THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

PART SEVEN:

“Mister Scarletti?”

“Yes…”

“Someone has left an envelope for you. Do you wish us to bring it up to your room…?”

“No,” Dino told them. “I’ll come down for it.”

He put the receiver back in the cradle, heading for the door.

“Trouble?” Mac asked.

“Not sure,” Dino told him, “Someone’s left an envelope. I’ll be right back. Call Miro and let him know. His boys outside will have seen whoever delivered it.”

He didn’t bother waiting for the lift, instead he headed down the stairs to the foyer, all but running down them. Slowing to a more sedate pace, he walked down the last flight and across the foyer to the reception desk. The girl behind the desk saw him coming and already had the envelope in her hand when he reached her.

“Who delivered this?” he asked.

The girl shrugged, telling him, “A motorcycle courier… I am not sure which company…”

Dino thanked her and turned away. With any luck one of the officers that Miro had posted outside would have picked up the number plate and right now they would be tracing the motorcycle.

Walking across to a chair in a secluded corner, Dino sat down, slowly opening the envelope. There were photographs and a video inside. Taking a deep breath, Dino slid the photographs out of the envelope.

Swearing softly, Dino sighed. The photographs were of Terry. There were two close-up face shots and one full-body shot. He was tied to a chair against a wall, wearing only green, camouflage, fatigue pants. He’d been beaten. His jaw line was bruised, he had a spectacular black eye and there was dark, ugly discolouration across his chest where he’d obviously been given a beating…

He didn’t look great, but he could have looked a lot worse.

Slipping the photographs back into the envelope, Dino pushed himself to his feet, heading for the elevator. He would wait until he was back in his room before having a look at the video and inspecting the photographs more closely for clues… not that he expected to find any.

By the time he reached the hotel room, he could hear the phone inside ringing. He let himself in, as Mac answered the phone.

“Hello?”

Mac listened to something, mouthing “Miro” to Dino, who nodded and headed for the coffee table. “Yeah… Yeah, got it… Not he’s just come back… Sure, I’ll let him know…”

He put the phone down, walking over to where Dino was pulling the photographs back out of the envelope. “Miro says that they got the number plate and traced it. It’s a legitimate courier company and there are officers heading to the offices to question them about the envelope. Miro’s on his way over here now.”

“Good,” Dino told him, not looking up, scrutinising the photographs. Mac left him to it, heading over to the coffee pot, pouring two cups of the dark liquid and bringing them back to the table. “Strong and black…”

“Thanks…”

There was nothing on the photographs that told Dino anything more than that Terry was alive.… There was nothing to indicate a particular date and Terry had been photographed against the background of what looked like a blanket, preventing them from identifying anything about the room in which he was being held.

His face and torso were bruised and was looking thinner than Dino remembered, but he was clean shaven and didn’t appear to be in horrendously bad shape.

“Well, at least they haven’t broken his nose,” Dino commented quietly.

Mac chuckled softly, “Don’t think I’d want him copying my devilishly good looks…”

Dino shot him a smile then pulled the video from the envelope. “Let’s see what this says before Miro arrives…”

He handed it to Mac, who got up, sticking it into the video player that Dino had asked the hotel to provide him with. He hit play and then sat back and watched.

There was only one person on the screen. Terry, on his knees, hands behind his head. He was wearing the same camouflage fatigue pants that he’d been wearing in the photographs and the footage was filmed against the same blanket.

Dino sat forward, running a critical eye over the Australian. He’d definitely lost weight, he was bruised and battered and, from the way he was breathing, in some discomfort. Probably from his ribs if the bruising was anything to go by, Dino considered, sourly.

Someone off camera, a man, ordered Terry to begin.

Terry swallowed then took a breath, before beginning, “My name is Terry Thorne. I am an Australian national. I was an officer in both the Australian…”

His voice caught and he took a moment before continuing, “Australian Defence Force and the British Special Air Service Regiment. In March, nineteen ninety-one, I took part in a covert SAS surveillance operation near the town of Prasjeka… in the north of Slavakrajina. The mission was compromised…”

His breath caught again and he paused before continuing, “This resulted in myself and Sergeant James MacFadgeon, also of Her Majesty’s SAS... being captured and detained by Slavakrajinan forces.”

He frowned, looking across to the side, as if he had forgotten what he was supposed to be saying next.

“How long were you held?” the same voice asked, off camera.

Dino watched him pause before going on, “Almost seventy two hours…”

“Why were you released?”

“A rescue mission freed us…”

“You were rescued in a second covert mission by SAS onto Slavakrajinan soil?” the off-camera voice clarified.

“…An SAS rescue mission freed us…” Terry repeated.

The footage continued for a few more seconds then fizzled into static before the screen went blue. Dino stopped the tape, rewinding it. “You’re busted, my friend,” he told Mac softly.

“So it seems…” the big Geordie replied.

Dino turned, looking at him. “Thank you for your help and I’ll make sure that Terry knows that you came out to help him, but it’s not safe for you to be here any more. You need to get back to Britain, just in case they do send this to the newspapers…”

“Agreed,” Mac concurred. “I might have some awkward explaining to do if I was found in Slavakrajina when the story broke.” He pushed himself to his feet, “I’ll pack then phone my wife…”

Turning, he paused, commenting, “He wasn’t looking bad…”

Dino nodded, smiling, looking up at him. “He’s hurting, Mac, but I’ve seen a lot worse,” he admitted.

Mac turned, moving to pack his case. Dino leaned forward, picking up the photographs again, scrutinising them for anything he might have missed.
..................................................

The cell door opened, two soldiers standing in the entrance. One of them motioned that he should move out of the cell and he climbed shakily to his feet, walking out into the corridor. The two soldiers escorted him down to the interrogation room. The room was empty, except for the furniture. The soldiers manoeuvred him to stand in front of the table then moved away to either side of the room.

Terry stood “at ease” waiting, counting the seconds into minutes.

Almost half an hour later, the door opened. Anxiety surged but Terry fought it down, schooling his face into calm, trying to ready himself for what was to come.

The woman walked past him, sitting at the table opposite him, opening out the file she was carrying, spreading the papers out across the table. Another soldier followed, putting a tray down on the table. Terry didn’t look at it, keeping his attention fixed on the far wall, but his stomach betrayed him at the smell of coffee.

The soldier turned, walking back out of the room and closing the door behind him.

“Get the Lieutenant a chair…” the woman ordered; her attention still on the files.

Terry heard movement behind him and someone put a stool against the back of his legs.

“Sit down, Lieutenant.”

He obeyed, sinking onto the stool. She pulled off the cloth that covered the tray, picking up a mug of coffee. There was a plate of grapes and a Styrofoam cup of water on the tray too.

“Eat, Lieutenant. You must be hungry…”

Terry didn’t need a second bidding. He reached out, picking up the bunch of grapes, beginning to eat them. The sweetness exploded in his mouth, his stomach growling. He vowed that he’d never take grapes for granted again..

“The water is also for you…”

Needing no second bidding, he reached out, picking up the cup. He drained the water before putting the cup back on the tray and turning his attention back to the grapes.

“Where are you from, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“Australia…”

“Where, exactly, in Australia?”

“All over…”

She lifted her head, giving him a flat look and he explained, “Family moved around a lot.”

She turned her attention back to the files, making notes.

The door opened, a small group of people coming in. Terry kept his attention on the grapes, continuing to eat. From the corner of his eye he saw two soldiers pulling Mac to a halt beside the table. Terry could see the white cloth of a bandage or a dressing beneath the ripped arm of Mac’s shirt. They’d given him medical attention at least…

Seconds dragged back into minutes again.

“Lieutenant Thorne has told us everything, Sergeant,” the woman finally commented, quietly.

Terry refused to react, refused to look at Mac. That’s exactly what they wanted and if he did he’d be punished. At the edge of his vision he could see Mac standing stoically, unmoving.

The woman said nothing more for another few minutes, then put her pen down, closing the file, holding it out to one of the soldiers who stepped in and took it from her. Clasping her hands she looked at Terry. He looked back at her, saying nothing.

Suddenly, she surged to her feet, tipping the table up and over, spilling everything onto the floor. Terry flinched backwards, toppling off the stool and landing on the floor. The soldiers were already moving in, hauling him to his feet. The woman had stormed round the table and now stood face to face with Terry, yelling, “What callsign was allocated to your team?”

“I… I don’t…”

A fist in his stomach would have driven him to his knees if the soldiers hadn’t been holding him. Pain flared. They dragged him upright and she backhanded him across the face before he could recover, barking, “What callsign?”

“I… I’m not sure…” he evaded, stalling for time but knowing that he couldn’t hold out much longer. He needed to avoid getting seriously injured. A rescue team could arrive at any moment and if he would only hinder the rescue, putting other soldiers at risk, if he wasn’t able to move.

She punched him again. He let himself collapse into the soldiers’ grasp. As they pulled him upright, he blurted, “Maybe… Maybe… Sarek…”

“Sarek?”

Terry coughed, gasping for breath, “I told you…. I was… just and observer… but… I think… they used Sarek…”

She turned, sauntering over to MacFadgeon. Stopping in front of him, trailing a finger down across his injured arm, she asked, “Is it normal practice for the British to have foreign observers?”

When he didn’t answer, his knees were kicked out from beneath him, forcing him to the floor. The soldiers still had hold of his wrists, and his arms were hauled up, pushing him forwards as he landed on his knees on the floor.

“Is it normal practice for the British Special Forces to have foreign observers?” she demanded again.

“Some…” Mac gasped, “Sometimes…”

She considered that for a moment then turned her attention back to Terry. Catching hold of his chin, she forced his head up.

“Look at me!” she barked.

Terry did as he was ordered, lifting his gaze from the floor and looking at her.

“What callsign were you using?” she asked, softly.

He hesitated for only a moment before telling her, “Sarek…”

She ran a finger down his chest, trailing it across the waistband of his fatigues, “You are sure?”

Terry swallowed, nodding and confirming, “Sarek… They used Sarek…”

”And how many in your strike team?”

“I… I’m not sure…”

He expected another blow to fall but instead she turned away, heading back towards Mac. Terry kept his gaze straight ahead, looking at the wall. Then terror twisted up his spine as he heard the familiar click that warned him a safety catch had been removed on a handgun.

He forced himself to look straight ahead, not to react.

“How many in your strike team, Lieutenant?”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to tell her that he wasn’t sure.

The soldiers holding him dragged him round, kicking him to his knees, one of them grabbing his hair and forcing him to look at Mac. She was holding a handgun to Mac’s head.

“How many?” she yelled at Terry. “How many in team?”

When he didn’t answer fast enough she shoved the gun against Mac’s head, forcing his head down further, yelling, “HOW MANY???”

“Eight!” Terry blurted out, adrenalin pumping. “Eight! There were eight!”

She lifted the gun away from Mac’s head, thumbing the safety on, slipping it back into her holster before walking round to stand in front of Terry. The soldiers hauled him back to his feet. He looked at her, aware that the stakes had just been raised and knowing by the cold smile she gave him that he was in deep trouble…

She turned then swung back, backhanding him across the face. Leaning close, she told him softly, “If there were eight on strike team then you were not observer, Lieutenant…”
............................................................

Terry woke with a start, breathing hard. After-images of the dream, combined with darkness and pain, left him disconcerted, momentarily unsure of reality. He swallowed, staying still, assessing his situation.

He was lying on his back on a soft surface. His wrists were bound and tied to something above his head. A bed, he remembered, a metal framed bed. Memories slowly filtered in…

He was in a house, possibly a farmhouse.

They’d moved him off of the ship. He wasn’t sure how long they’d driven to get here. At some point during the bumpy ride from the beach to the nearest road, he’d lost consciousness and he had no idea how long he’d been out.

It had still been dark when they had reached their destination. Even so, they’d kept his head covered with the blanket when moving him from the SUV into the house, so he had no idea where he was.

He eased himself into a more comfortable position, wincing as his ribs protested, then closed his eyes… but sleep evaded him and his thoughts began to run.

He’d finally given in to their demands of a taped “confession” which included Jim MacFadgeon’s name. They’d left him on his knees, hands behind his head until he had finally agreed, pain and lack of sleep dulling his tenacity.

It hadn’t taken long to tape, only a few minutes.

Then they’d let him shower and given him a meal of soup, crusty bread and chicken. In fact, he, the SUV driver, Bracic and Dushan had all sat down to the same meal, the only difference being that his wrists had been bound.

They hadn’t even eaten in silence. The driver had been in a buoyant mood, looking forward to the next evening’s European Cup soccer match between FK Kninensko and Manchester United. Bracic had tried to draw Terry into the conversation, but he had refused, pleading that he knew little about soccer.

Bracic had grinned then he and the driver had begun a run down on the teams who were in Kninensko’ group, including Glasgow Rangers, who had qualified for the first time in years.

With painkillers and food inside him, feeling clean and warm, he had tried to listen, but eventually Dushan had gently shaken him awake, suggesting that they escort him to his bed.

He had nodded, rising wearily, plodding up the stairs ahead of Dushan, not protesting when the younger man had untied his wrists, only to secure them again to the bedstead. He didn’t remember much more than that, not even Dushan leaving the room.

Now, in the corridor outside, he heard Bracic laughing. Dushan was answering, his voice derisive. Terry listened, wondering what was going on.

From what he could make out, the soccer match had been played. It had gone to a penalty shoot-out and Kninensko had won.

Dushan scoffed at Bracic, arguing luck. The older man chuckled and told him that he was only sore because his team hadn’t even made it to Europe.

Henry would be as happy as Bracic at Manchester losing, Terry considered. His son was an Arsenal supporter.

His son…

Terry stopped the train of thought before it went any further, knowing that it would only make him maudlin. The thoughts of Henry refused to budge, though, even when he tried to turn his attention to something else.

Would he see the tape? If they released the tape to the press, would his son’s first sight of him in three months be on a television news broadcast? Dino would have warned Julia, but would she have told Henry? Or would she have decided to keep it from him to save him from worry?

Terry sighed, easing himself round again, finally managing to banish those questions for the moment by successfully turning his thoughts elsewhere. If the Manchester-Kninensko soccer game had already been played, it meant that he must have slept for at least twenty-four hours…

And they had let him…

Or maybe they’d drugged him…

Once again they were, very effectively, playing mind games with him, keeping him off balance. Being on the receiving end of physical punishment was something he could cope with. Being on the receiving end of psychological manipulation was a completely different matter…

Dino, he entreated silently, do what it takes, but get me the hell out of here…
..............................................................

Dino Scarletti answered the knock on the door, checking the spy-hole before letting Miroslav Vilaslavevic in. The Slavakrajinan detective grinned at him, throwing a hello at both Dino and Mac, announcing, “I have good news and bad news…”

“The good news,” he went on, holding up a basket, “is that my beautiful wife thinks you starve on hotel food and sends you piragi!”

Mac grinned at him, “That’s the sort of good news I like! Wish my wife could cook like yours…”

“And the bad news?” Dino asked, opening the basket that Miro was still holding and helping himself to one of the pastries.

“Your envelope was delivered by legitimate courier,” Miro told them, walking across to the table, putting down the basket and dropping into a chair,  “They could not give more than “average height, average build, brown hair” description of the man who wanted it sent: which could be most of Slavakrajinan men.”

“And,” he went on, taking the lid off the basket, “he paid cash, giving non-existent address…”

“No surprises there, then…” Mac muttered, pouring coffee.

“So, this is what was in envelope?” Miro asked, picking up the photographs.

“Those and a video tape,” Dino confirmed, then he switched track, beginning, “Look, Miro, I have a favour to ask before we watch the video…”

Miro looked up from the photographs, assuring him, “If it is in my power, I will do it…”

“Mac has to catch the early flight back to London,” Dino told him. “I don’t want to leave the hotel in case something else arrives… and I’d rather he didn’t use a taxi…”

Miro sat back, surprised by the gravity of Dino’s tone. His looked at him for a moment then his gaze slid to the tall Geordie before coming back to Dino. “Mac…” he said finally, almost as if he were testing the word. “Mac… MacFadgeon…”

He looked back at Mac. “You!” he charged. “You are the other soldier… The Sergeant…”

“Miro,” Dino put in before Mac could answer, “If they send copies of the tape to the press, it would be better if Mac wasn’t in Slavakrajina when the story breaks… He came here to help Terry, for no other reason. He gave me information that no one else could or would give me. He’s helped me piece this together.”

The Slavakrajinan Inspector looked at both men. In all honesty, it wasn’t unsurprising that the two men had kept this information from him. Coming to Slavakrajina in the present circumstances could potentially have cost MacFadgeon his life.

Still, he could easily arrest both Scarletti and MacFadgeon, charging them both with withholding information, or even attempting to influence the outcome of a police investigation.

The only reason they were admitting the truth to him was because they needed his help…

No, he realised… not needed… And not they…

Dino Scarletti was asking for his help.

The American was asking him to help protect a man who had discounted any thought of his own personal safety in order to help a friend… to help Terry Thorne.

Over the previous months, Miro had come to know Terry Thorne well enough to have invited the Aussie K&R man into his home. More importantly, his wife – with her gypsy blood - had taken to Terry. It was one of the reasons she kept sending piragi to Dino and Mac, because they were trying to help Terry.

“I should,” he informed them, finally, “have you both arrested and questioned about withholding information from Police enquiry!”

“However,” he went on, looking at Mac, “I will make sure you reach airport safely tomorrow morning… and not just because it would look bad if you were also taken hostage!”

He paused then went on, “In return, you will tell me everything you know! Everything!”

“Agreed,” Mac told him.

He looked at Dino, who nodded, confirming, “You have a deal.”

“Good,” Miro announced, regarded them both for a moment longer. Then he asked, “Is it her? Is Terry being held by Bukavecs and her people?”

Dino sighed, shaking his head, admitting, “We don’t have any definite proof, Miro…”

Jim MacFadgeon stepped forward, picking up a file from the table. “We may not have definite proof that they’ve got Tel,” he began, pulling out the photographs of Bukuvecs and Malnar, “but these two, this woman and this man: these are the ones who interrogated Tel and I when we were last guests in Slavakrajina.”

Miro took the photographs, looking at them. “We have been hunting these people for many months…” he said softly, trying not to give in to the spark of hope that suddenly flourished. There were still many people who were willing to help Bukavecs and her people, many who would hide them and lie to the police for them.

Still…

“Maybe… Maybe this time, they will not escape us…”

“Now,” he went on, putting the photographs down and reaching for his coffee mug, “we see what your tape says… Then you can tell me exactly what you have both managed to piece together.”

ON TO PART 8

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