Why?”“That’s not too bad,” Grace hedged, “where can we get them?”“There’s a store in Vacaville, about thirty miles away. What are you thinking?”“She is going to get herself captured,” sighed Claude, “then the rest of us are going to follow the tracker.”“What? This is CIA, probably.” Mia didn’t like it. “How would the agents not find a tracker on her?”“We get two,” Grace swerved round an old pickup that was barely moving at all. “They’ll find the first one and switch the scanner off.”“It’s insanely dangerous.” Paul didn’t like anything about it. “And what are we supposed to do, the rest of us? Storm a CIA black prison?”“Well what else can you think of?” Grace challenged him. “How’s Mo anyway?”“Still the same,” said Mia after looking round, “grey, and out of it.”“So he can get captured with me,” said Grace, “and they’ll get him a doctor which he really needs. He might be bleeding inside, and he might get an infection. We mustn’t let him die.”“No,” said Mia definitely, “it’s clever but. He couldn’t look away. “Where is he?” the man asked again tightly.Bindi found the answer was on his tongue and he bit it to try and stop it escaping his mouth. The intense sharp pain broke the lock, and he was able to look down. He was panting hard and could taste the blood in his mouth. “I don’t know.”The man pulled out a baton from his side, and Bindi found it under his chin. “You lie,” he said in cold anger. Bindi shook in his seat as the baton released a charge into his system. The pain was blinding and intense.“Are the crates on the transporter?” the man growled out. Bindi nodded, yes, still shaking.“Are they still sealed?”Again, Bindi nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said when realised the navigator wanted a verbal reply.“Are you lying?” the man said.Bindi looked back into his eyes, “No, sir, the crates are sealed.”“Is the rest of the crew hiding from me?”Again, Bindi nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.“Why are you still here?”“Someone has to monitor the ship, sir. I don’t want it to crash,” he.
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