Page 168 of Enemy of My Enemy

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Jack shared a wide-eyed look with Scott.

“You think flying into rebel territory is easy?” The copilot laughed. “We have to land in the dark in Crimea, and then you will transfer to where the rebels are. But we must land with nothing. Nothing that can tie us back.” He flipped another switch off, and more electronics shut down. “Hold on.”

Jack’s nails dug into the plane’s seat as the jet almost glided with no power onto a fog-soaked blackened runway in Crimea. Only the faintest light showed the patchy outline of a runway, and for a moment, he was certain they were dead. Dead and lost in a plane crash off the ends of the map.

The plane’s rubber tires slapped and skipped down the wet runway, squealing, and the jet shuddered as he and Scott grasped each other’s hands in the pitch-black cabin.

When the plane came to a halt, shouts echoed outside. Clangs sounded as the hold was opened. Someone banged on the door, and the pilot got up to let them in. Scott edged his shoulder in front of Jack, as if anything he could do would help at that point.

The barrel of a rifle entered the cabin first, pointed at the pilot before sweeping around to Jack and Scott. The pilot pointed to Jack, shouting in Russian, and backed away.

Men in balaclavas dragged Jack and Scott from the plane, throwing them to the wet asphalt in front of another group of masked men. Scott fought the whole way, thrashing and kicking and taking out three Russians before he was pummeled to the ground. Jack stayed silent, glaring at the men with his hands behind his head.

A black hood over his head. There was pressure against his nose and mouth. He inhaled, gasping, as something sickly-sweet hit the back of his throat. Next to him, Scott shouted.

The world went dark.

* * *

He woke slowly,bouncing in darkness, blinking. The darkness didn’t change, but the scratch of heavy canvas against his cheek clued him into the hood still pulled over his head. He tried to stretch, tried to move, but his hands and feet were bound and he was pressed into a tiny space, barely big enough for his body.

It felt like a coffin.

Panic tried to latch on to his mind, to the endless darkness, his claustrophobic restraints, and the braying Russians laughing and barking nearby. He bounced again, jerking his head against the end of wherever he was.

Driving. They were driving somewhere.

He was beingtakensomewhere.

The lingering dullness of the chloroform slowed his mind. His tongue was heavy, dry like cotton, and he rasped, desperate for something to drink.

“Scott?”

Nothing.

There was nothing he could do but wait.

* * *

They jerkedto a halt hours later, his head banging against the hard end of his captive space again. Grunting, he tried to roll himself over, tried to get into position to maybe see what was going on. Russian sounded all around him, the men in the car reporting to someone else, it seemed. Doors slammed.

The car door next to his head opened and he realized he’d been crashing into the base of a door the whole time. Something lifted, and a beam of light rained down on him. Even through the black hood, he winced.

Angry Russian barked. His hood was ripped off.

Squinting, he blinked fast and tried to take stock of where he was.

He was lying inside the hollowed-out back seat of a rusty car. The seat had been lifted, and a fat Russian was peering down at him. They were parked in a foggy clearing, surrounded by maple, ash, and birch trees. Black dirt covered the ground, and messy tire tracks cut deep grooves in the loose earth.

Another man shouldered the fat one out of the way, wielding an angry-looking knife as he leaned over Jack.

He pushed back, trying to wiggle away, but the man grabbed his hands and sliced through the tape binding him. “Be still,” he said softly. “I will not hurt you.”

Heknewthat voice. Jack sagged, boneless, into the smuggler’s hold inside the ratty car. “Sasha?”

“Da.” Finally, the light changed, and Jack could just make out Sasha’s barely there smile. “I am here to buy you from these smugglers and take you back to our base.”

“Scott. Scott was with me. Where is he?”