Page 68 of Renegade

“Yeah. They all rotated in and out of the base, but Mendez and Bishop were there most of the time,” Damon replied. “I didn’t see Bishop as often. I think he was based—” he glanced at Mark before looking back. “Elsewhere.”

“Right,” Mark said, nodding as he put away his phone. “Go on, Sutter.”

Sutter glanced at Miguel. “I should have told you about the CIA guys and what I’d seen as soon as I got back, but we’d just gotten orders. And then there was all that bullshit with Vonne threatening to report me so I couldn’t lead the mission, and the fight and all. I had to make sure the doc would sign off on me…which took me another day. Anyway, you know what happened. A few days later, we got caught in the sandstorm,” he said.

“I’d sure as hell like to know what happened after you went outside,” Miguel said. I could hear the sorrow in his voice, and it hurt to know he had to relive it every time he thought of that painful day.

“I’m not sure. Somehow, I got separated from the vehicle. I tripped and hit my head when I was trying to make my way back to the door of the vehicle. I think I lost my headgear.”

I watched as a tear ran down his cheek and I felt a sudden pang of guilt for hating him as he recounted that day.

“I got blinded by the storm as I was feeling around on the ground trying to find my goggles. I figured I had to be close to the vehicle, but I was getting pummeled from all directions. I should have been able to find the Humvee, but I started to panic when I couldn’t see. The stinging sand and the wind was making me cry. I crawled around and around until suddenly, someone was there. I felt arms lifting me off the ground but before I couldcall out, a black hood was shoved over my head. I started fighting for my life. I thought I’d been taken by the enemy.”

“But it wasn’t the Taliban,” Miguel said.

I could hear the pain in his voice, and it turned my stomach as Sutter went on.

“At the time I thought it was,” he said, looking at Miguel. “I only know I was knocked unconscious and the next thing I knew, I was waking up, blindfolded, injured, coughing so hard I threw up. I could taste sand and cried out for water. I felt someone beside me, and I begged them for water.” Sutter was crying now. “When someone lifted a cup to my mouth, I tried to hold it but that’s when I realized my hands were tied. I’d been captured,” he finished bitterly.

“When did you figure out it wasn’t the enemy?” Mark asked.

Sutter turned and looked at him. “I think it was a couple of days before I suspected it wasn’t the Taliban. I heard muffled voices and realized that I was in a room or a hut or something.”

“What language were they speaking?” Miguel asked.

“Pashtu, I think,” Sutter replied, looking over at him. “It may have been Urdu which just confused me. I had a head injury, so I wasn’t thinking clearly. I kept trying to figure out if I was in Pakistan. I had no idea how long I’d been out…if they’d taken me somewhere. In any case, they weren’t talking much, and you know I wasn’t as fluent as some of the guys.”

“How long were you kept there, Sutter?” Damon asked.

“Three days, I think, maybe longer. They kept me blindfolded and it was hard to tell day from night. I didn’t hear theadhan.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

Miguel turned to me. “In Arabic countries worshippers are called to prayer by theadhan, the Arabic word for it. Someone sings a sort of recitation from their mosque five times a day.”

“In Farsi they call itazan,” Jarrett added stoically. “It’s pretty eerie when you hear it from the minarets before dawn.”

“Oh, I know now,” I said, realizing what they were talking about as if hearing the musical call to prayer in my head. “That means you must not have been in a city, right?”

Sutter nodded. “Right. I’m pretty sure I was in a village. I could hear and smell animals. Like I said, I was just sitting there waiting for them to come and get me so they could videotape my beheading. They must have known I was a Marine. I was in uniform.”

I glanced at Miguel. He looked sick to his stomach. “When did you hook up with the CIA cell you were talking about?”

“Someone came and got me in the middle of the night. They threw me in the back of a car. I’m pretty sure it was an all-terrain vehicle…like a Jeep. The roads weren’t paved. My head was still aching from where they’d knocked me out and I felt every rock and divot in the road. We drove for about two hours by my reckoning but it could have been more or less. Then I was yanked out and taken to a room. I was praying the whole way there that my death would be quick.” He took a deep breath as he looked at Miguel. “Instead, they pulled off my hood. Standing in front of me was Lance Bishop. I was never so happy to see a familiar face in my life.” He stared down at his hands, trying to compose himself before looking up again, this time directly at Mark. “When I asked how they’d found me, he pointed a gun in my face and told me to tell him exactly what I knew about their cell.”

“Theydidrecognize you that night then?” Miguel asked.

Sutter nodded. “Anyway, when I told him I didn’t know anything, that’s when Bishop shot me in the stomach.”

“He shot you?” Mark asked.

Sutter stood and pulled up the T-shirt he wore under his bomber jacket, revealing a nasty three-inch scar just above his belly button. In the center was a puckered wound. It looked nothing like the tiny scars that remained from the .22 caliber bullet I’d been shot with, thanks to Vonne’s healing hands.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Damon swore.

Miguel glanced over at me, and it took everything in my power to curb the urge to reach out to him. I folded my hands in my lap to stop myself. Sutter dropped his shirt and sat back down as we both focused back on him.

“Anyway, I got really sick after that. I had a fever and nearly bled to death. Bishop blindfolded me again and kept me tied up. After some time—I don’t know how long—John Mendez showed up with an Afghani woman who dug out the bullet and nursed me for a couple of weeks. Maybe it was longer. I was delirious most of that time.”

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