Chapter 20: Taken

“How are you feeling?” Grace asked Mo, over their second coffee. It was the third time she’d asked.

“Okay thanks,” Mo smiled. “Thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I know what you did.”

“I helped get you shot, and now I’m helping you get captured. Are you sure you won’t go back and be with the others?”

“I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Grace smiled into his eyes and gave his hand a squeeze. “Perhaps we should go out and walk a bit? They might not want to come in here to grab us. We can look as though we’re waiting for the others to come and pick us up again.”

They sauntered back to the clinic, hung around outside, kept checking their phones as though in frustration, and walked slowly back towards the pizzeria. Still nothing. They went back.

It was five o’clock before a car drew up at the kerb right next to them. A red Dodge minivan, like their own. As its rear door slid open two guys appeared on the sidewalk - one from a store in front and one from behind them. In an instant Grace and Mo had been ushered irresistibly into the back of the car, which wasn’t their own but one the agents must have hired to help mask their abduction. In the middle of it all Grace couldn’t help being impressed.

On the sidewalk it had been all smiles, then inside it was all grim purpose. The two agents on the sidewalk walked off. Grace sat next to Mo on the rear seat, while one of the agents popped a seat out of the floor, next to Honeyeva in the middle row. He sat in it and twisted round to look at them. It was Toyboyski. Somehow it helped to think their silly names. But it wasn’t hard to act terrified. She and Mo had been expertly patted down even while they were being herded in.

“Where are the others?” asked Honeyeva as the minivan set off. She fixed Grace with a glare from her hard grey eyes. She was blonde; huge, but lean, with enormous shoulders and a thick neck.

“We were waiting for them,” Grace replied. It was a mild surprise that the woman was totally American and not Russian.

“I doubt that,” said the woman. “But we shall see.” With that she turned round and watched while the man rootled through Grace’s backpack. He pulled out her gun.

“One of ours I think,” said the woman, “that you killed one of our people with.”

“Sorry,” said Grace automatically. “Is the other one alright?”

“He’ll live,” said Honeyeva. “He wishes he’d shot you, of course. You took advantage.”

“I can understand that,” said Grace. It was beyond stupid that supposedly the agents could take advantage of having their big male bodies, but she wasn’t allowed to use her small female one. She wasn’t going to say so though.

“And this,” said the man, producing the tracker she’d put in there.

“A tracker too. They underestimated you,” the woman studied her, “and I can understand why. But don’t count on any more of that. Give me your hands.”

Grace put her hands out and the man deftly wrapped a zip tie round her wrists and pulled it tight. Grace just had time to lever her wrists apart slightly, so that when he’d finished it wasn’t cutting off the circulation.

“Not too tight,” she said anxiously as he started on Mo.

“Shut up,” said the agent unemotionally.

“What’s your name?” she asked him. Being nice to them was the only thing she could think of at the moment.

“Shut up,” he replied.

“You can call him Boris,” said the woman. Was it a joke?

“I suppose we can call you Maria,” said Grace.

“No thank you,” said the woman. There was no smile, but she’d got the reference to Maria Sharapova. Grace guessed it was an old thing she was fed up with. “Xenia.”

The Bond villainess. Grace smiled, but still without getting a smile back. Perhaps it was a CIA rule.

“Where are you taking us?” she asked. But this time there was no reply. And there were no more replies while Xenia muttered into her sleeve as they drove out of the town on small, deserted roads. In only a few minutes they came to a huge high-fenced entrance. Big as it was it still looked like a back entrance somehow, with acres of road and grass and buildings going off into the distance beyond the gates. Gates that were below a massive sign which proclaimed “Travis Air Force Base.” Oh God.

The driver didn’t go up to the gatehouse though. He pulled into a space at the side of the entrance and switched off. Xenia spoke into her cuff again - it had to have a radio microphone there. “In position? Confirm.”

Grace could only guess there was a reply in the earpiece. What position? Oh. Was this a lane with only two ends? Shit. They were waiting to see if Claude and Mia and Paul would follow. There must be an SUV at each end, or who knew what, to trap them.

“I don’t like it,” said Claude. He was looking at the map on Mia’s phone, showing Grace at the northern entrance to Travis air force base.

“Yes,” agreed Mia, “what are they waiting for? Us. I suppose it means they’ve found a tracker.”

“They were bound to try and use it get hold of us too,” reasoned Claude.

“Yes okay,” said Mia, “so let’s wait. Let’s see if we can find a motel who’ll take cash. We can say your cards were stolen when you were mugged or something. They’re obviously going to fly Grace and Mo somewhere, so we can’t do anything till they land and we see where. We may as well get some food and sleep, and start fresh in the morning.”

“Okay, let’s continue, it was a long shot,” said Xenia after half an hour. The driver started up and drove them into the airbase. After several minutes of slow driving he pulled up right next to a small jet, like the ones millionaires have. It made Grace think Xenia must be quite senior.