Adventures in Odyssey fanfiction

[GratiaDei]

You've really kept up with this, very impressive! And the story line is very exciting, can't wait to read more and see what happens to Tasha, Elena, and Jason.

[Liz'alike]

Alright... So having missed quite a bit since like chapter three, I've been dedicating my day to catching up... WOWOWOWOWOWOW! Ameraka, girrrllll, my word do you have a gift!
I've been Connie+Jason for a long time now, but my word, you having rooting for Tasha over here! Haha
Can't wait for the next installment! Keep up the good work!

[Ameraka]

Thanks Liz and Gratia!

I am Connie+Jason too, but I also like Tasha. There are too many girls for Jason to end up with! And here I've added another one into the mix. I do feel sorry for Tasha; but it couldn't be that easy for her to end up with Jason could it? I mean, they've only just met. There's got to be a lot of bumps in the road....

Anyway. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 17

"Who are you?" said the man. What she'd thought was part of his shadow detached from him, stalking toward her and growling. The dog stood in front of her, baring its teeth.

"Sasha won't attack unless I tell her to," he said.

"That's good to know." Her voice trembled a little. She'd grown up with dogs, but she had no idea what this one would do.

The man lowered the gun, though he kept it at an angle, as if ready at a moment's notice to use it. "You are the one they are searching for, aren't you."

He stepped closer. She backed up against the tree. He brought the gun up—and then flipped it over, and slid it into a sheath on his back. He spread out his hands. "I don't want to hurt you. What's your name?"

"Tasha."

"Tasha," he said, thoughtfully. "Tasha, will you allow me to help you? I assume you need supplies."

"We are doing well enough on our own."

"How many are with you?"

She shook her head. She wasn't going to give them away, even though she wasn't too happy with either of them at the moment.

"I am not on the side of the Czechs or the Muldavians—not their government, at least," he said.

"So, you're neutral?"

"Ever since relations between Muldavia and Czechoslovakia worsened, many Muldavians have tried to escape across the border. I do what I can for them, if I get to them before the soldiers do." There was sadness in his voice. "I can give you a place to stay until the search dies down. There's a secret trapdoor where you can hide if the soldiers come. I can give you food and medicine if you need it. But if you are doing well enough on your own, I understand."

"So you're operating a sort of underground railroad?"

"A what? Oh. I think I've heard of that. In America during the Civil War, they hid the runaway slaves. Yes, I suppose what I'm operating is similar—although I don't have much contact with others.

"So, Tasha, will you come with me? We need to move fast; the woods are quiet now, but the soldiers may return at any time."

Tasha thought for a moment. She wasn't in the habit of trusting complete strangers, especially in enemy territory, but they did need help. Jason needed medical attention. And if this man had a place they could hide…He could be tricking her, but somehow she doubted it; there was something in his voice that made her trust him.

"I will come. But I have to get the others."

"Where are they?"

She hesitated; she hoped she wasn't making a mistake. "This way." She led him down through the woods to the path along the ledge.

"Why are you running from them?" he said.

"I'd rather not get into it," said Tasha.

"I only ask because I do not see many Americans in this territory. I have not met many Americans; just a few when I lived in Bratislava."

"Well, your English is very good."

"Thank you," he said. She realized he had a Muldavian accent—it made sense because English was their second language—but also there was a hint of a Gypsy accent too. She wondered why a Muldavian was living on the Czech border. He was probably one of the exiles he had spoken about, only he had chosen to live here, in the mountains—to help them, perhaps? He had mentioned living in Bratislava. Strange he would come to live back here after living in the city.

"You didn't tell me your name," she said.

He hesitated. Then he said, "It's Dominik."

They walked in silence along the ledge, and then they reached the cave.

"You'd better go in first," said Dominik. "Reassure them that I'm with you."

"Good idea," she said. While Dominik waited along the edge of the cave, Tasha crept inside. It was dark; the fire had gone out. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Jason, sitting on a rock, Elena lying beside him on the floor. He rose, clutching the camera gun.

"It's okay," said Tasha. "It's me."

"I thought I heard something earlier," he said. "It must've been a false alarm."

"Probably." She wondered if it was her that he had heard; when she'd seen them kissing and turned back around, she'd dislodged a rock from the ledge, but she didn't know it had been loud enough for them to hear. She wasn't about to tell him that though.

Elena stirred, sat up. "What is it? Is everything okay?"

"I've found someone," said Tasha. "He says he can help us."

"You trust him?" said Jason.

"He's helped others cross the border."

"Do you have evidence he's telling the truth?"

"I—not really."

"So you're just taking his word for it? If I said the same thing, you'd think I was crazy."

"I know, Jason, but there is something about him. I've chosen to trust him, because we need to trust somebody. He can help us."

"We've been doing fine on our own."

"We're sitting ducks here, Jason. You thought the soldiers were coming tonight. What would you do? You'd be able to hold them off for a little while, but then what? You'd be trapped here."

"But won't we just be trapped there, wherever he wants to take us?"

"He has a place for us to hide. He has food, supplies—how long do you think we can last, hiding in this cave? You need to recover before you can walk to the nearest city. So does Elena."

"So, where is our mysterious benefactor?"

"He's here."

"He's here?"

"Yes. Dominik?" She called.

He stepped forward, his tall, muscular form silhouetted against the dark charcoal sky. His dog walked up with him, her elegant German Shepherd outline drawn against the faint light.

"Dominik," said Tasha, "This is Jason."

Dominik held out his hand; Jason shook it, looking a little wary. She didn't blame him; in fact, she was glad he was being the cautious one for once.

"And this is Elena."

"Hi," said Elena. She grasped his hand. "Do you have a house nearby?"

"A place where you can rest. Better than the hard ground anyway."

"A bed?"

"A bed."

"That sounds heavenly."

"Speaking of which, we'd better get back there. We don't want the dawn to catch us." He helped Elena to her feet; Jason and Tasha stuffed the rest of the supplies in the pack with the water bottles. Then they made their way out of the cave and up the path.
--

Jason forced himself to walk, even though his leg raged with pain at each step. It was even worse going uphill than down or on level ground. He had maybe walked half a mile before he had to stop, and leaned against a tree.

"You are injured?" said Dominik.

"I'm okay. Just need a rest." He didn't want to betray any weakness, just in case this man turned out to be a foe rather than a friend.

"It's a gunshot wound," said Tasha.

"Here." Dominik took Jason's arm, supporting him over his shoulder. He relayed Elena to Tasha's care, and they made their way through the woods. Despite Jason's concerns, he was grateful for the assistance. He probably wouldn't have made it on his own.

Even with Dominik's help, it seemed like miles before they reached their destination. After crossing a stream, they came to a rock formation, sandstone ruins jutting out from it. Dominik led them past the ruins to a little clearing where a small log cabin stood, smoke streaming out of the chimney. An axe was buried in a chunk of wood next to a shed. As they approached, two dogs jumped off of the porch, and ran toward them. First they greeted Dominik, licking his hand and whining excitedly, then they sniffed Jason, their eyes bright and wary. They surrounded Elena and Tasha, and then, as if finding they were trustworthy, raced back to the porch with the other German Shepherd, Sasha, wagging their tails.

"That's Coal and that's Char," said Dominik, pointing to the darker Shepherds. "They're Sasha's sons." They stepped up onto the porch, and then into the cabin. In the dining room, woodcarvings lined the walls. The table and chairs were made of wood as well, of a similar color and finish to the carvings.

"Did you make these?" asked Jason.

"I did," said Dominik.

"They're very good."

"Thanks. I like to work with wood, and there is a...lot of time up here."

He led them to a large bed room, with a generous homemade quilt on the bed, and books on many shelves. "Tasha and Elena, you can sleep here," said Dominik.

"It's a beautiful room," said Elena.

"Before you make yourselves too much at home, I want to show you something."

They hobbled to the next room. It was smaller, with a blue-quilted bed and more bookshelves. Dominik slid one bookshelf aside. He pushed back a groove in the floorboards, revealing a dark opening. Cool air breathed out of it.

"This is the room to the cellar. If soldiers are coming, you can escape down this way. I will try to help you. But hopefully it won't come to that."

They sat down in the living room, and Dominik took a look at Elena's ankle; it still looked swollen. He bound it up with a bandage, and then turned to Jason's injury.

"This doesn't look very good," said Dominik. He took some salve from a small jar and rubbed it on Jason's ankle. It hurt at first, but then it tingled soothingly. He wrapped it up to keep the infection out. The teapot whistled, and he went into the kitchen and came back with three mugs of tea. "It's made from an herb in these woods," he said. "It has a calming effect."

"We certainly need that," said Tasha, sitting in the chair by the window. She took the mug, and sipped from it.

Jason looked at his tea, not sure whether to drink something a strange man had offered. But he sipped it anyway; they were all in this together now, poisoned or not. It had a minty flavor, with barely a hint of bitterness that might conceal a poison. Of course, there were many tasteless poisons….

"Jason," said Tasha, in a somewhat alarmed tone.

Jason jumped. A hot drop of tea fell onto his lap. "What is it?"

"Look at me." She set down her tea on the lampstand and crept forward. She stood in front of Jason and Dominik, and touched Jason's chin, turning his face toward her.

"You two could be brothers."

Jason looked at Dominik. Strange. In the early morning light from the window, there was a resemblance—at least, from the few times Jason had grown a beard. He rubbed his chin, and realized he had indeed grown a beard in the past few days; he hadn't had a chance to shave.

The thought crossed Jason's mind—but it was too ludicrous, too far-fetched, to entertain. Yet, how could it be a coincidence? He didn't want to confront Dominik without more proof, and evidently Tasha didn't either, for she sat back down and sipped her tea in silence, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Perhaps you have had relatives here," said Dominik.

"Perhaps," said Jason, and left it at that.

Dominik helped Jason to his room, but Jason wasn't quite ready to put his guard down, even if his guess was right. He wished he were close to Tasha and Elena to protect them if he needed to, but at least he'd returned the camera gun to Tasha.

He lay back on the bed. His eyes wandered around the room; there were books by C. S. Lewis, Dostoyevsky, Victor Hugo, Kafka, Mark Twain. There was even a shelf behind the headboard. Jason reached up and took a book down. It was Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie. Jason smiled; he'd liked reading that book when he was a kid. He flipped through it, discovering beautiful illustrations inside. He read the first paragraph—and then, dreams took over, weaving the strange wild images of the book with the stressfulness of the past few days.

In the dark, twisting forest, shadowy forms converged on him and caught him in a net; he tried to fly away, but he couldn't. They laughed as he struggled in vain—

He bolted awake. Evening light streamed through the west window; the book lay beside his head. It took him a moment to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there. The events of the past few days seemed just as much of a dream as the one he'd just woken from. But then, maybe he was still dreaming…A strange melody wafted through the cabin. Dreamlike, haunting—and familiar. Jason wracked his mind to figure out where he'd heard it.

He slipped out of the covers; his leg shot with pain when his foot met the floor. So that was real at least.

He cracked open the door. And crept out, careful not to let his feet creak on the floorboards. Jason followed the melody into the living room; Dominik sat in the chair beside the lampstand, his back to Jason, a book lying upside down on the armrest, the source of the melody in his hand.

It was a watch, golden, intricately carved. And then he remembered where he'd heard that melody before.

His father had the exact same watch.

The floor creaked behind Jason. Dominik whirled around, snapping the watch shut, cutting off its melody.

"Where did you get that?" said Jason.

"It was…a gift."

"My father has a watch just like it."

"That's not possible."

"Why?"

Dominik shook his head, sadness in his eyes.

"I think, Dominik, that your father gave one to my father, then he had another one made—which he passed on to you. That's only my theory. But—I think I have found you."

"Found who?" said Elena in a sleepy voice behind him.

"The rightful heir to the throne. Your name isn't Dominik, is it?"

"Oh, yes, it is," said Dominik. "But my whole name is Roderick James Dominik Alexander Augustus Wilhem, Prince of Muldavia."

[Liz'alike]

Well... They found him! *visions of the Genovia theme going through mind* great chapter! Can't wait for another!

[Ameraka]

Hm, Muldavia does remind me of Genovia! I never thought of that. Perhaps because it's also a small, made-up European country. Now you have the theme going through my head.

Here's the next chapter for you.


Chapter 18

"I would appreciate it if you would tell no one," said the prince.

"Your secret's safe with us," said Jason.

"I'm no threat to Von Warberg. If they ever found me, I'd tell them that—but I doubt it would matter that I have no ambitions to the throne. My very existence is a threat to them. So I have to keep hidden." He set his mug down on the coffee table. "In a way, I don't even think of myself as the prince. My life is far removed from what it would have been had…things been different. On the other hand, it's the reason I live this way. I lived in the city for a while, but then someone saw the resemblance between me and the king, and I had to leave. I endanger everyone I'm with, except of course for the people who are already in danger." He looked meaningfully at Jason. "In a way, it's a relief that you've found me out. I've wanted to tell people for so long…even though I try to forget who I am as much as I can."

"We have no reason to give you away," said Tasha. "You've helped us. It's only fair that we return the favor."

"Thank you." He sat back down. Tasha and Elena sat on the couch beside Jason.

"Do you want us to keep calling you Dominik?" said Jason. "Or—"

He ran his hand through his unruly brown hair. "When I ran from Muldavia, I had to change my name to Dominik, but my real name is James."

"James, then."

He nodded. "It's good to hear my own name again. Now, you said your father has the same watch?" He picked it up from the lampstand, held it in his hands.

"Yes," said Jason. "I assumed he got it as a keepsake during the war. But right before we came here, I saw a picture of your father, the king. He looked just like my father—they could have been twins. And now we found you, and you look similar—the pieces all fell into place. As near as I can figure it, my dad came here some time after the war, and they met at some point, and your father gave my father the watch."

"And then there is the rumor," said Elena softly, "of the impostor."

"Oh, yes," said Jason. "I remember you telling me about that. You think that was my father?"

"It makes sense."

"I suppose it does."

"What do you mean—impostor?" said James.

"Well, it was a legend my father told me," said Elena. "On the day of the coronation, the king was unable to attend, for some unknown reason. The impostor took his place for a day, so that the coronation would go smoothly. There was a lot of unrest in those days, before the...assassination."

James turned to Jason. "So your father took over for a day, and didn't take advantage of it? He could have been king. But he gave it up. He is a hero."

"Something I have known all my life," said Jason. "From what I hear, your father was a hero too."

"Far removed from who I am, I'm afraid."

Though James was in hiding, he'd helped Muldavians cross the border; what had Jason done? He certainly hadn't made things better for anyone, that was for sure. Even the man that he'd tried to help in Muldavia had probably gotten in trouble because of his actions….

There had to be a way to salvage this. Jason might not be able to do anything directly, but perhaps he could help James. If James could go to America, away from his enemies, then he would be able to reveal his identity. It could rally the people, and show them that there was hope. The oppressive government would topple. He wouldn't just have to help the odd refugee anymore; he could free the entire country. As the heir to the throne, he alone had such power. He probably didn't even realize the power he had, isolated from his own country for years.

"You've been helping to free a few of your people," said Jason. "How would you like to free all of them?"

James shook his head. "I'm not the one to do it, I'm afraid."

"You have power just by being who you are. The king would be able to rally the people like no one else."

"How can I do it, in exile?"

"You could come back to America with us. You could do broadcasts—you could show them you were still alive. You could give them hope. That alone could spark a revolution."

"I doubt that they're to that point."

"You haven't been there lately, have you?"

"It's been eleven years."

"A lot can change in eleven years. I think there's a lot more dissatisfied than it seems on the surface. The Gypsies we met—your family—said that they see a lot when they travel the countryside. The country's ripe for revolution."

"You've seen my family? Rovann, Nikola, Stefan—?"

Jason nodded. "They took us in after I was shot. They took care of me….We owe them."

"That's who they are," said James, a faraway look in his blue eyes.

"Stefan wasn't there, though."

James leaned forward. "Why not? Is he okay?"

"He's…in Zohr."

"Zohr." James sat back, closed his eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek. "That is all but a death sentence. I thought I was protecting them when I left, but….Stefan. He was—is—like a brother to me."

"He has a wife now, and a little boy and girl. His wife—Marija—is going to have another baby."

"So….Marija. I would have guessed that.

"At least he has not been in Zohr long. There is hope—if he can get out. The trouble is, once they take you to Zohr, it's almost impossible to escape….

"How are the others?"

"They are doing well. But they're worried about Stefan."

"They would be. If one member of the family is taken, it's like they're incomplete…you don't know Gypsies like I do, Jason. I almost am one of them—as much as I am anything. More than I am a king. Maybe it was a mistake to leave…." He pressed a hand to his furrowed brow. "Perhaps I should go back—share their fate. I'm hiding here, like a coward—it's only an excuse to say that I'm protecting people. The truth is, I'm afraid of dying. Of the pain that comes before death….but if I face it, perhaps it won't be so bad. At least I won't be betraying the people I love."

"I'm not so sure you should go back that way. You could free your country—"

"Jason, I'm not king material. I can't rally the people. Even if I am technically the prince, I haven't been brought up royal. I don't know what to do, what to say….Royalty is a dying breed these days, anyway. I belong with my family."

"But—" Jason struggled for an argument. James probably wasn't thinking clearly after the news about his brother. "Are you doing them any favors by going back to them in this climate? They'll still be in danger. If there's even a chance you can help bring change—wouldn't that be a better way for them to live, instead of living in fear?"

"It's just that….if I keep running, if I don't share in the plight of my people, it will still be hiding like I am now. If I went to America, I'd be safe and free while they'd be under oppression. How could they respect a king like that?"

"It's the same reason a general isn't at the front lines—if he gets killed, the troops are in chaos. You've got to stay safe in order to unite the people behind you. Then, when you have gathered an army, you can fly back to Muldavia and lead them to victory."

James sighed, looked away. "I still don't see myself doing any of that. I never even knew my father…he's someone remote, majestic, powerful—basically the opposite of what I am. But, as you say, if there's a chance I can help them, perhaps I should leave….with you." He stood. "You have given me a lot to think about. If you don't mind, I would like to be on my own for a while, think this over."

"Of course."

"Meanwhile, make yourselves at home. I assume you probably don't want to go back to bed yet."

"Not for a while," said Tasha.

"There is some food in the refrigerator….I am sorry. I'm being a poor host."

"We can take care of ourselves."

He nodded. "Just don't stray too far from the cabin." He rose and walked out the door into the evening.

Elena turned to Jason. "I can't believe we found the prince! When that man—Cartier—said he was still alive, I hardly dared hope. But it turned out to be true! We have a king again. Or we can, once he gets back. This is amazing." Her blue eyes lit up with excitement.

They went in the kitchen and made some sandwiches out of ham and slices of thick homemade bread. After they ate, Jason asked, "Are you up for a little walk?"

"Sure," said Tasha, slinging the camera gun around her neck.

"My leg is a lot better today," said Elena.

"Good," said Jason. "I'll help you if you need it." They walked out onto the porch; a carved walking stick leaned against the wall near the porch swing, which Jason took. Elena put her arm in his, and they headed toward the ruins.

Half of the sandstone structure had already crumbled; moss crawled over what was left. Arches reached toward the sky, while the rest of it blended in with the side of the mountain. It perhaps had once been a castle, but it was now crumbling to dust.

Jason walked under the arched doorway; trees grew inside, most of the large flagstones obscured by dirt or cracked in numerous places. The sound of water echoed musically; Jason meandered through the trees and brambles to the rock wall at the back.

A stream poured out of the side of the rock to a pool below. Jason sat down among the ferns and moss on a large chunk of rock, and Elena joined him, sneaking her hand into his. "It's so beautiful," she said.

"Yes, it is."

Tasha cleared her throat. "I think I will go find the prince," she said. "He should probably not stray too far himself. Don't leave; I'll come back for you." She turned and walked back through the thicket.

He tipped Elena's chin up toward his; her eyelashes fluttered above gleaming blue eyes. She closed her eyes, leaned toward him; how could he resist the invitation? He gave her a slow, smooth kiss; she returned the favor, then drew back from him temptingly, her eyes dancing, daring him to come closer.

He pressed his cheek against her golden hair; thrills laced through him. "You're so beautiful," he said.

"So are you," she whispered. "Come on." She pulled him toward the waterfall. He picked up his cane and hobbled after her.

She put her hand under the waterfall. Water poured onto it, then sprayed off in sparkles that caught the last rays of sunset. He cupped his hand beneath the stream; water, as cold as ice, ran down onto his palm. She stood behind the waterfall, half-veiled by its sparkles, an entrancing, elfin figure.

He took a step closer, and stumbled on the slimy moss. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back to his feet while he braced the cane along the side of the rock wall. Elena took a drink from the waterfall and he did the same. It was cold, clear, refreshing. She smiled up at him, and pulled his head down to her, and kissed him.

The cold water sent a chill through him. He shivered. "Maybe we should go back," said Jason.

"Good idea," said Elena. "Tasha will be able to find us there easily enough."

They made their way back to the cabin. Jason shoved some logs in the fireplace, and Elena went into the kitchen to make some tea.

She came back with two mugs. Jason pulled a quilt over both of them and sipped his tea. She snuggled close to him, and he wrapped one arm around her, as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"So, Jason. You've told me some things about yourself, but I want to know more." She twisted to look up at him, sipped her tea.

"What do you want to know?"

"You've told me about your past, but I want to know why you came to Muldavia. Besides to see me, I mean." She smiled, a dimple showing in her cheek.

"Well, you know that I was here to gather intelligence…"

"What kind of intelligence?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Come on, Jason! It's me, Elena."

"I know but—"

"You owe me that much, don't you, my dear? We've been through so much together."

"I—I can't—it's for your own protection." The room wavered a little.

"But we're going to America. No one will find out."

"We're not out of the woods yet. Besides, it's need to know. I can't break the rules."

Her lower lip pouted. "Not even for me? Do I matter at all to you, Jason?"

"Of course you do, but…"

"You can break the rules for me, Jason." She kissed his lips, slowly, lusciously.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"You're no fun." She shifted on the couch until she faced him, her blue eyes luminous, a dangerous spark in them.

"What has gotten into you, Elena? Why does it matter so much?" It wasn't his imagination; the room wavered again, as if a thin film of water had obscured his vision.

"It doesn't, I guess. Not anymore." She sighed, and rolled her shoulders. "Mm, this job has been stressful. You wouldn't mind giving me a massage, would you?" She turned her back to him.

He tried to lift his hand, but found he could barely move it. Pins and needles tingled down his flesh, as if he were becoming paralyzed.

Fear tore through him. "Elena, something's wrong….the tea….maybe poison…." He slid down the edge of the couch, unable to hold himself up. Elena caught him and helped lower him down.

"It's okay, dear, shh."

"Don't…drink…the tea…" He could barely form the words.

"What, this?" She took her tea, gulped the rest of it down, then set it on the coffee table. "Perfectly harmless. I think all you need is some much-needed rest, Jason. Come on, I'll help you to your bed."

She slung her shoulder under his arm, and he tried to walk, but she ended up half-dragging him into the bed. "There." She pressed her hand to his forehead. "Sweet dreams." She smiled, but something about that smile wasn't right….Maybe it was just the dream taking over, for the next thing she said didn't make sense. "When you wake up, things won't be nearly as pleasant for you."

The last thing he saw was Elena lifting her wrist close to her mouth and speaking softly into her watch. "I've found the target, repeat, I've found the target. Send a helo now to these coordinates. I have the male agent, and I will soon have the king. The female agent—well, I may just have to dispose of her. Holt out."

He faded into darkness, as if falling headfirst into an endless tunnel, and then…blackness consumed him.

[Doll]

Oooh, another cliff hanger.

I was wondering how you'd tie in the theory that Whit was stand-in.

[Liz'alike]

I KNEW IT!!! Elena... That little Jezebel!!
Can't wait for the next installment!

[~Cowgirl Forever~]

Please write more!!!

[~Cowgirl Forever~]

You are a amazing writer!

[Ameraka]

Wow, thanks Cowgirl! Here's another chapter for you all.

Chapter 19

Tasha walked up to the cabin with James, Sasha walking beside him, the two younger dogs play-fighting up ahead. “They are beautiful dogs,” she said.

“They’ve been good companions, good protectors. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“It’s been very lonely up here, hasn’t it?”

James nodded. “I’ve gotten used to it, though. I’ve never been one for crowds, cities….”

“Things are about to change for you.”

“I know. I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m willing to try.” He flashed a smile.

Tasha thought, He is a remarkable man. He doesn’t even know it—and that makes him all the more so. I didn’t even know who he was when I met him, but I sensed something about him… He just needs to learn to believe in himself. Then he’ll be unstoppable.

They walked into the house. Elena met them with two mugs of tea. “Thanks,” said Tasha. “Where’s Jason?”

“He felt tired after all. He’s sleeping in his room.”

“Hm. Well, he’s been through a lot. But I’m not ready to be tired yet.” She sat down on the couch, and tasted the tea. It was a little too hot, and she set it down on the coffee table.

James sat down in his chair beside the window, opposite the couch. He took a sip of tea, and then said, “Would you like some milk or sugar?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” said Tasha.

“Elena?”

“Jason and I already had some. It pretty much put him to sleep, though.”

James went into the kitchen, then came back and sat back down. “It’s too bad Jason isn’t awake. I would like to tell him what I’ve decided.”

“He’d be happy to hear it,” said Tasha.

“He was very persuasive. He sounded as passionate about saving my own country as I am, and he is not even one of us.”

“Well, Jason is a very passionate person.”

Elena giggled. “Yes, he is.”

Tasha looked at her. She wanted to slap that little dimpled smile off of her face.

“So, Elena,” said James. “How did you end up on this venture?”

“Well,” said Elena, “I was an assistant to Josiah Munroe, who’s the editor of the Vanguard, a newspaper that’s a satellite of the Free People’s Voice. We plant secret messages inside our newspaper for the resistance. I’ve never seen the messages or met our contacts, because they only just brought me into their circle. One of the first things I learned was that Jason and Tasha weren’t the reporters they pretended to be; they were actually agents with the NSA. Then when we were listening to Von Warberg’s speech in the city square, Jason saw a soldier beating a man, and he went to intervene. He fought with the soldier and won, but more soldiers came, and I helped him escape.”

“That was….very admirable of you, Elena.” James took a sip of tea.

“I knew what would happen to Jason if he got captured. Of course, I didn’t even know his name was Jason at the time. But I’ve gotten to know him a lot better since then.”

Ignoring the tone in Elena’s voice that implied she’d gotten to know him as more than a friend, Tasha asked James, “Do you think Jason should have done what he did?”

“Well,” said James, “He blew your cover…but at the same time I can understand how he felt. I don’t know—I hope I’d be able to hold myself back, but, if I saw one of my own people being hurt….”

“He didn’t really help that man—he was probably arrested anyway. Jason should have waited and let history take its course.”

“Probably. On the other hand, who knows what one act of kindness can accomplish? We can’t control all events; sometimes we just have to do our part, and hope for the best, whatever happens. You never would have found me if he hadn’t done that.”

“That’s true,” said Tasha. “Maybe…it will work out after all.”

James drank the rest of his tea. Tasha thought, Maybe mine’s cool enough by now. She brought it to her lips.

James stood. “I’m suddenly….not feeling very—“ He staggered to his knees.

Tasha leaped to her feet. “What’s wrong?” She dashed over to James, but he was already barely conscious. She lowered him to the floor.

She pressed her palm to his forehead; his skin was cold and clammy. “What could be wrong? Is—“
A twinge of suspicion raced through her. What if Jason wasn’t really sleeping either? What if—

“What’s the matter, Tasha?” said Elena. “Don’t you like your tea?”

A small gun leaped into Elena’s hand. Tasha stood. Elena’s blue eyes were cold.

Somewhere deep inside, Tasha had known. But she’d ignored her intuition, dismissing it as mere jealousy, something she shouldn’t even be feeling in the first place.

“I’m not really sure what to do with you,” said Elena. “I don’t think there will be room on the helicopter for you. If I leave you here alive, you might cause more trouble. One of my policies in this game—and I think it’s a good one—never leave loose ends.” She smiled.

I’m the only one she hasn’t incapacitated, thought Tasha. I need to get the upper hand somehow….The camera gun. It’s in the kitchen—I set it on the counter when I came in—stupid thing to do.

I’ve got to distract her.

“I was starting to see through your act, you know,” said Tasha.

“That’s easy to say in retrospect. I think you were just as surprised as anyone. Of course, no one will be as surprised as Jason.” She laughed. “I do believe that boy was starting to fall for me—although I am good.”

Tasha shook with anger, but restrained herself. “You’re not as good as you think you are. Why do you think I didn’t drink the tea?”

“Maybe I made it a little too hot for you on purpose. Maybe I wanted to confront you, rather than take you like a lamb to the slaughter. You always were the strong one. Perhaps I wanted to test myself against you, and see how strong you really are. But so far, you haven’t lived up to my expectations.”

“What do you expect me to do with a gun to my face?”

“Not give up so easily.”

“Who said I’d given up?” Tasha lashed out, grabbing for Elena’s gun. But Elena yanked the gun away and then rammed it toward Tasha’s face. She ducked; the gun’s cold muzzle grazed her cheek. Tasha lunged toward Elena and slammed into her, knocking her backwards. They tumbled over the coffee table, Tasha landing with her knee in Elena’s stomach. Her fingers closed around the gun, but then Elena punched upwards, hitting Tasha in the ribs. A knot of pain spread across her stomach. She fell backwards, but recovered just as Elena leaped to her feet.

Tasha sprang toward her. Elena swung a punch into Tasha’s jaw; sparks danced across her vision, but she forced herself to stay on her feet. She struck at Elena’s face; Elena blocked her with her forearm. They fought across the room, Elena always blocking, an exultant smile on her face.

They reached the kitchen; Tasha dove toward the camera gun on the counter. A gunshot reverberated through the cabin. Another. A bullet seared across Tasha’s cheek. But she snatched the gun, whirled around, and shot at Elena. Elena dodged behind the wall; Tasha ran outside. More places to hide here, she told herself, the cool air of the mountain filling her lungs. The bullet wound across her cheek burned, but she didn’t have time to acknowledge it.

She jumped off of the porch. The dog, Sasha, jumped off with her and stood by her side, ears alert, looking toward the door.

Elena slipped outside; Tasha sent another shot toward her and darted around the side of the house.

How far is the nearest town? Tasha wondered. I should’ve asked James….I don’t think I have many bullets left. Maybe two or three, and there are no replacements. She ran around the house; Elena hadn’t followed her. She was probably waiting for her on the porch. Tasha doubled back and ran for the shed.

Shots zinged after her; Tasha dashed into the shed just in time. It smelled the sweet, musty smell of damp wood. She backed up to a pile of chopped wood, but then could go no further.

She slid forward along the wall and peeked out. She couldn’t see Elena. Then, Sasha, who’d slid inside as silently as a shadow, jumped out of the shed. A shriek ripped through the air. One, two gunshots. Then, nothing.

Tasha crept outside, keeping her gun raised.

Elena stood there, one arm dripping blood. The dog lay on the ground, blood seeping through the fur on her neck.

“Don’t move,” said Tasha. “Drop the gun.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. She didn’t move, but neither did she drop the little silver pistol in her left hand.

“Drop the gun, put your hands in the air, or I will shoot.”

Elena hesitated, then she smiled wryly. “Maybe I’ll let you have this round.” She lowered her gun to the grass. At the last moment, she lunged toward Tasha, hurtling into her. They crashed to the ground. Tasha grabbed for Elena’s gun; a shot went off, harmlessly into the air. Elena pulled, trying to wrest it from her grasp. It aimed at Tasha’s heart; Elena squeezed the trigger, just as Tasha slammed her hand sideways, knocking her aim to the left.

Pain ripped through Tasha’s arm. Elena stood, silhouetted against the darkening sky. She aimed her gun down at Tasha—her finger pulled back on the trigger—and—

Click!

Tasha gasped, expecting a bullet to burrow through her chest. Then relief surged through her when she realized Elena had used her last bullet.

Before Tasha could get up, though, Elena stepped on Tasha’s wounded arm. Tasha bit back a cry. Elena’s face loomed in her fuzzy vision like a distorted moon. “Maybe I will take you in,” she said. “Then you’ll wish I had killed you.” She ground her heel into Tasha’s wound; this time Tasha couldn’t help but cry out.

Just then, a chop-chop-chop sound echoed through the woods. Elena straightened, looked toward the sky. A few moments later, a helicopter appeared, lowering into the clearing in front of the cabin.

Elena leaned down, grabbed Tasha’s wrist. But Tasha twisted away, rolling into the shed, and slid the door shut, slamming down the latch. Elena yanked on it; Tasha pressed the camera trigger and a bullet splintered through the wood. A cry from Elena, with surprise or pain or both Tasha couldn’t tell. She wasn’t about to open the door.

The chopping sound slowed. Tasha heard muffled shouts. Footsteps resounded on floorboards. A shout from Elena; it sounded close to the cabin.

Tasha risked sliding the door open a crack; three black-clad soldiers disappeared into the house, along with Elena.

I’ve got to rescue Jason and James, thought Tasha. But I won’t be able to do it if I’m dead.
She crept out of the shed, then saw that the dog was gone. She must have just been grazed; Tasha hoped so. She couldn’t wait around to find out; she tore into the woods. Branches slapped against her wounded shoulder.

Finally she sat down on a rock in the darkness, the only sound the whispering of the trees. Her head spun; she must have lost a lot of blood. She pressed her hand to the wound to staunch the bleeding. And waited, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake. How was she going to find Jason now? How would she rescue them?

They were probably taking him back to Rakima. To interrogation, torture, and death.

It took a while for her to catch her breath, then she raced back to the cabin.

It was deserted.

She crept inside; the cabin was empty, only a few drops of Tasha’s blood and the crooked coffee table showing any signs of a struggle. Of course, drugged, Jason and James hadn’t put up much of a fight.

The dog, Sasha, lay on the porch, her two sons whimpering around her. Tasha tended to her wound, cleaning it, slathering some salve on it, and wrapping it in a bandage. The dog was remarkably patient with her. Then she bandaged her own arm, gathered some supplies, and stepped back onto the porch.

“Stay here,” Tasha told the dogs. They looked up at her, Coal and Char tipping their heads, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. “I’ll find James if it’s the last thing I do.”

And Jason, she silently added, then dashed off into the woods, a pack on her back, a desperate hope burning in her heart.

[~Cowgirl Forever~]

The plot thickens!!!

[GratiaDei]

My goodness, yet again, you surpass expectations. I first started reading this story thinking it was going to be a somewhat lame fan fiction, but it has turned into a really gripping story. Wonderful!

[Ameraka]

Thanks Gratia! I don't blame you for thinking it might be lame, because there's a lot of bad fanfics out there. As for AIO fanfics, there aren't many of them, so it's hard to know what to expect.


Chapter 20

Jason stirred. His head pounded. A chopping sound drummed against it, making it worse.

He tried to turn over to get some more sleep.

But when he moved, something jerked against his arm. He opened his eyes, and saw that his wrist was cuffed to the wall. Soldiers surrounded him. And out the window, dark sky floated past—glimpses of the tips of pine trees—

He was in a helicopter. And beside him another man lay, unconscious. James.

He tried to sit up despite the pain in his head and wrist. And encountered Elena, crouched in front of him.

"Elena!" he said. "They took you too?"

She smiled, her eyes dark slivers of amusement. "Oh, you could say that. But I wanted to be taken. Rescued from this assignment."

It all crashed back into him—what he'd thought was a dream—Elena speaking into her watch, her strange, traitorous words….

So it was true. She was one of them.

Still, he couldn't quite get it through his mind. How could Elena be a traitor? She was his beautiful Elena….The lights from the helicopter shone on her face, illuminating the features that he knew so well, only this version was hard as marble, coldly amused, dangerous, not the sweet innocent girl who'd once risked herself for him. That one had dissolved like a mask, revealing her true face underneath.

A chill spread through him.

Elena cupped Jason's chin in her hand. He jerked away.

She laughed. A cold, harsh, ringing laugh. "What's wrong, Jason? Only a few hours ago, you couldn't get enough of me." She brushed her fingers along his chin, a mockery of a caress.

"You betrayed us," he said.

"Yes, I did. But if it makes you feel any better, I was never one of you; I wasn't even part of Munroe's little resistance group, though that was the original target. Then you came along; I thought I'd hit the jackpot on my first real deep cover mission. Then you brought me to the greatest prize of all." She gestured to James. "How can I ever thank you?" She swooped down and kissed his cheek. He yanked his head away; she gave another of her icy laughs, but this time a blow accompanied it, her fist slamming across his cheek; the tang of blood filled his mouth.

"Jason, Jason. Don't be so resistant. If you remain cooperative, I'll make this much more pleasant for you. We'd become so close. Don't spoil what we have together."

"You've already spoiled it," he choked out.

"I am sorry, my dear Jason. But I am doing this for my country. It's just business. Of course, I do like to mix business with pleasure, but it doesn't mean you have to take this so personally. We are both agents, after all. I just have to be the superior one in all respects." She stepped over to James. "I think it's time we woke our sleeping prince up, don't you?"

She nudged him in the side with her boot. He stirred, then froze as soon as his eyes opened. "You—" he said.

"Yes, we've already been over this with Jason. I'm a security agent, I've got you in my power, and all that. Now, the bigger question is, what are we going to do with you? I think my superior, Taran Zahl, will want to speak with you. Then Von Warberg would like an audience with your Highness." She gave a mock bow.

James pushed himself into a sitting position. "I've never lived in the palace. There's nothing I can tell you."

"Oh, we don't want you for information. We want you because you're the symbol of everything we detest. We want to crush you beneath our boot, along with any hope that the Resistance still harbors that the monarchy will rise again." She looked especially gleeful at this prospect.

Clack-ping! The helicopter swerved. "Those idiot Czechs," said Elena. She slipped into the cockpit with the pilot.

More gunshots clattered after them from the ground. Jason peered over the edge as far as the chain on his handcuff would let him. Searchlights strobed the sky; more gunshots pinged off the hull. One zipped into the helicopter, ploughing through the ceiling. Jason dove back to the middle as the helicopter swerved again.

A few moments later, the gunshots faded into the distance.

"Are you all right?" said Jason.

"Yeah," said James. "Except for an awful headache."

"Me too. Listen, James, I'm….so sorry. I led her to the cabin. I should have known. I should have seen, somehow….but I made such a mess of things. Now look where we are."

"I don't blame you, Jason. You were trying to help. Elena fooled all of us."

"It's like the Elena I knew is gone. Like I woke up from a dream into a nightmare."

Elena stepped back into the passenger area.

"What have you done with Tasha?" said Jason.

"Well, let's see. Last time I saw her, she was bleeding pretty badly from a gunshot from yours truly."

Pain cut through Jason's heart. "No," he whispered.

"I'm sorry I shot your partner. But it was either her or me….She'd only get in the way of what we need to do." Elena crouched down, balancing with a catlike grace. "If there's any consolation, my dear, I am a good actress. That was my profession before this. But I wanted to follow in my Papa's footsteps, so I went into the security service. My father's protégé, Zahl, took me under his wing, so to speak."

"Who is your father?" said the prince.

"Max Holt."

"The one who founded the secret police?"

"One and the same. That name doesn't ring a bell for you, Jason?"

"Should it?"

"Well, I don't want to give everything away. We'll have lots of time to get to know each other better."

Elena sat back along the opposite wall among the soldiers. She pulled a bar out of her pack and ate it, ignoring them, for which Jason was grateful. He wished he could shut out the world, go back to sleep, pretend this had never happened. Shame and guilt filled him, along with generous doses of fear, more for James and for Tasha than himself. Perhaps Elena was lying when she said she'd seriously wounded her. Lying was what she was good at, after all.

The helicopter descended. We can't be at Rakima already, can we? thought Jason. Out the window, lights gleamed through the darkness, shining on a large cement building and rows of identical houses. The helicopter landed; two soldiers took Jason, and a soldier and the pilot took James, Elena leading the way. They walked across the grass to the sidewalk; beyond the barbed wire, prisoners in gray uniforms stared at them with dully curious eyes. We're in Zohr, Jason realized.

They yanked Jason inside the building and pushed him down a long hallway. Then they stopped at a vault-like door.

"This one will do," said Elena, her blonde hair blood-red in the lights from the hallway.

They shoved Jason inside. He stumbled, his knees hitting the hard cement. Elena peeked inside the door. "Don't worry, Jason. I'll be back after I take care of some business." She darted back out, and the door clanged shut.

For a moment, Jason just knelt there, unmoving. His whole body felt numb. There was nothing he wanted to do, nowhere he wanted to go. Nothing mattered anymore.

They would probably hurt him. The thought barely registered; he knew he should feel fear, feel something, but right now, he couldn't conjure up the energy to care.

There was a small bunk bed in the room. He gathered his strength and dragged himself over to it, then flopped onto it, and fell asleep.
-

Clang! The door opened and he jumped up, fear pounding through his veins as the dreams from a few seconds ago fled his mind. Three soldiers surged into the room; they grabbed him before he could fully awaken, and shoved him up against the wall. One of them pressed the cold mouth of a pistol to his temple. He froze, wondering if they were going to shoot him after all. Maybe they'd perform a mock execution; he'd heard that was one of the worst types of psychological torture….

They raised his arms above his head and snapped his wrists into manacles on the wall. He pulled against them, but they held him fast, cutting into his skin.

Then the soldiers filed out, as silently as they'd come.

The door creaked open again.

Elena strode inside, regarded him for a few moments as if studying a scientific specimen. He turned away from that gaze, unable to stand the fact that he'd begun to fall for her. He felt nothing but disgust for himself, for being such a hopeless idealist and ineffective agent. If I ever get out of this, thought Jason, I'll probably have to resign. The NSA doesn't want an agent like this on their team. Someone incapable of doing anything more complex than a routine assignment….Maybe I could do a desk job, but that would make me go crazy….Is there really anywhere I fit in? This is the career I've always wanted. Well, not this exactly….

Elena stepped up to him. "So, Jason, do you want to pick up where we left off?"

"Where was that?"

She grasped the back of his neck. He pulled away, his head smacking against the wall; she forced him down, crushing her lips against his. Her kiss built in intensity; he didn't really know what to do about it—there was nowhere he could escape to. The only thing he could settle for was not responding. Why would she even want to kiss him now? Wasn't the act over? What made her think that he could possibly like her anymore?

She stepped back. "Well, you're not nearly as satisfying as normal. Not that you ever were. As far as kisses go, well, let's just say I've had better." She smiled. "It was a fun game to play, though. Teasing you along, tempting you, pretending I was this sweet little damsel in distress….It put my skills to the test, playing a character that's so different from myself. Then again, I just had to send a smile your way, and you melted." She leaned toward him again; he turned away, and she kissed his cheek. "You really are such a boy, in more ways than one. Your recklessness, your naivety—you're an adorable little thing. But never to be confused with a real man." She whispered in his ear, "It's almost a mercy that I caught you, breaking the delusion you could be any sort of effective agent whatsoever." She laughed, the sound ringing through the cell.

Each of her words cut him to the heart. He knew they were true. He could never have been a good agent; he'd tricked himself into believing this was the path for him to take. Maybe it was good that he'd been captured; it would have happened sooner or later, anyway.

"Where is James?" asked Jason.

"Oh, we're giving him the best of our hospitality."

"Don't you hurt him."

"And what will you do about it? We can do whatever we want with you; he's in the same predicament. There's no one coming to rescue you, Jason; you might as well resign yourself to that fact. I'm thinking maybe I'll keep interrogating you personally; I know your weaknesses after all.

"But all in good time. Before I leave, I want to tell you a story."

She stepped back, her eyes glinting with a faraway light. "Once upon a time, there was a spoiled young prince. His father had died not long before, and the prince was due for his coronation. Erik Von Warberg and my father felt that this was not the kind of man they wanted to lead their country. So they arranged for an…accident, shall we say, which would make the prince miss his coronation—permanently. But when the plane went down, the prince survived, although he was unconscious, and unable to attend his coronation—almost as good of a situation as if he had died. We could show how little the spoiled prince cared about his country, and the man more suited for the job would take power. But it just so happened that a young American discovered the plane, along with two supporters of the monarchy, Doctor Munroe and General Farnham. This young man happened to look exactly like the prince. The three of them cooked up a scheme in which the young man would take the place of the prince during the coronation, thus ensuring the king would then assume the throne.

"So, the coronation went forward, and the conspirators thought they'd gotten away with it. But my father suspected something was wrong, and he headed to the crash site. Not far away, he found a cabin with the prince, the impostor, Munroe and Farnham. He and Erik tried to arrest them, but the young man attacked my father. He raced out the door and escaped; Erik was not so fortunate, for he was captured and put in prison. My father, on the other hand….perhaps he was the less fortunate one. General Farnham hunted him relentlessly, never giving him a moment's peace. He developed pneumonia on his journey. He was only able to return after Erik came into power, and built the security service into the efficient machine it is today. But he was always susceptible to lung disease. He worked harder than anyone in the country, and he ignored his illness until he was coughing up blood.

"On his deathbed, he made me vow that the ones who had forced him into exile would pay. The king, Doctor Munroe, and Farnham were dead by then, so that only left one person." She looked at Jason meaningfully.

"You mean—my father? But it wasn't his fault. If anything, it was your father's fault—"

She held up her index finger. "You don't want to say a word against my father, Jason. It would not be wise when I have you in my power."

"But…why would he ask a little girl to do that? You must have been, what, twelve?"

"I was thirteen. It's because he trusted me more than any of his sons and daughters, even though I was the youngest. But I forgot his request until a few years ago, when Zahl noticed my talents before I did myself. Now I get to follow in my father's footsteps. Get revenge for what happened to him."

"So this is about revenge?"

She shrugged. "Partly, yes. Since your father's still in America, you're the next best thing. But it's mostly about my country. And I want to know that my Papa would be proud of what I've accomplished." She ran her hand down Jason's face again, as if memorizing his features. "You look so much like the prince…and so much like the king—and your father. What would he think of you, Jason? Your father helped put a king on the throne. You helped bring a king into the hands of his enemies. It will be enough of a punishment for him to find out how much of a failure his son was before he died." She gave him a little dimpled smile. Then, she stepped out of the room and turned out the light, leaving him in darkness.

A few minutes—or hours—later, a man walked in, followed by an entourage of soldiers. The light clicked on, flooding Jason's eyes, blinding him.

"Hello, Jason," said a familiar voice. Zahl. "It's good to see you again."

[Ameraka]

Tasha came to a halt, and leaned her palm against a tree, her lungs aching from running almost an hour nonstop. She sank to the ground. Her arm throbbed with a deep, piercing pain; she didn't know if she could keep running. At the moment, she couldn't even move.

As soon as her breathing slowed, she gathered up the strength to prop herself up against the tree and dig some aspirin out of her pack. She popped three pills into her mouth and swallowed them with a sip of water. She took another long drink, and then twisted the cap back on the bottle again.

Searchlights flashed through the woods behind her, but she'd made it through the border fence, dodging guards. She was back in Muldavia; that gave her some comfort. She was in the same country as Jason, at least.

I can't just sit here—even now, they could be trying to wring the information out of him. I don't know how long he can hold out; we trained for this, but what they put us through was mild compared to the lengths the enemy can go.

An image flashed through her mind of Jason, lying in a cell, surrounded by enemies hurting him—she shuddered, and cut the thought from her mind. But it gave her motivation enough to push herself to her feet and head down the mountain.

Something glinted through the trees. She crept toward it; it was the car she'd borrowed a few days ago and had to abandon. Elation flooded her. What were the chances the car would still be here? It was pushed off the side of the road, halfway in the ditch. She climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over a few times before it rumbled to life. "Thank you, car," she said, and patted the dashboard. Then, keeping the headlights off, she drove down the road, heading toward the capital.

Driving sent shooting pains through her arm, but it was better than running through the woods. At that rate, it would have taken her days to get to Rakima, if it wouldn't have killed her first.

She realized she should at least try to return this car to Elsa and Ezra. It would mean that she might not have transportation to Rakima, but maybe they'd allow her to take it anyway. She couldn't just assume they would give it to her, though.

She drove down the winding road, then out onto the plain. It took all her concentration to stay focused; she'd lost a lot of blood, and running to the border hadn't helped. Whenever she caught her mind drifting, she'd snap herself out of it, only to wonder how she could possibly rescue Jason and James in her condition.

After about an hour, she pulled up in the driveway of the farmhouse. Maybe I shouldn't be here, she thought. In any case, I probably shouldn't wake them in the middle of the night. But if I wait until morning, it might be too late!

They'll probably keep Jason alive, at least for a while, she told herself. But by that time, he might have given away the location of the transmitter.

Do I really think so little of him that I don't think he could hold out for one night? Maybe he can, maybe he can't, but at this point, salvaging the mission means less than saving Jason.

She got out of the car, crept up the steps, and knocked on the door. Just as she did, a car rolled into the driveway. She climbed over the stair railing and flattened against the side of the house. As the man got out of the car and walked down the sidewalk, she realized it was Jensen.

She stepped forward; he drew his gun.

"Wait!" she said. "It's Tasha."

"Tasha! You were not captured with the others?"

"You know they were captured?"

"Just before I left Zohr, a helicopter came with two prisoners. I only saw one of them; they said he was one of the fugitives."

"Who was it?"

"I think they said his name was Jason."

"Was he all right?"

"He was limping, but he did not look as bad as most prisoners when they come to Zohr."

Relief filled her, though she knew his reprieve was probably short-lived. "You didn't see the other man?"

"I thought the other was a woman."

"No—the woman ended up being a traitor. It's a long story. But the man—he's the king."

"He's the king? Do you mean the king? I thought he had died as a baby."

"No, he's alive! He's been living in Czechoslovakia—but now they're probably going to kill him. We don't have much time left."

"We have to get him out of there."

"We—?"

"I work at Zohr. There has to be a way to use that to my advantage." A hard racking cough seized him.

"Are you all right?" She grasped his arm, helped him to the steps. She sat down beside him, her head spinning. How are we going to do anything, in our condition? she wondered. She didn't know if she could gather the energy to stand up again, let alone infiltrate a prison camp.

His coughing subsided; he sat there for a moment, looking off into the distance. The lights of the town twinkled in the distance like stars.

Jensen pushed himself to his feet, grasping the railing. "Come on in," he said. "You can get some rest before we figure out what to do next."

Tasha followed him into the kitchen. He led the way through the dining room to the stairway. "You can sleep in my room if you like. I'll sleep on the couch."

She shook her head. "I couldn't impose. I'll just take the couch."

He hesitated, then nodded and climbed the stairs. Tasha stepped into the living room and flopped down onto the large, puffy couch. She buried her head in the pillow, drew the afghan over her, and drifted off to sleep.

She shot awake. A clock ticked into the silence; dreams still clung to her mind. When she tried to recall them they fled, like a star that dims when you look at it directly. The only thing she remembered about them was that she'd been trying to rescue Jason.

Her arm throbbed. She took some more aspirin and drank the rest of the water from her water bottle, then devoured the last of the bread from in the pack.

Footsteps creaked down the stairs. Tasha froze, not knowing who it would be.

A tall, thin silhouette. Jensen. "I cannot sleep," he said, "knowing that your friend and the prince are still inside Zohr."

"I can't sleep either," said Tasha, feeling guilty that she had slept, at least for a little while.

"I think I have a plan," he said.

He told her that he would give her his spare uniform, and take her to Zohr when he went to work in the morning. They'd create a distraction—he was fuzzy on what it would be at this point—and she'd sneak inside. After they found James and Jason, they'd get them out by pretending they were transferring the prisoners. Tasha wasn't too sure about his plan, but she didn't have many alternatives. As for distractions—"We could make a bomb," she said.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he said.

"You're in the wrong profession, then. You've got to think of them as the enemy."

"But if there's a serious emergency, there will be a lockdown. We don't want anyone looking too closely at us."

"That makes sense. Well, maybe we could make a smoke bomb."

"That might work, although we will have to time it perfectly."

Jensen gathered some garden fertilizer from the barn, and they poured some into hot water, boiling it down to get white residue of potassium nitrate. Then they mixed it in with sugar, heating it slowly until it was the consistency of peanut butter. During their preparations, Tasha explained what had happened —escaping to Czechoslovakia, finding the prince, and Elena's betrayal.

More footsteps creaked down the stairs. A white-robed form dashed into the kitchen, long red hair streaking behind her. "Jen!" The girl ran to him and wrapped her arms around him, letting out a steady stream of Muldavian words. Her eyes caught Tasha's.

"Hi," she said. "What are you making?"

"We should not tell you," said Jensen. "If things go wrong—"

"Tell me!"

He lifted her by the waist, kissed her cheek. "Lara, if I can't resist your questions, I won't be able to resist others with more…persuasive methods."

Lara stirred the nitrate/sugar mixture, and then helped pour it into a cardboard container. Tasha added the fuse. Jensen went upstairs to get the spare uniform while Lara sat with Tasha in the living room.

"Are you going to go on a secret mission with my brother?" said Lara.

"I suppose you could say that. But your brother's right—you shouldn't know any more about it than you have to."

"I want to go with you." Her pale face was filled with eagerness.

"Your parents wouldn't like that," said Tasha.

"I want to do something that will help the resistance."

"You know about the resistance?"

"Yes. But Mama and Pa think it's too dangerous to join."

Jensen came back downstairs with a uniform slung over his arm. "It is too dangerous—for an eleven-year-old girl, anyway. But if we can get the king on the throne, it will soon become safe for everyone."

"It won't happen overnight," said Tasha.

His eyes flashed. "I know that. But I am tired of watching bad things happen, and doing nothing about it. Even if I am the only one, I am going to stand by my king. Even if it means my death."

Lara jumped up from the couch, hugged Jensen around the waist. "Please, please come back," she said.

He stroked her hair, but didn't reply, his face grim.

Tasha went into the bathroom and pulled on the tan Muldavian uniform. It was too big for her, but if people didn't look too closely, she might be able to pass for a soldier. She looked in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ear, and stood tall and straight. I could have been a soldier, she thought, like my father and my brother. Order, discipline, working together in unity—But I think the life I want is the life I've chosen. Despite all that's happened, one thing I know: I was born to be a spy.

She gave herself a smile in the mirror, breaking her solemn expression. Adrenaline surged through her; the pain was gone for the moment. Maybe this will work, she thought. Tugging her soldier persona back on, she marched back into the living room, where Jensen saluted her.

He taught her how a Muldavian salute differed subtly from an American one, gave her some basic protocol to follow in case she was stopped, and some short Muldavian phrases. She tried them out; he said, "Very good! Most of the time you can speak English, but you need to lose the American accent."

She laughed. "I thought it was you that had the accent," she said with a Muldavian tone to her voice, and Lara and Jensen laughed.

"You almost have it," he said. "We will turn you into one of us yet."

Ezra and Elsa came downstairs in their dressing gowns and asked what the commotion was. Tasha told them about her escape, and about the king; she left Jensen the task of telling them—or not telling them—what they planned. She would ask to re-borrow their car if—when—she got back.

By this time, the sun was peeking over the horizon. Elsa went to fix breakfast, while Ezra went out to do some chores. After half an hour, Tasha sat at the table with the family, eggs and bacon on her plate. The food replenished her strength like nothing else; even though she'd only gotten several hours of sleep, she felt like she could face anything that came next.

At about 7:00, Tasha said goodbye to Elsa, Ezra and Lara, and climbed into Jensen's blue two-door car. They raced off toward Zohr with the smoke bomb in her pack.

After half an hour, near the western hills, a huge cement building loomed up ahead, surrounded by barbed wire.

At the gate, Jensen saluted and handed over his ID; the guard nodded. Tasha gave a salute, heart pounding. Thankfully he didn't ask for her ID; he just waved them on.

Jensen pulled up in the large parking lot. She handed him the smoke-bomb, and then followed him toward the building. Along the sidewalk, prisoners milled around, some of them standing close to the barbed wire fence. A young mother held her baby girl; she looked terribly thin, with huge, sad eyes that drank in the world. Tasha longed to reach out for her, help her somehow. She raised a hand toward the fence; the baby's fingers brushed hers—

"Tasha!" said Jensen. "You can't show that you're sympathetic."

It wrenched her heart to tear away, but she did, hoping against hope that what she did here would help somehow in the long run.

They neared the staircase. On the landing at the top, two guards stood, rifles at their sides. Jensen put the smoke-bomb behind his back, and Tasha touched a lighter to the fuse. Then, he dropped the bomb to the grass, and as he ascended the stairs, Tasha kicked it gently to the side, next to the barbed wire. She went up the stairs after him, forcing herself to stay focused, not give into fear.

She stood behind Jensen as the soldiers checked his ID; he spoke to them in Muldavian. Then he turned and said, "What's that?" Beside the stairway, smoke was billowing, sending a burning smell into the air. The guards dashed forward, and Tasha dodged them, entering the building.

Inside, her footsteps echoed down the hallway, as if she were walking into a mausoleum. A soldier rounded the corner; her heart froze, but she forced herself to keep going. He saluted; she saluted back, and he passed her without a second glance. She took a deep breath, and headed toward the next cellblock, where Jensen had said he'd seen Jason.

She turned a corner to another long row of identical cells, and peered into the windows in each of the vault-like doors.

Despair tugged at her heart as she neared the end of the hallway without finding him. Perhaps they'd taken him to another part of the building. They'd have kept him alive this long; she had to hold onto that hope.

She peeked into the final cell. At first, she could not see anyone, but then she realized someone was standing along the wall, shackled to it. It could be Jason, by the look of his green shirt and disheveled brown hair.

She fumbled for the key Jensen had given her, and twisted it in the lock.

Jason looked up when she entered, pressing back against the wall as if in fear. Then his eyes lit up. "Tasha?" he said.

"Jason. I'm here." She pressed her hand to his face, her palm cradling his chin. She wanted to smother him in kisses, but thankfully restrained herself. "I'm going to get you out of here." She unlocked the metal cuffs and he brought his arms down with a gasp of pain. His wrists were raw and bloody; other than that, she didn't see a mark on him, which filled her with relief. She'd gotten to him before they started their interrogation, at least.

"How did you get in here?" he said.

"I've got a friend on the inside. How have they been treating you?"

"They haven't given me anything to eat or drink—I've been cuffed to the wall for hours—other than that, I'm fine."

She searched his eyes; she wasn't sure he was telling the whole truth, for there was a shadow in them she hadn't seen before.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

"You get no argument from me," he said. "We have to get James first, though."

"Jensen is going to find him. I've got you, Jason. We're getting out." She put her shoulder under his arm to support him, and stepped toward the door.

Just then, the door swung open. Tasha backed up, shielding Jason with her body.

Soldiers crowded inside, rifles aimed at her heart.

[~Cowgirl Forever~]

Another great chapter!

[Ameraka]

Warning: this chapter may be too intense for younger listeners.

Chapter 22


Zahl stepped into Jason's cell, Elena at his side. "That was a clever diversion," said Zahl. "But not clever enough. You are no match for our efficiency, I'm afraid."

"Hello, Tasha," said Elena. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it to the party. You're more resourceful than I thought." She touched Tasha's shoulder; Tasha gasped, as if in pain, and grabbed Elena's wrist, forcing her toward the ground.

"You shouldn't underestimate me," said Tasha. Elena twisted out of Tasha's grip, and slammed a fist into Tasha's face.

Jason leaped forward, caught Tasha in his arms. "Don't you touch her!"

Tasha stood. "I'm fine, Jason." She wiped blood off of her lips, her eyes smoldering as she looked at Elena.

Zahl motioned the soldiers to lower their rifles. "The Premier would like to have a word with you both." He snapped his fingers. "Bring them." Two soldiers grabbed Jason's arms, forced him to his knees, and shoved cold steel against his already damaged wrists, pain stabbing through them.

Beside him, they handcuffed Tasha, and then dragged them out into the hallway.

"I'm sorry," said Tasha, catching Jason's eyes.

"For what?"

"For failing." Her voice caught; she looked away.

"You did more than I could have thought possible," he said. Jason was far from glad that Tasha had been captured, but at the same time, her presence lifted his spirits. Something in him needed her by his side; he didn't feel complete without her.

It felt strange to admit that, but he couldn't help what he felt. Perhaps, now that he was facing torture and death, he was thinking more clearly than he ever had.

Zahl and Elena led them outside to a helicopter. The prince was already handcuffed inside. As the soldiers cuffed Tasha and Jason to the wall, he said, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Tasha, swiping a loose strand of hair away from her face.

Jason nodded. "What about you?" Now that he was packed in beside Tasha, he could see that James had had a rougher time in Zohr than he had. A bruise marred his face and blood trickled down his chin; his shirt was torn in several places, revealing various cuts and bruises. The cut on his ribs looked especially bad, and they hadn't bothered to bind it up.

James gave a wry, sad smile. "I think they have been waiting a long time to get their hands on me."

Jason felt somewhat guilty; he'd been expecting to get interrogated, but all Zahl had done after he'd arrived was give him a tour around Zohr, and then handcuffed him back in his cell. He hadn't seen James at all during that time; now he knew at least some of what he'd gone through.

I'll probably get my turn, Jason thought. I'm not especially eager for that—but if there's a way to somehow draw their attention away from the prince, I'll do it. Even if it means….he shuddered. He'd never been one to shrink from danger, but to be vulnerable, bound beneath the merciless gaze of Zahl and Elena—especially Elena….He dreaded every time she caught his eyes, as if her vision pierced straight to his soul. She had totally undone him; he had no defense against her. The most he could do was try to avoid her as much as possible, which was hard to do when she was just a few feet away.

Elena climbed into the back with two soldiers; Zahl climbed into the cockpit and slammed the door. Above the roar of the blades, Elena said, "We should be in Rakima within the hour. Von Warberg wants to meet face to face the American spies who tried to disrupt our country, but I doubt we'll start your interrogation in earnest until after the execution."

Jason's heart jumped. "Execution?"

"Yes. We are going to make sure once and for all that the royal bloodline is cut off. Unless you have a son or daughter you haven't told us about." She looked at James.

James shook his head. "My life hasn't exactly been conducive to settling down with someone."

"And I doubt you'd have a child unless you could settle down. You're not the type. Still….one can never be too careful. Maybe we should postpone the execution until we know if you have a hidden heir somewhere."

"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"No, I suppose not. Well, the people will be expecting an execution, and so we need to give them what they want."

"Not all of them want an execution," said Jason.

"A minority, maybe. The majority know that the monarchy is a poison that must be counteracted before our country can fully recover from the maladies of the past."

"You're the ones that have made this country sick," said Jason. "If the majority wants this, it's because you've blinded them to the truth."

Elena knelt on the floor. "So you really think this prince can revive the country? Look at him. He's a backwoodsman with no comprehension of what it's like to be royalty. He's not capable of leading much of anything."

"I think there is more to him than meets the eye," said Tasha. "Besides, if he's not a threat, why bother killing him at all?"

"Because he's a symbol. As long as he's alive, some will harbor hope that the monarchy will return and take them back to the 'good old days'." But if we destroy that hope—by displaying the death of that hope before millions—then it will be crushed completely."

"When is the…execution scheduled?" said Jason.

"Just before sunset, the entire country will witness the death of a symbol. It might not be so bad, prince. If your beliefs are true, you will soon be reunited with your parents again." She turned to Jason. "Then, after we get that over with, I'll start on your interrogation. I think I know what approach I'll take." She touched his face; he flinched away, but she grabbed his chin, her nails digging into it. "You know, Jason, I would have had your secrets by a much more pleasant method. Just a few more days, and you would have revealed to me your espionage. But then, the discovery of the prince took priority. I couldn't take the chance that he might escape, so I had to cut my operation short to bring him in.

"But now, perhaps we can continue our little line of conversation. We could go back to the illusion that we loved each other; wouldn't that be nice? At least for a little while."

"Why don't you just leave him alone?" said Tasha.

"Don't think that I haven't noticed the way that you look at him, Tasha."

"I—"

"You can't deny it, can you? I targeted Jason because he was the weak link—also because I doubt some of my best skills would work on you." She smiled. "But perhaps you too have a weakness beneath that ostensible armor. If I put pressure on him, how much could you stand before you would give in to our questions? It will be an interesting experiment to see who breaks first. I'm still betting on Jason here." She slipped her fingers into Jason's hair, and kissed him. He struggled away from her grasp; she laughed, and sat back, still gazing at him with a mocking smile. The only way to avoid her was to close his eyes. He leaned his head back against the wall of the helicopter, and shut out the world, all the way to the capital.

The helicopter jolted to a stop in a large courtyard, sidewalks converging in the center, statues and manicured bushes lining the walls of the huge brick building.

The soldiers pulled Jason out of the helicopter as more tan-uniformed soldiers converged on them. Two of them yanked him into the center of about twenty soldiers, and forced him to march toward the door.

Inside, they brought him up a flight of stairs, down a long hallway to a room with a red carpet leading to a throne-like chair. They forced Jason to his knees, James beside him, Tasha on the other side of James.

Jason's heart thumped against his chest; he had an idea why they'd stopped here. His wrists throbbed almost unbearably, but he tried to think of something, anything to distract himself from the pain. He followed the red veins of the marble as they swirled through the cream of the floor, rather like raspberry ripple ice cream…Maybe they'll ask me about that, he thought. Do what they like with me, they're not getting my dad's recipe for raspberry ripple….

A door slammed open. Footsteps marched forward. The rich red curtain swished open, and a man stepped through, seven soldiers like an honor guard behind him.

He stood for a moment, one hand behind his back, one hand rubbing his beard. He wore a white suit with a gold-trimmed red sash, and medals glinted on his chest.

Von Warberg.

Yes, thought Jason, I'm sure you deserve all those medals and they aren't just for show. He could have said it aloud, but it wouldn't do him or his companions any favors.

Von Warberg paced from the left end of the line, paused at Jason. Cold gray eyes looked down at him from beneath heavy well-defined eyebrows, an aquiline nose above thin, sardonic lips.

His hand flipped from behind his back, revealing an ornately carved cane. He thrust its cold tip beneath Jason's chin, forcing his face upwards. "Who is this?" he said.

"This is Jason Whittaker, sir," said Elena.

Von Warberg's lips twisted into a smile. "Ah. So he is the son of the impostor. I can see the resemblance to the late king."

His boots clicked forward on the marble. "And this must be the prince." He stuck his cane beneath James' chin. "He does resemble the spy. Very interesting." His eyes flicked back to catch Jason's; Jason's gaze fell back to the floor. Von Warberg stopped in front of Tasha. "And who is this?" He leaned down to look at her. Tasha glared back at him.

"This is Tasha Forbes," said Zahl. "The other spy."

"Tasha. She is quite lovely." He cupped her chin in his hand; she jerked her head away, and spat in his face.

Von Warberg reeled back, whipped out a handkerchief and wiped off his face. He lurched toward her, raising his cane—

Jason leaped to his feet. Soldiers grabbed his arms, forced him back to his knees; Von Warberg laughed, the sound ringing through the huge room. He stepped over to Jason, smirking down at him.

"So, you do not want to see her hurt? Would you rather bear the burden for her transgressions?"

Jason nodded. It had come to that, then. He braced for the impact of the cane, for agony to slice through him.

Instead, Von Warberg laughed, a low, amused chuckle. "Such a noble boy. Let me show you where nobility gets you."

He stepped back over to Tasha, and swung the cane into her face. She collapsed to the floor and Von Warberg kicked her in the side. She tried to struggle up on her hands and knees; he slammed his cane down onto her back.

She did not even cry out. Her silence cut straight into Jason's heart. Pushing through his state of shock, he climbed to his feet, only to have the soldiers shove him down until his cheek rested on the cold marble. A heel ground into his back but he barely felt it as the cane came down on Tasha's shoulders.

Please, please stop, thought Jason.

"Please," said James beside him. "Don't hurt her. Do what you want with me—just let them go."

Von Warberg stepped back. "Let them go?" he said. "We need vital information from them. You have no conception of what it takes to run a country—and that is something you will never have the chance to discover. You do not even deserve the title of prince, such as it is. But if you are looking for pain, perhaps we should accommodate you." He gave a quick nod.

They pulled him to his feet, and two held him while another punched him in the face again and again. Blood spattered onto the marble.

"That's enough," said Von Warberg. "We don't want to stain the floor. Why don't you take them to Aleem Center. I will join you there as soon as I take care of a few matters."

"Of course, sir," said Zahl.

"Well done, Zahl. This could have been a disaster, but you have turned it into a triumph. We have a wealth of information at our fingertips, and we have the long-lost prince in our hands." He smiled, pivoted on his heel, and disappeared beyond the red curtain.

Tasha groaned from the floor. Jason tried to crawl over to her, but the soldiers grabbed him and carried him out of the room. They took him down some stairs to a long, dark passageway, and then through another door. Light struck his eyes; when his vision adjusted, he saw rows of steel doors lining a broad bright courtyard.

Aleem Center. Or, as Munroe had called it, Saldenz—the Slaughterhouse.

They threw Jason in a cell, James collapsing beside him, barely conscious. Jason caught just a glimpse of Tasha's dark hair as they carried her away, then the door shut, plunging him into darkness.

[Ameraka]

Oh-kay, well I am not sure if anyone is reading this anymore, but I am posting it anyway.

Chapter 23


It's my fault, thought Jason. The words stabbed through his mind; he couldn't stop thinking them, even if he'd wanted to. I got us into this. I shouldn't have acted rashly—I shouldn't have leaped in there and helped that man, no matter how much I wanted to. It probably only made it worse for him anyway.

He leaned back against the cold cement wall. Beside him, James breathed evenly. He must have lapsed into unconsciousness.

Jason wished for the same; he wanted to shut out these thoughts that tormented him. Why had they left him alone, relatively unscathed?

He shouldn't have let on that he would rather they attack him instead of Tasha. But what else could he do? Show that nothing they did to her or him would faze him? Thanks to Elena, they already knew he was not that type of agent. She saw right through him and knew that he was weak, not capable of being a competent agent, much less a good one.

There has to be a way to draw them away from her. If it's the only time I can find that kind of strength within myself, this is the time that it counts. If it means saving her—I need that kind of strength. Please, God, please, give me the strength to bear it when the time comes. For Tasha's sake.

He curled up on the floor and tried to get some sleep, some sort of escape from the voice that haunted his mind.
-

Pain sliced through Tasha's arm as the knife burrowed into the bullet wound in her shoulder. She shut her eyes, concentrating on her breathing, keeping from making a sound. I can't give them the satisfaction, she thought. I can't let them see that any of this is affecting me. If I show any weakness, then they'll attack even more, and I'll have lost. It will be the first step toward giving in. I've got to hold out as long as—as long as—

An involuntary cry escaped her lips as the soldier stabbed the knife into the soft flesh to the right of her shoulder.

"Tell me who helped you," said Zahl, his form silhouetted against the light, wavering in the haze that enveloped Tasha's pain-wracked mind. "Who was the soldier who gave you the uniform? How did you get inside Zohr?"

She shook her head, though the movement made her stomach lurch. She was not going to betray Jensen and his family, no matter what they did to her.

"We will find out eventually; it's only a matter of time before our investigation reveals the traitor. But if you speak, you will make it easier on him."

He's lying, she thought. It's just a ploy to get me to tell; they'd be just as hard on him as they are on me. At least I know they haven't found him out yet.

Holding the bloody knife, the soldier stepped back to make way for Zahl. "Well then. This is just the...prelude, shall we say. We've not even scratched the surface of what we are capable of. You know you will give in eventually. Why not just tell us, and avoid needless pain? You are a pretty girl. It would be a shame to damage your beauty permanently, mangle your features until you are unrecognizable." He brushed her face with his gloved hand, the leather scraping the cut across her cheek. "You will already have a scar there, I think." He took the knife from the soldier, and slid its cold edge along her other cheek, down her chin, along her neck. The blade pricked into the skin along her collarbone, then sliced through the collar of her shirt. "You do not even want to know the ways we could damage you," he said.

Fear shivered through her, but at the same time, she wanted to spit into Zahl's face, like she had with Von Warberg. She wanted them to know that she would remain defiant. Nothing they could do would break her. I have to be strong, she thought. For the sake of my country.

"But all in good time," said Zahl, withdrawing the knife. "Take her to the cell."

They unlocked her manacles from the wall, and two soldiers carried her out of the interrogation room, down the hallway to another room. They opened the door, and threw her into darkness.

"Tasha!" said Jason. Warmth flooded her when she realized she was not alone. His hand found hers; he helped her to a sitting position against the wall.

"Are you all right?" said Jason.

"More or less," she said. Pain throbbed through her shoulder, along her arm, down her back where the cane had hit, her stomach, her cheek; but she would rather he didn't know, as long as they were in the dark at least.

"What happened?" he said.

"They just asked me some questions."

"Just?"

"Jason, I'm fine."

"What Von Warberg did to you—I'm sorry—"

"It's not your fault."

"I should have been the one to take it for you."

"Your chivalry is touching, Jason, but it's not necessary. Besides, I can take it just as well as you, if not better."

"You probably are stronger. It's just that I can't—"

"Can't what?"

"Can't stand seeing them…hurt you."

"It would be the same way if our positions were reversed. But we can't let it get to us. We've got to keep in mind that the mission is everything. Do you understand me, Jason? No matter what they do to either of us, we have to stay strong. I would rather die than know that you had betrayed the mission for my sake. Our country is counting on us. It doesn't matter what happens to me, or to you, in the grand scheme of things. We have to think this way, or we won't survive. You can be strong, for me, can't you?"

"I can," he said.

"Good. Then let's get some sleep." She curled up on the floor, pain shooting through her back and her arm as she did so. But she tried to ignore it—think of something, anything—so she could immerse in oblivion, at least for a little while.

She thought of her parents' beach house in Virginia, the waves lapping on the shore…it didn't work. She tried in vain to get in a comfortable position; everything hurt too much.

Jason lay down beside her. The warmth of his hand met hers, comforting her. Soon sleep locked her in its dark embrace.

The light flicked on, waking her. Her whole body burned with a deep, throbbing ache. She didn't want to move; she knew that that would make it hurt even more.

A hand unlaced gently from hers; she realized that it had been Jason, still lying beside her.

"James," said Jason in a low, alarmed voice. "Are you awake?"

Someone stirred close to the wall. "I am."

"It's Tasha. They—"

James cleared his throat. "She needs medical attention." There was a ripping sound. "But this is the best we can do."

Tasha felt someone lifting her arm; a cloth wrapped around her shoulder. She gasped as it pressed against her wound.

She struggled to sit up; Jason assisted her, and she sat back against the wall. "I'm sorry," said Jason.

"That's all right. I should have done it myself, but—"

"You should have told me. I had no idea—"

"It's not your fault. Thank you. And you too, James." She noticed that the bottom of his shirt was torn off.

He shrugged. "This shirt was too far gone anyway." James had a black eye and the whole left half of his face looked swollen, the skin broken over his cheekbone.

"Are you all right?" she said. "You probably need as much medical attention as I do."

"I—well, there is no use pretending I'm fine. My head feels like it's going to explode, and my side feels like there's glass embedded in it—"

"Maybe there is. Let me see." She crawled over to him, lifted his shirt where a bloody slash ripped through it. "This might hurt, James."

"I'm used to that by now." He gave a small smile.

She pressed her fingers gently into the cut, feeling around for any debris. He gasped, but held still, breathing hard.

She withdrew her bloody fingers. "Nothing that I could find. But you've lost a lot of blood. We should bind it up so it won't get infected. Jason—"

"What?"

"Your shirt's in better shape than his."

"Oh. Of course." Jason ripped through a tear along its edge, and handed the ragged cloth to Tasha, who proceeded to wrap it around James' ribs.

"Thank you," he said. "I doubt it will matter much longer, though."

"What do you mean?" said Tasha, though she had an idea.

"The execution."

"Listen, James. Don't give up hope yet. You never know what will happen until…it happens."

James' brow furrowed. Tasha looked at Jason, who looked at her quizzically. "Do you think we can get out?" he said.

"I don't know. It doesn't look very good for us. But what good will it do to just give up? If we do, they'll have won. If there's even the smallest chance we can escape, we have to take it. Especially with what's at stake." She looked at James.

"Please—don't risk your lives for me."

"We're going to risk our lives anyway. It might as well be for you. From what I've seen, you're worth fighting for."

He laughed. "I'm not sure that I see what you see in me. But perhaps I will trust your judgment."

"It's not just for you, either, you know. It's for your country."

James nodded, a spark of hope in his eyes.

"How are we going to do it?" said Jason, leaning forward.

Just then, the door swung open. Soldiers grabbed Tasha, not taking particular care with her injured arm.

They dragged Tasha, Jason and James down the hallway to the main courtyard, where about fifty chairs were set up. People sat in them—thin, with ragged clothing. Prisoners. Around them stood soldiers at attention, pistols in their hands as if ready to shoot them at a moment's notice. They took Tasha and Jason to the front row, where Von Warberg sat surrounded by ten of his special guard, and shoved Tasha next to them. They pushed Jason into a chair on the other side of Elena, at the very end of the row. They shoved James up against the wall, and locked the handcuffs on the wall around his wrists.

Zahl stood in the space between the wall and the chairs, flanked by four soldiers. "We have brought you here today to witness the preview of the attraction that will occur in the center square tonight. But since you are unable to attend, I have arranged for you to have a special showing." He smirked. "You may or may not have been aware of recent events. Some of you have harbored the hope that the heir to the throne will be found. Well, you were right! He is here in our midst. And he is every inch the majestic and powerful savior you have imagined." He gestured to James. James was tall, powerfully built, but at the moment, shackled to the wall, he didn't look very powerful. And with his bruised, beaten face, he looked anything but triumphant.

Tasha's stomach twisted at the cruel mockery, knowing only that it was a taste of what was to come.

If only we could have discussed a plan, she thought. If only we'd had a little more time—

A soldier withdrew a knife from his belt. He sliced through the center of James' shirt, then ripped its remains off of him and threw it to the ground, revealing the cuts and bruises already scattered across his torso. Then the soldier cut off the makeshift bandage Tasha had bound there just minutes earlier. That didn't last long, she thought. It might not have helped much physically, but I only hope that what I did will help him through what's to come, show him that at least some of us stand by him, even to the end.

Tasha tried to catch his eyes, but they were fixed on the ground, as if in shame.

"Let's pay homage to our long-lost king, shall we?" said Zahl. "I'm sure he would like us to show him the respect he deserves." He slammed his fist into James' stomach. James doubled over, though the handcuffs kept him halfway upright. "Or, perhaps there is someone in the room who deserves more respect than you, prince. Perhaps you should bow to him. He has, after all, been leading this country in your absence. He deserves a little consideration."

Von Warberg chuckled, low and amused. Disgust filled Tasha.

"So bow, my liege." He punched James in the stomach again. "I said, bow!" Zahl grabbed James by the hair, forced him to lean forward. His arms strained against the handcuffs; Zahl jabbed his elbow into the prince's back, then kneed him in the stomach. Blood trickled down one arm where the cuff must have cut into his wrist.

Tasha wished she could turn away—she hated watching anyone get tortured, and James did not deserve one bit of it. But to turn away was to avoid it—and that was something James could not do. She was going to face it with him, as much as she could. And somehow let him know she was with him, in spirit.

"Not good enough," said Zahl. He unlocked the handcuffs from the wall, and pushed James to the floor. James landed on his hands and knees, and tried to get up; Zahl kicked him in the side, and he fell onto his stomach. "Look at your king," said Zahl. "What an awe-inspiring figure he is." Zahl leaned down. Spoke close to James' ear. "I want you to show us that, before you die, you acknowledge Von Warberg as supreme leader—and that you are nothing. Nothing more than dust, as worthless as a parasite." He pressed his boot onto James neck; James gasped for breath.

Tasha rose to her feet. "Stop. You're killing him."

"That's the general idea," said Zahl. "But of course, you're right. It's not quite time yet." He released James, who rolled onto his back, coughing. "Sit down, Tasha. Your turn will come soon enough."

"I want my turn now," she said, still standing. "I want you do give me the treatment that you give him—you have done enough."

"All in good time." He waved his hand dismissively; a soldier came forward and shoved her down into her seat.

"Now, your majesty, I want you to kiss the boots of your master. The one who is superior to you in all respects."

James struggled back to his feet. "I have no master." He held his head high. Despite his battered face, he looked like the proud prince that he was, as if he had gone through a battle, and earned his victory.

Four soldiers grabbed him, forced him back to his knees. One kicked him where the deep cut was. He cried out.

They dragged him forward, tossed him at Von Warberg's feet. Von Warberg smiled smugly; all of this seemed to be his idea of entertainment.

"Kiss his boots," said Zahl, his voice hard, as if giving an order.

"Never."

"Then perhaps you need some more persuasion." The soldiers pulled James to his feet, two held him, while two others converged on him, their fists raised—

"Stop!" said Jason. He stood, slipping back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He looked a lot like James at the moment, the same fierce determination on his face.

"You can do nothing to stop this. Lieutenant—"

A soldier stepped in front of Jason. Grabbed for his arm. Jason lashed out, catching the soldier across the jaw. He staggered back, then recovered, and slammed his fist toward Jason's face. Jason dodged it.

Two more soldiers came forward and grabbed Jason's arms while the other gave him a punch that threw him backwards onto the chair, so he half-landed in Elena's lap. Elena nodded to the soldiers as if to say, I can take it from here.

"All right, let's—" Zahl stopped. Something creaked behind Tasha; she looked where Zahl was looking, and saw two of the prisoners standing. More joined them. Silently they rose, some of them having to hold onto the backs of chairs for support, some of them leaning on others. Men, women, teenagers—all different, but one thing in common: the quiet defiance in their eyes.

They looked like a tide, about to surge forward.

The soldiers surrounding the chairs raised their pistols, aiming them at the prisoners.

Jason sat up. Elena slipped her arm around his possessively; he shoved her away and stood again.

Tasha stood, and stepped over to Jason's side.

A soldier aimed his gun at them.

Tasha whispered into Jason's ear. "Go to Munroe."

He looked at her questioningly.

"Trust me," she said.

Jason nodded.

Just then, a prisoner leaped toward a soldier. A gunshot went off. Tasha used that diversion to leap toward the soldier in front of them. She grabbed his pistol, tried to wrest it from him; Jason added his strength and yanked it away from him.

Tasha pushed the gun into Jason's hand as the room erupted into chaos. More prisoners charged the guards; gunshots went off, prisoners collapsed to the floor.

"Go!" said Tasha.

Jason hesitated for a split second, sadness in his eyes, then he ran toward the door.

A soldier aimed his gun at Jason; Tasha hit him, and the shot hit the ceiling instead. Tasha made a mad grab for his gun, but the soldier was too fast for her. He slammed his pistol into the side of her head; the last thing she saw before unconsciousness took her was Jason silhouetted against the light of the doorway. Then he was gone.

[Blitz]

Hey I am reading. The writing is really good.

[Ameraka]

Thanks Blitz!

Here is the penultimate chapter. (probably)

Chapter 24

Jason tore down the hallway. A guard ran toward him; Jason pulled the trigger and blood blossomed across the guard's chest. Adrenaline surged through his veins, masking the fear he knew he should feel, and the deep wrench of an ache he'd felt when he'd left Tasha.

He ran past the receptionist, her face shocked; she raised the phone to her ear as Jason dashed toward the door. He shot one guard, then the other; one went down, clutching his leg; the other staggered against the doorway, and a gunshot went off.

Fire pierced Jason's shoulder. He nearly fell to his knees, but he forced himself to keep running. Raindrops splashed onto his face as he ran through the central square and pushed into the press of the crowd.

I could hide in the Old Quarter, he thought. But no, that's where Elena hid with me last time. I've got to get to Munroe. But they'll suspect him too—

He ran into a side alley just as a group of soldiers started toward him. He backed against the wall, pain throbbing through his shoulder. His shirt was soaked with blood; he pressed his hand against it. He was already light-headed, and the half-healed gunshot wound in his leg stabbed him with every heartbeat.

As soon as he caught his breath, and then ran down the alley, and another street. A police car appeared; he ducked into a doorway.

A hand grabbed his arm. He tore away, jumped back; but then he saw that it was just a boy, about fifteen, with brown hair and large green eyes. The boy pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for Jason to follow him.

Jason hesitated, then he thought, I couldn't get in any worse trouble than I already have been. If they take me back to prison, at least I'll be with Tasha and James, sharing their fate…

The boy opened the door, looked at Jason expectantly. Jason followed him through a vacant, rather run-down lobby to an elevator.

"What's your name?" said Jason, once the doors closed.

"Josef," said the boy.

"Why are you helping me?"

He shrugged. "Because you need help."

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Everyone is already in trouble." There was a hard look in the boy's eyes that made him seem older than he looked at first glance.

The elevator doors opened on the third floor. Jason followed the boy down the hallway to the third door on the right. Josef unlocked it and led Jason inside to an open living room with old, worn but comfortable-looking furniture.

"You can sit there," said Josef, motioning to a chair.

Jason sat down, leaned his head in his hand. His head was spinning.

"Let me see," said Josef.

Jason rolled up his sleeve, wincing in pain as he did so. He risked a glance at the wound. Despite the blood, it looked pretty clean—just a flesh wound.

Josef pressed a wet cloth on his shoulder, not especially gently. Jason clenched his jaw, fighting the pain.

Josef went back into the kitchen.

"Where are your parents?" asked Jason.

"They went to watch the execution."

"The execution?"

"Everyone within four blocks of the center square is supposed to go to see it."

"Not you?"

"I will go when I'm ready. Not when the soldiers tell me."

Josef came back into the living room with another clean white rag, drenched in alcohol. Jason dreaded this next part, but he steeled himself. Josef pressed it to the bullet wound, then quickly bound his shoulder up with a clean, dry cloth.

"You're good at this," said Jason, sitting back, shoulder throbbing, but relieved the worst of it was over.

"My mother is a nurse," said Josef. "She helps some of the prisoners in Saldenz. I want to be a doctor, so I've gone in to help her. I've seen what they do to people like us."

"Like us?"

"The ones who resist. I want to help as much as I can. Someday, we're going to be free."

"There is a man who can help you become free."

"You?"

Jason laughed, shook his head. "James. The prince."

"So he really is the prince? It's not just for show?"

"We have to rescue him."

"What can I do?"

"Do you have a phone I can use?"

Josef nodded and pointed to the lampstand. Jason picked it up, dialed Munroe's office.

An unfamiliar female voice answered. "Is Munroe there?" Jason asked.

"Just a moment."

A minute ticked by.

"Hello?" said Munroe.

"It's Jason."

"Jason! I heard they'd captured the spies and I thought— Is Tasha all right?"

"No, she's not. They still have her." Jason hated to think of Tasha in there one second longer, surrounded by enemies.

"But you escaped?"

"Yes. Listen. I need to rescue her—but we need to rescue the king first."

"I can hardly believe they actually found the king."

"It's true. You know people in the resistance, right? Can you contact them, ask them to organize something?"

"It's such short notice…"

"Please. You have to try."

"If I am a true patriot, I do. I am just not certain whether it will do any good."

"Is there a place where we can meet?"

"That probably isn't a good idea…."

"Then—maybe you should just pass this on to the resistance. I'll create a diversion long enough for them to get to the king."

"What kind of diversion?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet." Though Jason had an idea….an idea that would probably not end well for him. He didn't want Munroe to know it in case he tried to talk Jason out of it.

"I will. And Jason—"

"Yes?"

"Good luck. I'll see you soon."

"'Bye." Jason hung up. He wasn't even sure if Munroe knew about Elena's betrayal, but now hadn't seemed like the best time to bring it up.

Jason pushed himself to his feet. His head whirled; his injured shoulder and ankle both punished him. Josef came over and grasped his arm for support.

"I'm okay," said Jason, attempting to stand on his own. He had to walk if he was going to do anyone any good. "Do you have a raincoat or an umbrella?"

"A raincoat."

"Could I borrow it?"

"Sure." Josef got a blue raincoat from the closet.

"Perfect," said Jason, putting it on, struggling to shove his injured arm through the sleeve.

Jason headed toward the door, trying to keep his limping to the minimum despite the pain. Josef came with him.

"You should stay here," said Jason.

"I want to help."

"It's too dangerous. I don't want to be responsible for—"

"It's my choice."

"Well, when the time comes, run. Don't let them catch you."

"What are you going to do?"

But Jason didn't answer; he kept walking down the green-carpeted hallway until he reached the elevator. Inside, he leaned back against the wall; he had to conserve energy when he could.

Down in the lobby. Out the door. He flipped the hood up over his head, shadowing his face. Rain splattered onto the coat.

Jason strode down the street. The raincoat fluttered out behind him; he pulled it close, tied the sash tight. He tried to ignore Josef beside him; hoped he'd leave before he got into any real danger.

Jason reached the central square. It was packed with people so that they spilled out into the side-streets. Jason plunged into the crowd.

A man shoved against him, and pain shot through his injured left shoulder, almost sending him to his knees. He slipped in sideways, using his right shoulder to shove through the crowd.

People shouted at him, cursing; he ignored them. He had to get as close to James as he could. He must have lost Josef; he didn't see him anywhere.

The statue loomed up ahead, the man with his fist raised toward heaven. Just to the right of the statue was an area cordoned off by police. And in the center of that clearing was—

A scaffold.

Jason inched toward it. As he did, he realized that several figures were already standing on the platform. One of them was James. Two soldiers shoved him forward, his hands tied behind his back. Jason reached the edge of the barricade, almost face-to-face with a policeman. He tugged the hood down a little more, but not so much that it obscured his vision.

If I have any hope of saving him, I'll have to get through, thought Jason. Hopefully the resistance will be watching and won't let the opportunity go to waste…

Two others stepped up to the scaffold. Zahl and Elena. Jason's heart stopped. Elena. She had used him to betray everything he believed in, all for a love that had been false. Fake. Manufactured. How could he know what was real? How could he know he'd be able to accomplish anything? He was worthless as an agent, like she'd said. A foolish boy.

What makes me think I can accomplish anything now? he thought. I will just fail again.

Zahl held a microphone. He said, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is not the most ideal weather, but perhaps it is fitting for the demise of a king. A king that is nothing but the remnant of an archaic, failed system. The fact that we have captured him shows that our system works. Our system will keep on working and provide the greatest benefits you have ever known, if you will only put your faith in us, and in our Great Leader, Karl Von Warberg!" He raised his arms as if expecting applause. There was, but it was half-hearted. "Again, I apologize for the rain. It could not be helped. But it will be worth it to witness something you will tell your children and grandchildren about. The demise of all that is old, faulty, the debris that drags this country down, keeps it from rising to become everything our founding fathers meant it to be. A free, prosperous Muldavia, basking in the benefits of socialism, leading us ever onward to the grand future that Communism will bestow on us.

"This, my comrades, is the first step toward an even greater age." He gestured toward James. "I am sure you would all like to hear the ridiculous prattle of a man who has been living a life in ignorance of your existence, a true son of the monarchy. Here you go, James. Tell the people what they want to hear." Zahl handed the microphone to James as the soldiers unlocked his handcuffs.

James took it, his hand shaking—Jason could even tell from here. He was even more bruised and battered than he had been when Jason had left him. He stood as if undecided whether to say anything at all. Then, he lifted the microphone, and said in a steady, clear voice, "I am sorry for abandoning you. You are my people, and instead of suffering with you, I lived in exile. This would have happened to me had I returned sooner, but at least I would have shared your burden. You have lived under the tyrant Von Warberg for too long—both Karl, and his father Erik. I wish more than anything I could turn back the clock and find some way to make it right. But it is too late. And so I must say goodbye, before I even had a chance to get to know you as my father did. But if any good can come of this, I want you to know there is hope. There is freedom. You just have to let it burn in your hearts, until you cannot contain it any longer and it bursts into a flame. I may not live to see it, but you will find freedom. Do not give up—"

Zahl snatched the microphone away from James, an annoyed look on his face. He gave a nod, and a soldier slung the noose around James' neck.

Now or never, thought Jason. For a moment, he was paralyzed; he didn't know if he could succeed, and even if he did, he did not want to be recaptured. Then, he thought of Tasha. His place was with her, sharing whatever hardships she had to bear. And if there was any way to save the king, he had to try.

Jason withdrew his gun from his pocket and ran toward the barricade. The nearest guard raised his gun; Jason shot him, making sure to aim left, catching him in the shoulder. The guard stumbled back; Jason pushed through and ran toward the scaffold.

Gunshots burst after him; he ducked and rolled to the ground, pain slamming through his injured arm as he did so. As he climbed to his feet at the bottom of the stairs, one of the soldiers on the platform shot at him. A bullet seared his cheek. Jason ran up the steps; his shots went wild, but it didn't matter, for he reached Zahl, and pressed the gun to his temple.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot," said Jason. He hadn't expected to get this far. And he'd used up every bullet in the six-chamber pistol. But they didn't know that. Yet.

Elena stepped up to Jason, put her hand on his arm. "Give me the gun, my dear."

"Step back, or I'll shoot!"

"No, you won't," she said. Raindrops scattered across her pale skin. Her eyes were large and blue, like remnants of the absent sky. "I know you, Jason. You won't shoot in cold blood. You don't have the stomach for it. Give me the gun. You're in over your head; this is too much for you to handle."

"I am not leaving until the prince is safe." Where was Munroe's resistance? Jason wondered. Were they unable or unwilling to act?

Jason shuffled to the right, bringing Zahl with him, and took the rope off of James' neck.

"Elena," said Zahl, "I am secondary to the cause. Take him down. Whatever it takes."

Elena nodded, her eyes cold. A dangerous smile spread across her lips as she aimed a gun at Jason. "I've called your bluff, haven't I? Even if you're willing to let me shoot Zahl, there's no guarantee it won't hit you as well. The next bullet would be yours anyway. Put the gun down, my sweet."

Jason wasn't ready to give up. He had to stall a little bit more, if he could; perhaps Elena was bluffing too. He stood his ground.

"Very well." She aimed the gun at Jason's head, and pulled the trigger.

Just as she did, James stepped in front of her, grabbed for her gun. But it was too late.

James collapsed to the floor, blood spreading over his heart.

[Ameraka]

Well, here is the last chapter. The finale. It's taken me a long time to write this, and I can hardly believe it is the end. There may be loose ends and things, but hopefully I have covered the main questions. I may look back through it and fix things. If you see anything I need to fix, let me know!


Chapter 25


Jason released Zahl and fell to his knees beside James. Tugged off the raincoat and tore off his shirt, heedless of the pain in his arm. It was nothing to what James was facing, had faced. He pressed his shirt to the wound, soaking the impossible amount of blood—

Gunshots. Cries. Shouts. Jason tore his gaze from James to see a seething torrent of people surging toward the scaffold. Close by, a few soldiers squared off against a group of unarmed people, but another group of soldiers stood in front of them, blocking the way, and gunfire went off.

Revolution. The word blazed across Jason's mind.

James gasped for breath. "Hold on," said Jason. "Help will come."

James grasped Jason's hand; already his grip seemed weak. "Jason," he gasped. "If I don't—When you see Tasha, tell her my deepest gratitude all she has done. The same for you. I—" He stiffened as if in pain.

"Don't speak," said Jason.

James nodded. Jason kept the cloth pressed to James' chest. He had to stay there, had to give him that lifeline—and be there in case the unthinkable happened.

Zahl had the microphone in his hand; only this time, his hand trembled visibly. "I will kill your king if you do not stop rioting! It is futile! You must give up. You must—"Jason didn't even know where the shot came from; there were so many people surging up to the platform. Zahl staggered, fell back; he clutched the rope for a moment, blood spilling down the side of his face. Then he fell backwards into the crowd and disappeared, as if beneath the waves of an ocean.

Just Elena, looking down at Jason. The first time he'd ever seen fear in her eyes. She dropped her gun, and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Jason," she said. "Tell them who I was. Tell them I was on your side all along—it was just a bluff. Just a way to survive."

"I can't, Elena."

"Why not?"

"Because I know the truth."

"Truth is all in how you look at it." She attempted a smile.

"No, it isn't, Elena."

She touched his cheek, a fleeting icy touch. "Well then. It's been fun. You haven't seen the last of me, Jason Whittaker." A spark of adamancy replaced the fear in her eyes; she leaped off of the scaffold, and was gone.

Just James. He had lapsed into unconsciousness. Around them the sea raged; the only calm place was this island. Jason felt exhausted; he wanted all this to end. Rain streamed down his cheeks, warm like tears. Perhaps they were tears; he wasn't sure.

A man climbed up beside him. Then two others, like men from a shipwreck, seeking safe shores. One of them knelt beside James. "I'm a doctor," he said. He pressed his fingers against James' pulse, and nodded. The other two men lifted James onto a makeshift stretcher—made of what looked like broken pieces from the barricade and coats tied to it, some of the fabric splattered with blood.

"We've got to get him to a hospital."

"I'm coming with."

The doctor nodded. "You look like you need a hospital yourself."

Jason followed them down the stairs, his mind and body numb. At the bottom, familiar faces greeted him. Munroe, Dana, and Saul. They came with him, making their way through the crowd to a bus. Gunshots burst through the square, but the western side at least seemed to be secured by the rebels.

The bus made its way through the streets; they passed fires and firefights. The whole city looked like it had broken into revolution.

Tasha. Where was she? Was she safe?

Another clatter of gunshots. A bullet hit the windshield; the bus swerved down another street and pulled up in front of the hospital. Jason, carrying Elena's gun, walked beside James' stretcher with the others, all holding guns or rifles, as they marched inside.

When the doctor demanded that James be treated, none of the hospital staff resisted. In fact, they seemed awed to be in the presence of the prince. They even made sure that armed guards were posted outside his room.

Jason was barely able to stand; Munroe insisted that Jason get some medical attention of his own. By this time, many others had come in with gunshot wounds, knife wounds, burns, and Jason waited his turn with the rest. He had become used to getting makeshift treatment for injury; a hospital was a luxury. He'd been on the run for so long, and before that, been undercover, he'd almost forgotten what normal people did in a situation like this. Well, this situation was anything but normal….

A deep ache tugged at his heart, worse than his wounds; he needed to see Tasha. Dana and Saul said that they would try to find her, while Munroe stayed with Jason.

They brought Jason in to be treated. The nurse took his vitals—she said he was dehydrated and gave him some liquids while she bound up his shoulder wound with a proper bandage. Then she worked on his leg, and she said that while it was healing, it still was in danger of infection, and that he should stay off of it as much as possible.

She dismissed him for another patient, a boy whose arm was half blown away. He reminded Jason of young Josef; Jason wondered if Josef was okay, and if he'd gotten caught up in the revolution he'd longed for.

Munroe met Jason in the hallway; Dana and Saul hadn't returned yet. "I'm going," said Jason. "I have to find her."

"You're in no shape to—"

"I can't just sit here and wait."

"Just a little while longer. Give them some time."

"I already have," said Jason, but he sat down in the waiting room, which was crowded with men, women, children, many of them injured. Babies cried. A man staggered about the room, half-dazed, covered in dust and blood.

"It is like our inner wounds have been exposed," said Munroe, "but it is better than the secret suffering behind our walls each day since the regime began….You have helped our country in immeasurable ways, Jason. Just by finding the prince…."

"We still haven't heard if he's okay."

"I'll go find out," said Munroe. He made his way through the crowd.

Jason wondered if he should just leave, but he wanted to find out about James as well. Reluctantly, he decided to wait.

Munroe returned, his face grim. "He's still in surgery," he said. "They wouldn't tell me much—but they did say that he has maybe a 50-50 chance."

"That isn't much."

"You helped save his life."

"He saved my life. He took the bullet for me."

"He showed that he was willing to sacrifice his life for someone else—and that, more than anything else, is what sparked the revolution. We didn't want to see an execution in the first place, but we especially didn't want to see the execution of a man worthy of the title of king. Someone we could follow, the opposite of Von Warberg. Then to see him shot down—the dam broke, so to speak."

"He might not live to see what he caused."

"I think he knows. At least he knows what you have done for him."

"I'm the one who got him into all this!"

Munroe gave a small smile. "You did act rashly that day you blew your cover, but it showed how much you cared about our people."

"That's not the half of it. I let Elena get to me. I…thought I was falling in love with her."

"We were all taken in by her. Saul was in love with her too, I think. She just happened to know you were an agent, and that was more important than her mission with us."

"I led her right to James. He could have lived out his days in peace."

"And we would not have a revolution. We never know how our actions will turn out. We just have to do what we think is best, and hope that everything will come together in the end."

"With God's help," said Jason.

Munroe pursed his lips, and then nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"They aren't back yet," said Jason. "I've got to find Tasha."

"It's dangerous out there."

"That's why I have to go."

Jason stood, and headed out the door, into the rain.

______

Tasha stood on the balcony, surrounded by soldiers. Von Warberg stood beside her, transfixed by the scene in the square.

"We should leave now, sir," said a soldier at his left.

"I will leave when I am ready!" Von Warberg snapped.

By now most of the square seemed to be secured by the rebels. They'd obtained a tank, and someone had climbed out on top of it. The figure swung a rope like a lasso and tossed it toward the statue. It fell short of the statue's head; the man tried again, and this time it looped over the upraised fist. The noose pulled tight, and then the man scrambled down and the tank backed up. At first nothing happened. Then the statue fell, and its head broke off on the pavement, along with part of its arm.

Von Warberg gasped, as if he'd been injured when the statue broke. "Where is my army? Why are they not attacking?"

The soldier beside him cleared his throat. "There is word that much of the army has defected. They are siding with the rebels."

"Those are treasonous words."

"I am loyal, and will always be—"

Von Warberg drew the gun from his hip, aimed it at the soldier. "Then get me out of here!"

"Yes, sir, right away," said the soldier, fear in his eyes.

Tasha hung back next to the railing, hoping they'd forget about her.

But Von Warberg waved toward her. "Come here, girl."

"I think I'll stay, if it's all the same to you."

"I want you to watch what you have done, and see the city, my city, burning. And then I want you punished. Severely." There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Tasha doubted whether he was sane; if he ever had been, the revolution had sent him over the edge.

She didn't move, but the soldiers grabbed her and dragged her away from the balcony. They followed Von Warberg out into the courtyard, where a helicopter was waiting. Cool raindrops fell on her skin. This is perhaps the last time I will see the sky, she thought, and looked up, letting the rain fall onto her face.

Some soldiers appeared at the other end of the courtyard. "Stop," said one.

"I am your leader," said Von Warberg.

"Not anymore," said the soldier. All of them aimed their rifles at him. "Get down on your knees."

Von Warberg stood, as if frozen. Then he whipped out his gun.

The soldier shot him down. Blood stained his white suit and spilled onto the grass.

The rest of Von Warberg's soldiers surrendered their arms; they all looked shocked that their leader had been shot down.

While the rebel soldiers handcuffed the loyalists, Tasha slipped back inside. She crept through the main gate, half wrenched off its hinges. A tank sat there, as if guarding it; beyond it, several cars were wrecked in the street, burning.

What do I do next? thought Tasha. What is the mission anymore? Jason. And the king. They would be at the hospital, most likely. She crept down the street; gunfire rattled in the distance. She should have asked the soldiers for a gun, but she didn't want to stay in that place any longer than she had to; it had made her feel claustrophobic.

She came upon a man and woman along the sidewalk. The man had a bandage across his forehead, and the woman supported him.

"Excuse me," said Tasha. "Do you know where the hospital is?"

"That is where we are going," said the woman. Tasha joined them, supporting the shoulder of the man, who looked dazed. A few blocks ahead, a large gray building stood. "The hospital," said the woman.

Smoke poured from a car on the next block. It looked abandoned.

A figure walked through the smoke.

Something stirred in Tasha's heart. She knew who it was, even before she could make out his features. Jason. She started walking faster, and when they were a few feet away, she ran. She embraced him, pressed her cheek against his. She didn't care that it hurt her shoulder; at the moment, nothing mattered but that he was alive, and she was with him.

They walked to the hospital together, and Tasha told Jason what had happened. That Muldavia no longer had a leader. Jason told her that James was in surgery, fighting for his life.

"He is probably our best hope for rallying this country," said Tasha. "If the country stays unstable, I don't see much hope for it. The Soviets might even take over."

"Their days are numbered too, I think," said Jason.

They walked into the hospital, and though Tasha insisted she was fine, Jason made her get in line for treatment. "Others are more seriously injured than I am," she said.

"Your injuries are probably worse than you think," said Jason. He brushed her face with his hand, near the cut on her cheek. She'd almost forgotten about that; the wound on her shoulder was the worst. But her chest had also been stabbed, and there were cuts on her arm from the knife, not to mention her injured back, and her head from getting knocked out. She'd just been trying to push through it all, but she was probably going to feel it soon. She didn't want to; she wanted to keep moving forward, without acknowledging the pain.

Jason didn't look so great himself. He had a cut across his cheek, a split lip probably from where the guard had hit him, and a bandage peeked from underneath the blue raincoat he wore.

Will I always be so susceptible to him? she thought. It could be awkward if we have more missions together….To her surprise, she wanted to have more missions with him, and it didn't have anything to do with her feelings for him. She trusted him. Despite everything that he had done, he had great potential as an agent, and she couldn't imagine anyone else as a partner.

"All right, Jason," she said. "You win." And she headed for the triage line.

After she got her wounds treated, Tasha rejoined Jason, and waited with him and Munroe well into the night. Tasha nodded off. When she awoke, sunlight was streaming into the window. She lifted her head off of Jason's shoulder.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked.

"James is stable. We'll be able to go in and see him soon."

"Really? That's wonderful!"

They went in a few minutes later. James' face was swollen, partly because he was pumped full of drugs. But he smiled as they entered. "Tasha—Jason. You are safe."

"How are you feeling?" asked Tasha.

"I…don't know….I don't feel much at the moment."

"That's good. You're going to pull through."

"I wasn't…too sure for a while there… Thank you. Thank you both." He reached out a hand; Tasha took it. Then Jason's. His hand fell back onto the bed, as if even that effort was too much for him.

"Have you heard about what is happening out there?" said Tasha.

"They won't tell me much….but I have gathered that there is a revolution. There are rumors that Von Warberg is dead. Is this true?"

Tasha nodded. "I saw it myself."

"Is there anyone in charge at the moment?"

"There's someone in the army," said Jason. "A General Korel, or something like that."

"I hope he will be good for this country."

"He's just the interim leader. If the people have anything to say about it, I think I know who they'll choose."

James' brow furrowed. "Who?"

"The heir to the throne."

"Me? I am not sure if the people would want me."

"Well, I know who I'd want to follow," said Tasha.

"We will see," said James. His eyes unfocused, as if he was drifting away from them.

"Yes, we will," said Tasha. And they walked out the door and let him rest.

___

Jason sat with James in the hospital garden, two days later. Tasha was in Munroe's secret office, making last minute arrangements with Headquarters. They'd been ordered back to the US for debriefing. Donovan wanted to know just what had happened to cause a revolution in this small European country.

A butterfly landed on the nearest tulip. Tulips and daffodils lined the walkway; after the rain, a lot of flowers had blossomed, suffusing the gray, damaged capital with color.

Beside him, James sat in a wheelchair. His face was cut and bruised, and he was hunched over, as if in pain. The doctors had had to fix a collapsed lung, and dig out a bullet dangerously close to his heart. His chestnut hair curled over his forehead, and his eyes were bright and alert. Jason felt odd, looking at him; he looked so much like his dad when he was younger.

"You will be a great king," said Jason. "Like your father."

"I could never live up to him. That much I know."

"You aren't the same man as your father. But I think he would be proud of you."

Tears glistened in James' eyes. "As your father would be of you."

"I don't know about that. If I ever tell him what happened, he'll probably be disappointed."

"Why would he be?"

"I've made so many mistakes on this mission."

"It wasn't you, Jason, so much as it was the situation you were thrown into. I can't imagine the pressure you were under. For your first undercover mission, this country threw everything it had at you. But in the end, you helped save Muldavia, just like your father did. I don't know him, of course, but if you're anything like him….well, I almost feel like I know him. And it has been a privilege to know you, Jason." He reached out his hand. Jason took it; James' grip was much stronger than before, and gaining strength with each day of recovery.

The door opened, and several figures walked toward them across the lawn. Tasha reached them first. Then came Rovann, Marija, Zara—and a tall, thin young man who Jason assumed was Stefan, newly released from Zohr, holding his young son on his shoulders. Little Zara danced through the flowers, then came up to James and kissed him on the cheek. "Uncle James!" she said. The others gathered around him, presenting him with gifts.

"It's time to go," said Tasha.

"I know. It's just—after everything—somehow, I don't want to leave. Like there's still a part of me here."

"I will request that we return for the coronation. I think Donovan will agree, now that Muldavia is on our side of the cold war."

They said their final goodbyes, and Jason followed Tasha through the door, leaving James surrounded by people he loved.

__
Jason sat on the plane with Tasha, who sat by the window this time. "How are you doing?" said Jason.

"Surprisingly, not bad." She was looking out the window, the clouds flowing by like a cottony blanket. She looked at him and smiled. The cut on her face was healing, but it still pained him every time he looked at it. Jason wondered how she was doing physically, but he didn't want to overdo his concern. He was still healing too. But he suspected that invisible wounds ran deeper. This had been a harrowing mission; Jason wasn't going to wish for another one like it anytime soon. But at the same time, he knew he wanted the life of a spy. If they didn't fire him after the debriefing, he was going to stay on, try to be the best agent he could be.

"It's…..going to take a while to recover," he said.

"Yes. We probably will have to work at desk jobs for a while."

"Hm. For some reason, that doesn't fill me with the horror it once did."

Tasha laughed. Then she looked serious. "This hasn't cured you of the desire to be an agent, has it?"

He shook his head. "It's not just the adventure that I want—it's that I'm doing what I believe in. I'm helping my country. Actually seeing results—seeing people set free—it's lit a fire in me, Tasha. I don't think I could stay away if I tried."

"Good," said Tasha. "Because I don't want to have to look for a new partner any time soon."

"You mean—you still want to work with me? I thought, well…I still want to work with you, but…I'm not quite in your class."

"I'm not perfect either, Jason. Maybe I'm better at keeping my faults hidden, but I have them. I think that, despite…our conflict, we can learn to work together, because, all in all, we make a great team. We complement each other—where one is weak, the other is strong, and vice versa. Do you think it is a risk worth taking? Because, even though we have a good thing going, it's not always going to be easy."

Jason thought for a moment. He thought of how perfect she was, and how beautiful, and then there was this spark between them that might complicate things…then again, they had been through so much together. He couldn't imagine severing the bond they'd forged by working with someone else. If Donovan agreed, he wanted to work with Tasha on his next assignment.

"I think, Tasha, that it is more than worth it."

She smiled back at him, and looked back out the window at the clouds as they flew toward home.