𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℂ𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕪 •𝕁𝔽𝕂•

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13 - ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ

For almost two hours, I found myself falling in and out of a drug induced sleep. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I fluttered my eyes open and looked around myself, I was laying somewhere in what looked like a metallic room with a heavy sound of a loud engine of a machine. I tried to sit up straight but pain shot out of my hand, making me abruptIy lift it and examine it. My broken thumb had been plastered by somebody and white bandages now adorned my wounds. I looked around myself and the realization finally dawned on me that I was inside a chopper, I was being rescued.

From the cockpit of the chopper, a man with pale white hair, his face covered with freckles and a pleasant smile, stepped out.

"Mister Pedro?" I asked, my voice sounding course and almost like a different person's voice.

"Lt Col. Michael Tanks at your service, ma'am." He bent slightly as though giving me a curtsy and a soft smile found its way to the corner of my lips.

"So, Pedro is your fake identity." I said and he nodded, sliding into an outlet next to me.

"You never know where they deploy you. These missions are classified." He chuckled and rubbed his hands together as though trying to keep himself warm.

"You knew you were going to be deployed as a spy in Cuba?" I asked, biting the insides of my cheeks.

"We don't get to ask questions, ma'am. Especially, when the Commander-in-chief deploys you somewhere." He smiled, running his calloused hand through his hair.

"Thank you, lieutenant, for dressing up my hand. It feels so much better already." I looked down at my hand and then back at him.

"It requires professional medical help, ma'am. I just fixed it in a temporary manner." He informed and I smiled gently and giving him a faint nod of my head. I sat back and sighed softly , falling quiet and staring into the air. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, it is not my place to ask you anything, but I'm just curious as to what is going on here." Michael's voice brought me out of my daze.

"What do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow.

"You must be someone very important to the United States of America if the Commander-in-chief himself is asking me to safely bring you back." He informed.

"What?" My heart skipped a beat. "President Kennedy asked you to rescue me?"

"Yes, ma'am, he did." He said.

What I felt could only be described as a feeling a person who hasn't had one drop of water for days gets when he or she is suddenly dropped into a well brimming with water. I felt hope, that tiny sliver of hope that Jack was waiting for me in America with open arms, waiting to pull me into his arms again. I pursed my lips together and held my breath, hoping to calm the tornado that was sweeping through my heart.

"Lieutenant?" I asked, my tone grave but enthusiastic.

"Yes?"

"How did I get here? I last remember, I was at the phone booth in Santiago de Cuba, talking to Bobby." I sat back, trying to get more comfortable as I spoke. Michael stood up from the outlet he was sitting on and made his way to a military backpack, pulling out a box of cigarettes. He offered one to me and I gladly took it. I placed the cigarette between my lips and pushed my body forward, letting Michael light it for me.

"I was working on some repairs when I received a phone call from the attorney general, and within the next five minutes, from President Kennedy himself. I wasn't informed much, just that I was to rescue an American hostage who had managed to run away from Castro's prison and was hiding somewhere in Santiago de Cuba main town. I found you inside a phonebooth in the town, just like Mr. Attorney General had informed you would be. I was asked to bring you back to America, no matter what it took. Once I found you, I had to sneak your unconscious body without being caught by Castro's men. I put you in the back of my car and drove you to the military base into this baby." He playfully patted the metal surface.