Alexandria (ONC entry)

Part three

Maxence sighed in frustration, slumping back in her seat and scowling into the void. When she was sure that both of the men were gone, and the rocking of the boat had somewhat diminished, she twisted her wrists so that her palms faced each other and loosening the rope that tied them together.

It was a simple trick that Eleni had taught her once: lining your wrists up side by side when you were being tied up. That way, when you twist them the rope loosens and you can–in theory–wriggle your hands free. Maxence squeezed her eyes shut and strained to slip her hand out of the bound, heaving a relieved sigh and internally doing a victory dance when she succeeded.

She bent over, untying the knots that held her feet in place, but froze when the boat gave another lurch and grabbed the table's edge for support. Breathing heavily, Maxence closed her eyes again and considered her options. If a man like Boyle came to check on her and saw her untied, she would be done for. Better not make it too obvious.

So she didn't completely untie her feet, only loosened the knots. If she pulled hard, she should be able to get out of the ropes fairly easily. Should. Maxence rubbed her face, a bajillion thoughts racing through her head as she sat back on her chair and loosely wrapped her wrists with the rope. How did she get caught up in this shitstorm again?

The boat's lurches only got worse, and started dying down after a couple of hours. Maxence hated not knowing what was going on, hated not knowing where she was going and hated having nobody to talk to. She would have taken Dawson over the empty silence filling the cabin. All she had was a map of the Mediterranean Sea and a steel table. The storm raging outside also didn't do anything to calm her nerves. Storms at sea weren't Maxence's area of expertise, but she'd heard of enough ships going missing in heavy hurricanes to have her sit slightly on edge and her breathing be a bit heavier than usual.

When the lurching finally settled down, the silence returned to the cabin. Maxence was once again alone with her thoughts. She had no idea how long she'd been in here, or what time it even was. She didn't know if her disappearance had already been noticed by Anna, or the analytics she was supposed to meet at the Ronald Reagan Airport in Washington D.C. How long would it take for them to notice she was gone?

The gurgling of her stomach told Maxence it was some time in the evening. She hadn't eaten since the early lunch she'd downed in the airport, and hunger now made her stomach ache. She wondered if she would be fed. Then she thought about the hard glint in Boyle's eyes and decided that she wouldn't count on it.

After what felt like years, and Maxence had taken to softly humming a nursery rhyme to herself–she had to do something to pass the time, and by then she already knew the map nailed to the wall by heart–footsteps resonated outside the door. Someone was approaching her cabin.

What Maxence immediately noticed was that the footsteps were lighter than she'd expected. It reminded her of a criminal's tread: careful, calculated steps, focused entirely on making the floorboards creak as little as possible. She nervously shifted in her seat, shaking her legs out to get rid of the stiffness that came with hours of sitting in a not-so-comfortable position. Her grip on the rope wrapped around her wrists tightened.

The door handle creaked as the stranger pushed it open, and Maxence couldn't help the annoyed sigh rolling past her lips. Dawson again. What did he want now?

Her eyes quickly found the black briefcase still clutched in his hand. "There's nothing else in there, you know. I gave you everything there was," she said, her voice ringing out louder than she'd intended. Dawson shot her a scowl, taking a step back and nervously glancing outside the door. Apparently satisfied he turned back to her and closed the door, turning the lock.