Chapter 2
Ilost track of time.
It seemed like the waterboarding went on for hours.
But that could have just been my perception of it.
By the time they were done, my sinuses were inflamed, my throat scratchy from coughing, and my eyes puffy and swollen.
Dizzy and disoriented with the wet bag still over my face, I sat in the chair, bound about the wrists and ankles, trying to settle myself as the world spun.
Footsteps shuffled out of the room, and the heavy steel door closed.
The loud heavy metal music blasted through speakers. It never stopped over the next few days, except when Good Cop asked me questions.
Questions that went unanswered.
Once a day, the bag was taken off my head, and I was given water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on stale bread. It was just enough to keep you alive. If you could call this alive. It felt somewhere in between. Death seemed like a better option at times.
From the brief glances I got of the room, it had dingy concrete walls with no exterior source of lighting. Yellow work lamps on stands blasted 2,000 watts of halogen lighting on me at all times, day and night. I didn't get any real sleep—just half-ass losses of consciousness.
I figured JD and I were on the fast track to being disappeared.
Soon, we’d be transferred out of Coconut Key to Gitmo or some similar site.
A place where the rules didn't apply. As far as they were concerned, we were non-persons with no rights. We’d committed the ultimate sin. It was the ultimate hypocrisy.
The door unlocked and creaked as it opened.
With the black bag still over my head, I didn't see who it was.
But by the sound of the shoes, they were expensive loafers.
The stride was confident. The scent of cologne hit my nostrils a few paces before the man reached me.
"Take the bag off," he commanded, annoyed.
I squinted and blinked as the light hit my eyes. They were swollen, narrow slits after the beatings. I'm sure my face was all shades of the color wheel. My lip was fat and split. My whole body ached.
The man standing before me came into focus, still backlit by the lighting. He wore a navy suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a square face. In his mid-30s, he looked in reasonable shape for a pencil pusher. Definitely not a field operative.
He smiled. "Nate Sterling, Deputy Director of National Intelligence. I must apologize for any inconvenience you may have suffered.”
"Inconvenience?"
He chuckled. "Sometimes, on the battlefield, things can get… confused."
"Confused," I repeated.
"I'm sure you understand.”
I understood all too well how chaotic a battlefield could get. But this was beyond confusion.
"It seems you have friends in high places.”
I gave him a quizzical look.
"By order of the President, you and Jack Donovan are hereby released. I've given instructions to the agents to delete all transcripts, notes, and footage pertaining to your… detainment.”
"Detainment?" I said, incensed.
"The President appreciates your service to your country.”
JD and I had saved his life on a previous adventure. It was good to know that the good deed had not been forgotten.
"As a condition of your release, you will forget all about this incident. You are not to talk to the press, and you must stay away from Julian Ashby.”
"The guy’s a scumbag who tried to have me killed."
"We are aware of the situation. Julian Ashby will be dealt with in due time. For now, he is a valuable asset.”
My lips tightened, and I stifled an eye-roll.
Sterling asked again, "Do we have a deal?”
I didn't particularly like the terms, but it was better than sitting in this hellhole, or somewhere worse, for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be. "We have a deal."
"By the way, you just used your get out of jail free card. There won't be another. Are we clear?”
I nodded.
"If anyone asks, you and Mr. Donovan went on a fishing trip.”
I gave him an incredulous look. "And how exactly did I get this black eye?”
Sterling smiled. "You're creative. I'm sure you'll think of something."
Sterling gave a nod to the other goons, and they cut me loose. My arms were sore. The restraints had cut grooves in my skin. I rubbed my wrists and stretched.
"I'm sorry, but since this is an anonymous site, you'll have to be bagged on exit." Sterling nodded to the other operatives, and the dirty, wet bag was pulled back over my face. It smelled like blood, stale spit, and misery.
"Good luck, Deputy Wild," Sterling said in a sincere tone. "Stay out of trouble."
Two jackasses grabbed my arms and lifted me from the chair. It had been so long since I stood that I had almost forgotten how. My legs wobbled, weak from days of inactivity. Blood rushed to my brain. I felt woozy as they escorted me toward the door.
The goons marched me outside and tossed me into a van. Hazy shapes filtered through the bag. JD’s unmistakable silhouette came into view.
The cargo door rumbled shut. The goons piled in, and the driver put the van into gear. He peeled out of the lot and headed across town. The van wobbled and creaked as we twisted and turned through the streets.
Minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot at Diver Down. The goons pulled the bags from our faces, and the cargo door slid open. They all wore face coverings. I wouldn’t be able to identify them if I ever saw them again.
Nobody said a word.
JD and I exchanged a look, climbed out of the van, and the door rumbled shut behind us. Tires chirped, spitting gravel as the van sped away.
"You look like shit," I said to Jack.
He was in as bad a shape as I was.
"Hello, pot. Meet kettle."
We ambled down the dock toward the Avventura, squinting from the brilliant Florida sun. I had one thing on my mind.