No answer.
She hung up and put the phone on vibrate. It was all she could do. He would know that she’d called and she’d just have to wait until he called her back.
Go to bed. Try to sleep. Wait for him to call.
But what in the hell was Lassiter doing that he hadn’t answered that call?
Nalsara Detention Camp
1:45 A.M.
“There it is.” Brukman gestured to the wire fence of the camp at the corner of the trail. “Not that it’s going to do you any good. There’s a good chance you won’t get out of here alive.”
“I thought we’d discussed that.” Lassiter parked the vehicle in front of the gate. “That’s your job, Brukman.” He met his eyes. “And you’ll do it, won’t you? I believe that you realize now that I don’t bluff about anything.”
“Yes, you son of a bitch.” He was glaring at him. “But worry, Lassiter, because I don’t know if it’s not worth risking a bullet just to take you out.”
“I won’t worry. You have a well-developed sense of self-preservation or you wouldn’t have gotten this far.” He opened the car door. “Now let’s do it. Mandell already has you in the crosshairs. He’d like nothing better than to press that trigger.” A camouflage-garbed man carrying an AK-47 was coming toward the gate. “Step forward and be counted, Brukman.”
“It’s me, Jorge.” Brukman jumped out of the car and opened the gate. “I was just settled in at the hotel and I got a call from Nikos that I had to come back to this hellhole. He’s made a deal for Sean Patrick.”
“Who’s this?” The guard was looking at Lassiter. “He looks familiar.”
“Lassiter. You saw his photo on the wall of the mess tent.” He nodded at Lassiter. “He finally came through with the money.” He added sourly, “I hope Patrick is still alive after Nikos got me out of bed to come after him.”
“I didn’t hear anything different from Stockton when he did the evening check.” Jorge turned and headed for a building to the right of the gate. “Patrick was in bad shape, but he was still breathing. He’s chained up on the wall outside the detention building. I’ll go get him for you.”
“We’ll go with you,” Lassiter said. In that last photo, Patrick had appeared as broken and twisted as a rag doll torn apart by an animal. He didn’t want this muscle-bound Neanderthal damaging him any more than he was already. “Coming, Brukman?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he murmured. His gaze was wandering over the trees surrounding the camp. “But I’m wondering if I fell for an elaborate con.”
“You didn’t. Mandell is there, watching you. He’ll meet us after we get Patrick away from here.” He was moving quickly after the guard. Suddenly, he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate as a call came in. There was no way he could take that call right now, even if it was Mandell. Later. “If you don’t do something stupid that will get you killed. It’s not the—”
He stopped short, his gaze on the concrete wall of a long building ahead of them. Even in the dimness he could see that there were three prisoners chained to giant rings hammered into that wall. The prisoner who occupied the center position …
Patrick.
He was chained upright, in a sitting position, his arms lifted and wrists chained to the wall. Lassiter had known what was happening to him, but the actual sight of him still came as a shock. His formerly gray-streaked hair now was almost white; emaciated, broken, tortured—he looked like a death-camp survivor. And that was exactly what he is, Lassiter thought.
“He’s out cold,” the guard said cheerfully as he unlocked the manacles. “But he’s not dead yet, Brukman.”
“Yet,” Brukman repeated. “And he’s your responsibility once we release him, Lassiter. You waited too long to make a deal.” He turned to Jorge. “Go wake up Stockton and tell him to get his ass out here. I want him to witness that I’m turning over Patrick to Lassiter alive, as agreed.”
“And get a stretcher,” Lassiter called after him. “I see at least one compound fracture in his left leg. I’m not going to risk carrying him myself and doing more damage.”
“A little late,” Brukman said sarcastically as Jorge disappeared. “Though he might live. Patrick is a tough bird. He’s survived whatever we threw at him.”
“This isn’t the time to remind me of that.” Lassiter fell to his knees beside Patrick. “I’m trying to remember that I made a deal. It’s becoming more blurred every minute.” He touched the pulse in Patrick’s throat. Not strong. Probably in shock as well as suffering from malnutrition and whatever infections his body was trying to fight. His skin felt burning hot. “I want him out of here. When you talk to this Stockton, make it fast.”
“Lassiter…” Patrick’s eyes were open, staring up at him. His voice was only a breath of sound. “Knew … you’d come.…”
“Shh…” His hand closed on Patrick’s. Hot. So damn hot. “We’re getting you out of here. Just hold on.”
“Others…” His eyes were closing again. “Get … the others out.…”
Lassiter hand tightened. “Not this time. Things are a little dicey right now, Patrick. I have to get you out first.”
“Get … them out. No one leaves here … alive. Promise me.”
“I promise. But not now. I can’t do—”
But Patrick was unconscious again.
It was just as well. He didn’t need to argue with him when Patrick was this fragile. Just the sight of him had scared Lassiter. His gaze went to the man chained to the wall next to Patrick. He was younger and not as emaciated, but he was still in bad condition. Patrick had shared this torture with the other prisoners and it was natural he would want them saved, too.
“No,” Brukman said, as if he’d read his thoughts. “I’m not going to help you to—”
“I’m not asking.” His gaze went beyond Brukman to the guard, Jorge, returning with a portable stretcher under his arm. There was a small, stocky man with tousled black hair beside him. “Stockton?”
Brukman nodded as he turned and spoke to the man. “Stockton, Jorge told you what Nicos did? Look, I want you to witness I turned him over to Lassiter alive. Just in case this bastard Lassiter lets him die and complains to Nicos later. Okay?”
Stockton shrugged. “You got me out of bed for that?” He scowled. “Okay, he’s alive. I’ll be glad to get rid of him. He’s caused us twice as much trouble as any other prisoner. Nicos just wouldn’t leave him alone.”
Brukman nodded. “Not that he won’t concentrate on someone else soon. I’m surprised he agreed to let Patrick go.”
That last sentence was far too provocative, Lassiter thought. The last thing he wanted was for Stockton to start thinking and analyzing. “You wouldn’t if I told you the amount of the ransom Nicos demanded.” He turned to Jorge, took the stretcher from him, and laid it on the ground. “I’ll lift him on the stretcher myself. You help me carry him to the van.”