T pulled on the length of barbed wire. The loop tightened around Morgan’s thigh, rusty teeth digging into his skin. He held back a cry of pain, but he couldn’t help his breath coming out heavy and irregular, wheezing through the oily cloth in his mouth.
Not. A. Sound, he told himself, quieting his breath, trying to maintain a steady rhythm.
“This pain,” she said, tugging once more, a little harder, the claws pulling on his flesh, “it can stop. All you have to do, Cobra, is give up. Just swallow your pride and tell me where the memory card is.”
He heard the hum of something vibrating. Natasha looked at a small device on her waist. She grumbled something to herself in Russian, then looked at Morgan, narrowing her eyes menacingly, and ordered, “Sit tight.” She walked out of the room, taking a last look at him before closing the door behind her.
Morgan listened for her footsteps, and when she was far enough away, he raised his head, fighting the exhaustion and forcing himself into alertness. He tried to turn all of his attention to escaping, but it was hard to keep his mind straight. T had left him there in the windowless cell for what he assumed was all night, with a boom box, just out of reach of his foot, blasting some awful noise that someone, somewhere called music. It kept him from falling asleep at all—the blaring music, playing on a loop, echoing around his exhausted mind. All night, desperately holding on to his sanity, he tried to break free from his handcuffs, first looking for anything that could be used as a lock pick and then, frustrated beyond reason, he tried brute force until his hands bled and his skin was raw.
But the pain was good. The pain brought adrenaline, made his body awaken. It gave him a fighting chance.
T had left the length of barbed wire embedded in his thigh. It stuck up like a dead tree, its roots digging into his leg. If he could only get ahold of it, he might be able to use it to pick the cuffs open. He contorted his body, trying to bring it within reach of his left hand. As he did, the tensing muscles in his thigh caused the barbs to bite deeper into him. He gritted his teeth and strained. The end of the wire grazed his fingertips. So close . . . if he could just get a grip . . .
Footsteps were approaching. Straining to hear, he made out two sets instead of one. Who the hell was T bringing here now? He forced his attention back to the wire. He might still be able to do it, pick the cuffs, tear his legs loose, and find a way to overpower her.
No, he decided. It was too late. He slackened his hands and waited as Natasha and her mystery guest drew closer. With a dull sound of metal against metal, the dead bolt was drawn open, and T walked in.
“Someone is here to see you,” she said with displeasure. “Say hello to our guest. I believe you will recognize him.”
The other person walked in. It was a man, carrying a thin briefcase. He was tall and handsome, with gray hair and a winning smile, a smile belonging to the most trusted politician in America.
“Cobra,” said Nickerson, enunciating the word carefully, as he pulled the dirty rag from Morgan’s mouth. “What a terrific name. What a marvelous animal. Quick, deadly, ruthless. I’ve been hearing a lot about you in the past few days. I must say, even though you’ve been a pain in the ass, I’m impressed. Truly, I am. You proved even harder to deal with than your old friend, Cougar.”
So Nickerson and, consequently, T, really didn’t know Conley was still alive. Good. Whatever happened to him, at least Cougar would be there to carry on.
“Edgar Nickerson, you asshole,” said Morgan. “I didn’t think you’d have the stones to show your face like this.”
“You’re right. I usually let the help deal with the vermin. But since you have turned out to be a particularly resilient specimen, I thought I would come here in person and make you a proposition.”
Morgan scoffed. “You can’t torture me into talking, and you think a bribe will do it?”
Nickerson looked at him with amused puzzlement. “You misunderstand me, Cobra,” he said. “That’s not the kind of proposition I’m here to make you. I would like you to come work for me.”
“What?” he barked in unison with T, who looked as incredulous as he did. She moved toward him and stood menacingly close, her furious eyes locked on his. “Cobra is mine, Senator.”
“Cobra has a choice to make,” said Nickerson, turning away from her and toward Morgan.
“You think I’m going to bargain with you, Nickerson?” said Morgan.
Nickerson walked over to Morgan and crouched in front of him, so they were eye to eye. “You’re not going to hold torture and attempted murder against me, are you?” he said, with gentle mocking. “After all, a man like you should know, it’s just business.”