Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

“Actually, it’s pretty tight,” she muttered, wedging her big toe under the head of the iron pin, prying carefully. When she had finally managed to edge it up a bit, she was able to grab it between her toes and slowly but surely worked it free.

“Unbelievable.” Ortega used his now free hand to lower her legs gently back down to the ground. Then she heard him unpin his other hand and foot.

“Hey.” His hands made tentative contact with her through the darkness, followed by a hearty, full-body embrace. “Man, you feel good.”

“So do you.” She laid her head against his chest for a moment, then insisted, “Free my hands. We don’t have much time. And at some point, we really will run out of air.”

“Agreed.” He unlocked her wrists, then moved toward Kell. “Jonathan? You awake?”

“Here.” The scientist’s voice was weary. “You two are amazing. But it’s all pointless. We’ll run out of air before we can dig out.”

“Maybe so,” Ortega said. “But we have to try. At least we won’t die in chains.”

“And you’re forgetting about our secret allies,” Miranda reminded them. “The monks. Remember, Jonathan? They made sure there were at least two ways out of every room.”

“This isn’t a room. It’s a dungeon. The whole point is to keep people in,” Kell reminded her.

Ortega’s hand found Miranda’s in the dark and he grasped it firmly. “If you’re right, then we need to start checking the walls. I didn’t see anything that looked like another door. Damn, I wish we had a light.”

“Let me climb on your shoulders. Maybe I can push that board away from the window.”

A tiny thread of light, otherwise useless, showed them where the opening was, and Ortega gave her a leg up, then held her ankles firmly while she pounded at the board until it gave way and fell into the flower bed.

“Yay!” Kell clapped his hands, as giddy as a toddler at a birthday party.

“Shhh! Jonathan, quiet.” Miranda held her breath as two limousines pulled up alongside the house twenty feet from the window. If Benito Carerra or the other Brigade members noticed that the board had been dislodged, they’d realize the prisoners had somehow gotten out of the shackles. Knowing Carerra, he’d probably lob a grenade through the window, just for “sport.”

As she watched, the Brigadier and his wife exited the fortress and approached the first limousine, getting in without even glancing toward the dungeon window, so certain were they that the prisoners were sealed for all eternity under tons of rubble. Then Carl and another guard climbed into the front seat and the vehicle sped away. Gresley, Chen and Tork got into the other car, again with several guards, and they followed Carerra down a dirt road that led to the back of Kell’s property rather than back into the village.

“Whew, that was close.” She smiled down at the men. “Alone at last.”

Although the sun had begun to set, and the window was small, the difference between some light in the dungeon and none at all was astonishing, especially when Ortega lowered Miranda to her feet, then grasped her chin in his hand and stared into her eyes. “You look even better than you feel. If we don’t get out of this, I hope you know how sorry I am. For everything.”

“That’s the drug talking,” she scolded him. “Don’t let it get to you, Ortega. I need your help. Jonathan? How bad off are you? I mean, I’m okay with the air and the rats now, but I’m still pretty shaky. That’s the drug, right?”

He nodded. “The breathing helped. As does the light and the air. But panic will set in again. I’m almost sure of it. When night falls, if we’re still in here, I predict another round of hallucinations. Maybe worse, because we’ll be exhausted by then.”

“Then let’s hurry.” She appraised the room quickly. “In the lab, the doors were at opposite ends. It’s that way in the drawing room, too. So…” She strode over to the corner opposite the stairway. It looked solid, but she kicked it anyway, then winced when only her ankle showed any weakness.

“Here, allow me.” Ortega scooped up one of the manacles and began pounding the stone and mortar, chipping away at it bit by bit. “What’s on the other side of this wall, Jonathan?”

“As far as I know, dirt.”

Ortega stopped his activity and turned his attention overhead. “What’s up there?”

“The kitchen,” said Kell. “The guards’ quarters were right above the stairwell. All of that is rubble by now, I assume. But right over this spot? I’d say it’s the pantry, and probably still intact.”

“The pantry? Sounds like women’s work,” Ortega said with a grin.

Laughing at the pseudo-sexist remark, Miranda grabbed a manacle, then scrambled up onto his shoulders and began hacking cheerfully at the ceiling.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just let the CIA handle this,” Kell was complaining as he watched Ortega kick through the debris that had once been the guards’ quarters.

“I am the CIA,” Miranda reminded him, still giddy from her victory in uncovering the trapdoor and pull-down ladder in the ceiling of the dungeon.

“They didn’t leave one goddammed rifle behind,” Ortega announced. “Did you find any weapons in the lab, Miranda?”

“Only this.” She held up the bow and quiver, then pulled the vial of Night Arrow from her pocket. “And this.”

Ortega seemed unimpressed, but didn’t argue. “I got through to SPIN. Sounds like Kristie was miles ahead of us. She had a team standing by in Geneva-don’t ask me how. They’ll meet us at an airstrip about thirty minutes from here. Jonathan tells me Gresley landed a small plane there once before, so we’re assuming that’s where Carerra’s headed.” Jingling a set of keys, he added, “The Land Rover I rented is still outside, so we’re good to go.”

“It will take Carerra thirty minutes by road,” Miranda mused. “But we can save time cutting across the meadow, right? So maybe we can make it in time.” She flashed Kell a sympathetic smile. “Stay here and get some rest. We’ll be back for you as quick as we can.”

“No! I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay. Then swallow this.” She held one of the power pills out in her palm. “No arguments.”

Kell’s eyes widened. “I thought Carerra took all the drugs.”

“These were in an envelope in the archery cabinet. I’m guessing they’re the ones you set aside for me to take home. For my elevator rendezvous with Ortega.”

Ortega arched an eyebrow. “Your what?”

“Never mind. The good news is, there are three pills. One for each of us. Hopefully they’ll counteract the fear drug, and maybe even give us a little extra edge.”

“None for me,” Ortega told her. “But Jonathan, I agree with Miranda. We can’t have you falling apart out there. Either take the pill or stay behind. Case closed.”

Kell grimaced, but placed the capsule in his mouth, muttering, “If my throat swells up-”

“Just shut up and take it.”

Miranda bit back a laugh as she watched the nervous man gulp it down. “Thanks, Jonathan. That’s very brave of you. Now…” She eyed Ortega. “Your turn.”

“I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, then reminded her, “The last thing I need is an artificial infusion of power. I don’t even handle the natural stuff well, remember? It fucks with my judgment. We don’t need that right now.”

She ran her fingertips lightly along his jaw. “I’ve got news for you, handsome. That wasn’t power fucking with your judgment last year. It was pride.”

He scowled. “What?”

“You had a lot to be proud of,” she assured him with a fond smile. “You were the best. Everyone raved about you. The CIA, the FBI, the president of the United States. New recruits like me whispered your name in awe. You earned that adulation. Then just when you were about to be recognized publicly-to be given a prestigious appointment-some jackass in L.A. took a swing at you and jeopardized everything. That’s what you couldn’t handle. The blow to your hard-earned image.”