She looked at him incredulously, motioning toward Morgan.
“Oh, what’s he going to do?” said Nickerson. “He’s a corpse. He just doesn’t know it yet. And let me make this clear—make sure he’s goddamn certain of it soon. You have more important things to do.”
She took a lingering look at Morgan and said, without turning away, “Cobra and I are not done yet.”
Nickerson scoffed. “Revenge. So tacky, so small-minded!” He pulled the door open to leave. “It just better not interfere with the plan.”
Natasha followed him and closed and latched the door behind her. Morgan wondered how long she would keep him alive. This could be the last time he was alone in the room. It might be his final chance for escape.
He shifted his body, again trying to grab hold of the wire, contorting his torso, stretching his right arm around the pipe behind him. He edged closer, closer, his thigh screaming in pain until, yes! Two fingers wrapped around the wire, which he carefully bent so that he could hold it in his hand. Working it slowly, carefully, he unwound it from his thigh, each barb stinging as it came out. It made him bleed more, but it came loose. He held it firmly in his hands. Now for the handcuffs.
The wire was thin, but it was still far thicker than ideal for the task. He tried to work an end of it into the lock, but it kept slipping out.
Focus. You can do this, he said to himself.
Again, he worked it in, and it slipped out. Frustrated, he tried to jam it in carelessly. A barb caught his finger unexpectedly, ripping the skin, and he released reflexively. The length of wire, which had curled into a loose spiral, bounced and rolled just out of reach. Shit.
Morgan tried to snag it with his foot and came up a few inches short. He strained and shifted, trying to bring the chair closer to it, trying to give himself a few extra inches, but it was no use. It was out of his reach, and there was nothing he could do to get it back, nothing he could do to open the handcuffs, and nothing to do now but wait for T to come back and, if he was lucky, kill him right away.
And then he heard a loud hissing, like radio static. He whipped his head around, looking for the source, until he realized the shushing sound was closer than he thought. The earpiece! It had gone dead with Conley out of range, and he had forgotten all about it.
“Come in, Cob . . . ” said Conley’s voice, breaking up in static.
“Cougar!” he said, in a loud whisper, splitting the difference between his excitement and his fear that T might hear. Given the range of the device, Conley couldn’t be farther than 500 yards away, and probably closer, considering the apparent thickness of the concrete around him.
“. . . bra c . . . in. Are yo . . . ere?”
“Cougar, Congar, come in, can you hear me?”
“. . . obra? Cobra, is that you?”
“Cougar, I’m in a small room, behind a heavy iron door. I think I’m underground somewhere.”
“I’m coming, Cobra.”
“Be careful. T and Nickerson are around here somewhere.”
“Roger that.”
There was silence for some time, and then Morgan heard hurried footsteps outside the door, coming his way. The door unlocked, and in burst Natasha, murder in her eyes.
“Looks like you and Nickerson aren’t quite on the same page,” said Morgan calmly.
Natasha went straight for him, put one heavy boot against his chest, and grabbed him by the hair. “I’m no longer amused by this, Cobra.” She slapped him across the face. “I’m going to go get a hammer and some pliers, and I’m going to start doing some serious damage.” She pushed off him with her foot and stormed out, banging the metal door behind her.
Shit.
“Cougar,” he said. “Cougar, come in. Where are you? Now would be a really great time for you to show up!”
He heard footsteps approaching. Goddamn, he thought, bracing for what was coming. He heard the dead bolt on the door being undone, and the door swung open.
But it wasn’t Natasha. It was Peter Conley, gun drawn. Morgan had never been happier to see him.
“Cobra? Oh, Christ. Come on, man, let’s get you out of here.”
“I’m handcuffed,” said Morgan, knocking the cuffs against the metal pipe. “You’re going to have to find a way to open them.”
Conley pulled out a knife to cut Morgan’s legs free and then examined the handcuffs.
“I don’t have anything to pick these with,” said Conley.
“There’s some wire on the floor.”
“You mean this barbed wire?” Conley asked, dubiously. “I don’t think I can use this. It’s too thick. I’m going to have to shoot them apart.”