She took the end of the rope binding his hands and passed it between his legs, then led him toward the river and into the shallows, then upstream toward the fishing platform. She could see Brodie, who was more thanhalfway to the platform, alternating between wading in the water and swimming where it was deeper.
She glanced at the shoreline near the platform, scanning for Mercer’s men, and she noticed that Mercer was doing the same thing. Eventually someone would come to look for him. This was going to be close.
Brodie reached the platform and quickly checked the fuel level of the boat they’d taken from Kavak. Half-full, same as the one they’d taken from the mudflat. He stood in the waist-high water, pulled his knife, and cut the starter cord, then went under the platform to the other boat and saw that Taylor had tied the bow line to a supporting stilt. He cut the line and dragged the boat off the river bottom and out into the current, where he scrambled aboard.
The boat drifted downstream. He didn’t want to start the motor, so he paddled with an oar, canoe-style, like he’d done as a kid upstate, keeping the boat close to the riverbank but away from the shallow bottom.
He saw Taylor ahead, making her way toward him with Mercer in tow. The prisoner seemed to be compliant, but not moving at his best speed, so Taylor was yanking on the rope to adjust his balls and his attitude.
Brodie glanced back at the fishing platform, expecting to see the boys with the toys, just like earlier this morning, but there was no one there. Must be a good lunch.
Brodie suspected that Mercer’s men were not used to showing initiative and that they were smoking and joking at lunch, faithfully following their last orders, which were to wait for Señor Kyle. Hopefully, they’d still be waiting when dinner was served. If not… he and Taylor had a problem. The next five or ten minutes were critical.
He and Taylor were about twenty feet apart, and Mercer, who Brodie noticed was gagged, didn’t seem to want a canoe ride, so he stopped and played donkey. Taylor swung around and apparently kicked his legs from under him, and he fell face first into the water. With his arms tied behind his back, he wasn’t getting up so easily, especially with Taylor holding his head.
She wasn’t actually waterboarding him, but maybe she should let himup for air before he drowned. But she held him there, and Brodie could see Mercer’s legs and heavy boots thrashing.
Brodie knew that Taylor could be tough on the job, taking no shit from the guys they’d arrested at Fort Campbell. But he was certain that Taylor was giving Kyle Mercer a little extra attention because of the attention he’d given her. Yet she didn’t want to terminate Kyle Mercer with extreme prejudice, as her CIA former boyfriend would say. She had a soft spot, so maybe she should let the poor bastard breathe.
Just as Brodie was about to say something, she pulled Mercer up by his T-shirt.
Mercer looked half-drowned, because he was, but he also looked compliant.
Brodie steered the drifting boat closer to the riverbank where the water was only a few feet deep, and Taylor intersected with Mercer in tow. They wrangled him onboard, and Taylor completed the hog-tying as Brodie started the motor and turned the boat upstream. Good-bye, Camp Tombstone.
Brodie asked, “You okay?”
“I got bit by something, but the water was refreshing.”
“I don’t think Señor Kyle would agree.”
“He was being stubborn.”
“He should thank you for bringing him home alive.”
“We’re not actually home yet, Scott.”
Brodie steered toward the opposite bank, away from the fishing platform, which was still ahead of them. He glanced at the platform. If they could get around the next bend in the river, they were safe from AK-47 fire. But if anyone from the camp spotted them going upriver, Mercer’s men would surely follow the river on foot, and if the river made more bends that those guys knew about, it was possible for them to intercept the boat at some point. But if they knew that Señor Kyle was onboard, they probably wouldn’t fire on the boat. Or… they’d decide that killing the gringos was better for them than trying to rescue Señor Kyle. Hard to get into the heads of men like those who had seen too much and done too much. For them, there was no line that they had to worry about crossing.
Brodie said to Taylor, “You took down a Delta Force guy.”
She didn’t reply.
Brodie looked at Mercer lying hog-tied across the narrow bench seats—just as he’d imagined him in his Mission: Accomplished fantasy. Now that it was reality, Brodie almost felt sorry for the poor bastard, who’d gone through hell—who’d been a soldier once, and had served his country.
Taylor seemed to know what Brodie was thinking and said, “You were right. He didn’t betray his country. His country betrayed him.”
Brodie nodded. That sounded like the last line in Captain Mercer’s attorney’s closing argument.
They passed the fishing platform and continued upstream to the mudflat, which looked as deserted as when they’d left it.
They came to a bend in the river and lost sight of the mudflat and the fishing platform.
Not home free, but a phone call away. He said, “Hope you still have that sat phone.”
“High and dry.” She pulled the phone out of her bra.
Brodie said, “This is a good time to call Worley.”
