Chapter 43
the Complex...
Derek helped Nick, then Ginge, out of the dark, fetid room. He fetched Masruq, and the two of them half walked, half carried the young men into the room where the corpses still lay in their own blood.
"Shith... Inthy said you were the strong, silent type," Ginge exclaimed through split, swollen lips. His words whistled through toothless gaps. He stiffened with pain, then relaxed as the precept eased him into a chair. "Your work?" Both Nick and Ginge watched Masruq drag the bodies into a corner.
"I had help," Derek muttered, stripping the cot of its bedding. Soon he had a blanket around each man and a hot cup of tea in their hands. "Drink," he ordered, then crossed to speak softly with the Afghan. "Yusuf... Hasmit... hone...
here," he said. The man nodded and left."Hey... food...." Ignoring the iron smell of blood, the young Brit sniffed the air and concentrated on other, more appealing odors.
Nick managed a weak smile. "You've got a one track mind, Ginge.... Got any idea what you look like?"
"Prob'ly like I got run over by a fuckin' tank... which I thid... Thame as you," the SAS man lisped as he looked toward the cooking pots. "Ssssthill... wasthe not...." He struggled to stand, but failed.
"Drink the tea," the precept insisted. "I'll get you some food."
* * *
A few minutes later, Derek had both men settled with full plates of rice and what looked and smelled like a soupy lamb stew. "Do you know how many men they have?" he asked, pouring more hot tea into their cups. "What sort of weapons?"
"There were ten in our group," Nick informed him. "I only saw a couple of the residents.... They didn't include your friends over there." With a nod of his head, he indicated the dead men. "They had a variety of small arms.... AK-47s... some Chinese shit.... Their tail-gunner had a M-16 with a pocket scope," he added, then paused to cough and hawk up a bloody mass. "Sorry," he said, as he spat. "The guy had to be their sniper."
"Yeah... I ssthaw him," said Ginge. "All-bussssineth... and the bloke they had out on point had a shotgun. Did you see the RPG sssthrapped on one of the horses?... I think it wath a R7... Russssian," he whistled. "Fuck ith!... Can'th thalk worth a thamned!"
"It's OK," Nick assured the soldier. "We can understand you. It'll get better."
"Ummm," Derek agreed absently, then swore, "Dammit! That leaves twelve... maybe more."
"It's not that bad," Ginge mumbled, taking small bite of lamb. His battered mouth and swollen jaws made the meat difficult to eat, so he concentrated making a mush of the rice and liquid. He watched as Derek pulled another morphette syringe from his pack, then nodded at the precept's unspoken question. He winced as the needle punctured his thigh. "I heard that basssard, Nelson, thell some of our bunch to thake supplies down the valley.... They've got more insthallations of ssssome sssort down there.... I reckon at least 'alf 'em went... and I'll bet the grenade launcher and the heavy duty shith went that way. I gotst the feeling that this place might be the backside of one of their training complexes."
"So... maybe six or seven are here," Derek reasoned, focusing only on the moment. "That's better odds... but we've come across one closed-circuit camera.... We haven't found any monitors, which means another room.... They may know we're here.... There could even be a feed to those other places down the valley." He paused. "Nelson?" His brow rose with the question.
"A one-eyed bastard that enjoyed his work." Nick ground out the words.
Derek caught the hatred in his friend's tone. "Was he the one?" he asked, fixing his gaze on the bruised face.
Nick closed his eye in ascent and took a deep drink from his tea.
As they talked, Derek thoroughly washed his hands, then found a larger pan, filled it with warm water, and began to tend their less serious injuries. He injected them with an antibiotic, then handed each a warm, wet rag so that they could wipe the blood and grime from their faces. Nick first manipulated his broken nose, then concentrated on the eye that had been sealed shut. Derek made more tea and spooned in generous amounts of sugar from a can he'd found on a shelf. At last, he glanced at his watch and judged that by now Nick's painkiller should have taken affect. Ginge's shot would take a while longer.
With surgical scissors from his kit, the precept was able to cut away most of Nick's ragged trousers, but found that the cloth had stuck to the burn itself... and the burn was large. He took a wet rag and began to squeeze warm water onto the fabric... saturating it.... As he gently tried to peel away the cloth, the skin came with it, and Nick's leg began to bleed. Derek saw his friend's pain and his efforts to conceal it.
"Gott," he muttered, when the extent of the wound was visible. A scalding burn ran the length of Nick's thigh... from the front around to the fleshy part between his legs. No attempt had been made to dress the wound, which looked infected. "I can't give you another shot to help the pain," Derek said.
Nick nodded. "It's OK," he said between clenched teeth. "I'm just thankful the son-of-a-bitch didn't pour higher.... I know he was going to, but one of the others stopped him."
Derek began to clean his friend's leg. Afterwards, he applied antibiotic ointment and loose dressings. "When did this happen?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Nick admitted. "I don't even know if it's day or night right now.... I don't know how long we've been here. Ginge?..."
Derek checked his watch. "It's nine p.m. now," he told them.
"Maybe yesterday sometime... late the night before... or early morning," the Brit suggested, taking care to enunciate. "We got here round dark.... They ate, then prayed, then Nelson gave his orders. Then they started in on us.... Questions first... then the beatings. That bugger's got a right hook like a pile driver." Ginge's tongue searched the raw holes in his jaws. "Then he pulled my toof. That's when you got burned," he said to Nick. "The basssard was in a hurry for the information, but after that he had to have left us alone for several hours. Then, they hauled me out again, and shtarted with the questions again.... Then the teef... six more. Dammith!" he sobbed. "They was bloody good teef.... Not a cavity in me 'ead."
Knowing that sympathy was futile, Derek looked away to allow the young soldier his moment of grief. He finished with Nick's burn, then moved on to the SEAL's feet, which he washed and bound. "I'm not going to stitch up the gash in your sole," he commented. "There's some infection there.... It needs to drain.... What happened with your neck?" he asked, glancing up at his friend, recalling the constant pain in his own neck. Had his "Sight" linked to Nick's pain, he wondered... to the bruising and burns he saw there... or was he groping for his own salvation?
Nick sighed. "They ran us like dogs on ropes... kept calling us dogs. Our hands were tied behind our backs... no shoes... no protection at all... till they gave us some rags to wrap our feet in. If we fell, they dragged us for a few yards for good measure. Then they'd slow down and haul us up. That son-of-a-bitch swore that if we did anything to 'displease' him, he'd strip us and tie the rope to our dicks and run us that way.... Said he'd done it to the Russians.... I believed him."
Derek nodded and looked down at his task, praying that no one noticed the tremble in his hands.... Another human monster, he thought. "Your footprints vanished after that cave. What happened?"
Remaining silent, both men glanced at each other. Nick took a drink of his tea and finally spoke. "They wrapped us in damp hides... that shrank as they dried. It got so tight I couldn't even move my fingers.... They tied us to the pack saddles.... Damned near couldn't breathe. I've got no idea why my ribs didn't break. We were upside down all that day... all night... all the next day." He paused for another sip of tea.
Ginge picked up the story. "It was a bloody game for them. They made the horthes trot and buck. We kept bouncing and slipping and couldn't do a fuckin' thing 'bout it. We'd pass out and they'd douse us with water and start again. I was pukin' blood 'fore the end of the firsth day.... You can't begin to imagine that kinda 'ell."
Derek said nothing, but turned to pull a pair of socks from his pack, then slip them over Nick's bandages. As he did so, the SEAL saw his friend's hand shake. Derek covered the tremor by again checking his watch. For the first time, the SEAL took a hard look at his friend, saw the gauntness and the bluish circles below his eyes. "Derek?" Nick said. As he had hoped, the precept looked up, but then quickly away. Nevertheless, in that instant, Nick read the hazel eyes and knew....
* * *
Judging that the painkiller had time to do its work on Ginge, Derek tore off a strip of surgical tape and handed it to Nick for his nose, then left him to continue eating and tending his eye. The precept emptied the pan and filled it with clean, warm water, then once more thoroughly washed his hands. Afterwards, he hunkered down and began to work on the redhead's feet.
"How bad?" the Brit asked, trying to sound as nonchalant and stiff-upper-lipped as possible.
Derek glanced up and met the startling blue eyes. "Some frostbite... nasty blisters.... They must hurt like hell," he sympathised. He began to bathe the feet, carefully cleaning any broken blisters. "But the underlying tissue seems sound.... Looks like the circulation's returned." Again he applied antibiotic ointment and wrapped loose bandages over the swollen feet. "Pins and needles?" he asked.
"Yeah... bad," Ginge muttered. "Can't feel much else."
"That's a goot sign... really." He read the doubt in the other man's eyes. He pushed himself to his feet and studied the two men, knowing he had done the best he could for them, and knowing that they needed more.
"Now...." He glanced around. "You both need shoes.... There's not exactly much choice." He took a pair of large, sturdy boots from one of the dead men, cut their tops off and slit them down the center, then carefully slipped them on Ginge's feet. "OK?" he asked.
Ginge nodded, but with a grimace.
"You both need clothes too," he said, as he pulled the shoes from the smaller corpse and helped Nick on with them.
"'Man at C and A'," Ginge muttered. He read the others' incomprehension and shrugged. "A cheap department store at home," he explained. "Dutch, I think.... Stupid commercials... didn't work anyway."
"Maybe these guys ended up with our gear," Nick suggested, hopefully. He didn't like the idea of wearing those clothes.... It wasn't that their owners were dead.... It was that they were stained in blood... and worse... and would soon be as stiff and stinking as the rags they already wore.
"Unlikely." Derek looked over at his friend and said drily, "Anyway, I don't think we want you two running around in SAS jumpsuits.... The point is to blend in."
Suddenly Masruq reappeared at the door, spoke rapidly in a mix of Pashtun and Arabic, and sighed with exasperation at the blank look he received from the precept.
"He says there were two men out there.... He's killed them both."
"You speak Pashtun?" Derek's relief was evident.
Ginge tilted his head sideways and grinned. "That and a few others.... Enough to get by.... Ik heb een goede aar." He chuckled at the older man's surprise. "I have a good ear for accents too," he explained. "Your friend, here, also says there's another room... full of television screens... papers... and machines like that one." Ginge glanced over at the desk. "Laptops!"
"Is there... indeed?" Derek was interested. "Can you ask him to find Yusuf and Hasmit?... See what's happening.... Have they encountered any hostiles?... Tell him to watch out for more cameras."
Ginge nodded, spoke rapidly, and smiled at the relief on the Afghan's face that mirrored that of the precept's. He then relayed more explanation. "He says that the little machine room with the papers is off the big, noisy machine room with the rubber snakes on the floor. He apologizes.... He missed the door before.... It lays in shadow in the far corner and is hard to find."
"I'm going to check this room," Derek informed the two injured men. "Maybe there's floor plans.... Be back in a minute.... Rest."
"Derek!... Wait!... Take him with you," Nick called out, knowing it was pointless. "Be careful!"
The minutes stretched. "How long's he been gone?" Nick fretted.
"'Bout ten minutes.... Chill... Indy." Ginge looked around at the dead men. "Seems like he can take care of himself." The more he had watched the older man... the efficiency with which he had apparently killed, the way he handled men whose language he didn't even speak, the way he had treated their injuries, the assurance with which he bore himself in crisis... the more certain he was that this Derek Rayne had to be CIA or maybe NSA... and if he was, then Indy, here, was too. He glanced over at his companion. It was what Lofty had suggested in the first place.
At last, the precept returned. "It's amazing.... They've got a computer center... satellite links.... It's almost as high tech as...." He glanced at Ginge, changed his mind about what he was going to say, and went for the more indefinite. "...as back home."
Yusuf returned with Masruq, who stood quietly waiting for his next instructions. The stocky Afghan now seemed inclined to yield Derek's leadership.
"Where's Hasmit?" the precept asked.
Masruq pointed upward and spoke.
"He says he's up on the catwalk.... It's a good place to watch," Ginge translated.
"Tell Yusuf he's to stay here with you and Nick," Derek said. "Masruq, Hasmit, and I can scout upstairs.... See what we find."
Nick wanted to protest, but knew that in his current condition he'd be a hindrance to his friend, rather than a help. Yusuf listened to the translation, then did protest, vehemently.
"The boy says he's got to go with you," Ginge informed Derek. "You're his responsibility."
Derek's lips quirked. "Seems I'm always someone's responsibility," he muttered. "Tell him I want the three of you in the computer room.... Find plans if you can.... See what the hell we have.... There are disks... hardcopy.... Gott knows what else." He saw the dead men's weapons and handed them to the youngster, along with his pack. "Take these.... just in case.... We need that information. See if there's communications equipment we can use."
the Control Center...
Nick leaned heavily on the young Afghan as the boy helped him into the computer room. Ginge, already seated at a desk, was turning on all the monitors and watching as views from the dozen or so closed-circuit cameras came online.
The SEAL glanced around at the hardware and whistled, "Shit!... Derek wasn't kiddin'.... This is an impressive set up," he said as Yusuf settled him onto an office chair. "What's through there?" he asked, pointing to a closed door on the opposite side of the room.
"Water... and a strange chair that has a hole in the seat. How can this be comfortable?" Ginge translated for the boy.
"I think it's the loo," he explained.
"What've we got?" Nick muttered. "Let's see if we can find our bad guys."
"That's outside." The Brit pointed to one black and white screen. "Look... there's a loading ramp. Did you guys find that?" he asked Yusuf.
"No," the boy replied. "It must be on the east.... That's the only side we couldn't see."
Nick powered up the laptops and found the search facility. "Ginge... I need this stuff translated.... Yusuf can watch the monitors," he suggested, seeing the youngster hanging by the door, obviously thinking about going after Derek.
The SAS man called Yusuf over, sat him in front of the screens, and explained their purpose. He then settled himself in front of the laptop. "Well...," he said, "looks like they're using a Malaysian server."
Nick searched through the desk drawers, then rolled his chair over to a file cabinet. "OK!" he exclaimed in triumph, producing an architectural plan of the complex. "Let's see what we've got... and what Derek's walking into." He examined the upper floor. "The corridor's a square intersected with a cross. There's several rooms on two sides," he told Ginge, "probably sleeping quarters and heads judging by the pipework... maybe a kitchen, too. The other sides have got big rooms with what might be storage rooms branching off.... Bet it's real easy to get lost up there."
Upstairs...
Derek and Masruq were joined by Hasmit. The three men edged carefully up the stairs towards the brightly lit corridor. There, they found a door that opened to more steps, apparently leading up to the tower.
The precept lightly touched Masruq's shoulder and indicated with his eyes that the man should deal with the watcher on the roof. "Sshhh...." He raised his finger to his lips.
Masruq nodded, drew his knife from his belt, grinned, and began to climb.
Hasmit gestured that he would take the corridor to the left. Derek nodded,
squeezed the man's shoulder, and tried to tell him with his eyes to take care. Pulling
his own knife, Derek took the opposite route.
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