Marcus awoke in a dark, confined place. He felt disoriented and only half coherent. His thoughts turned to coffins and horror stories of exhumations where medical examiners found scratches on the insides of caskets. He thought about being buried alive. His breathing grew labored. A wave of claustrophobia swept over him.
Then, he realized that he was not alone in the coffin. Another body shared the space with him. His head throbbed, and he felt nauseous. This can’t be real.
“Marcus, it’s okay. It’s me. Maggie.”
“Where are we?” His voice came in a ragged whisper.
“In the trunk of Alexei’s car.”
He shook off the disorientation and brought his mind into focus. Now, he could smell rubber and feel the vibration of the road. He tried to move, but he felt the bite of handcuffs around his wrists.
“What? What happened? I remember being at the hotel and … then, I woke up here. Wait … I remember opening the door for Andrew … and then the lights went out.”
“Andrew betrayed us.”
The revelation didn’t surprise him. He had sensed that something was off with Andrew from the beginning. “Has he been playing us all along?”
“I don’t think so. After he knocked you out, he told me that he had called my father and made a deal. Apparently, when we confirmed the President’s involvement, he decided that we didn’t stand a chance. So, he sold us out.”
Now that his eyes had time to adjust, he could make out dim shapes within the trunk and discern the faint outline of Maggie’s features.
“What are we going to do, Marcus? My father will kill you when he’s done with you, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. Are your hands cuffed too?”
“Yes.”
“Feel around as best you can and see if there’s anything we could use.”
“I already did. There’s nothing on my side.”
He groped blindly with his hands and feet, but he felt nothing. Andrew must have cleaned everything out before he put us in. Smart.
“There’s nothing over here either. Give me a minute to think.”
He closed his eyes. Ideas and scenarios flew through his mind. He played out several of the possible conclusions to their current predicament. All of them ended badly. The constraints of the trunk prevented him from bringing his hands around front. With his hands bound behind his back, he could do little to subdue an armed assailant.
He needed to determine what tools he had at his disposal. There was always something—some minuscule factor that turned the tide, some variable that the opposition had overlooked. The hard part was finding it.
Within the trunk, they only possessed the clothes on their backs. He decided to start there. Using his eidetic memory, he pictured every piece of clothing worn by himself and Maggie. He started with their feet. Within his mind, he broke the items down to their base components. He analyzed them. He combined them. How could they be used against their opponents?
His mind traveled up Maggie’s legs to her waist. He opened his eyes. “I’m going to roll over to my back, so I can get my hands to your waist.”
He struggled to turn within the cramped space but was finally able to move into position. His hands quested over Maggie’s firm midsection to the top of her jeans. He began to undo her belt.
She cleared her throat and said, “Umm … I don’t think now’s the time.”
“Trust me.”