Secret Soldier by Dana Marton

many ways they could torture her to death.
    “Transition it to the locals, then move on to the next town.” Getting the kids off the streets would be a big improvement. She wanted them to have shelter and food. The government had no money to build and maintain orphanages, that was for sure. She had to help the children to help themselves. “Who knows, with a working example or two, the project might gain some attention.”
    “The media loves a success story.”
    “Exactly. More international aid would be wonderful.” Of course, that kind of stuff was always very undependable. Attention invariably fell on other new areas and the money was often redirected there without warning. “Foreign aid is valuable, but to make things work in the long run, you need a plan that’ll work without it.”
    “Self-sustaining communities,” he quoted one of the headlines from her grant proposal.
    “Right. That’s why I’m encouraging the children to learn marketable skills.” They needed those to survive right now in the postwar economy. “I also hope to give them some rudimentary education that will help them in the future.. She fell silent.
    “Trying to save the world, huh?”
    “No one person can save the world. But I know a couple of kids in Tukatar—”
    “How did you pick that place?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “Looks like we have time.”
    But in the end, they didn’t. Not a minute passed before the door slammed open to admit two men who grabbed her. She barely had the chance to glance back before they dragged her out. The light coming through the door fell on Spike. She gasped at the sight. His face was beaten nearly beyond recognition. It looked like his cheekbone was broken.
    One of the men pulled the door shut, the other dragged her on. She followed without resistance, some of her anger toward Spike slipping.
     

Chapter Six
    Spike kicked the wall in frustration, the movement sending sharp pain through his side. He had trained for this. He had to focus on that. He knew what was going to happen, and he was strong enough to take it. But was Abigail? Damn. He wished to hell for the hundredth time, the thousandth, that he hadn’t dragged her into this.
    She hated him. The words shouldn’t have hurt. They shouldn’t have mattered. And yet they did.
    He shut her picture out of his mind and focused on their predicament instead. Pain pulsated through him. Being prepared for something like this was one thing; being in captivity for real was something else entirely. A first for him. He knew plenty of guys who had been there and made it through. And plenty who hadn’t.
    Brian Welkins. He’d gone through his FBI training with Welkins, a good guy with a heart as big and open as Montana, the state from which he hailed. They’d gotten along pretty well, become friends. Welkins had saved his life with quick thinking when that bomb blew and cracked Spike’s head. He’d never gotten to repay the debt. Brian Welkins had disappeared on his very first SDDU mission, almost four years ago now. Had he ended up in a place like this? How long had he stayed alive, hanging in there without any hope of rescue? Welkins had been one tough son of a bitch and had probably fought to the bitter end. Spike stiffened. And so would he.
    He recalled the others they’d lost through the years. The job wasn’t without its hazards. Special Forces suffered fifteen times more casualties on average than regular troops. He refused to become part of the statistics. He wasn’t fighting only for himself. He fought to honor those who’d gone before. He fought for Abigail.
    And she sure was worth fighting for.
    What she was doing in Tukatar, the kids, the fire in her eyes. He’d do anything, kill anyone, to make sure she didn’t lose that.
    The door opened suddenly. He hated that—how he was still half-deaf from the explosion and couldn’t hear them approach. The light came on and blinded him.
    “One of you has to tell me what’s going on,”