Gulnar gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
“Have yo
u ever heard of Molokai?” Dante asked.
“Ah! It’s almost common knowledge now that his group is the one that was responsible for Lorenzo’s abduction, and the jet hospital’s attempted hijacking.”
That was something Dante hadn’t known. More and more crimes, then. Dante gave the now seated militants a long look.
“When I heard about this attack and that he’d already announced he was responsible for it, I put a call out through his connections. He agreed to give me an interview, taking every precaution, of course. I demanded that he let me help the victims of this attack as I did his family.”
“And he just granted your request?”
“I am here, am I not?”
“You mean he actually has a sense of fairness to appeal to? A sense of honor?”
“You’d be surprised how ruled by posturing and macho nonsense those people are. He made the mistake of having his right-hand man, the only one who speaks English among his men, present when he saw me, and I made sure the man knew what Molokai owed me. I think the fact that his men knew was the only thing that made Molokai agree to settle the debt, giving a speech about how he refused to be in debt to a foreigner who has no sympathy for his cause. He granted me two lives in return for his wife’s and child’s.”
Gulnar’s stare widened. Her words, when they came, were slow, realization tinging them with horror. “But you saved many more than two lives. At least twelve people would have eventually died without your intervention and your supplies.”
She understood, but still needed him to spell it out. What the hell? He had to sooner or later. “They will all still die. He doesn’t intend to let anyone, including his people, walk out of here alive.”
He watched her eyes filling with terrible understanding. “And his people know that? That this is a suicide mission?”
“No, they don’t. His plan is to stretch this out, get the most screaming tension out of the situation, the most international media coverage. Eventually his people will realize that the cavalry charge isn’t coming—and that they will be left to die.”
She interrupted. “And once they’re desperate, it will get really ugly?”
“Probably. But this isn’t the damage he’s counting on. He mentioned something spectacular, alluded to how he controls the situation, and will detonate it when he deems it appropriate. I believe he has someone on the outside ready with a remote-control detonator.”
Gulnar looked at their captors, cross-referencing his new information with what she’d gathered on her own. “They’ve been saying that the security forces outside can’t help us—when the times comes we’ll all be destroyed. At the time I thought they meant that they intend to go down for their cause, taking everyone with them.”
“That’s what Molokai intends to say when no one is left to talk. He intends to claim that his valiant warriors have laid their lives down for their cause. But I’ve learned from long service in chronic conflict areas that so-called suicide mission volunteers are invariably both conned and doped. Look at their eyes. They are addicts without even realizing it.”
Gulnar’s eyes followed his line of vision. “I’ve always wondered about that. And they have been smoking and snorting stuff.”
“Drugs are spread throughout most rebel armies, touted as uppers and stamina boosters. The leaders enhance their men’s malleability and subjugation with mental manipulation. Vengeful against a faceless enemy they’ve been bred to hate and coveting a higher status within their outfit are mixed with the inescapable chemical dependence to make the perfect mindless killing machine. They have no clue they’re like thousands before them, just pawns who’ll be used to spread chaos, then be disposed of.”
He saw the certainty of doom sinking into her. None of the desperation, anger or horror were for herself. Her eyes didn’t fix on him with an entreaty to choose her as one of the lucky two he’d save.
Not even momentarily to clamor for a chance to survive? Someone in the bloom of youth and beauty? How could she not have a shred of fear, an unreasoning desire to cling to life? It was inconceivable!
But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she had someone here she would place far above her own life—without hesitation. A lover, perhaps.
His heart closed on a grating sensation. Disappointment? Bitterness? That Gulnar would die for another when Roxanne hadn’t even been able to bear discomfort on his behalf?
But it wasn’t bitterness. Roxanne, his family, everything and everyone in his past were long insubstantial, non-existent. None had a bearing on the present, on this moment. Gulnar filled those. A soul like he’d never encountered, one he had to preserve at any cost. He grasped her arm, urgency and a hundred other conflicting emotions boiling over inside him. “Gulnar, I want you to rise now, slowly, then we’ll walk out of here together.”
She pulled her arm back, slow, adamant. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Thank you, but, no, Dr. Dante. Save two of the injured.”
He grabbed her arm again, pulled her towards him, kept her in place when she would have pulled back once more. “What makes them any more worthy of rescue than you?”
Her eyes squeezed shut. When she opened them again they were decided. Serene. “OK, so whomever you decide to save, the decision is skewed and the whole thing is just too macabre. But I don’t want to be the one you rescue. I’d rather someone else survived this. I’ll take my chances with the rest. If we’re to die, as you said, maybe it’s now my time.”
“It isn’t your time.”
“How do you know that? It’s not death but more abuse and torture that I’m afraid of. Save someone else.”