THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

PART EIGHT:

Jim MacFadgeon sat by the window, feet propped up on the coffee table, gazing outside at the city roofs and the countryside beyond. In stark contrast to the blue-skied sunshine that had greeted his arrival, the mountains were covered today by low, threatening cloud that shed a fine, drenching mist onto the streets below. Jim wasn’t a man who believed in omens, but the gloom was unsettling.

It didn’t help, either, that despite his head telling him that he was doing the right thing by leaving, his heart was reminding him that back in Britain, he’d be over a thousand miles away from where Terry Thorne was in trouble. He was a soldier and he hated feeling so damned helpless…

He drained the last of his coffee, looking up as Dino appeared from the bathroom.

“Miro should be here soon,” Dino told him, checking his watch.

Mac nodded, saying nothing, turning his attention back to the window.

“We will get him out, Mac,” Dino assured him, “you have my word.”

Jim turned his head, looking at the American, nodding again, “I know.”

He paused for a moment, remembering the regular, if brief, conversations Dino’d had over the past few days with Julia Thorne. “I’ll go to see his ex, let her know how things are.”

“I’m sure she would appreciate that…”

A knock at the door stopped any further conversation. Dino rose, walking across the hotel room as Mac put the empty cup on the coffee table and pushed himself to his feet. Checking the spy-hole, Dino opened the door.

Miro grinned at him, announcing, “Taxicab for Mister MacFadgeon!”

Breezing into the room, Miro dug into his coat pocket, producing a slip of folded paper. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Mac. “For your wife, from my wife…”

Mac frowned, unfolding it, asking, “What is it?”

“Recipe for piragi,” Miro laughed.

Mac chuckled, opening his bag and slipping the paper inside, “I doubt it will taste anything like your wife’s…”

Miro laughed again, telling him, “I am simple man who knows his place. My wife says “Do!” - I do… Much safer that way…” He sobered a little and turned, looking at Dino, “I have had many thoughts about our talks last night. When I return I bring files and we make much work.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Dino told him.

Mac hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, turning to Dino and holding out his hand, “It’s been a pleasure.”

“The pleasure,” Dino assured him, taking his hand and shaking it warmly, “has been more than mutual.”

“You’ve got my numbers…?”

“I’ve got your numbers,” Dino reassured him. “If I need anything or if I hear anything, I’ll call you.”

Mac nodded, “I best be off then. Thanks again.”

“Have a safe journey home,” Dino told him, following him to the door. “Any problems, call Luthan Risk. They’ll know what to do.”

Mac nodded, “Will do.” Then he turned, opening the door, heading out into the corridor, Miro following behind him.

As Dino closed the door, he heard Miro tell the big Geordie, “At airport they think you are big movie star, traveling secretly… They have everything arranged...”

Shaking his head, a small smile pulling at his lips, Dino turned, heading for the phone.
..........................................

They’d brought in a doctor or, at least, someone with a medical background, who had examined him, announced that there was nothing broken but that they couldn’t be sure of a fractured rib without an X-ray, and who had provided something to take the edge off the pain.

Examination complete, they’d given him some of the pain medication and let him bathe, although they’d bound his wrists.

Now he lay in the warm water, eyes closed, savouring the small pleasure, his mind running over possibilities, laying potential plans and examining the pros and cons of each one.

His biggest problem was that he had no idea where he was. It was entirely possible that they had taken him out of Slavakrajina and into one of the neighbouring countries. He could be in Italy, Croatia, Greece, even Africa at a stretch…

His thoughts were broken by Dushan telling him that bath-time was over. Terry opened his eyes, looking up at the young man. Holding out his bound wrists, he told Dushan, “You’ll need to untie me, mate… Or haul me out…”

The young man nodded, producing a knife and slicing through the plastic ties. Then he stood back, waiting for Terry to move.

Slowly, carefully, Terry turned, climbing to his knees and then onto his feet, steadying himself with a hand against the wall as he stepped out of the bath. Dushan allowed him to dry himself with his hands unbound before pulling another couple of plastic ties from a pocket and stepping back towards him.

Terry dropped the towel, holding his hands out. He waited until Dushan had put the plastic tie against his skin then acted, knocking Dushan’s hands away, slamming a fist into his stomach then, as he bent forward against the blow, caught his head and kneed him in the face.

Biting down on the pain that flared through his chest, he pushed Dushan back against the wall. The young man crumpled to the floor. Terry reached for his fatigue pants, hissing in pain as he scooped them off the floor where they’d been discarded before he’d climbed into the bath. Drawing them on as quickly as he could, he fastened the button, pulling up the zip.

Then, holding his ribs, he bent down, checking Dushan for a pulse before relieving the unconscious man of his sidearm. He ejected the clip, verifying that it was full before pushing it back home again and carefully tucking the Makarov into the back of his waistband.

Tentatively, Terry checked the hall outside then padded softly across to the stairs.

He stood for a moment, listening, glancing back at the bathroom door as he heard Dushan groan softly. He didn’t have time to mess around.

Staying close to the wall, he eased himself down the stairs, alert for any noise that would warn him of any of his other captors appearing. Pausing on the last step, he listened, trying to gauge where everyone was.

Finally, knowing he was running out of time, he moved towards the front door, unlatching it as silently as he could. Praying that the door hinges wouldn’t creak, he cautiously pulled it open.

It was raining, a fine drizzle that made no mark on the surface of the puddles lying on the cobbled courtyard. A cool breeze swept around him through the open door.

Across the courtyard sat the SUV that he recognised from the other evening and, in front of it, an old jeep. The jeep wasn’t covered but, although it would probably be easier to hotwire than the SUV, there was no way of knowing how long it had lain unused…

The SUV it was then…

He reached behind, pulling the Makarov out, slipping the safety catch off. Both hands wrapped around the handgun, keeping it pointed towards the ground, he took a step forward.

The soft click-click of a rifle chamber being loaded stopped him in his tracks. He froze, cursing silently, his back crawling. For one, brief, insane moment he thought about turning, letting off a shot and trying to make it to the SUV.

Almost as if his thoughts had been read, Bracic’s soft, calm voice told him, “You won’t make it, Lieutenant… Close the door… Slowly! Keep your hands where I can see them!”

As Terry did as he was told, Bracic shouted for Ljiljana then ordered, “Legs spread, hands on the door, Lieutenant!”

Ljiljana walked into the hallway and stopped dead. Taken aback, it took her a moment to understand what was going on then, fear twisting in her stomach, she called Dushan’s name, running past Bracic and rushing up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Dushan should never have been left on his own with Thorne! He had no idea what a Special Forces soldier was capable of… This was her fault! She had gotten complacent! If Dushan was hurt it was her fault…

If Thorne had killed him…

Terror pushing at her, she reached the top of the stairs, running across the hallway, still calling Dushan’s name.

He was in the bathroom, on his knees, struggling to get to his feet. Relief surged through her. Fighting back the impulse to hug him, she stopped him, easing him back to the floor and dropping to her knees beside him. “Wait… Let me see…”

He lifted his head groggily, looking at her, murmuring, “I’m sorry… I…”

“No,” she disagreed, inspecting the bruising that was already beginning to show on his face, “He didn’t escape. Bracic stopped him. And you have nothing to be sorry for… It’s our fault, not yours… You had no idea who you were dealing with…”

He sat back, saying nothing more, letting her inspect his injuries.

“Well,” she went on, “I don’t think your nose is broken, but you’re going to have a black eye…”

She held up her hand, asking, “How many fingers?”

He peeled his eyes open, squinting at her, “Three…”

“Good,” she told him, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you down stairs. Bracic will take point for a while…”

Micah appeared in the doorway, smiling in relief as he saw Dushan, telling Ljiljana, “I’ll see to him, Boss…”

Ljiljana nodded, handing Dushan into Micah’s care, pausing outside the bathroom to take a deep breath of relief, collecting and composing herself before heading along the corridor to the stairs. Bracic had relieved Thorne of the Makarov but had left him where he was, braced against the door.

Painfully aware that Thorne could have killed Dushan, but had chosen not to, she also knew she couldn’t let the Lieutenant’s act of defiance go unpunished.

As she started down the stairs, Bracic glanced up, turning his attention quickly back to Thorne.

“Bruised and battered,” Ljiljana told him, “but he’ll be okay…”

Bracic nodded but otherwise made no comment.

Ljiljana walked across to the Lieutenant, gently resting her hand on his shoulder. “Strip!” she told him softly.

Apprehension crawling through his stomach, adrenalin pounding, Terry did as he was told; unfastening the pants, pushing them down to his thighs and letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them.

“Turn round.”

Again Terry did as he was told, not resisting when she secured his wrists in front of him, keeping his eyes fixed on a point just to the right of Bracic’s shoulder. On the landing above, Micah came into view, helping Dushan towards the stairs.

“You want to go out, Lieutenant,” Ljiljana told him, “we will let you go out…”

She pulled him forward then walked around him, opening the door, inviting, “After you.”

Swallowing, fighting for composure, Terry turned, walking out into the courtyard. This wasn’t good… This definitely wasn’t good…

Ljiljana stopped him not far from the door, ordering,  “On your knees! Hands behind your head!”

The cool breeze caressed his already soaking skin as Terry complied. Goose pimples erupting across his body, he sank onto the uneven cobbles, lifting his arms and putting his hands behind his head. They wouldn’t kill him, he told himself. They wouldn’t kill him… It didn’t make sense to kill him…

Ljiljana turned, walking back through the open door into the house, leaving Terry outside in the rain. “Watch him,” she ordered Bracic. “Bring him in when you think he’s had enough.”
..................................................................

It was over two hours before Miro returned. He had flashed his badge, he explained, and waited in the departure lounge with Mac until the flight had been called and the big Geordie was safely aboard the plane. Only when the aircraft had lifted off the runway had Miro finally made his way back to the hotel.

“Better safe than sorry,” he had told Dino. “Mac is good man, with good heart.”

Then he had fixed the American with a look and told him, “Now, you tell to me everything! And I mean everything! If you keep to yourself something and I find out, I will not be happy.”

Dino had opened his mouth, but Miro had held up his hand, silencing him, explaining, “I know you do what you think is best for Terry, but there is chance that police will intervene... chance that my men will intervene. We have both been soldiers, Dino. We both know what happens through lack of information. So you must tell to me everything.”

He had sat down, going on, “We both know there are things you did not tell to me last night, would not tell to me until Mac was safe and on his way to UK, and as old soldier, that I also understand. But now we make clean slate. Now you have no secrets. In return, you have my word that I will tell nothing of what you tell to me until situation demands it. We have deal?”

“We,” Dino had told him, sitting down opposite him, “have a deal.”

Miro had nodded, grinned, pushed himself to his feet and instructed, “Good! You start to talk! I make coffee!”

The first pot of coffee was finished and the second pot almost brewed before Dino had finished to Miro’s satisfaction. The Slavakrajinan policeman had gone over and over certain points, going at them from different angles to ensure that he had everything clear in his head and, if Dino were honest, it had clarified certain things for him too.

Now, both of them were certain of four things, although they had no concrete proof of any of them.

One: Terry Thorne was being held captive by Bukavecs and her people.

Two: the Bukavecs’ group were behind the influx of money into the devastated mountain areas where the genocidal madness if the civil war had been worst.

Three: the Bukavecs family may have publicly disowned their errant daughter, but behind the scenes they were the most probable movers and shakers of the trust funds. Ljiljana wouldn’t trust just anyone to deal with the money and it would be difficult for her group to do it themselves.

Four: despite the threat to release Terry Thorne’s damning confession about the compromised SAS mission, neither Dino nor Miro believed Bukavecs would carry out the threat. Both of them believed it was only intimidation, simply leverage and power play.

Miro pushed himself to his feet, heading for the phone, “I will get warrants to check bank accounts. We may not trace where moneys came from, but we can find out who signs cheques… And we will question companies on your list who were given contracts… And any more help your company can give would be good help, too…”

“I’ll keep following it up from this end…” Dino assured him.

Miro stopped, looking at his watch, turning back, “This would be better done at Police Station… Can you fax those lists to my office?”

“I can do that,” Dino told him.

“You have numbers?”

Dino opened a file, reaching in and lifting out Miro’s business card, “I have your numbers.”

Miro grinned, “Good. Then I leave now. I will call when we have more informations.”

He turned, walking towards the door, then stopped, turning back, asking, “When do you next make contact with kidnappers?”

“Not until tomorrow morning,” Dino told, “Eight-thirty…”

“I will be back before then,” Miro grinned.
.......................................................

Bracic and Micah helped the Lieutenant put his arms down then lifted him to his feet. He was soaked and shivering, his whole body shaking in an effort to keep his core temperature from dropping too far. Bracic wrapped a warmed blanket around him, rubbing the heat into his arms and back.

Then, slowly, both Bracic and Malnar helped him walk into the house. They guided him across the hall and down the small corridor beside the stairs into the large kitchen. The smell of fresh-baked bread hit him the moment the kitchen door opened, as did the warmth of the flames that licked and spat around logs in the hearth.

Bracic manoeuvred Terry towards a chair that sat near the warmth of the fire, sitting him down in it and wrapping his legs in another blanket that he pulled from a rail near the fire as Micah dried off his hair with a towel.

Terry closed his eyes as both men moved away, relishing the warmth, feeling it seep slowly into his body.

“Do not sleep!” a voice commanded.

Terry’s eyes snapped open. Shivering, he looked up at Ljiljana. She pulled a chair over, sitting beside him.

Ljiljana didn’t think it was cold enough outside for him to be hypothermic, and they had him in the warmth now, but she wouldn’t take the chance of letting him fall asleep. Not until he had some warm fluids inside him. She lifted a mug and spoon from the table. Slowly, she began to feed Terry the fresh-made soup.

He wasn’t sure that he had ever tasted anything so wonderful in all his life. Taste exploded on his tongue, the liquid warming him from the moment it hit his stomach. After only a few mouthfuls he was feeling stronger and more compus-mentus.

Bracic and Micah were sitting at the table, eating bread and soup. Dushan was no where to be seen.

Ljiljana reached over, lifting a hunk of bread from the table and handing it to him. He reached out with his bound hands and took it, tucking into the seeded dough, pausing only when she offered him the half-full mug of soup. Putting the bread down, he took the mug, drinking the soup slowly.

She turned, starting to stand.

“How’s Dushan?”

Ljiljana looked back at him. “Sore,” she supplied, “but he will live… He is resting.”

Terry nodded, relieved that the young man wasn’t badly injured. He hadn’t intended any serious harm to come to the younger man, but in his present shape his judgement was slightly off. Dushan’s lapse had presented too good a chance to pass up, though…

“Once you are warm, Bracic will take you to shower,” she told him.

Terry nodded, balancing the mug in his lap, dunking the bread into it before lifting and eating it. He was still shivering, but only a little, and managed to get the bread into his mouth before any of the liquid dripped on the blanket.

Ljiljana sat down between Bracic and Micah, lifting a hunk of bread for herself and tucking into the soup. It was a thick, creamy broth: big chunks of chicken, padded out with potatoes, carrots and lentils. Simple, but filling and it tasted damned good.

She finished the bowl, reaching for some more bread to soak up the last traces of the soup, glancing at the Lieutenant.

“I think,” she told Bracic softly, “we may need to delay the shower…”

Bracic lifted his head from the paper he was reading, looking at her then turning to look at the Lieutenant. Still holding the mug on his lap, he was fast asleep in the chair.

“We could wake him,” Bracic suggested.

Ljiljana nodded, “Take him upstairs, let him sleep for an hour… Then we can wake him, let him shower, put him back to bed.  Keep him disconcerted.”

Bracic grinned, nodding and pushing himself to his feet. Putting the mug and what was left of the bread back onto the table, he shook Terry, roughly, ordering, “Wake up!”

Terry started awake, gasping, blinking in bewilderment for a moment before he recognised Bracic. How long had he been asleep?

“Come on,” Bracic ordered. “Move…”

Terry swallowed. “Where?” he asked. Were they going to put him outside again?

“Move!” Bracic repeated.

Terry rose shakily to his feet, holding the blanket around his shoulder as the other blanket slid to the floor. Bracic took hold of his arm, guiding him around the table and out into the hall.

Terry fought down relief as Bracic turned him towards the stairs, helping him to climb them slowly. He knew it was too early to count on anything; they could be taking him up stairs to make him suffer some other punishment.

The exertion of climbing the stairs was robbing him of the little energy the food and sleep had given him. His muscles burned, protesting every step, the ache across his ribs spreading across his chest and into his back. His wrists throbbed where the plastic ties cut into them. He had to pause at the top of the stairs; and Bracic let him stand there for a time before forcing him on again.

“Not far, Lieutenant… Then you rest…”

Terry looked at him, nodding, letting himself be steered towards the bedroom, not having the energy to do anything more.

Bracic led him into the bedroom, pulling back the covers, moving over the hot water bottles that Dushan had put in to warm the bed. When he turned back, the Lieutenant’s eyes were closed and he was swaying slightly on his feet.

He flinched, his eyes snapping open as Bracic drew the blanket off of his shoulders.

“Get in,” Bracic ordered, softly.

Terry did as he was ordered, sinking painfully if gratefully onto the bed. Eyes already closed again, he lay down, lifting his legs into the bed.

Covering his legs with the blankets, Bracic frowned, crouching down to look at the Lieutenant’s wrists. He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment then pulled the covers up to the Lieutenant’s neck before heading out of the room and locking it behind him.

He went down the stairs, going back into the kitchen, asking, “Where’s the medical kit?”

“Dushan?” Ljiljana asked, standing as Micah went over to one of the bags.

Bracic shook his head, “No… The Lieutenant… The ties have cut into his wrists… They’re bleeding…”

Ljiljana sighed. “I tied his wrists, I’ll take care of it…” she told him. “Can you check on Dushan?”

Bracic nodded, handing her the key for the Lieutenant’s room.

Ljiljana took the kit from Micah, heading up the stairs. She unlocked the door quietly, going in. The Lieutenant was fast asleep and snoring gently.

She crossed the room, carefully pulling back the blankets, frowning when she saw his wrists. She had indeed tied them a little tight. The skin around the ties was cut, bleeding and looked swollen. They couldn’t take the chance of them going septic. Kneeling down, she laid the kit on the floor, pulling out her knife and cautiously slicing through the plastic ties.

He made a small sound, but didn’t wake, as she gently removed the ties from his wrists, lifting his hand to inspect the damage more closely. The circulation, at least, was still good.

Putting his hand back on the bed, she opened the kit, lifting out an antiseptic wipe. She ripped the packet open, lifting his hand again to clean the wound. He frowned, his eyes fluttering open as the antiseptic began to sting.

“You are bleeding,” she told him. “We must clean wounds…”

He said nothing, watching her through half-closed eyes as she gently wiped the damaged skin of his wrists, smeared cooling antiseptic cream on them before putting a dressing on and wrapping a light bandage around each of them.

By the time she had finished, he was asleep again. She pulled the blankets back up over him, closing the medical kit. Lifting it, she stood up, standing and watching him for a moment.

The swelling on his face had gone down, the bruising fading from black to blue/green, standing out against the paleness of his skin. Asleep, he looked so young, so innocent… nothing like the man who had almost killed Dushan…

Almost killed...

He was more than capable of it, but he had let Dushan live…

She drew the easy chair round, sitting down, watching the Lieutenant sleep, her memories slipping back ten years to a less complicated time, when they had both been soldiers serving their respective countries.

No one could deny his daring or his courage. He’d had guts and defiance back then too, feeding her information in drips and drops, even when MacFadgeon’s life had been threatened. MacFadgeon had been the same, supplying very little in the way of useful information despite the treatment his Lieutenant was being given. Part of that, she acknowledged, was the training that both men would have gone through, but much of it was courage.
 
She liked to think that if she had held onto the two men for another twenty-four hours, she would have broken them but, deep down, she had an idea that it would have taken longer than that.

Even if he was no longer serving his country, he was undoubtedly still a soldier. His instincts were obviously still good. He was being held against his will, had seen the chance to escape and had taken it - half naked and with no knowledge of the surrounding area. How many others would have done that?

How many others would have left Dushan alive…? Or had the Lieutenant simply been protecting himself, choosing not to take Dushan’s life just in case his escape was foiled?

What would she have done in his position?

In his position she had done exactly the same thing: using her handgun to pistol-whip the young policeman who had cornered her, instead of putting a bullet in him. Which didn’t make it right… which didn’t make any of this right… but the lines between right and wrong and had been redrawn by war.

The ends, as far as she was concerned, justified the means… no matter how much she disliked herself sometimes.

It would all be over in a few weeks, she considered. They would have their money and the Lieutenant would be back home in Australia or Britain… And she would be… where?

Back in the mountains, running and hiding, never staying in one place too long. The plus side of that, though, was seeing the differences in the villages. The village hall in xxxxxxx would be almost complete by now. Perhaps she would go there first. She might even stay for the opening party...

Maybe she could risk visiting her parents before heading to the mountains…

She frowned, wondering if the Lieutenant’s parents were still alive. Did he see them as seldom as she saw hers? Did he have family? Sons or daughters who were missing him?

Ljiljana forced away that train of thought, reminding herself that Dushan’d had family. Memories of their dead bodies, lying outside the burning farmhouse, played across her mind, washing away the self-pity that had threatened to creep in.

Bracic appeared in the doorway, frowning slightly when he saw her sitting watching Thorne. “Boss?” he called softly.

She turned, looking at him, pushing herself to her feet and walking across to him. He drew her out of the door into the hall, giving her a flat look. “Watching him sleep?” he accused, softly.

“He’s not restrained,” she countered. “I was standing guard.”

“That’s all it was?” he pushed.

Ljiljana glared at him, irritation flaring. “What do you mean?”

“I know you, Boss,” he told her calmly. “I know what happens when you start thinking with your heart instead of your head… You’ve never been like this with any of our hostages before. You’ve always been cold, aloof. Now you’re cleaning his wounds, dressing them, watching him sleep…”

“They were different!” she shot back. “He’s a soldier!”

“Which makes him even more dangerous: as we were reminded this morning!” Bracic moved closer, lowering his voice further, “He’s also a good-looking man.”

Ljiljana stepped back, looking at him, stunned that he would even consider what he was implying. “You think I have feelings for him?” she demanded, irritation turning to anger.

“I know you have feelings for him,” he countered, “but are they the right ones? We all respect him, we are all wary of him, but… you and I have a history with him that we’ve never had with a hostage before…”

He hesitated then went on, “Stockholm syndrome…”

“No!” she denied.

“I’m not accusing,” he told her gently, “I’m just warning... As you,” he continued, giving her a disarming smile, “would be warning me if it was a curvaceous brunette lying in that bedroom and I had just been sitting, watching her sleep…”

Ljiljana opened her mouth to deny his claim, but Bracic was already going on, “You blame yourself for what happened this morning. You feel guilty about Dushan, and about tying the Lieutenant’s wrists too tightly, yes?”

She didn’t need to reply, the look on her face told him he was right. Bracic sighed then finished, “Just… just take care you don’t displace that guilt…”

Ljiljana stepped forward, reaching out and resting a hand on his shoulder. “Guilt is not a bad thing. It anchors the heart, reminds us of why we are doing this. No matter what happens,” she assured him, “I will not forget watching Dushan’s grandparents’ farm burn…  That will never leave me…”

She dropped her hand, telling him, “You are right, though. You do know me. Just as I know you. We rely on each other to stop ourselves stepping over the mark.”

He nodded, confirming, “We do…”

“And as long as we have that we will be safe from ourselves…”

 She smiled, turning away, heading for the stairs. She paused at the top, turning back to him, quirking an eyebrow, “Curvaceous brunette?”

He chuckled softly, walking towards her, “A blonde would do just as well... Or maybe a red-head…”

ON TO PART 9

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