Saving Eliot

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Ten Thousand People Look My Way

They Can't See The Way I Feel

Nobody Even Cares To Try

Roughly between 7:00 and 7:30 PM

"Go ahead Parker," Nate encouraged the young thief to fill them in on what she had to say. "I'm guessing you've found out something important, so please tell us." He watched the woman suddenly shift a bit in her seat as the group around the table now focused their attention on her.

"Okay." She paused as she turned to Whitmore and Vance. "I know you are his friends…from his past, but you don't know Eliot now…the way we do." She said, indicating herself along with Nate and Sophie. "And because of the way I know him, I've figured out that the person who has Eliot is his brother, Evan."

Matthew Whitmore turned to look at Vance before he returned his attention back to Parker. "Parker? Is that your name?" He asked her.


"Okay, Parker. Why don't you tell us how you know about Eliot's brother, Evan?" He asked as he rested his hands on the table top. To all looking he appeared to be interested in the thief's interaction with the group, when in reality he was actually interested in exactly how this girl knew about Evan. No one, not even Eliot had known what actually went down with the man.

"Eliot told me." She replied simply.

This time it was Vance who leaned forward to rest his hands on the table top and address her. "Eliot told you?"

"Eliot…our Eliot told you about his brother?" Sophie also asked. At Parker's nod of affirmation, she then asked, "When exactly did he tell you this, sweetie?"

"Just now. When I was up on the roof."

Whitmore and Vance both turned to look at Nate for further explanation. "What is she talking about?" Whitmore asked the mastermind. "How could he have told…told her that just now?"

Nate took a moment to put what Parker was saying into perspective. She'd obviously just read Eliot's letter to her on the roof so logically she was saying Eliot had most likely written the clues in said letter. There was something there where he had told her about Evan that gave her this opinion. Then it hit him. He knew what she was saying. "Eliot told you about his worst thing, didn't he Parker?" He asked the young woman gently.

Everyone turned back to focus again on Parker. "Yes he did. And I'm not going to go into all of it, mostly because he asked me not to, but I can tell you that it leads me to believe that it was Evan." She turned to look at Vance and Whitmore. "And you two would know why I believe that, wouldn't you?"

Both men leaned back in their chairs as they regarded this woman; this team. Eliot had been right, Whitmore thought. This team, his team was very smart. Together they were good, really good. He smiled at Vance as he saw the Colonel agreed with his thoughts.

"Eliot picked a good team here." Vance said for the both of them. "You're right Parker, it's probably Evan that has Eliot and it's because Eliot was sent to kill him."

"Kill his brother?" Sophie asked, forgetting for the moment how the thief had known about his brother. "Why in the world would Eliot be sent to kill his brother?"

Vance looked at Bonanno who had been sitting quietly next to Nate not joining the conversation, nor ignoring it. The detective smiled at the Colonel as he knew what the look meant.

"I think this is my exit cue. I'll be in touch Nate." He said getting up and as Nate nodded, understanding what was being said. "I umm, well, you do know if you need anything, just call. I'll put this case aside for a little while, just in case…in case something new arises." He looked directly at Vance. "If you get my drift Colonel."

Michael Vance stood and reached across the table to shake the detective's hand as he replied, "I get you detective. And it was…a pleasure meeting you."

As the two men shook hands, Parker watched Nate as he watched her. Later, she thought to herself. Later she'd tell Nate about the worst thing, but only Nate. And only because he would understand and not condemn Eliot for the choices he'd once had to make.


Somewhere in Eliot's Past

Eliot slowly opened his eyes, groaning as he felt the pain behind his eyelids. He had a massive headache, to say the least. And he felt pain all over his body. He'd woken many times in his young life to pain, but for some reason this time he knew it was quite possibly the last time for him.

His head was hanging down, his hair hanging down hiding his face. He tried to move his right hand to run through his hair to remove it from his eyes, but his hand refused to move. He slowly lifted his head to see his hands handcuffed over him. He tried to focus more on the chain of the cuffs as his vision continued to blur.

He was suspended from a chain threaded through the long chain of the handcuffs. He had no shirt and no shoes or socks. He was clad only in his fatigue pants and his toes barely scraped the floor as he gently swayed from the movement of his head.

"Crap," he said to himself. "Way to go Spencer."

His memory slowly came back to him as he took in his situation. He had been circling around the perimeter of the abandoned building after he'd left his team in search of the sniper or snipers that had just killed two of his men and were keeping the rest at bay. Well, they weren't all his men.

Sgt. Lucas Malone and Pvt. Anthony Nelson had been assigned to escort Eliot's team to the location of a freedom fighter that was actually more than that to the U.S. government. The two men had been shot by snipers and even though Eliot had tried to get Malone to safety, he'd failed to save him and his driver. The two had been shot and killed in front of Eliot and the newest member to his team, Quinn.

It turned out Quinn and Malone had been the best of friends before the military, and that made it even harder for Eliot to accept the two men's lost lives. He'd tried, he really had, but he couldn't save either man.

He'd called his team of six men to hold their positions until they could locate the snipers. He knew there had to be at least two because both Malone and Nelson went down at the same time. He'd heard the sound of each shot and knew they were simultaneous shots.

He knew it would be useless to try and rescue their man before they'd eliminated the threat of the snipers, so he'd left Quinn with the two dead men and headed around the building in search of a way in to see if he could reach a high point to locate them.

That was the last thing he remembered until waking up like this. He could only hope that Quinn and the others were still holding their positions and not trying to come after him. Because obviously it had been a trap. This whole mission had been orchestrated to lure Eliot and his team into being picked off one by one.

He couldn't have anymore men's blood on his hands right now, so he truly hoped they'd either remained holding or had fallen back. He tried to assess his current situation the best he could, but he was having a hard time thinking with the headache and he knew he had a concussion.

Which was probably the least of his problems. His arms hurt from being suspended, so he knew he hadn't been hanging there for very long. He took in the blood slowly oozing down his arms from the metal cuffs biting into the skin of his wrists. He knew it wouldn't be long before he didn't feel his arms as they grew numb from the position they were forced into.

He heard the metalic click of a key in a lock and moved his head to the only door in the room. He hadn't noticed the door before and cursed himself for not checking out his surroundings better. He was better trained than that, and could only put the blame on the concussion frazzling his brain cells.

He watched as two men dressed in camoflage fatiques came into the room. One man carried two large buckets while the other pushed a cart in front of him. Both men were of Muslim descent and Eliot knew they were the enemy. Not because they were Muslim, but because they were dressed in the uniform of a terrorist cell he'd been tracking in this region.

Every group had their signs of individuality, and these two showed theirs in the markings on their shoulders. They were related to HAMAS – a group around since the late eighties. Eliot knew they were probably a branch of the main group, but just as dangerous.

The two men for the most part seemed to ignore him as they went about their business. The one with the buckets set them aside and helped the other to set up what appeared to be a tripod and camera. Great, he thought. I'm about to be in the movies.

The first man, that had been pushing the cart, moved away from the other one setting up the camera and moved his cart closer to Eliot, but not close enough for him to have access to it. Just close enough that he could see the equipment laid out upon it's surface.

Neither man spoke to him and he was in no mood to engage them in conversation. He knew what was to come and in a way he was grateful. It meant the rest of his team had gotten away and he was alone. If these men knew where his team was, he'd be dead.

But since he knew what they planned, he knew they didn't have his team or any information on his team. He took comfort in that and hoped his team had headed back to their main camp. He didn't need to worry about them right now. It was best if he only had himself to worry about.

The second man turned the camera to face Eliot and he saw the little red light flicker on as the man moved to pick up one of the buckets he'd previously set down. He headed over to where Eliot was hanging and spoke in clear unbroken english. Eliot was surprised at the man's perfect speech.

"We need to know where your team is, Mr. Spencer."

Eliot was also surprised the man knew his name. "I don't know what you're talking about." He growled back at the man.

The man smiled. It wasn't a reassuring smile to Eliot. "I think you do know what I'm talking about. You see, we knew you were coming. We sent for you. And now you're here. But we need the rest of your team. You and your team have been an especially painful thorn in our side for the last year and it is time to remove that thorn, Mr. Spencer." The man took one step closer and threw the contents of the bucket on Eliot.

He sputtered, expecting the liquid to burn him, or at the least sting, but he just spit the water out of his mouth as he realized it was just that. Water. Ice cold, but just water. He watched the man set the now empty bucket back down and walk back for the second one.

As the man returned with the second bucket, Eliot thought okay, this is new. He watched as the man threw the contents of the second bucket of ice water on his torso and felt the cold penetrate his heated skin.

As he tried to shake the wet clumpy tendrils of his long hair from his eyes, he saw the first man move closer to his side. Eliot's hair was not military issue, but nothing about him and his team was military issue. They worked for the government but they didn't have to follow their guides. And this was one time Eliot had wished he had cut his hair after he'd been told that he should by Colonel Vance. Vance was the man he got his missions from, but he no longer had to answer to him.

Eliot and his team were black. They answered to no one and they did what no other team could do. They got the job done when others failed. They were the last line in defense. They weren't called upon to make the military look good in their missions; they were called upon when the military's hands were tied by legal restrictions.

While the government had to follw guidelines even in remote black operations; Eliot and his team did not. They moved in quietly under darkness and they got the job done. They weren't known, they weren't acknowledged and if they died, no one hung a flag over their casket or gave them a 21 gun salute. They ended up buried where they died, unless another team member could get them out.

Delta, Seals, Rangers they were the teams in the news working for Uncle Sam. Eliot's team never got a writeup in the newspaper. They moved in and out before either side knew they'd been there.

Geting caught meant that Eliot would die. He wouldn't give up his team and they wouldn't come back for him. He was on his own and that was the way it was. He'd known that when he'd taken this team. Vance would not come for him and no one would miss him, so it didn't matter how much torture Eliot took it wasn't going to do these men any good.

Eliot slowly raised his face to look at both men through the strands of his long wet hair and slowly smiled a smile reserved for only the worst in this business. "Bring on your best. You know as well as I do, I die here and no one will come for me. But they will come for you. Go ahead, do it." He taunted the two men.

The first man looked nervously at the second man. He stood there with the knife held tightly in his hands, but waited for the second man to tell him what to do. Obviously the second was the leader of the two.

"That's too bad. I had hoped we could end this quickly, but be that as it may I guess you are correct." The second man spoke to Eliot.

He nodded at the other man who moved over and with a hesitant step he pulled the knife back and brought it forth in a rush burying it to the hilt in Eliot's side as he tried not to cry out at the sudden intense pain.

"This is just the beginning of the worst I am capable of Mr. Spencer. I so hope you can see that."

"Who are you?" Eliot managed to get out past the pain as he took in the man's face swimming before him.

"You can call me… the Doctor."

And with those words, the second man pulled the dripping blade from Eliot's flesh and buried it again in his other side with a sickening thud. Eliot tried, but this time the cry of pain was ripped from his throbbing throat and the man pulled the blade out and buried it again for the third time.


Roughly about 7:30 PM

Katharine sat next to Eliot's bed as she watched the man stir in his unconscious state. He was dreaming or possibly he was remembering something. Something painful by the look on his face. She stood and walked over to the bed and reached down to move a strand of his long hair from across his face.

She didn't know how to alleviate his nightmares. She was torn; she knew she could ease his physical pain with the drugs, but she didn't know how to help with his emotional discomfort. She wanted so badly to touch him, to let him know he was safe, but she didn't really know if he was safe. She didn't know if either of them were safe.

She turned her head to look out the window across the room to see the sun was slowly setting and soon it would be dark outside. It was still too early to give him another dose of medication to help him sleep, but as soon as she could she would. She would sit here all night if she had to, because for some odd reason this man had wrapped her around his finger and he hadn't even tried all that hard to do it.

She wanted to help him, but something told her that everything he had once been was tied to everything he was now and it all involved the pain he'd been through. The pain he kept inside pushed down deep. This man had a lot of emotional baggage even if he didn't realize it, and because of that baggage he was now in this position. Shot and closer to death than she liked.

She surprised herself at feeling the intense hatred for whoever had shot this man and put him in this bed. She reached down and took his left hand in hers and felt him instantly grasp her hand back in his sleep. He seemed to cling to her as if she was his anchor in whatever was happening to him.

She watched the lines of pain slowly fade from his face as he slipped back towards a dreamless sleep, so she continued to hold his hand far longer than was strictly necessary. As she watched his pain ease and his eyes settle down behind his closed lids, she realized just how young he looked in sleep. She was intensely grateful for the fact he seemed to know she wasn't going to hurt him even if she invaded his secrets.

That was when she also realized that she knew the two of them couldn't be here come morning. She had to figure a way to get this man out of this house before morning. She had the strong feeling that something bad was coming and she needed to get him to safety. Wherever that may be.

She jerked in fear as she turned toward the sound of the door to the room opening. Her fear only lessened slightly at the sight of Dr. Richards walking into the room. She didn't fully trust this man and he wasn't supposed to be here right now.

"Dr. what are you doing here?" She asked nervously.

Mark Richards took in the sight of Katharine holding onto Spencer's hand as the man lay sleeping the bed. He slowly moved his eyes from the sight to focus on her eyes. He saw it then. Spencer had gotten to her too. Damn the man always did have a way with women.

He smiled to himself a little. Eliot didn't recognize him when he'd first seen him, but he should have. Of course Mark had had a little plastic surgery done, but he hadn't changed his voice. So he'd been surprised that he hadn't been recognized.

Then again Eliot was in pain, barely thinking about anything from the past. Besides it had been a while since Mark Richards had been known as The Doctor.

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