Page 25 of Trapped

“Better.”

“Good.” Montgomery gestured toward one of the easy chairs. “Sit down.”

Cash lowered himself into the chair. He knew this whole setup was designed to help him relax, but he could feel his heart wildly pounding inside his chest.

The doctor took his pipe from his mouth, came around the desk and sat down in the other easy chair. When he was settled, he took another puff.

“How’s your memory?” he asked.

“It’s still spotty.”

“That’s one of the symptoms. The medication you’ve been taking should help with that.”

Would it? Or was the truth just the opposite?

“How are you spending your days?”

Cash drew a blank. Basket weaving? Volleyball? He shrugged.

“The food here is pretty good, considering,” the doctor said.

“Yes.”

“You went to physical therapy this morning?”

“Yes.”

“How was that?”

“Fine,” Cash wanted to scream at him to stop making nice and get on with the real purpose of this little chat, but he managed to sit with his hands resting easily on the chair arms.

“Any more of those dreams about Afghanistan?” Montgomery asked.

In the gym, Henry had asked him the same question. Did everybody here know about them? Why were they so important? And what the hell should he answer? If he said “no,” would the colonel get the truth out of the physical therapist?

Somehow Cash had the feeling he was damned if he said yes and damned if he said no.

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Sophia sat in front of a monitor screen.

“Where is he?” Martin asked. He’d been out in the cave, and now he was back, looking winded.

“In Montgomery’s office.”

“Where else has he been this morning.”

“The mess hall. Then he went back to his room and stayed there for over an hour.”

She didn’t tell Martin that Cash had apparently found the bug and spoken to her. Because she’d put it where he would discover it, and Martin would jump on her for that? Or because it showed Cash was being indiscreet?

Maybe both.

“Or he could have changed his shoes—and you wouldn’t know he was somewhere else,” Martin was saying.

“Why would he do that?”

Martin shrugged.

She looked up at him. “Where were you all morning?”

“I went out closer to the cave mouth—to make a report and get some instructions. But I still couldn’t get through.”

“Too bad.”

When he didn’t volunteer any more information, she turned back to the screen.

She wanted to scream at Cash that Montgomery’s office was the most dangerous place in the bunker for him. She wanted to tell him to make some excuse and get out of there. But that wouldn’t do any good. He didn’t have any way of hearing her. Except through some kind of psychic bond, and she wasn’t putting any faith in that.

Still, she couldn’t keep from sending him a silent message. Don’t talk about Afghanistan. Just don’t do it. Please. Please believe me that it’s important.

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