Secret Soldier by Dana Marton Page A

Suhaib said. “If you answer my questions, I won’t have to ask your wife again.”
    He could see others standing behind him. Three men. “There’s nothing to tell.”
    Using prisoners against each other was the oldest interrogation technique in the book. Whatever he told Jamal would have little effect on how they treated Abigail. The decision to kill them both had been made when they were brought here. Suhaib could not afford to let them go.
    “Who sent you?” he asked.
    “I’m from the Barnsley Foundation.”
    The man shook his head and walked out, leaving him with the three thugs.
    Damn. They were going to beat him again. He curled up to protect his vital organs.
    The first kick hit his kidney and made him see honest-to-goodness stars. He didn’t fight back this time, didn’t want them to know that he still had strength left. If they wanted to kill him they would have shot him in the head. But it seemed the plan was to beat him unconscious a couple of times a day until they wore him down.
    He took the abuse, not bothering to hold back his groans. Then he went limp and let his head fall back. The men stopped after a few more kicks. He heard the metal door bang against its frame as it closed behind them.
    Hard to breathe.
    He lay without moving until the pain abated to a bearable level. He would have given anything to know what was happening to Abigail. And they left him a long time to wonder-all night. Another tactic. He would not allow himself to think of all the horrid things she might be suffering. He focused every ounce of energy he had on exploring all possible avenues of escape.
    They had found the camp. He had to let the Colonel know the location before it was too late. He could not let the operation fail, and he could not let El Jafarsuspect just how much the U.S. already had on him. Abigail knew nothing, so they couldn’t get information out of her. His cell phone had a couple of numbers programmed in, not to mention a few special functions, but they couldn’t access those without a code. And he would die before he would talk.
    Which didn’t sound half-bad right about now. There was no pain in death. Resting pain-free in the cool sand sounded damn appealing. The temperature could be twenty or thirty degrees cooler just a few feet down. Of course, he’d probably get a shallow grave, if any. He pushed away the momentary temptation to give up. He couldn’t die. If he did, Abigail was sure to die with him.
    And so would countless others.

    ABIGAIL SAT ON the floor and watched the small hole on the opposite wall, about two inches wide and maybe four inches long. The strip of sunshine on the floor beneath it kept appearing and disappearing. Someone was out there moving around. Probably a guard.
    The door was locked. She’d tried it. No way to escape.
    Her only hope of getting out of there alive was if Spike somehow found a way, or if his supervisors figured out where they were and sent a team to get them.
    She hoped he’d been in close touch with his boss. But, of course, even if their captors let them see each other again, she couldn’t very well ask him.
    Something poked in through the hole but disappeared before she could see what it was. Had Spike gotten out? Hope rushed through her. There it was again, a thin thing with a little knob on the end-gone as fast as it appeared. Maybe one of those flextube spy minicameras she’d seen in movies. She got up and moved closer. Spike’s people had come for him. They were saved.
    She stopped at the hole and bent down, considered sticking her finger through it. “I’m in here,” she whispered. “I need help.”
    There it was again.
    A scorpion!
    She jumped up as the animal scuttled in and backed away from it as far as the small cell allowed, goose bumps covering her from head to toe. She hated creepy crawly things.
    The scorpion came in a foot or so. She was ready to climb the walls. She was barefoot and had nothing to defend herself with. What the hell