“Yeah. That’s unlikely.” Quinn’s words echoed my thoughts. Greg was a former Marine. He’d been trained to withstand torture as only Marines can—with a single-minded, brutal focus.
I watched Quinn press two fingers against his ear, adjusting his earpiece; so I asked expectantly, “Did Greg say something? What are you hearing?”
He shook his head. “Greg hasn’t said much yet, just made some joke about the fuel efficiency of their car. They ignored him. They’re still en-route to . . . well, wherever they’re going.”
“Have they hurt him?” I asked haltingly, needing to know but dreading the answer. I wanted to listen in . . . but I didn’t. But I did.
“Not from what I’ve heard so far. But they did blindfold him.” Quinn’s humorless smile looked more like a grimace.
“Good. That’s good.” Blindfolding was good; no reason to blindfold someone if you knew they weren’t going to live. My attention refocused on Dan. “Why didn’t you and Greg take the helicopter back to Lagos? Instead of driving?”
Dan already sounded less pained. “We didn’t want to give Contee’s people any clues as to where we hid the money. If we flew out of Enugu, then she’d know it was in the vicinity. The way it stands now, she has no idea whether it’s in Lagos or in Tom Brady’s deflated balls—so to speak.”
“So what’s the plan now? What happens from here?”
Quinn straightened, pressing the earpiece again with two fingers. “Hopefully, Contee doesn’t know we’re following her people. We track Greg until their destination is reached, confirm the hostages are on sight, then Special Forces goes in and extracts both Greg and the hostages. After that, Buhari’s police arrive, Contee and her people are arrested.”
I nodded, absorbing this information, and endeavoring to sort out how I could insinuate myself into the extraction team.
“How can I help?” I glanced between Greg and Dan.
They shared a look, but neither spoke for a long moment.
Eventually, Quinn said, “There’s something else you should know. Banks is aware you’re in Nigeria, he’s known the whole time. He used your presence here to push Greg into using himself as bait.”
My jaw opened and closed as I struggled to force my mouth to form words. “He what?”
“Banks threatened to have you arrested for treason if and when you made it back to Chicago, unless Greg cooperated, helped the CIA get their hands on the money and free the hostages.” Dan gave me a humorless smile.
“Fiona, I think he would have agreed to free the hostages. But, you should know,” Quinn waited until I gave him my full attention before continuing, “Greg negotiated amnesty for you as part of the deal.”
***
Both Quinn and Dan hovered over me until I ate a sandwich and drank a liter of water. I listened to the wire feed for about half an hour. Nothing was happening. Nothing was said. But I could hear Greg breathe every once in a while. Or sigh. Or the rustle of his clothes. Each sound made my heart twist painfully and was followed by completely unhelpful thoughts like, What if this is the last time I hear him breathe?
Dan and Quinn held a quiet conference in one corner while I obsessed about the sounds of Greg’s oxygen intake.
Eventually, Dan walked over and said, “You stink. Go take a shower, catch a nap. This could take hours.”
I appreciated Dan’s approach, his blunt speech, his lack of sympathy and coddling. If he’d coddled me or patronized me or promised me everything would work out, I think I might have kidney-punched him.
Therefore, I acquiesced, mostly because nothing was happening. I was making myself crazy, and my body needed rest and a hot shower. He steered me to the back room. It was a small space, no more than seven feet by eight feet. Marie was passed out asleep; she was on the bottom bunk of a stacked cot. I made a beeline to the bathroom facilities, but made Quinn and Dan promise to get me once Greg and his captors arrived at the hostage site.
Numbly, I took a shower and washed both myself and my bodysuit as much as I was able. Then I rifled through Marie’s bag for some clean clothes, knowing she wouldn’t mind. I settled on a pair of black yoga pants and tank top. She was taller than me, but we were usually the same size. Now the clothes were a little baggy.
I tried lying down on the top cot, resting, handing over my husband’s fate to a team of Special Forces who didn’t know him. People who didn’t know me or our children, and how much we needed Greg. I tried. It didn’t work. I couldn’t turn my brain off.
“I can hear you thinking,” Marie’s sleepy voice pulled me out of my chaotic musings. “It’s as loud as Sandra’s snoring.”
I smiled wanly at the dark, carpeted ceiling. “I’m wearing your clothes.”
“I’ll file that statement under things I don’t mind hearing from my girlfriends, but I wouldn’t be thrilled about hearing from a boyfriend.”
“Wait. I thought you dated a cross-dresser in college and thought it was sexy?”