WAR: Disruption (33 page)

As soon as he answered, she explained the situation. “We need to help Max now.”

Emily heard someone in the background ask Kristoff for an update. He relayed the information, then asked, “How many men do you see outside of the tents? Where are the guards standing?”

The other person told Kristoff to ask additional questions. “What are the rest of the men doing?” Kristoff continued. “What’s the arrangement of the tents? Where’s the food tent? Is there an obvious supply of water?”

She described the camp in as much detail as possible, then added, “It looks like they’re preparing for some large gathering. Maybe lunch or dinner with Dietrich and all the men.”

“Okay.” He conferred with whoever was there in the room with him. “Tell me again about the water supply.”

“Hold on, let me change to another location. I’ll call you back.” Sensing where the conversation was going, Emily slipped out of her tree and snuck through the jungle until she reached the stream to the left of the camp. She found a spot up another tree that gave the phone a signal, and dialed Kristoff.

 
“I’m at the stream now,” she explained when he’d answered. “There are twelve, fifty-gallon plastic barrels set up in a line along the riverbank. You know, those big blue barrels that people here use to store the water they pull from their wells.” Her homestay family had used one. “Hoses run from the barrels to a pump in the middle of the stream. Each barrel has a spigot that the guards use to fill up the smaller containers they carry back to camp.”

“Sounds like a custom filtration system. Are the lids on the containers locked?”

She used the binoculars to zoom in. “It doesn’t look like it from here.”

“Right. Give us a minute.” Kristoff’s words were followed by the heavy silence of an activated mute function.

Emily peered out from the bushes. A thorn caught on her sleeve and she stilled in order to free herself. That’s when she noticed the heavy black seeds on the bush.

Richard slapped his little sister’s hand away from the bush. “Do not eat seeds. Even small taste make you very sick.”

Emily stared at the round seeds inches away from her nose, certain these were the same ones Richard, a boy in her homestay village, had said were poisonous. And he’d said something else. Something about the taste. Yes. Not bad, he’d said, admitting he’d gotten sick from eating a seed when he was little. So sick he’d almost died.

When Kristoff came back on the line, Emily excitedly relayed the information about the seeds. “I could crush the seeds and put them in the water. With the bushes growing close, I’m sure I can sneak over to the containers. No one seems to be paying any attention to this area of camp.”

“And then what? You’re just going to stroll into camp and waltz out with Max? You don’t even know if he can walk.”

Emily understood the frustration in Kristoff’s voice, but she refused to give up. “Yes. Why not? If all the men are sick, who’s going to stop me?”

“Some soldier who didn’t drink any water, that’s who. And what if Max drinks the tainted water?”

“That’s a chance we have to take. Although, since I haven’t seen anyone bring him food or water since I arrived, dehydration is more of a threat.” She’d deal with that after she got him free. “What else are we going to do? You’re God knows how many miles away. You’re the one who told me to check the water supply. If this wasn’t what you intended, then what’s your grand plan?”

Kristoff let out a long sigh. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. My extraction team was supposed to handle this, not you. I’m just worried about your safety.”

“Trust me, I know how dangerous this plan is. I’m scared to death of being caught. But we can’t wait. Dietrich will kill Max soon.”

Emily heard the other voice in the background telling Kristoff to let it go. That the risk was necessary. “Yes,” Emily said. “Listen to whoever’s there with you, Kristoff. I have to do this.”

“I—” Kristoff swore.

“All right, Emily,” a new voice said. She sensed a barely leashed anger underneath the man’s authoritative tone. “You’re a go. Tell me more about these seeds.”

“Sir?”

“Nah, don’t sir me. I’m Wil. Max’s brother.”

“Oh.” Maybe that wasn’t anger she heard. Maybe it was fear.

“Kris tells me you’re in love with my idiot brother, so you and I are practically family.”

Oddly warmed by his comment, Emily relayed everything she remembered about the seeds.

“Working with the seeds will be dangerous,” Wil warned. “Here’s what you need to do…”

“HERR ZIEGLER, I am disappointed in you. This is no way to treat a guest.”

Dietrich’s hated voice roused Max from his stupor. Crap. The big man was here and Max was no closer to getting himself free. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Because Max was too weak to do anything but lie here, fighting to stay conscious, Ziegler had removed all but one of the manacles.

Max struggled to raise his head from the pool of vomit and blood next to him, and caught Dietrich’s moue of distaste as he took in Max’s bloody, filthy appearance.
That’s right, asshole, look what your buddy has done to me.

After ordering his men to use tent stakes to beat him, Ziegler had personally kicked the crap out of Max. He was pretty sure that not only had the blows deepened the current cracks in his ribs, but had damaged another one or two. As if that hadn’t been enough, then Ziegler had gone to work with his needles.

“He is withholding information, Herr Dietrich. I wished to have details of the briefcase’s location ready upon your arrival.”

Ignoring the agony in his bloody hands, Max seized hold of the nearest stake and pulled himself to a seated position. Pain speared through him. He ignored it. He would not pass out in front of Dietrich and he would not lie back down. “Never…asked me…briefcase…” No, Ziegler had just gleefully started in on the torture without saying a word to Max.

Dietrich frowned, then turned his back on Max. “Johann!” he called.

Johann Strauss, Dietrich’s captain of the guard, poked his head into the tent. “Yes, sir?”

“See that our guest is cleaned up and his wounds treated. Then escort him to my tent.”

“Yes, sir.” The man moved toward Max.

Ziegler made a choked protest, but Dietrich waved him off. “Herr Ziegler, your personal vendetta against Max has become a liability. Did I, or did I not, tell you that Max was not to be harmed? That I wanted him to be in prime condition when I questioned him?

“Yes, but—”

“No.” Dietrich pointed at Ziegler. “I have had enough of your insubordination. The correct answer was, ‘Yes, sir.’ The fact that you continually ignore my orders is inexcusable.”

Ziegler stared calmly back at Dietrich before finally bowing his head. “I apologize, sir. It will not happen again.”

“Of course not. I will not allow it.” Dietrich pulled a silenced pistol from his pocket and shot Ziegler once in the chest, then once between the eyes.

Max stared in shock as Ziegler toppled to the ground.

Dietrich turned toward Max. “I apologize for the mistreatment you have suffered at the hand of my colleague, Herr Lansing. When you are feeling more yourself, you and I shall talk.”

Turning on his heel, Dietrich walked out.

What the fuck?
Max didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Johann said, “You heard the boss, let’s get you cleaned up.” He called for help and two more soldiers entered. The tent was so small, the men barely had room to maneuver.

Johann ordered one of the men to undo the remaining manacle.

Damn. A perfect opportunity to break free, and he could barely—

Johann and the other man lifted Max off the ground.

Agony. Darkness. Oblivion.

WITH SURGICAL GLOVES protecting her hands, Emily gathered another handful of poisonous seeds and placed them in the plastic baggie she’d found among the medical supplies. The bushes she needed only grew here along the river, and after her call with Kristoff and Wil she’d started collecting seeds. Water dripped down her chin from the persistent drizzle that had started half an hour ago. Eyeing the nearly full baggie, she figured this last batch of seeds was enough. Now she could—

Hearing men’s voices, she quickly backed deeper into the bushes, then dropped to her knees and set the baggie aside. Hooking her right index finger inside the wristband of her left glove, she rolled the glove outside in as she pulled it off, following Wil’s instructions on how to avoid getting the seed’s oil on her skin. Once both gloves were safely off, with their uncontaminated interiors now on the outside, she placed them into a spare baggie she was using for trash.

Two men exited the camp, carrying Max on a stretcher. They strode to the river’s edge and dumped the stretcher on the bank. Almost every inch of Max’s naked body was covered in blood, dirt, and bruises, yet he didn’t so much as groan at the impact. He just lay there, unmoving.

Dead?

Emily’s heart constricted. She shoved one of her fists against her mouth to stifle her screams. No. Oh, no. Max couldn’t be dead. Not now, when she was so close to enacting her rescue plan. Tears cascaded down her face.

Acting on automatic pilot, she pulled out her camera and snapped off photos to use as proof of what had been done.

A moment later, a stout, older white man holding a large medical bag joined the group on the riverbank. At a nod from the doctor, the men lifted the stretcher, then set it into the river downstream from the water filtration system. Max moaned and turned his head as the cold river washed over him.

Emily nearly cried out in relief. He was alive!

Her hands shook as she put the camera in video mode. She wanted this abuse documented so that none of these men could deny the abuse Max had suffered. Because she was going to make those responsible pay.

Emily touched Max’s pistol and debated shooting the men. No. The sound of shots would only draw attention from the other guards. Max didn’t appear able to walk, and dragging the stretcher back to her home tree would leave a distinctive trail that would lead Dietrich’s men right to her.

Besides, despite her fury, she didn’t think she could coldly shoot these men. No matter what they’d done to Max, her mind shied away from the idea of pulling the trigger while their backs were turned. It would be too similar to how Crystal and Sue had died.

After the doctor cut away Max’s stained bandages, he washed away the blood and dirt from Max’s front. Then the men turned Max over and one man held Max’s face above the water as the doctor cleaned his back.

Emily didn’t understand what was going on. Max had received a severe beating, but now these men were caring for Max as if he were one of their own. She didn’t remember Max saying anything about Dietrich’s spiritual beliefs. Were the men preparing Max for some bizarre religious ritual? Were they going to sacrifice him?

Could her imagination get any more fanciful? But why else would they—

The doctor pulled a knife out of his bag. The men steadied Max.

Emily’s fingers closed over the grip of the pistol. She opened her mouth to shout a protest, but snapped it closed when the doctor simply cut Max’s hair close to his scalp.

Very weird. Was she right about this leading up to a religious ritual?

After the last hank of Max’s hair had fallen into the river, the doctor scrubbed the stubble with a bright blue solution. Finally, he rinsed it away, then examined Max’s scalp. Was he checking for some sort of infestation? The thought made Emily scratch her own scalp.

Once the doctor had finished, the men moved Max out of the water. Now that the surface coating of blood was gone, some of Emily’s fear subsided. Yes, Max was badly hurt, but the number and severity of his cuts weren’t as high as she’d thought.

After one of the men dried Max off, the doctor examined the worst of his injuries and applied iodine to the cuts. Max groaned and opened his eyes. Then he tried to fight free.

The doctor put his hand on Max’s chest and leaned close, saying something in Max’s ear. Max immediately quieted. But Emily noticed that Max studied his captors and his surroundings as they worked on him. Good. He appeared to be mentally sharp.

The doctor resumed dabbing iodine on Max’s cuts and scrapes. Then he pulled out a small kit from his medical bag and removed a needle and thread. He sewed closed the wound in Max’s thigh and added a few stitches to the ones Dr. LaSalle had used to close the knife slice across Max’s lower back. Finally, the doctor bandaged Max’s cuts.

After replacing his tools in his bag, the doctor pulled out a pair of loose local pants and a batik tunic top and the men helped him dress Max. Then they carried Max back to camp. Emily followed only long enough to observe them carrying him to Dietrich’s tent, before she slipped back to the stash of seeds she’d left at the river.

All right. Max was alive, for now. Her plan was still a go.

Which meant it was time to prepare the poison.

MAX WISHED HE knew what the hell Dietrich was up to. Still reeling over the fact that Dietrich had killed Ziegler, Max stared in amazement at the luxurious interior of the tent. There was a guard outside the entrance, but other than that, he’d been left here alone and unrestrained.

Not that in his current condition he could walk far, but still…

He shook his head. Never in a million years would he have thought that Dietrich would order his men to wash him and tend to his wounds. He ran his hand over his head. They’d even shorn his hair. Because of lice or other vermin?

Once they’d brought him here, he’d been given clean water to drink and weak broth. To his relief, he hadn’t immediately thrown up, and he hadn’t developed any other symptoms, so he hadn’t been drugged or poisoned.

What the fuck was going on?

Gritting his teeth, he tried again to stand. A few minutes ago, he’d pushed to his feet and nearly passed out from dizziness. But this time the whirling of the room settled down after a few heartbeats. He dared to move his bare right foot forward across the thick woven carpet covering the tent floor. Put some weight on his foot.

He didn’t collapse in agony. Good. Nothing broken on that side.