Page 34 of The Spy

Puzzled, he concentrated on his abduction. At first he assumed he had been captured by someone in relation to all the trouble he was stirring with everyone’s organizations. But the more he thought about it, some of the details didn’t match up.

The sound of a motor, distant, grew closer, and Lucan recognized the sounds of the long, canoe-like boats common in the Philippines.

The motor sound grew closer and Lucan braced himself.

His door struggled open and a man waded in with mean, dark eyes. He grabbed a handful of Lucan’s hair, snapped a picture with his phone and then left without a word.

But the door remained cracked open. Lucan guessed it wouldn’t matter much. The waters were at the same levels inside and outside the shed.

The motor sped away. And Lucan let his head drop. Exhaustion, dehydration. His cracked lips hurt when he tried to wet them with his thick, tongue. He desperately wanted to live, but the more he thought about dying and the more tired he became, he felt at peace with his last efforts. He had taken down two evil men and disrupted their awful organizations. He had protected Anna from further harm by leaving her. His heart ached for the softness of her skin, for the warmth of her arms. But he was comforted knowing she was safe. If he were to die, she would be well.

His head fell forward and he drifted off to sleep, his body leaning forward against the ropes around his chest.

* * *

Anna workedher way through the flooding to rent a boat in Old Sagay, about an hour outside of Bacolod in the Philippines. The people here, were the nicest she had ever seen, churches on every corner in one part of their village, friendly faces in small huts, children happy, but underdressed and not a toy in sight.

She vowed to return one day and spend some time.

But now, she and her team were searching for Lucan. They had visited two other islands and narrowed the search to the Bacolod area. The Typhoon had slowed everyone down. High waters filled spaces everywhere. The three-wheeled transportation usually available was traded for long, canoe shaped motorboats. They moved slowly through the trees, around huts and wading people, swimming dogs, donkeys, horses. She cringed as they passed a snake, slithering its wave like pattern through the water.

The air was thick with humidity, the sky dark, the clouds low. She expected the water to pour out on them again any moment. But she didn’t shiver, instead, her clothes clung to her sweat in a chafing wetness that found no relief. Every surface she touched was wet, every article of clothing she brought, damp. A fuzzy mold had begun to grow on the one piece of leather she had in her kit.

They stopped to get their bearings, and she hooked up her satellite phone to check in for messages.

It dinged and four new ones came in, one image. It took several minutes for it to download but when it did, she gasped. Lucan. His face hollow, his lips cracked and bleeding. She looked at the wall, or surrounding, behind him. Very little was visible, perhaps the bamboo sticks that made up the walls of all the houses around her. She forwarded it on to Barlow.

They continued their search. Lucan had activated his tracker. And the last ping had him on this side of the island, out closer to the beach. As they made their way in that direction, a boat, similar to theirs, zoomed past, a man shouting and pointing to the others. His dark eyes glanced their way, and then honed in on her.

She looked away, as though they meant nothing, but her insides screamed in alarm. The stalker. Not entirely certain, but she thought that man could be the stalker from Jordan. She tensed until she heard their motor zoom away from hers. She glanced a look behind her just as a man jumped onto their boat, swinging his fists.

He reached for her but she kicked him in the chest, sending him backward and over the side into the water. The stalker’s boat turned around in a wide circle and headed back toward her.

Her driver zoomed ahead faster, but the stalker approached anyway, He held up a gun, indicating they should slow.

The driver pulled to a stop at what would have been a beach house, next to an old rickety shed.

He shouted to her. “Hold your hands up! No guns.”

She wore a hat, low over her face, her hair, now dark again, tied at the back of her neck. She wore the clothes of a local. “I come with the police. Leave us alone.”

The officer to her right showed his badge. “Drop your weapon.”

The two other men with them pulled out their guns and aimed them at her men. Anna worried this could go wrong too quickly. “What do you want?”

“We’re just lost, new to the area and all this water is confusing us.” He held up his hand and his gun as if to show he was friendly, but then he brought it down quickly and shot the man on Anna’s right in the leg. They pulled up to the side of Anna’s boat and his men leaped over.

She jumped over the edge to their boat and kicked at the lead man’s gun. Was it her stalker? He looked similar but not the same. Perhaps a family member. She wrenched at the gun, but he was too strong, yanking it from her hands. She kicked him in the stomach, and elbowed his nose. He fought back but she was quicker. But maneuvering on the boat was precarious.

Her men fought harder and won, sending all over the side or knocking them out. They aimed their guns on the one she still fought, breathing hard. He dropped his gun and raised his hands. The police handcuffed him and climbed on his boat. “We will take him in. Can you continue without me?”

Anna nodded. “Thank you.”

Two men stayed with her. She pulled out her phone, studying the image again. Every building around them had the same walls, those same bamboo sticks. Exhaustion and despair started to settle in. She needed something, anything, another clue.

Barlow texted back. “The image has a location attached to it. You are right on it.”

“What?” She looked around. “Check those buildings!! All of them. He says we’re close.”

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