Wolfsbane by Ronie Kendig Page B

taken deeper into the jungle and held for ransom.”
    “And where were you taken, Lieutenant?”
    Lips pursed, she hesitated, and Canyon found himself silently encouraging her. “I … to a location less than a kilometer from the ocean. A fifteen-story building that looked like any other corporate tower.”
    “Was it?” Senator Miller prompted, her voice not completely void of compassion.
    “No, ma’am. There was a secret military bunker below it. That’s where I was held.”
    Senator Miller, with her perfectly coiffed curls, sent a sympathetic expression to the young woman. “Miss Roark, I realize you’ve been through a lot, but I need you to tell the panel what happened to you in the custody of the VFA.”
    Roark’s gaze darted to Olin, who gave her a supportive, encouraging nod. She took another sip of water, then drew in a breath. “When I first arrived, I was stripped, hosed down, searched, and beaten.” The words came out in a rush, almost tumbling on top of one another. “That was the first night.”
    “Continue.”
    “For the next few days, I was left alone … naked … in a cell.” Her gaze fluttered to the floor in front of the long table. “A group of high-ranking officers arrived after four or five days. They … they, uh … they knew I was the one rigging the explosives to blow their bridge, so they … um, they wanted to punish me.” Her eyes blinked rapidly. She cleared her throat again. “They took turns raping me.”
    Merciful God
. Canyon recoiled.
    The questioning continued, each minute adding to the acid boiling in his intestines. Nausea had nothing on what he felt listening to the horrific testimony. That the woman could sit here and relate the story without falling apart made him marvel. Finally the panel took a short recess. Canyon didn’t move. Couldn’t. If he did, he might hurt someone. Fury roiled through his chest. But why did he care? He didn’t know this girl. And he’d certainly seen worse done to female captives. He wrestled with the thoughts as the hearing reconvened.
    “Our second witness is Chief Petty Officer Range Metcalfe,” a male voice announced forcefully—Senator Billings. “Chief, can you please tell us about the rescue operation to retrieve Lieutenant Roark?”
    “Yes, sir.” Range sat forward, crisp and at attention, making Canyon proud. “We received the call at 0217 to rescue a floater. A couple found her adrift. I used the basket to retrieve her from the deck. She was hypothermic and despondent. Once in the bird, we wrapped her in thermal blankets and delivered her to Walter Reed.”
    “Your report,” Billings began, his cold, unfeeling tone grating along Canyon’s spine, “says that she was wearing nothing but an army jacket.” Billings peered over his reading glasses. “Is that correct, Chief Petty Officer?”
    Range stole a nervous glance to Roark. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
    “What about her condition?”
    “Besides skin discoloration from the hypothermia, she had lacerations to her right temple and lower left jaw. Her lip was swollen, as was her right eye. Multiple lacerations and burns on her legs and arms proved she’d been through a lot.”
    So, Canyon had eyed the scars right. Two months old. Still a bit pink.
    A shift happened when Billings petitioned the panel to return to Roark for more questions that arose from Range’s answers. Though Senator Miller challenged Billings, the others felt further inquiry could be beneficial. Canyon wanted to throttle the fat, overbearing Billings.
    “Lieutenant Roark,” Billings barked, eliciting a jerk from her. “When you were picked up by the Coast Guard, you were wearing a jacket from the Venezuelan army. It is reported the patch bore the name Bruzon. Can you explain how you came into possession of that jacket?”
    Bruzon? Canyon’s hackles rose. He’d seen the handiwork of that guerilla firsthand. Heard numerous reports of much worse. And yet, no evidence had been lifted that