FALLEN | The Devil of Caracas

Chapter 15 | From the Fox to the Lion

She blindly waves the Glock, hoping to find a target. A firm hand grips her wrist. The man drives his knee into her back and quickly pulls at her arm. Her weapon discharges. The bullet smacks into the ceiling, raining chunks of plaster to the floor. Lexi's shoulder pops. It rolls out of its socket. She screams, shocked by the sudden pain.

The man pries the weapon out of Lexi's, now limp, hand and slides it across the room. The other officers go to work, placing the handcuffs around her left wrist.

"Ah! Ow! Shit!" Lexi protests, as the man holding her right arm brings it down to her side and tries to place it behind her back.

"Ah! Mother fu-!" her brain scrambles to translate. "It's dis- dislocated!" she cries out in Spanish. "Ah shit!" she adds, in English.

The officers talk amongst themselves as one guides the other in the process to reset her shoulder. Slowly, they bring her arm out to the side, despite Lexi's profanities. Then raising the arm slightly, they place her hand behind her head, and rock the shoulder back into its joint.

"Ah! Holy shit!" Lexi gasps, as she feels the relief settle in. "Goddammit..."

The pain is reduced, but still present. Lexi's eyes are now sealed shut from the swelling; they burn. Her head feels split open from its impact to the floor. Her legs are weak from their overburdened trek. And now her shoulder is inflamed and nearly unusable.

The officers tug at the velcro straps on her bulletproof vest and pull it off her body, along with her gear. She's lifted off the floor and searched for more weapons. Then Lexi is forced to walk forward, still unable to see. The officers move slowly, attempting to navigate through their own near blindness. One reaches for his radio, requesting additional help. They all continue to cough and gag, as their lungs fight against the burning mist, still floating in the air.

"Where is he?! Where is he?!" she demands in Spanish. "Don't you let him die! He needs help!"

"He's dead," one man responds, between coughs. "Your man's dead."

"No. No, no, no, no. He's not!" retorts Lexi. "He's-" she coughs a few times and then catches her breath. "He's alive! He's alive! Don't you let him die!"

She pulls against the police officers, fighting to move backward, toward where she believes Sam is lying on the floor. She's met with resistance and pushed forward.

Just then, someone lets out a faint groan. The two officers, escorting Lexi, pause. Everyone is quiet.

"Wha- what's happening?" asks Lexi.

"What the hell?" says one of the officers. "He's moving! How the hell is he alive?"

"Sam! Sam!" shouts Lexi. "I'm here, baby! Can you hear me? We're gonna be okay! We're gonna get help!"

The groaning becomes louder and more pained. Sam coughs and then attempts a muffled yell, through his agony. The pain is increased, as he tries to open and close his mouth.

"Load him up, too," says another officer. "And get some gauze on his face!"

"Sam! Baby, I love you!" Lexi yells. "Listen to my voice. We're going to work through this. I promise! I swear to god!"

They lead Lexi out the front door, where she overhears one of the officers call an ambulance for her husband. This provides a small amount of relief for her. A few others search the house for survivors and additional hostiles.

Despite her pain, Lexi attempts to figure out how they're going to get out of this mess. It's not likely the CIA will be any help. Her team was hired out of discretion and that means the agency will deny any connections to them, if captured. They're on their own.

'How did this job go sideways so fast?' Lexi asks herself. 'Where the hell did Perez go? How do I get back to Sam? I need to know that he's going to be okay.'

Just before Lexi is shoved into the back of a squad car, she hears a man's voice. To her surprise, it's in English, but she doesn't recognize it.

"We'll take her from here," demands the voice, in a low rasp.

The officer, cramming Lexi into the car, freezes. He doesn't speak English and attempts to tell the source of the voice to step away.

Another unfamiliar voice chimes in, translating the man's request. The translator converses with the officer and Lexi listens intently, not knowing if these new voices are friendly. Still blinded, she relies solely on her ears.

"Both of you need to step aside," says the officer.

"Do you know who we work for?" asks the translator.

"No, and I don't care," the officer replies, as he moves to push Lexi into the back of the car.

"Well, Señor Perez will be very upset to hear that," says the translator.

The officer freezes again.

'Shit,' Lexi thinks to herself. She feels for the car with her foot and quickly tries to step into it. This time the officer holds her back.

"You work for Perez?" he asks. His voice is mixed with fear and interest.

Lexi hears another voice enter the conversation. It's deep and authoritative. "Do as they say," he orders. "I know these men; their Perez's personal security. Do as they say."

'Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,' thinks Lexi as she attempts to lunge into the car. Perez must have the police on payroll. The officer pulls her back, drags her to the side, and bends her over the trunk of the car. He jams his palm on the right side of her face, restraining her head against the warm metal.

Lexi feels hands grabbing at her arms. She kicks out at the men, trying to break from their grasp. But her attempts are met with strong resistance. They quickly apply a zip tie around her wrists and then unlock the cuffs.

"She's all yours," says the officer as he hands her over.

"Don't let them take me!" Lexi protests in Spanish, trying to ignore the throbbing in her skull. Each word agitates her growing headache. "Come on!" She thrashes and fights against the new sets of hands gripping her arms. They're strong - very strong.

She continues to resist, dropping low, forcing them to drag her. Finally, the man on her right grabs her by the back of the head and drives her face into his knee.

A sharp pain jabs through her nose, sounding out a dull crack. Lexi gasps and sees a white light through her blinded eyes. She finally concedes, moaning and staggering forward, toward her fate. The pain is unbearable. Like the flip of a switch, her will to fight vanishes.

"Give her some more of that," says an angry voice behind her. "That bitch broke my fingers..."

"Where... are you taking... him," Lexi asks, quietly, in English. She speaks slowly to avoid aggravating the pain in her head even more. Despite her agony, her only true concern is her husband.

The two men say nothing.

"Please... do whatever... you gotta do with me... just- just let him... get some help..."

Lexi feels her shins bump against something in front of her.

"Step up," the raspy voice says, calmly.

Reluctantly, Lexi lifts her exhausted legs, one by one, as she enters the back of the cargo van. She keeps her head crouched low, as the two men ease her into a sitting position. The hard floor of the industrial style van provides no cushion for her.

"Your man's going to the hospital," says the translator. His voice is much softer. "If you cooperate, it just might help his odds."

With that, the two men exit the rear of the van and slam the doors shut. The air is thick, humid, and overwhelmingly hot. Lexi leans her head back in the darkness and tries to open her eyes. They still burn. The pain searing through her body distracts from the mental and emotional torment. She focuses her attention on the physical agony; better than dwelling on the thoughts of Sam, alone, hurt, and afraid.

The vehicle rocks as the two men step in. The engine rumbles, the gears shift, and the van begins to roll forward.