Emilio turned off the path and onto a much narrower trail that was hemmed in by thick growth. Brodie and Taylor exchanged glances, and kept walking, with Brodie taking the lead.
At the end of the trail was a small bamboo hut with no visible windows, and Brodie guessed it was the one building that every military facility needed—the stockade.
Emilio opened the small door, motioning for his prisoners to enter.
Brodie went first, ducking his head as he entered, followed by Taylor. They found themselves in a dark, fetid room that smelled faintly of urine, sweat, feces, and fear. The floor was covered with dried palm fronds and in the middle of the room was a thick log, about six feet long, stretching nearly wall to wall.
Emilio entered and pointed. “Sentad.” Sit.
Brodie and Taylor stepped over the log and sat with their backs to the wall, and Brodie noticed now in the dim light that two chains were bolted to the log, and at the ends of the chains were leg shackles and open padlocks.
Brodie, more out of habit and training than out of any plan of action, assessed the situation. Emilio was standing in the doorway, and one of his men was inside, pointing his AK-47 at the prisoners. The other four guys were outside, so Brodie couldn’t put them into the equation. Taylor was weak from dehydration, and Brodie too was feeling the effects of a few very long days without enough sleep, hydration, or food, unless you counted the Snickers bar. So if escape was the goal, maybe what they needed now was to be left alone to scope out the jail, which didn’t look impressive, and also to see what kind of guard was posted.
Emilio said something to them, and Taylor reached out and put a shackle around her left ankle, then put the padlock hasp through the shackle holes and snapped it shut.
Emilio shouted at Brodie, who was learning Spanish the hard way, and he did the same.
Emilio seemed happy that these two were about to become not his problem, though Brodie suspected that Emilio still had visions of Taylor in herbra and panties. In fact, Emilio looked at her and said something that made him and his man smile.
Emilio then became abrupt, and pointed out a plastic pail for urine and feces, and a plastic jug that held agua. He took a last look at his prisoners, then spoke briefly to Taylor, and Brodie heard “Señor Kyle.” Emilio turned and left, followed by his man.
The door closed, and the small, windowless room got darker, lit only by sunlight filtering through the bamboo walls.
Brodie listened to hear if a lock snapped on the door, but all he heard were the voices of Emilio and his men as they walked away.
Brodie and Taylor sat in silence awhile; then Brodie asked, “What did he say?”
“He said he was sure Señor Kyle would want to see us.”
“That’s good.”
“The last gringo who was in this room had his throat cut by Señor Kyle.”
“Not good.”
“I need water.” She reached out and pulled the plastic jug toward her, then tipped it to her mouth and drank. She finished and passed the jug to Brodie, who saw that there was only a few inches of water left, so he passed it back to her, but she insisted he drink, so he drank the foul-smelling water, which was going to cause them both problems if they lived that long.
He asked her, “What did he say when he was smiling and leering at you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me.”
She took a deep breath and said, “He told me that I was too beautiful to kill, and that I would join the other women here who service the men.”
Brodie figured that was what Emilio had said, so he told Taylor, “If you get that kind of freedom, you need to take it, and figure out a way out of here and—”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do. I’ll figure it out if the time comes.”
“Sorry.”
She sat back against the bamboo wall and said, “I’m sure Kyle Mercer misses the companionship of a woman he can… talk to… so I’ll do what I can to keep us both alive.”
“Let’s change the subject to escape and evasion.”
She didn’t reply, and Brodie saw she’d closed her eyes.
He bent forward and examined the eyebolts in the log. They looked to be about half an inch in diameter, which meant they were at least five or six inches long and embedded into the log, which was nearly a foot in diameter. He put his feet on the log and pressed against it, discovering that it was very heavy—probably mahogany. And at six feet long, it would weigh maybe two or three hundred pounds. He could lift that weight himself—he’d carried a two-hundred-pound squad-mate who’d been hit—and with Taylor helping they could easily bust open the bamboo door, locked or not, or maybe drive the log through a wall—though bamboo was stronger than most people understood, which was why it was used to make cages for animals and people.
