Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

How did they find me? That's my first thought as I desperately try to seek comfort from the intense burning sensation in my face. I have no control over my muscles and it's hard to breathe. I know the second I panic it's all over, so I must focus. This isn't the first time I've found myself in this type of situation. I'm aware that the effects of a Taser are only temporary and pepper spray won't last more than twenty uncomfortable minutes.

They've taken away my pistol, knife and lighter. Since I'm still breathing, it's obvious that these guys aren't here to kill me-at least not yet. Something must have changed since last night. Whatever that might be is beyond me, but I'm glad they changed their mind.

I don't understand how they caught up with me. I have no cell phone and I got rid of all my clothes. That would mean that the tracking device is actually in me, but that's impossible. They can't implant a microchip in my body without my knowledge... unless I can't remember them doing so.

"Target has been acquired," I hear one of my captors say with an American accent. "Roger, we'll rendezvous at the safe house."

The truck twists and turns one way or the other for so long it seems it will never end. We finally come to a stop and I'm pushed out. My captors guide me to an elevator and we take it to what I'm guessing is a few floors up. By the sound of their accents, there are no natives in this crew. If I was a betting man, I would say they're with the Special Operations Group. After waiting for a door to be unlocked, I'm led inside and thrown onto a mattress.

I hear noises outside the room, so I must be alone or at least I hope so. I don't know what they have planned for me, but one thing is certain, this is no embassy and I doubt I'll be surrendered to any authority. This Abu Ghraib stunt can only mean that whatever they have in store for me is going to make me wish I were dead.

The mattress feels old so I wiggle around looking for a tear in its cover, which proves to be an easy task. My fingers get a hold of a piece of wire that I struggle to straighten out as much as possible. Once I'm satisfied with my handiwork, I lay on my back trying to slip the wire between the handcuffs' roller lock and teeth.

An overwhelming sense of joy invades me when I feel the restraint slip loose. I take the hood off my head without delay and find myself alone in a small room. It's dark and there's nothing in it except for the filthy mattress. The effects of the pepper spray have virtually subsided.

I work on loosening my leg binds, when I hear footsteps approaching. By the time I see the shadow of feet under the door, I've manage to slip the hood back over my head and look subdued.

Two men pick me up and dump me on a folding chair they must have brought along with them. I hold on to my plastic restraints hoping no one notices they're loose. They finally uncover my head.

"Hello, Mr. Caine," Blake says, standing in front of me. "You're a tough man to pin down."

The room is filled with Blake's men: the lumberjack I shot in Catia, a shitkicker chewing on a toothpick, a Latino rocker and a gangster rapper. Great, I've been kidnapped by the Village People.

"That was quite a number you pulled off back in Caracas," Blake says.

"You brought me another confession to sign?" I say. "You should have just mailed it instead of going to all this trouble."

Blake says, "You've been so imaginative so far that I couldn't wait to see how you would try to explain all of this to your countrymen."

"This part is going to be hysterical."

"Ah, but this is the part you'll not remember."

"Is this what all this is about? Some Manchurian Candidate bullshit?"