22:55 — Liora's Compound
Two hours of slow, relentless rubbing had frayed the nylon to the point of surrender. The rope was a thin ribbon; one more tug and it would part. When Mitali finally tore the last threaded strand free, she and Sohel stayed motionless for a long count, neither of them speaking. Words felt unnecessary; exhaustion and the weight of what lay ahead filled the silence.
Sohel worked methodically next, and when his wrists came loose he flexed fingers that had been numb for hours. For a moment he simply breathed and tried to remember the tones of the outer keypad — five keys, the clicks and the sound each made. He rehearsed them quietly in his head until they felt like muscle memory.
Mitali turned and brushed a tentative palm over the cut on his cheek, once, gently. Then they rose. Sohel leaned in and whispered the plan; Mitali's answer was a nod and a look that said she understood everything without a word.
She moved to the small inspection hatch in the cell door and pressed her face close to listen. Sohel took his place at the wall beside the door, heart steadying. Footsteps approached in the corridor, and a torchbeam slid across the hatch.
Mitali unbuttoned her shirt with exaggerated slowness. Her voice was low, a deliberate hum of seduction. "Want me?" she whispered.
From the other side, the guard's voice was cautious and crude. "What do you want in return?"
"You," she breathed.
"And what about him?" the guard asked, nodding toward Sohel.
"Sleeping. He's done for. Come on." She peeled the shirt off.
Keys scraped, metal clicked, and the bolt slid back. The door opened inward; the guard shoved his head through, and the cell dimly lit. He was about to pull the door closed behind him when Sohel's left arm moved like a striking viper. The punch landed against the guard's jaw with the collision of metal and flesh — a bionic fist amplified, breaking bone and dropping the man in an instant.
Mitali was already behind him, quick as a shadow. She wrapped the guard in a chokehold before he could gather himself. The corridor filled with the muffled sound of struggling and then silence. In less than a minute the guard slumped, no longer a threat.
Sohel dragged the body into a dark corner. He stripped the guard of his service pistol and handed the weapon to Mitali. They moved fast, practised and economical. Out in the corridor they sprinted, boots slapping tile, and ducked into the elevator bay. Mitali jumped into the lift. Sohel hit the up button and watched the indicator click.
When the doors hissed open on the upper level, Sohel didn't go up. He waited a beat, long enough for Mitali to slip through the main door and vanish into the compound's wider maze. Only when he was certain she had gone did he sprint toward Liora's office.
At the door he fumbled the keypad, his fingers slamming random sequences as if panic could produce a code. The alarm shrieked into life. Red lights painted the corridor. Boots thundered from both directions. Sohel's stomach flipped — exactly as planned.
He allowed himself a small, grim smile. The corridor filled with running soldiers, searching lights and shouted orders. Somewhere in the labyrinth, Mitali moved fast, and that was what mattered. Sohel stopped in the centre of the corridor and raised his hands high, an image of surrender he'd learnt to play when necessary.
He waited to be seized.
Sohel watched guards part a corridor as Lee pushed through, huge and unreadable. Lee loomed over him and asked flatly, "Where's the girl?"
"I don't know," Sohel said, keeping his voice steady. "I woke up and found the guard dead and the gate open. I ran."
"How did she run?" Lee pressed.
"How am I supposed to know that?" Sohel shot back. "I woke up, and the gate was open."
They'd search the compound, Sohel thought. They'd comb every corridor and yard, but who would suspect she'd hide in a plane that was scheduled to crash? It was a gamble, a hope folded tight inside him. Lee barked an order; guards seized Sohel and hauled him back toward the cell. The alarm still howled through the compound as soldiers poured into the corridors.
Two guards remained with Sohel inside the cell while two more posted outside. Minutes later, the alarms finally died. Lee returned, eyes flat as flint. The guards forced Sohel to his knees and bound his hands behind him again.
"Where's the girl?" Lee demanded.
"I don't know," Sohel repeated.
Lee's response was a swift, savage kick in the ribs. Sohel doubled over, breath ripping from him. The guards jerked him upright and held him while Lee produced the small metal implements — the same tools Sohel had seen before. He pressed the tips toward Sohel's ears; Sohel felt the cold points probe the inner contours. Lee's hands rose to strike —
— and Liora's voice cut through the room like a scalpel. "Stop."
She stepped into the cell, cool and composed. "You can stop, Lee. He needs his ears for now." Liora's eyes slid to Sohel, and she said, "Get up, Sam."
Sohel forced himself to his feet. Liora's tone was almost conversational as she added, "That bitch slipped away. The workers will be disappointed, but don't worry — I have plenty more." There was no remorse in her voice, only businesslike annoyance.
"When do we fly?" Sohel asked, the question raw in his mouth.
Liora's answer was calm, absolute. "Nothing has delayed my schedule. We leave as planned. Lee goes with you. If you try anything, he's ordered to kill you. He'll parachute out before you get into Russian airspace. Don't imagine doing anything heroic afterwards — three FNA soldiers will be onboard in SNA uniforms."
A slow, cruel smile crossed her face. She turned toward the door and walked out, cool as ever. "Good luck, Sam. Thank you for making my revenge possible."
Two guards seized Sohel and hustled him toward the aircraft at gunpoint. The compound hummed back into motion around them — men running to their stations, engines warming, a plan unfolding on schedule.
Sohel was shoved into the waiting plane and forced down the aisle, the weight of everything that had happened pressing in. Outside, the desert night waited, and Liora's devices of power spun toward the hour she had chosen.