“Lies!”
“It’s the truth. Why else do people go caving? It’s our hobby.”
“You make big mistake.”
“Why are you doing this? Are you rebels?” Lazlo demanded.
The big man laughed with genuine amusement. “Rebels. Yes, we rebels. I rebel!”
“We mean you no harm,” Remi tried.
“You come. Now you all mine,” the gunman said, his gaze roaming over Remi.
“There are people who know we’re here. If anything happens to us, it will be disastrous for you,” Sam said.
The man laughed again. “Where are you?”
“We gave our headquarters the latitude and longitude before we entered the caves. If we don’t reappear, they’ll come search,” Remi said, her voice calm. “We’re well-known explorers.”
“Maybe they pay for you?”
“A ransom? I’m sure something could be arranged,” Sam assured the man.
The gunman exchanged a glance with his accomplices and then refocused his attention on Sam. “Who you with?”
Remi looked confused. “With? What do you mean ‘with’? We’re with ourselves. We explore remote places. We’re archaeologists. Our interest is scientific.”
“Who send you?” he demanded. “Who pay me for you?”
“We have a foundation. Nobody sent us. We choose where we explore.”
The man looked at his cheap plastic watch and signaled two of his henchmen. “Tie up.”
“You’re making a big mistake. Our hurt friend is a famous archaeologist. We need to help him,” Remi said.
The gunman’s face could have been carved from mahogany. He watched impassively as his men tied the captives’ hands behind their backs, and then their ankles, immobilizing them. When he finished, the leader slipped his weapon into the waistband of his ratty shorts and turned to the rest of his men. They had a brief discussion, in a local dialect, the gunman giving instructions, and two of the islanders went back to the passage where the Fargos had been discovered. The gunman watched them go and then stepped closer to Remi and leaned over her. She winced in anticipation of a blow. He tilted her head up with his hand, studying her, and offered a grin that froze the blood in her veins. “Pretty.”
Sam struggled against his bindings. “Touch her and you’ll die.”
The gunman sneered at Sam and backhanded him, the move nonchalant yet lightning quick like the strike of a snake. Sam’s head snapped to the side and he fell backward.
“No!” Remi screamed, the sound amplified by the cave walls, echoing over and over.
“Shut up or I hurt you.” He glared at Remi. “You first.”
The gunman crouched down and grabbed a handful of Remi’s hair, causing her to cry out. He brought his face down next to hers and whispered in her hair, the stench of his breath and sour sweat overpowering. “I going to hurt you good.”
He released her and stood, watching Remi. After a few moments, he barked terse orders and pointed at the captives, then stalked off after his departing men, leaving one islander to watch the prisoners, machete in hand.
They remained silent until the guard drifted to one of the crates and poured himself a cup of coffee from a jug. Sam slid nearer to Remi and murmured to her, the sound covered by the hum of the refrigerator.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes. What about you?”
“I could use some aspirin.”
“What is this?”