"I suggest we do a quick reconnaissance this evening and then plan our assault for tomorrow," Fergus began.
"I disagree," said Oliver slowly. "We may have only one chance. If we let them know that we're around and that we know of base number two, they might take Mark and bolt. And we may never find him again. They'd eventually figure out how we'd managed to track him, and once that tracker in his shoes is removed from the equation, he could vanish."
"You're right," I agreed. "We need to strike tonight, hard and fast. You should be fully healed by then, and if you're not, you could always man the Heckler and Koch from a couple of hundred metres away."
"Oh, I'll be ready," Oliver said deliberately. "I wouldn't miss it for all the world."
"I thought so," I grinned at him while Fergus shook his head.
"I hate to admit it, gentlemen, and let me point out that I use that word in the loosest possible sense, but you may be right. It may be the best chance we have tonight if we just go in and get him out. As you say, she probably expects us to attack base one. I'll bet she has a welcoming party waiting for us there too," Fergus said thoughtfully.
"I just love dealing out the surprises," said Oliver flatly.
I caught a glimpse of the images tumbling through his head, and grinned. Someone was going to get a nasty shock tonight.
Mark
They stuck me in a small airless and windowless room that looked like it had been an office before it became a storage space and general dumping ground for random office junk. The occasional journal lay on shelves that looked like they'd been crafted from old planks by a ten year old. A rusty old cot had been hastily shoved in a corner, and a striped and stained mattress sprawled on it. I looked around for something else to sit on, and noticed a solidly built wooden chair leaning against a wall. Something seemed a bit odd about it though, as if its stark outlines were somehow distorted. I went to investigate, and realised that a set of worn but strong looking leather straps were responsible for the odd shapes. Dark stains meandered down the limbs of the chair, and it didn't take any sort of genius to figure out the horribly organic nature of those stains. Dried blood looks like nothing else. And there was a lot of it on that chair. I decided to sit on the floor.
The door opened then, revealing Snake Eyes and his goon buddy, who sauntered in carrying a tray.