“Won’t you tell me anything?” Henry tried to pry as gently as he could, but even his patience of steel couldn’t hold out much longer.
I shook my head.
He sighed, exasperated. “Are you dragging Ezra into this?”
“Why does he matter to you?”
“Unfortunately, he’s my leverage. Do you think I want to be interrogating my cousin?”
“How should I know?” I huffed. “You could just be stalling me while someone slowly and painfully disposes of Ezra.” Then I frantically asked if he was alright.
“He’s stable, he’ll be fine.”
I sighed in relief. “I’m considered a prisoner, right? I should get one outgoing communication, should I not?”
He hesitated. “I guess.”
I asked him, to his surprise, to bring in a radio with Morse capabilities. An old clunker was dragged in, but it would do. I sent a coded message to Pat in Morse/Urdu/Swahili, saying I was safe, and had a plan. The Morse code “experts” who had followed the clunker were baffled.
“Now,” I began. “I have a bargain to strike with you.”
“Go on.”
...