03-Strength of the Mate (42 page)

A bowl of boiled meat that resembled chicken and several pieces of flatbread were a hell of a lot better than nothing at all. It didn’t look appetizing, but it tasted fine. Adam choked down as much as he could, washing it down with the warm water.

His caretaker cleared the dishes from the room. When he didn’t return after several long minutes, the three remaining guards became agitated. One of them pushed another bottle of water toward Adam, peppering him with a string of Arabic. They had to know he didn’t understand.

His stomach was so full it ached, but Adam managed to drink a little more water. He knew he needed it, as much as he wanted to placate his guard.

Another stranger came into the room, gesturing for everyone to follow him. Adam’s hostile guard grabbed his wounded arm and jerked him upward. He gasped in pain and surprise, but forced himself not to react. Something told him this man was just looking for an excuse to rough Adam up.

He expected one of his captors to tape his wrists again. Instead, he was shoved into the backseat of a different car, without his hands bound. He hoped they’d skip the hood again, too. His hostile guard sat beside him in the back seat, so Adam sat still and quiet, anyway. Maybe if he stayed cooperative, they’d think they didn’t have to bind him.

It was late afternoon. Adam could tell by the height of the sun in the sky. He’d gotten good at gauging the time until sunset and sunrise, thanks to Dawson. Adam’s chest twisted at the thought of Dawson. Christ, he missed him. What he wouldn’t give to be able to slip into Dawson’s arms right now.

They pulled off the road at a large, sprawling building. The driver drove the car around behind the structure, so it couldn’t be seen from the road. The mean guard dragged Adam out of the car by his injured arm. He thought of this guy as The Bully. The name suited.

Adam was unresisting as they dragged him into a small room. It had no furniture. There was a thin mat on the floor in a far corner of the room. The Bully shoved Adam down onto the mat. Adam sat down hard, jarring his spine. He had the beginnings of a headache, his arm throbbed, and he needed to piss, but Adam didn’t move from where he’d been shoved. He kept his head down and his gaze on the floor.

One of the nicer guards entered the room. He carried a bottle of water and a small bucket. He placed the bucket in the corner on the opposite side of the room. He set the bottle of water next to Adam’s leg, before stepping back. The Bully stepped forward, shoving at Adam’s shoulder. He spoke angrily in Arabic, gesturing at the water, then at the bucket. Adam nodded passively. He didn’t understand the words, but he was smart enough to get the general idea. He was to drink the water, and pee in the bucket.

One of his guards pulled the string on the naked light bulb in the ceiling. The room plunged into semi-darkness. All three of his captors left, closing the door, and leaving Adam in complete darkness. He heard the sliding of several bolts, and he knew his prison was secure. With no windows in the room, he’d be spending the next however long in pitch black.

Adam wondered if the complete isolation was intentional. Or if this was just the only secure room available for holding prisoners. Without a way to see the sun rise and set, Adam was facing endless hours of boredom. Worse than that, his only tie to Dawson was severed. Knowing what time of day it was gave him some idea of what Dawson might be doing. Now, Adam didn’t even have that.

Fumbling around in the dark, he located a thin blanket. As far as he could feel, there was no pillow. Adam curled up on his right side. He felt his left arm. It still hurt a lot. He wondered if they’d clean and re-bandage it. The sleeve of his T-shirt was stiff with dried blood. So was the side of his shirt, all the way down to the hem. He’d bled a hell of a lot more than he’d realized.

Carefully, Adam got to his feet. He felt his way along the walls to the opposite corner. Locating the bucket wasn’t hard, and it didn’t take him long to figure out how to hit his target in the dark. He made his way back to his mat, and felt around for the bottle of water. Cracking the seal, he took several long drinks.

Adam settled back down onto his mat, trying to get comfortable. He had nothing else to do except sleep, so he might as well try. Sleeping would at least pass the time.

He missed the bed he’d been sharing with Dawson. Not because it was a hell of a lot larger, and more comfortable than this one, but because he missed feeling Dawson’s warm skin in the darkness. He missed Dawson’s firm body pressed against his.

He hoped they found him soon. If he had to endure this for too long, Adam wasn’t sure he’d stay sane.

§ § §

Adam was dozing when the door to his cell burst open, slamming back against the wall. Adam jumped violently, his skin prickling with the flood of adrenaline. He sat up, disoriented. He had no idea what day it was, let alone what time.

The Bully strode across the room, shouting angrily in Arabic. A second guard, sour-faced but slightly less cruel, turned on the single light. The Bully grabbed Adam’s bandaged arm, dragging him roughly to his feet. Sour Face grabbed Adam’s other arm. Together they dragged him from the room.

Adam didn’t resist. He kept up with his captors the best he could. He didn’t complain about the rough treatment. He didn’t ask where they were taking him. They dragged Adam outside and shoved him into the backseat of yet another car.

Great plumes of dust rose up behind them, as they raced down a series of unmarked, dirt roads. Adam sat quietly between The Bully and Sour Face. He curled in on himself, keeping his head down. He tried not to call attention to himself.

Tension inside the car swiftly skyrocketed. His four captors had an agitated conversation, punctuated by pointed fingers and angry gestures. Adam hazarded an upward glance, and his heart began to race.

They were approaching a roadblock. It was one of many conducted by coalition troops. If he could just get their attention, send them some sort of a signal, all this could be over. His guards weren’t stupid, though.

Even as this thought crossed his mind, the driver gunned the car’s small engine. He made a sharp right turn onto a track that was mostly a livestock trail. Unless the men at the roadblock spotted the suspicious behavior and came after them, Adam’s chances of rescue were fading fast.

He tried not to be disappointed. Adam needed to be realistic. The odds hadn’t been good from the start.

They pulled up in front of a large, lavish looking house. He’d heard stories about certain tribal leaders and war lords in the area. Between criminal activity and exploitation of their own people, they were able to live in relative luxury. Adam thought this could be one of those types of residences.

He was pulled from the car and dragged into the house. Adam was shoved into a small room. He stumbled, falling to the hard, tiled floor. The impact jarred his left arm, sending pain shooting through his shoulder to his neck. He didn’t get up. Adam didn’t dare look up at his captors. They shouted at each other. Adam thought he heard more voices come from other parts of the house. His skin crawled, his stomach turning sour. Hostility was heavy in the air. These men were angry about something. Adam might not be the cause of their anger, but right now he was the focus. He was pretty sure he was about to pay the price for whatever was under their skin.

Everyone left the room except The Bully and Sour Face. Armed with their AK-47s, they took up positions on either side of the closed door. Adam stayed where he’d fallen. He drew his knees up to his chest, cradling his injured arm against his body. He sat silently, keeping his eyes averted. He listened closely, struggling to figure out what he was facing.

Adam jumped violently when several men burst through the door, shouting in Arabic. Two of them carried AKs, but one of them had a long bladed weapon that looked like a machete. Adam nearly puked. He knew what the sight of that weapon meant.

Machete Man and The Bully both grabbed onto Adam, dragging him toward the door. Adam couldn’t get his legs to move. His knees refused to hold his weight. They shouted at each other angrily. Adam’s arm screamed as Machete Man used it to drag him down a short hallway.

He didn’t mean to resist his captors, but he couldn’t get his body to cooperate. He refused to plead for his life. Adam had no control over what was about to happen, but he could make sure he died with his dignity intact.

He hoped Tim was with their mom when she got the news. Adam hoped Dawson would be a little sad when he heard. He’d like to think he’d be missed, for just a little while, before Dawson moved on and took his next lover.

Adam hoped Jase was waiting for him when he got to wherever he ended up.

He finally got his feet beneath him, as his captors dragged him into another small room. An Iraqi flag was hung on the far wall. A video camera sat on a tripod in front of the near wall. A small carpet, like a prayer rug, was on the floor in the center of the room. Adam’s blood turned to ice, his pulse thundered in his ears when he realized what this room was for.

They shoved Adam onto his knees on the rug. He sat back on his heels, resting his palms on his thighs. Adam kept his head down, his eyes on the floor. He wouldn’t fight, he wouldn’t beg, and he wouldn’t read some prepared statement full of lies.

Someone tossed a newspaper onto the floor in front of his knees. Adam couldn’t read it, but he guessed it was some sort of proof of life for the video. That didn’t make sense. Why verify he was still alive if they were going to kill him?

A man stood behind the video camera, like he was ready to operate it. Another crouched beside the camera, holding up a large piece of cardboard. Someone had written several sentences on it. Adam looked closer and recognized really bad English. He didn’t have a problem giving his name and his reason for being in Iraq, just like he’d told the British reporter. Adam wouldn’t denounce his country, though, or the military’s reasons for being in Iraq. They were going to kill him anyway, telling lies wouldn’t save him.

Machete Man and The Bully stood behind Adam. They used the ends of their head wraps to cover their faces. Machete Man gestured at the newspaper with his weapon. “You pick it up.” His voice was muffled by the fabric across his face.

Adam kept his eyes on the floor. He shook his head.

Machete Man repeated his gesture, his tone more angry. “You pick it up!”

Adam shook his head slowly.

The sharp, cold blade pressed to the side of Adam’s neck. He swallowed back his fear, keeping his hands resting quietly on his thighs. Adam shook his head.

Visibly frustrated, Machete Man scooped up the newspaper. He held it beside Adam’s head, barking something to the men across the room. A soft beep, and a red light appeared on the video camera. Adam sat quietly, his lead lowered.

Machete Man launched into an angry sounding diatribe, all in Arabic. He waved the large knife wildly, gesturing at the camera and at Adam. Adam struggled not to flinch, or show any kind of fear.

His eyes landed on the lower half of the cardboard. He carefully read three of the handwritten lines: I am not abused. I am treated good. My wound is treated. Adam was confused. Why would those things matter if they were just going to behead him for the viewing pleasure of the international YouTube audience?

Adam was dragged from his thoughts when Machete Man shoved his shoulder hard. He pointed at the card with the tip of his weapon. “You confess.”

Putting out a hand, Adam steadied himself on the floor. He kept his head down, struggling to keep his face and his voice serene. He’d say some of the things they wanted him to, but in his own words, not theirs.

“My name is Adam Madison. I’m a civilian contractor with Ares International, in Iraq to drive supply trucks for the Marine Corps, out of Camp Fallujah. I was part of a convoy when I was taken by my captors. I was shot in the arm during the attack, and my wound has been treated. I have been given food and water, and I have not been abused.”

A second piece of cardboard appeared. It also had several sentences written in basic English. Do not look for me. I am safe. I do not want innocent people harmed to find me. I cannot be found. I will be killed if you do not stop.

Adam wanted to laugh with joy when he realized someone was looking for him. It sounded like the Marines were tearing apart the countryside in their search. His kidnappers were afraid.

“They want me to say that I’ll be killed if you keep searching for me.” In a flash, Adam realized the BBC news crew could tell the Marines where they had encountered him. If they knew he’d seen one of the coalition road blocks, it might give them an even better idea of where to search. “Almost running into a roadblock I think made them nervous.”

Adam fell silent. He was gambling that their grasp of English was weak enough so they didn’t know he was dropping hints.

Adam stiffened when Machete Man laid the blade against his neck again. He tried not to give more of a reaction than that. Machete Man gave another rant in Arabic before signaling for the camera to be shut off. With another soft beep, the red light went out.

Now that the camera was off, Adam was as surprised as he was relieved to still be alive.

§ § §

The sun had just risen above the horizon, casting the sky in a soft pink glow. Adam was in the corner of his cell, leaning against the wall. He gazed out of one of the small, high-set windows. Dawson would be awake now. Adam wondered if there was any chance he was watching the sunrise too, at this very moment. If he was, could he feel Adam watching it? Thinking about him?

Adam’s arm throbbed with each beat of his heart. It was the only injury that hadn’t healed in the last week. After several days of being moved from one anonymous location to another, Adam had been heavily bruised from The Bully’s rough treatment. The next time Machete Man had paid him a visit, he’d seemed pissed off at Adam’s condition. The next morning, Groucho, Harpo, and a third man had appeared, instead of The Bully and his cronies. They’d brought Adam to this room a week ago. Since then, his captivity had at least been tolerable.