to the end of the hallway with the potential suitors, then pushed Meinke to the other end of the corridor and its large swinging doors. The conversation paused for a moment, and her heart nearly stopped before the courtship continued. She kept her pace steady but brisk and was soon at the doors. She couldn’t shove them open with the wheelchair—she had to turn around and face the enemy. She made her motion swiftly and confidently, keeping her head down as she spun the chair around and backed through the doors, dragging Meinke clear.

The doors shut and she breathed a sigh of relief, then turned the chair around and nearly peed her pants. She was in a large room with doors to the outside to her left and right, and at least a dozen people scurrying about. The doors she needed were to the left, at the back of the building, and with her head still low, she headed for them as people went about their business.

You’re a nurse with a patient in a hospital.

She kept repeating it to herself as if a mantra.

“Let me get that for you,” said a man to her right. He hurried forward and pulled the door open for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, turning her head slightly away.

“You’re welcome.”

She pushed out into the sunlight, the crisp fresh air the first taste of freedom since her capture, yet she feared it would be fleeting. The door closed behind her and she headed for the row of ambulances. There were three of them, and she picked the one in the middle so her actions had the best chance of going undetected. She positioned the wheelchair at the rear doors, then stepped along the side of the vehicle, making sure nobody was napping in the driver’s seat.

It was empty.

She hurried back to the rear and opened the doors, then debated how she would get a 180-pound man into the back of it. She decided she would use a method no one could describe as gentle. She hauled him out of the chair by yanking on both arms again, draped him over her shoulder, then pushed with her knees to lift his hips above the lip of the ambulance. Once she had him propped up, she scrambled inside and hooked her arms under his armpits, hauling him the rest of the way in with grunts and gasps. She managed to get him onto the gurney and strapped in, then she collapsed on the bench on the opposite side of the confined space, her head pounding in protest.

Her body was demanding she lie down and rest. Or die. Which one, she couldn’t be confident of, though she couldn’t stop now. The fact they were missing could be discovered at any moment. She forced herself to her feet then climbed back out, shoved the wheelchair inside, then closed the doors. She hurried into the driver’s seat and reached down. She had been trained on how to hotwire cars, and the older they were, the easier they were.

And there wasn’t much older than Cuban vehicles.

Within seconds, she had the engine roaring, but unfortunately she had no idea where she should be going. She pulled out slightly and checked left then right, nothing of what she saw revealing anything useful. A plane took off to her left, meaning the runways were in that direction, suggesting any gate to the outside should be in the opposite. However, front gates were always heavily guarded. Rear gates, not as much so, and often, maintenance gates would simply be left locked. She had to wonder how good security was in Cuba, an island nation, with no enemies at risk of invading them.

She headed left. She passed the loading docks and rear entrances of half a dozen buildings before she came to a road running perpendicular with light traffic. She headed right again, and as she merged in with traffic, she glanced over to her left at the runways. In the distance, she could see a fence running along the perimeter, and if this airbase were designed like almost any other, there’d be a perimeter road.

Her head throbbed, and an intense white noise overwhelmed her briefly. She locked her elbows as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, taking her foot off the gas. She sucked in a breath and the blinding white light faded enough for her to regain control. She pressed on the accelerator again, checking her side mirror to see if she had drawn any attention to herself, but the driver behind her merely gave a friendly wave. She held up her left hand so he could see the acknowledgment in her mirror, then prayed he couldn’t see her face or the uniform she wore.

She spotted the perimeter road and turned onto it, heading toward the runway. Nobody was behind her now, however, she was now conspicuous to anyone in the tower. She had to hope their attention would be on the aircraft they were dealing with, as opposed to an ambulance driving around the perimeter. She spotted a gate ahead, unmanned. She came to a halt about 20 feet short of it. It appeared padlocked, which meant she needed bolt cutters, or she’d have to pick the lock. She stepped out of the vehicle and climbed into the back, quickly checking to make sure Meinke was still breathing before rifling through the supplies. She found several narrow metal clips that she twisted into makeshift lock picks, but unfortunately no bolt cutters.

She sighed as she stepped back outside and closed the doors. She surveyed the area. She was still alone, but very conspicuous if anyone looked in her direction. She strolled over to the gate, hoping where she had positioned the truck might block anyone from seeing what she was doing. She grabbed the padlock and sighed with relief that it wasn’t a combination lock. She knelt down, going to work, struggling to remember what she had been taught a decade ago, and hadn’t practiced since. She yanked down on the lock and it opened. She squealed like a schoolgirl then pulled it free and yanked the chain from the gate. She pushed them open slightly, but left them in place. She rushed back to the ambulance and put it in gear, turning toward the gate and pushing them aside with the bumper.

Now she had a choice to make.

Left or right.

She leaned forward, checking right, but all she could see was the ring road running along the outside of the fence surrounding the airbase. She checked left and could see a few rooftops in the distance, suggesting a town of some type. She had to lose herself somehow, and a town, or preferably a city, gave her the best hope of achieving that. She cranked the wheel to the left and hammered on the gas, popping the clutch. The old vehicle jerked forward, and as she straightened herself, she picked up speed and the few rooftops became many more.

She needed to make it to the town then find some way to call the number she had memorized before the mission. It was a Cuban number monitored by the US government that when called would initiate a string of events beyond her pay grade, but events that should hopefully result in her rescue.

She needed a phone. Landlines weren’t that common according to her briefings, but half the population possessed a cellphone, though they were models most Americans would stare at and express surprise were still manufactured.

But she didn’t need a fancy smartphone. All she needed was something she could place a phone call with, though how she would do that, she had no idea. She was still an American in a hostile country, in ill-fitting clothes, with a throbbing headache that threatened to have her pass out at any moment. She had no cash whatsoever to purchase a phone or even bribe someone to let them use theirs. Breaking into houses to find a landline would be foolish, and she didn’t have the strength to mug someone for their phone or sweet talk them into lending her one for a few moments.

She stared at her left arm gripping the steering wheel, then yanked the bandage off that had held her IV in place. As she continued toward the town, she examined herself for anything else that made it too obvious she was a patient rather than a nurse. Feeling blindly around her body, she felt something in her stolen pants pocket and her heart leaped with the possibilities. The nurse had been young, and if there were a demographic more likely to have a cellphone, it would be hers. She reached into the pocket, her fingers clasping around something hard and rectangular. She fished it out and nearly squealed in delight at the sight of a beat-up cellphone with a lit display. She flipped it open and dialed the memorized number. She heard something in the distance over the roar of the ambulance’s engine and she took her foot off the accelerator and pressed in the clutch, quieting the roar slightly.

A lump formed in her throat as she recognized the sound.

It was the thumping of the rotors of a helicopter, and it was rapidly approaching. She hit Talk, pressing the phone to her ear. It was picked up immediately, but nobody said anything, exactly as per her briefing, confirming she had the right number. “This is Special Agent Tracy Galitz, code number Papa-Mike-Bravo-Eight-Four-One. I’m with Agent Meinke. We were held by Cuban authorities, I believe on San Julián Air Base. We’ve managed to escape in a stolen ambulance, however, I think we’re about to be recaptured. I’m on a ring road heading toward a small town to the southwest. I’ve been told we’re the only survivors, and it’s my belief that Capture Protocol was not fulfilled. I repeat, Capture Protocol was not fulfilled.” The thunder overhead was deafening now. “I’m ending this call before capture.”

She snapped the phone in half then tossed the pieces into the tall grasses as a helicopter passed overhead then banked hard, pulling a 180 before dropping in front of her. The terrifying silhouette of a Soviet-built Mil Mi-24 Hind helicopter, bristling with weapons pods, brought her to a halt. She turned off the engine and raised her hands, her brief taste of freedom over, and the start of her torture likely advanced by hours.

She just prayed that those who were monitoring the line could trace her call and come up with a plan on how to save her and Meinke.