Cliff Ryder - Out of Time

Moving first one foot and then the other, he tested his legs, which, while sore and cramped, seemed to be functional for the moment. He had no specific pain in his back or sides. As he worked his way up his body, checking for new damage and assessing the impact of the old, he listened. He heard the distant hum of machinery. The sound echoed, as if down a metal-decked passage, but there was nothing else. He heard no footsteps, no murmur of voices. Wherever they’d taken him, they’d left him alone.

Still, he tried not to move noticeably. If they were watching him, waiting for him to regain consciousness, he didn’t want to tip them off by any sudden movement. He needed time to regroup. He slowly tried to move his hands, and realized that they were bound together with a length of plastic cording, but not tied to anything else. The floor was cool, metallic, he thought, and he assumed he was on one of the two lower levels. It wasn’t a deck plate, so he wouldn’t be sliding out through any cable troughs, but if he could find a way to get free, he was still in the portion of the complex most crucial to his mission.

At this thought, he nearly laughed, and had to bite back the sudden rush of emotion.

“At any cost,” he mumbled.

He had never felt as much pain as he did at that moment. He felt a bit short of breath, but every time he took more than a tiny gulp of air into his lungs, a wave of nausea shot through his gut, and he bit it off. Slowly he moved his left leg, bending it at the knee and drawing it up. He tested the joints, found everything intact, returned it to its original position and did the same with his right leg. He listened for a while, heard nothing and began the same process with his arms. His joints ached like fire, but they moved, and he was able to bend and straighten both arms, then press himself gently up off the floor a few inches. He did this several times, using the simple push-up as a test of strength and agility. Despite his injuries, and the rush of blood to the wound in his temple every time he exerted himself, he was able to function.

It was enough.

Finally, there was nothing to do but wait. He wanted to be certain that his motion hadn’t been enough to trigger some alarm or bring the guards back down on him. Alex half expected Dayne to step out of a dark corner, cradling his blade, that sinister smile welcoming him back to the world of the conscious with more fun and games. But it didn’t happen. For whatever reason, they’d stashed him and left him alone, and that meant he had a window, albeit a very small window, to put together a plan, if that was possible.

Alex sat up slowly, crossed his legs, despite the pain this brought him, and worked to relax. He needed to think. As he sat, he stretched, trying to bring his stiff muscles to life and get himself to whatever level of readiness was possible. He had no real way to assess his wounds, no way to know how haphazard the Chinese doctor’s treatment had been and no idea when, or for what purpose, they might return to retrieve him.

He heard a sound in the distance and froze. He thought about returning to his prone position and feigning unconsciousness, but if they were coming for him now, it probably meant he’d been right and they knew he was awake. Prone on the floor would just put him in a more vulnerable position. He closed his eyes and waited, then opened them again, trying to get the proper pupil dilation to pierce the darkness. There was simply nothing to see. He might be in a tiny cell, or a huge, open room. He needed to know.

Even more slowly than he’d moved when sitting up, Alex got to his feet. He nearly toppled as vertigo hit, a combination of the utter darkness, the pounding pulse in his head and nausea. He wavered, then managed to crouch and balance, and began moving away from where he stood. He found a wall within three feet on his left, and began to follow this to the right. Then he stopped, bracing his hands against the wall for balance.

He’d heard another sound. The scrape of a shoe?

Something dropped, but there was no curse, and there were no voices. Alex rested against the wall, thinking hard about his next move. If he attacked too quickly, or failed, he would surely be beaten, and then dragged back to whatever torture Dayne still had planned. If he waited too long, they’d notice he had moved, be on their guard and, in his weakened state, they’d probably get him without much of a struggle. He silently cursed the lack of light and began moving again, slowly, searching the floor by brushing his foot ahead of him, hoping he’d come across something he could use as a weapon.

The sounds drew closer together and nearer to Alex. He heard breathing and soft footsteps.

Whoever it was wasn’t in a hurry to reveal his or her presence. Alex wondered what that meant.

Could it be Dayne? Might he be hoping to come back in private and finish up what he’d started?

He pressed against the wall as the steps drew nearer. He tried to gauge from the sound where the door might be, and he worked his way along one wall toward it. He came to a corner, and, after a quick shuffle along this second wall, his fingers brushed the frame of a doorway. It was a standard door frame, but when he reached around it, he found that the door itself was formed of a frame-work of welded metal bars.

A voice hissed through the darkness.

“Vance?”

He froze. The voice was familiar.

“Vance, where are you?”

Alex stepped to the barred door and peered out.

A second later he detected motion in the utter darkness, heard a snap of sound, and a small lighter was lit. When his eyes recovered from the slash of light and adjusted, he saw Liang grinning at him in the small, flickering pool of light.

“Liang?” he said stupidly.

“Who else?” Liang asked.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Seems pretty obvious to me,” Liang said, pulling a tool from his belt. “I’m here to save your sorry American ass. I was ordered to come and get you out.”

“But how did you get in?” Alex asked.

“The back door.” Liang chuckled. “I managed to get hold of the uniform of one of the maintenance support staff, and came in through the loading-bay doors.”

“Can you get this door open?”

“I think so,” Liang replied. “When I took out the guard, I got his keys.”

The big man stepped forward and fumbled with the keys.

“Give me the lighter,” Alex said. “I’ll hold it while you find the key.”

Liang passed the lighter through to him. It took three tries, but Alex managed to get it lit. Because Alex’s hand was shaking the light flickered more than was normal. If Liang noticed, he made no mention of it. The third key fit the lock, and the door opened. Alex started forward immediately and lost his balance as his legs failed to react. He fell into Liang, who caught him easily.

“No time for resting,” Liang said. He pulled a knife from a sheath at his belt and cut away the plastic ties that bound Alex’s wrists together. “That guard is going to be missed. We have to get you up and out of here before they notice.”

“Water,” Alex said. “I need some water or I’ll never make it.”

Liang took back the lighter and started moving around the outer room quickly. There was a thud and a grunt as he fell across a desk. Then a quick laugh of satisfaction.

“Well, what do you know,” he said.

A moment later he stepped up close to Alex again, holding something out. Alex reached for it, felt it and managed a weak grin of his own. It was a utility belt. After a moment he realized it was the one they’d taken from him when he was captured.

He clumsily slung it around his waist and buckled it in place. The weight felt good. He searched it quickly. His Glock was gone, but most of the tools were still in place. He opened a pocket on the left and found the small canteen he’d brought with him. He opened the top and guzzled the contents greedily.