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Full Story: Hearts of Darkness (w. ShadowOfDesire)

That morning was blissful for a few minutes, as Miranda snuggled in his lap, feeling his clothed erection pressing against her bare thigh, and indulged in a bit of loving foreplay (though none of it really needed to lead to sex, she'd told herself). Happy that she'd surprised him, she looped one arm around his neck and leaned against his chest, perfectly content to nibble fruit from his hand between pleasurable kisses. After the previous evening, it only seemed like a natural progression of things, and she enjoyed it as much as all other contact she'd had with the man. It didn't matter if he was teasing, touching, or fucking her, Miranda couldn't get enough of him.

But as he grew serious, and his tone changed, her mood did as well. A bit crestfallen that something she'd barely considered should put a damper on the mood, Miranda drew back in his arms to meet his eyes. A slight frown pulled at the corners of her mouth and drew her brows closer together. "You never told me that. Why didn't you say something last night?" She cocked her head as her hand lifted to the leather band about her neck. "I would never have touched it. I just didn't want to wear it in the shower, and didn't think it'd be comfortable in bed."

"I full intend to wear the necklace you got me, and don't intend to take it off except in the shower at bed time," she assured him. Her finger tapped her collar again. "This is just for us, though, when we're in private and together. If you want me to wear it all of the time, I will, or until you take it off. I told you that I wanted to make you happy, and I fully meant that. However, I can't follow the rules if I don't know them."

One hand lifted to caress his cheek gently. "I told you before that this is new to me. If do something wrong, or something that upsets you, just let me know. I promise I'm not doing it on purpose. I just don't know any better. Not until you teach me."

"So... how can I make it up to you? Is naked breakfast a good start?" She lifted one eyebrow, a glimmer of a smile returning to her eyes. "Or do you think a harsher punishment is needed?"
 
Jack squirmed a bit and not because he had a gorgeous, near naked woman in his lap; Miranda had a point and was right to chide him about it. He was very relieved to see her get over her upset so quickly, but still wanted to do his best to make it right. So he took a quick breath and answered her. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a guy.” As if to make his point Jack now literally squirmed a bit, so she could better feel the erection she was lightly sitting on. “Communication isn’t always our strong suit. But I do try sometimes, especially when it’s important.” He leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss, then stroked her hair. “And no, I’m not going to punish you for something you didn’t know about, because I didn't tell you.” He was finally able to grin a little again. “So if you’re fishing around for another spanking, you’re going to have to either really screw up or …” his grin broadened “… ask me nicely. But if you do, then we’ll both know what a little pain slut you are.” He coaxed her off his lap as he went on. “So let’s eat now, before our food gets as cold as you must be getting.” But as Miranda turned to slip around the table to her seat, Jack couldn’t resist playfully slapping her bare ass just once. “Put some aloe on that today sweetie” he mock ordered. “You’ll appreciate it later.”

Over breakfast they chatted about their respective coming days, just like vanilla couples might do the morning after. As always Jack was curious about her work and finally got around to asking Miranda what kind of surgeon she was; he had no idea if ‘general surgery’ was a thing, and sort of assumed all surgeons were specialists of some kind. But maybe he was wrong about that. For his part he was rather vague about what he was heading off to do that morning, but did mention they were going to “check out” one of the “locations” she’d provided him. He thought that sounded better than “neutralize a car bomb factory,” though he really did mean “neutralize” in the … well, neutral sense; if any occupants just surrendered that was fine by him, since they didn’t get paid extra for being shot at and live prisoners gave up better intel than not-so-live bodies. But even that small violation of operational security made him a little uneasy, though he quickly rationalized it away by thinking they’d be done before she even got to the clinic that morning. He also promised to tell her more about it that night if she was interested, since he was hopeful his day would end as early as it was beginning.

When he glanced at his watch Jack abruptly realized it was time for him to get going so he set his utensils down, had one last sip of coffee and wiped his mouth. “That was great sweetie. And so was getting to be with you this morning before I had to leave. And I don’t just mean that because you treated me to a naked breakfast.” He reached across the small table and squeezed her fingers. “Thank you very much.” Then he stood and held out his hand. “Before I take off, let me kiss you goodbye properly.”
 
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"So you're a typical guy that has trouble communicating, and I'm a typical girl that thinks guys should be able to read our minds." She returned his grin. "Yes, I think we make a fantastic pair." While she said nothing at his offer of a spanking, her dark eyes did gleam with amusement. The smack to her tender bottom was met with a slight groan. He'd note that Miranda sat down very carefully.

During breakfast and their chat, Miranda further explained her profession and how it encompassed a wide variety of ailments and diseases, but primarily focused on ailments within the abdomen. She also had extensive training in emergency trauma surgery, which aided her well in places like Nigeria and explained why she wasn't shaken by gory accidents like they'd witnessed in the village. However, as they were eating, she didn't go into too much detail, assuming that Jack wouldn't really enjoy hearing about the morning she spent buried elbows deep in some poor kids bowels after his gut was shredded by shrapnel from a car bomb. Later, she'd tell him all he liked, just not while they were eating.

For her part, Miranda didn't ask anything about his secret operations, nor did she prod him for any details regarding how he'd be spending his morning. While she was interested in what he did during the day, she respected his privacy and didn't make it difficult for him to keep his missions confidential. His offer to tell her more later that evening was met with a counter offer.

"I would very much like it if you came back tonight, if you're able," Miranda answered. She nibbled at her lower lip uncertainly for a moment before continuing. "I'd love to hear about your day, but I also have a few things that I'd like to talk to you about. Text me if you're going to have the night off, and I'll have dinner waiting."

As he stood, she slipped her hand into his and rose to her feet, drawing close to slid her arms up his chest and around his neck, "And what does a proper kiss goodbye look like between Sir and his pet?" she asked impishly, face tilted slightly so that her eyes met his.
 
Jack grinned at Miranda as he looked into her eyes. “It varies, so let’s see what’s on the menu this morning.” He leaned down and gave her a quick little peck on the lips, then reached behind his neck to grasp her hands and guide them down behind her back. As he held both her hands in one of his own Jack used the other to gently peel one edge of Miranda’s apron back, so that he could lean down and place his lips over one of her nipples; he kissed and licked and sucked on the sensitive bud just until it peaked for him, then switched his attention to the other side of her full bosom. Once he'd kissed both her nipples goodbye he took one of her hands in his and walked them the couple of steps it took to get to the apartment’s tiny foyer.

Over by the door Jack set his bag down and then told Miranda to again put her hands against the wall and present herself to him properly; since they’d covered that subject more than once he didn’t fret about getting her to comply. But then he added a new wrinkle to it; he had her get up on her toes, as if she was still wearing her heels. He didn’t think holding that pose, at least for a short time, would be all that hard for a fit, flexible gal like her and it did simply wonderful things for her already lean legs and toned ass. He crouched down and took a close look at her pretty pink pussy; it didn’t seem any worse for the wear it’d received the evening prior so he gave it a soft little kiss. Then his tongue flicked out over her inner lips a few times before stroking her clit once or twice too. After that he reached up, spread her cheeks a bit and examined her puckered little bud; it also seemed perfectly fine to him, though he could tell her cheeks were sensitive. Since she’d seemed to really enjoy the anal last night Jack’s tongue flicked out again and started lightly teasing Miranda's back door as well, while he slipped the tip of a thumb into her cunt and also used a fingertip to continue stroking her clit. The big soldier kept toying with the sexy doctor’s body like that until he started to feel her juice coat his thumb and her hips twitch, and heard her moan a little and then … he stood up and spun her around to face him. “Time for me to go sweetie” he said with a grin on his face; if he was going to leave with a hard on, she was going to be left a little frustrated too.

Still grinning he took her slender body in his arms, crushed his lips to hers and pushed his warm tongue between her teeth; not only did he want to properly kiss her mouth goodbye, he wanted her to get a small taste of the first two holes he’d kissed as well. His tongue danced with hers for a time as he held her close, but then it really was time for him to go so he regretfully broke the kiss, pulled back a little and undid her collar, which he placed into her hands. Jack smiled warmly as he looked into Miranda’s eyes and added “But I’ll be back later to finish what I started, so hang on to that for me, okay?” Then he gave her one last, gentle kiss, picked up his bag and slipped out the door, being careful to crack it open just wide enough for him to quickly pass through and pull shut behind him …
 
When Miranda finally locked the door behind Jack, she was left breathless and aroused. The taste of him, of her, still lingered on her lips. Glancing down at the collar in her hand, she couldn't help but smile. She'd not known what to expect when the night began, but the reality far exceeded any of her expectations. It was also far different from everything she'd gleaned of that sort of relationship from the movies. Well, perhaps not extremely different, but just different. And how did she even classify what they'd shared? In the end, it didn't truly matter. She was his pet, he was her Sir, and everything else just seemed trivial.

Removing her apron and tossing it onto the table, she walked into the bedroom and paused, wondering where she should keep her collar and leash. After what he'd told her about how special the object was and all that it symbolized, she didn't want to put it with her vibrator as though it was another toy to pull out when she wanted to play. She didn't want to keep it in the closet, either, as though it were simply another accessory. In the end, she took both of the leather pieces and put them back into the box in which they'd been presented. Moving to the far side of her bed, she opened the drawer on the bedside table and removed the contents, placing her collar box into the drawer all by itself. She gave it a little pat of reassurance before closing the drawer.

"I'll see you soon," she promised, smirking to herself.

Opening the drawer in the opposite beside table, she dumped what she'd cleaned out of the previous one and pulled out the folder containing Carson's blackmail pictures. The sight of it made her frown. Jack clearly hadn't opened the folder, for what lay inside would have ended their lovely evening rather abruptly. Even so, she intended to tell him everything that night. He deserved to know about the blackmail, about Carson, and what he was up against. He also deserved to know the terrible thing she'd done that Carson now held over her head. The situation was a ticking bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Miranda should have confessed before she'd let things with Jack go so far, but she'd been selfish. She'd wanted him so badly, that she let her emotions override logic. It was time for that to end.

She placed the folder in the drawer with her collar, for the two would soon be inexorably linked. Jack may want to sever their relationship when he'd discovered what she'd done. She'd find out that evening whether her secret would sever or strengthen their bond.

The rest of the day passed as many of the others since her arrival in Nigeria. She dressed, cleaned up breakfast, and headed to the clinic early to catch up on everything she'd missed. The trauma of being attacked on the way back into the city had dulled somewhat, both by time and sharing her feelings. She felt she was ready to return to work, but was willing to allow the rest of the staff to take the brunt of their patients. She started small, taking on a patient here or there, but the press of people didn't end, and Miranda didn't buckle, so she was soon back in the regular swing of things.

It was Isioma that noticed the golden chain she was wearing about her neck. The Nigerian woman smirked at her as she gave her a sidelong glance. "Pretty thing, that," she commented. "Your soldier boy give it to you? The oyinbo?"

"Maybe," Miranda said coyly, trying repress a smile, but failing miserably.

"Maybe, my foot. Man buys you jewelry, things are going to the next level."

Miranda rolled the chain in her fingers, throwing the woman a smirk as she passed the front desk. "Oh, you have no idea."
 
Jack made it out to the motorpool on time, but since everyone else had been early it seemed like he was late. That turned out not to be a big deal though, since instead of the usual last minute preparations everyone was just sitting around; Mikhail had his head back and seemed to be sleeping, which told him something screwy was going on. Then Danny saw Jack and came hustling over. “Ag man, there you are.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s the surveillance team. They don’t like it. Walter says something’s wrong. He says the trash is off, whatever that means and no one’s there.” The tall Afrikaner shuffled his feet nervously. “Also, some fokker took the long way round this morning, to avoid walking past the place.”

“Well fuck.” Jack knew Walter was the best surveillance man Valeriy had; a black South African who seemed to be able to get in anywhere they needed eyes on target. He was probably squatting in a doorway just down the street from their objective right now, reeking of cheap booze and piss; one time he’d told Jack that smelling like that was the best way to keep people from asking him any questions. If Walter said something was wrong, something was wrong.

"Let me talk to Dieter.”

---

About forty-five minutes later all the cell towers in Galtimari went dark, courtesy of a phone call from Dieter to the Governor’s military aide. Five minutes after that Jack, Mikhail and two volunteers rolled up in front of the bush garage’s entrance; Jack had originally called for three volunteers, but after the Russian’s eyes had snapped open to give him a dirty look the American revised that number downward. Everyone else pulled in to secure a loose perimeter way out, and stayed in their trucks. The door popped easily enough when it was rammed and as they flooded into what passed for the garage’s office, nothing went bang or boom. The office was empty, so they quickly stacked up to flood into the vehicle bay. Then the number one man, a stocky South African vet named Vincent, did something you never, ever do; he stopped in the doorway. As Jack bumped into the South African’s back he heard him say “Fokking hell!” and then glanced over Vincent's shoulder to see about two dozen old Soviet anti-tank mines daisy chained together on the floor of the bay; more than enough high explosive to flatten the building and vaporize them instantly. It looked like there were two cell phones blinking away at the ends of wires leading to the mines. Jack grabbed Vincent’s vest and turned back towards Mikhail. “Out, out, out. Now!”

The four of them looked like the Keystone Cops as they piled out of the garage and into their truck as fast as humanly possible. But nobody on the perimeter was laughing …

---

An hour and a half later a new police EOD unit arrived to take care of the mines. The UN had been training them up so Jack got to see Trevor, the old retired British cop again along with an equally old Scotsman named Callum. The latter had been an EOD tech for decades and learned his trade the hard way during the Troubles; Callum was now working for the UN on contract, training Nigerians in the fine art of defusing bombs without getting yourself blown to pieces in the process. First they sent a robot in to have a look around; it turned out there were actually three mobiles attached to the mines; the robot was able to neutralize two of them, but the third was in a spot too risky to do remotely. After some discussion with the Nigerian police Captain theoretically in charge of the team, Callum ended up suiting up and going in to take care of the last phone himself. Once he came back out one of his trainees went in to start the slow process of checking each mine for booby traps and defusing it; as his students rotated through this sudden practical exercise the Scotsman kept the suit’s bottom on and chain smoked constantly as he watched what was going on through the robot’s camera. When it turned out that one of the mines was rigged to blow when it was lifted up the work started going even slower, but nobody on the perimeter blamed the techs for that at all.

As the day wore on Jack didn’t have much to do; Captain O. kept an eye on the troops, Mikhail went back to studying the insides of his eyelids and Danny went back to base to brief Dieter and Valeriy on the near disaster. So it was easy enough for him to text Miranda once the cell towers turned back on.

Hey, hope your day is going well. Ran into a little snag, but things are going alright now. Will tell you about it tonight. XO J.

If nothing else, Jack could be quite the optimist sometimes …

---Bonus Video Content---

The most well known flick about Explosive Ordnance Disposal is undoubtedly The Hurt Locker starring Jeremy Renner, which won a Best Picture Oscar back in 2008; Jack had mixed feelings about the movie. On the one hand it was wildly inaccurate in so many ways it was hard for him to take seriously; every EOD tech he’d ever talked to had the same opinion. On the other hand he thought it did do one thing brilliantly; show why adrenaline junkies are attracted to war zones like moths to a flame. As far as he was concerned those divergent viewpoints were perfectly encapsulated in the multi-bomb scene, which featured in the movie’s promotional poster; anyone who liked that would probably like the rest of the flick.

The Hurt Locker: The Multi Bomb scene

The life of an EOD robot, part one

The life of an EOD robot, part two
 
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Sometime between administering another vaccination and stitching up an ugly abdominal wound, Miranda glanced at her phone and sent Jack a text in return.

Let me know if you won't be able to get away. I'll likely be at the clinic late, but won't rush home if your plans change. Hopefully see you later.

As she knew that Jack's job could be unpredictable, Miranda wouldn't fault him if he got stuck at the base or on patrol. She'd be disappointed, of course, but she couldn't get angry at the man who was just doing his job. Her own job was the same way, though she had a bit more flexibility except when she had surgeries scheduled. While she could bump them or have another doctor cover, she always felt like a jerk having to do that. Everyone was busy, so she always made an effort to keep her appointments.

Her staff, with the help of Lee, had done a fantastic job of keeping the place going in her absence, but there were always little things that people missed. Forms and reports were the two biggest culprits, for paperwork always came a distant second to the safety and health of patients. Miranda used to procrastinate doing her reports, but then they piled up into a nearly insurmountable task that took her days to wade through. Now, she forced herself to make the time to jump through all the hurdles required by the MSF so that she wasn't buried by paperwork. It also helped to keep them off her back. Being one person down, her staff had considered their reporting optional, so Miranda had a huge stack of patient files waiting on her desk that needed review.

After everyone had gone home, she locked up for the night and returned to her office to clear out what she could. The lights in the rest of the clinic had been turned off, leaving her office light as the sole beacon, but she didn't mind the dark or the solitude. After about an hour, she'd put a good dent in the pile and figured she could easily complete the rest the following evening, so she called for a cab and gathered her things to wait in the lobby for her ride. Almost the moment she stepped out of her office, a strong arm jerked her to one side in a crushing grip and a hand covered her face to muffle her scream of surprise. At first, she thought it was Jack making good on his promise to play out his 'patient fucks a doctor' fantasy, but the voice in her ear didn't belong to Jack.

A sickening chill ran through her as Carson murmured in her ear. "Good evening, Dr. Blake. Did you think you could leave without saying hello?"

She was about to elbow him in the gut when he released her. Whirling, she could just make out the flash of his smile in the gloom. "What in the hell are you doing here?! I don't have anything for you."

"No? I see why. You've been playing house with the soldier, and have been more worried about sucking his cock than doing your job."

"I have a job." She gestured wildly at her office. "I don't work for you, Carson. I'm not a spy and never will be."

"Your job is to do what I tell you to do," he snarled, taking a step forward to back her into the wall. "I don't give a damn about your fucking clinic except that you working here benefits me. So while you may not have anything for me now, I have something for you."

Miranda's frown deepened, but she didn't ask the question she knew he wanted to hear. It irked him, clearly, and he scowled at her. "Not even slightly curious? No matter. I'll tell you anyway. I'm here to give you a warning."

"Warn me about what?"

"About running your pretty little mouth to your boyfriend about me and our arrangement."

"I wasn't..." She barely got out the words before he'd smacked her hard on the cheek. She gasped, one hand against her throbbing face.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Miranda. I know you were going to tell him about us. You can, of course, but you'll be killing him if you do. You won't know when it'll happen. Perhaps the two of you will be walking in the market and WHAM, some thug jumps out of nowhere to stab him a half dozen times in the chest. Or maybe he comes to visit you here and some terrorist puts a bullet in his head before he can step through the door. It won't be a matter of if it will happen, but when."

He swatted her hand away and took her chin in his hand, wrenching her face up so that she was forced to look up at him. "It isn't a threat, Miranda. It is a promise. You breathe a word, and you'll both be dead before the end of the week. Now... tell me you understand."

Icy fingers crushing her heart, she nodded slightly, but that didn't satisfy him. He jerked her chin, shaking her.

"Say it," he hissed.

"I understand!"

He patted her opposite cheek affectionately as he released her. "Good, girl. Now... I understand that you and the soldier have become very close lately. I had no idea you were so kinky, my dear. Do you like being his little fuck toy?" His fingers slipped down her slender neck to tug lightly at her chain.

Miranda's eyes widened. Was he simply guessing? Or did he know the truth? She couldn't think how unless... unless he'd bugged her apartment. Audio? Visual? Bile rose in her throat at the sickening invasion of her privacy, and she felt like hurling. Carson grinned at her reaction, all but confirming her suspicions.

"Anyhow, since you're turning out to be such a whore and a nice little honey trap, I can't help but wonder what it'd be like to sample the goods myself. You've been teasing me this whole time, haven't you? Acting as though you weren't interested, but it's really just a part of your icy facade." His hand slipped past her lab coat to squeeze one of her breasts.

Miranda tried to knock his hand away, but he slammed her head against the wall with enough force to bring make her see stars. One hand wrapped about her throat and the other pinned one of her hands to the wall while he spread her thighs apart with his knee. He pressed himself against her, and she could feel his massive erection against her thigh.

"You're going to suck this for me, sweetheart, and you're going to do a fantastic job of it. If you scream or struggle or try to bite me, I'm going to beat you until you're barely conscious, and then I'm going to fuck you anywhere I please. After that, I'll go pay your boyfriend a visit and put a bullet in his head myself. This clinic won't last long, either. Someone might very well decide to bomb the place while it's packed with your staff and plenty of locals. Be a shame, wouldn't it? All of those deaths so easily prevented if one proud bitch just got down her knees to suck a man off properly."

He pushed her to the floor, gripping her hair tightly to hold her still as he rubbing his covered cock against her cheek. "Just a little thing, isn't it, when you see the bigger picture? Now open wide. You're going to need to unhinge your jaw for this monster."
 
Things finally wrapped up at the garage late in the afternoon and Jack was still hopeful he’d be able to see Miranda again that night, especially after the text she’d sent him. But his day just kept getting better back at base; before he could even hop into the shower Dieter’s orderly knocked on his door and said the OC wanted to see him straight away. “Oh crap, not again …” was his first thought.

In the conference room it was just Dieter and Valeriy who were waiting for him this time. But Jack still felt a sinking feeling in his stomach when his boss told him to shut the door and sit down. As he did the American started talking. “Alright, what is it this time? I know the garage was almost a complete disaster but that’s …” The older South African cut him off. “That’s not what this is about Jack. Or at least I hope it isn’t. Now listen to Valeriy.” The Russian intel officer fidgeted for a moment, then began.

“I’m sure you recall the mobile we recovered from the safehouse, the one used by the dead Lieutenant to communicate with only one other number.” Valeriy tapped a small pile of paper in front of him. “These are the records for that other number; we got them a few days ago and I finally made time today to look through them after … things did not go as well as we’d hoped.” The Russian picked up the top portion of the stack and set it aside. “The metadata for the number’s voice calls has proven unenlightening so far, but the data for texts sent from this number …” Valeriy placed one piece of paper in front of Jack; to the left was a long column of phone numbers with the header “Recipient” above it. One of those numbers was highlighted; it was Miranda’s. A second piece of paper had her number highlighted twice and it showed up once more on a third …

Jack knew the Russian was still talking because he saw his lips moving. But everything Valeriy said sounded like he was underwater; Jack caught something like “not a coincidence” but it was hard to hear the rest since it seemed as if someone else was also talking. Then he felt someone grab his arm and he looked down to see Dieter’s hand around his wrist; Jack wondered why his boss’ hand was shaking, then realized it was because his arm was. Dieter was also talking to him, but all Jack caught was his name and the words “alright” and “clear this up tonight;” he missed the rest because of whoever else it was that kept talking over everyone else. Then it dawned on him; the other person talking was him, saying “No, no, no, no …” over and over again, as his whole world crumbled around him; he felt like he’d been hit in the head with a club, punched in the gut and kicked in the balls all at once. And he suddenly, deeply, completely regretted having gotten the fucking cell towers turned off that morning …

---Some Time Later---

One moment Carson had Miranda’s hair clutched firmly in his hand and was rubbing himself against her face with the other. The next he was staggering away from the kneeling doctor, clutching at the side of his head as he cried out in pain. Someone behind the Briton kept slamming something into Carson’s head hard and fast, not giving the Brit any real chance to defend himself; at one point Miranda could almost hear the sound of bones breaking in the Briton’s hand as he tried to shield his face. Then Carson’s legs were taken out from under him and as he fell a short, wiry man piled on top of him and continued dismantling the Brit; Carson screamed when his clavicle was shattered and Miranda could see that whoever was attacking him was using the pommel of a black bladed knife like a hammer. The assault only stopped when a voice called out in Russian from the gloom of the clinic. As Carson lay there moaning, twitching and bleeding the man on top of him rose up a bit, so that he could sheath the blade he carried under his cheap leather jacket; from the light of her office Miranda could see it was Mikhail.

The Russian pulled a pair of zip ties from his jacket and used them to bind Carson’s hands behind his back. Next came a strip of pre-cut duct tape, peeled from the inside of Mikhail’s jacket, which went over the Briton’s mouth. And finally a simple sandbag also pulled from a pocket went over Carson’s head. The whole process took only a few moments and it looked like the Russian may have done something like it before. Then and only then did Mikhail look over at Miranda as he stood; the Russian wasn't breathing all that hard and just then his eyes were about as warm and comforting as a spider’s.

A tall, thin white man stepped out of the gloom towards Miranda. He was neatly dressed in civilian clothes and looked like he could have been an academic, except for the fact that he was tucking a small pistol into the green canvas messenger bag he had slung over one shoulder. He held a hand out to Miranda and helped her to her feet, speaking in perfect, unaccented English as he did. “Doctor Blake, are you injured?” The man’s tone seemed only mildly concerned, but he did give Miranda a quick once over. “No, I think not. My name is Valeriy. I am a colleague of Jack and Mikhail’s, and have a few questions for you. They are rather urgent, which is why we are here, now.” Valeriy gestured back towards Miranda’s office. “I think we will talk in there.” The last statement was not a suggestion. And while Valeriy’s mouth was smiling politely, that expression didn’t extend to his eyes either …
 
Miranda was shaken, but unharmed. She'd fought Carson, tried to turn her head and push him away, having no intention of sucking anything of his no matter his threats. But the grip on her scalp tightened, and she heard herself scream as he wrenched her head about by force and slammed her again against the wall. She knew she couldn't stop him if he truly wished to assault her, but she'd not give him an easy time of it. The world narrowed, and all she could think of in that moment of panic was Jack. He would have protected her, if only she'd told him sooner.

But somehow she'd been saved, but by whom? She sat on the floor in something of a daze, watching Carson being beaten to a bloody pulp with a slight feeling of disassociation. She'd somehow forgotten how to move her limbs. Sitting limply, she stared until the chaos stopped and then blinked as she recognized Carson's attacker. It should have been a great relief, but something in the Russian's eyes told her he'd not come by chance, and it sent a chill up her spine. A slight swivel of her head brought Valeriy's hand into focus, though it took her a moment to recognize the offering, and another moment to realize why she was having trouble focusing.

As Valeriy righted her, she gripped the wall with one hand. "I think I've a concussion," she murmured. And that was the moment her head began to pound in protest.

She managed to make it to her chair and sit gingerly, though something banged against her knee. Looking down, she stared at the strange object until she realized she'd still been clutching her phone. Holding it in one shaky hand, she wearily offered it to Valeriy. "S'on there... voice files. Not as stupid as he thinks. Caught him more than once without him knowing. 'e likes to brag."

The overhead light of her office worsened the throbbing pulse in her head. She squinted, pinching the bridge of her nose while she tamped down the nausea. One cheek was red and sore where Carson had slapped her, and the imprint about her throat hadn't yet faded, but it was the ache in the back of her skull that demanded her attention. That and the fact that Jack was no where to be seen. Fear suddenly gripped her stomach, squeezing it painfully.

"Is Jack safe?" she asked quietly.
 
Valeriy watched Miranda closely as she made her way to her chair, but otherwise left the woman alone and accepted her mobile without comment. Through the open doorway she could see Mikhail speak into a radio and then begin going through Carson’s pockets. When she asked about Jack, Valeriy replied to her smoothly. “He’s fine.” Two other men Miranda had never seen appeared outside the doorway and dragged Carson off while Mikhail entered her office and handed Valeriy what he’d taken off Carson; as he did he muttered something to the other man in Russian and received a muted reply in return.

Mikhail stepped back out the door and Valeriy sat in the guest chair after he put down his messenger bag. Miranda could see the man sitting across from him place two phones, a modern smartphone and a smaller local mobile, next to her cell on the small table next to him; after that he briefly examined a black passport and then carefully went through a wallet. As Valeriy was finishing up Mikhail returned, handed him a bottle of water and then leaned against the doorjamb, seemingly looking at nothing in particular.

Valeriy placed the passport and wallet in his bag, opened the water bottle and put it on Miranda’s desk in front of her. Then he sat back, crossed his legs and again smiled at her politely and with no warmth whatsoever. “As I mentioned Doctor Blake this is rather urgent, so we must press on. I know you’re an educated woman, so I won’t insult your intelligence; please don’t insult mine. We’ve already sent your car away. If you’re cooperative and honest there’s a chance that when we’re done, we’ll be on our way and you can call him back. If not …” Valeriy’s head tilted slightly towards Mikhail “… you'll be coming with us.”

Valeriy paused for a moment and looked at the three phones now sitting on the table beside him. Then he looked back at Miranda. “Given what’s transpired here, and the condition you seem to be in, I’ll start with this. Who is Mister Carson? Why was he here, attacking you in your own clinic so late in the evening?” She could see his eyes narrow a little before he went on. “And why was a British diplomat carrying a pistol?”

As Valeriy waited for Miranda’s reply she could see that Mikhail was now looking directly at her too …
 
Miranda blinked, mouth parting slightly in confusion. "A diplomat? He told me he was with the agency... I assumed the British Secret Service. I don't know who he is, really. He was introduced to me by the Regional Director of the MSF here in Nigeria, Steven Isaacs. Steven told me that he was working for the British government to gather intel about Boko Haram and their operations in the city. I was ordered to work with the man, to give him whatever information he needed from the clinic. We hear things here. People talk. It's exactly the same arrangement that Jack wanted to make when he came here for the first time."

"After the first month, things began to change." Miranda took a breath. "He wanted other information. Information about you and your team. He somehow found out that Jack had been here and the arrangement we'd made. He wanted me to bring him information about your unit, your missions, your capabilities... that sort of thing. Only, I don't know any of that. Jack and I don't never talked about your work. The only time I've even seen any of your team in action was during our village trips, and there was nothing classified about that trip. Jack doesn't discuss your other activities, and I don't ask about them."

Her gaze flitted to the doorway, looking past Mikhail to where Carson had disappeared. "That didn't sit well with Carson. He was convinced I wasn't trying hard enough, which I definitely wasn't. I like Jack. I didn't want to hurt him. Carson started becoming... violent. Abusive. He blackmailed me, made threats of what he'd do if I told anyone, how he'd have everyone killed. He could ruin my career and have my license revoked. Humiliate me. Have me sent to prison." Blinking in the harsh light, she glanced back to the two men, eyes widening with fear. Her voice dropped to a soft whisper. "The first time I crossed him, he killed one of my patients. Right here, in the clinic. Though, I couldn't prove he'd been the one to do it. So I believed every word. He's... a dangerous man. Was... a dangerous man."

"T-tonight was the first time he'd t-tried that. He's threatened and made insinuations before, but had never..." She couldn't bring herself to continue. Her cheeks were flushed and her head still pounding. If only they'd turn the damn light off.
 
Valeriy did not look pleased. “Doctor Blake, didn’t I say you needed to be honest as well as cooperative?” Then he sighed. “At least you confirmed Mister Carson was a British intelligence officer. Perhaps you need a few more moments to recover from your attack and appreciate the gravity of your situation.” Valeriy gave Miranda just enough time to drink some water and then he continued. “Let us review.”

“First you say that your MSF supervisor directed you to cooperate with British intelligence. But MSF is a neutral, non-governmental organization, an NGO much like the Red Cross. MSF quietly working with the host country’s government as the price of doing business is indeed believable, but working with a third country foreign intelligence service? That is preposterous. Why would your Mister Isaacs take such a risk?” Valeriy raised his eyebrow. “And will he confirm what you are saying when we ask him?”

“Second, when Mister Carson exceeded his initial mandate and became abusive, did you let Mister Isaacs know you were now spying on the host country’s army and also being threatened? If so, what did he do about it? If not, why not? And more importantly, why didn’t you let your close contact in the Nigerian Army – Major Jack Grainger – know? I know you two have developed a personal relationship, and you have said you didn’t want to hurt him, so …” Valeriy let his last sentence hang in the air for a moment before he went on.

“Finally we come to Mister Carson’s threats. Now I must admit I did see him abusing you this evening, but before tonight? You said he killed one of your patients here in the clinic, but can’t prove it; what does that mean? How did he accomplish this feat? And you also mentioned he was blackmailing you. How would following your supervisor’s orders to work against Boko Haram lead to humiliation, the loss of your license and career, and prison?”

Valeriy frowned and shook his head as he finished his review. “You need to start making more sense Doctor Blake. Otherwise you will be detained at Giwa Barracks, as a spy and possible terrorist collaborator.” The local detention facility mentioned by the Russian was notorious, and in one report had been dubbed a ‘place of death’ by Amnesty International. “I will give you one last opportunity to tell me everything …”

---Pictures---

A highly sanitized shot of Giwa Barracks from Nigerian TV.
 
Miranda inhaled sharply, taking the offered break and water. She knew the men weren't bluffing about hauling her off, but it irked her that they felt free to threaten her so lightly. She'd been living in terror for the past few months, never knowing when she'd be accosted or how far Carson might go. And now they were treating her like a criminal, as though she'd done something wrong. As if she betrayed Jack. But I would never! I didn't tell Carson anything!

And still her head wouldn't stop pounding. She squinted, one hand pressed to her temple, jaw tightly clenched.

"The MSF is neutral, but Steven runs his division like a private little fiefdom and does whatever the hell he wants here. You can interview other MSF doctors to corroborate that. Most of us have had nasty experiences with the man. If we want to stay, to actually stay and help, then we don't cross him. As soon as you do, you'll be packed up and shipped off with a 'recommendation to release' in your file. The MSF won't touch you after that, and you can bet that none of the other relief organizations will, either. Not if you've been marked as trouble. So we play along so that we can keep our positions and give these people the care that they deserve."

"When it became clear what Carson really wanted, I did go speak with Steven. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was to do whatever the man asked. He didn't want to know what Carson wanted. He just wanted to make sure I was compliant. Will Steven deny all that? Probably, but that's why I secretly recorded our damn conversation so that I could have proof for someone above him. When I threatened to go above his head and left, I was paid a visit that night by a masked assailant that promised bodily harm if I spoke to anyone."

"The blackmail started soon after." She glanced up at the men blearily, nostrils flaring. "Following orders had nothing to do with it. The bastard had a file on me, and it was very thorough. I'd been a target even before I entered the country. He knew everything -- my background, about my mother's drug problem, the foster homes I grew up in. He had names, dates, pictures. He had my marriage certificate, my husband's death certificate, my hospital psych records. But most of all, he had an entire section dedicated to my deepest, nastiest secret -- the thing that would ruin me and end everything I'd worked so hard to achieve. A very personal thing, that has nothing to do with this country, you, or the the work I've done with the MSF."

"On one of our busiest days, we had a young man in the clinic that had been targeted by Boko Haram because he'd killed one of their members that had tried to abduct and rape his sister. They tried to stab him to death, but underestimated how good he was at defending himself. He still took several knife wounds to the gut in the process, and his family rushed him here since I was closest while we waited for the ambulatory service. I patched him up so that he wouldn't bleed out, and when I returned to my office, Carson was waiting for me. He wanted me to let the kid die, which I refused to do. I don't know if he had a particular reason, or if it was just a test, but I told him to get the hell out and never to come here again."

"I heard the ambulance about the same time I heard screaming in the clinic. The kid was dead. One of the aunties thought she saw a male doctor with him, but the only doctors on duty that day were myself and Dr. Jensen. And no one is going to mistake Dr. Jensen for Carson. I paid for an autopsy out of my own pocket. The kid died of an air embolism. Do you know what that is? Someone stuck a needle in his veins and injected air into the bloodstream. It isn't just a thing they do in the movies. It can really kill you."

"So when the man threatened my life, I didn't think he was bluffing. You think I could tell Jack about all that when I had no idea if he could protect me? When I knew that the information would likely put him in danger? I didn't know Jack. Not really. Not until last night. We were supposed to have a long conversation this evening, and I was going to tell him everything. I was going to take that risk in the hopes that he'd help me, that he'd have someone way to keep me safe. But Carson somehow knew I was going to spill it. He knew. That's why he came here tonight -- to shut me up."

"Tell me, who was I supposed to go to? Who could I trust besides Jack? Not the MSF. Certainly not the Nigerian government. The moment I even thought about opening my mouth, Carson knew. How? Who told him? I know that he's not working alone, and I know he has people spying on me. I told Jack that I had something important to tell him, and then suddenly Carson shows up here, threatening to kill Jack and bomb the clinic."

"The only thing I can figure is that he's got a bug in my apartment." Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from the men to her desk. "He could have one planted here, too."
 
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Valeriy leaned back in his chair a little. “Now we are making progress Doctor Blake. Now you are being cooperative and honest. The chance of you sleeping in your own bed tonight is increasing. But you are not there yet.”

The man sitting across from Miranda frowned slightly. “You must understand that even though you were an unwilling spy, and perhaps an unproductive one as well, you were still a spy. Nation’s do not take that lightly. And there is also the matter of you possibly being a terrorist collaborator.” Valeriy shifted in his seat and then went on. “I see that puzzles you, so allow me to explain. This morning Mikhail …” his head tilted towards the doorway “… Jack …” his hand gestured vaguely towards the west “… and many other men conducted an operation at a location provided to us by you.” His finger pointed briefly at Miranda before returning to his lap. “It was a trap, and all of them came very close to being killed by over 100 kgs of explosive.” Mikhail had been looking impassively at Miranda the entire time she and Valeriy were talking and his only reaction to what had just been said was to blink once. “A combination of several good decisions foiled the terrorists’ plan. But if just one link in that chain had failed they would all be dead, their blood would be on your hands and we would be having this conversation at Giwa Barracks.” The man sitting across from Miranda sat up a bit straighter. “Perhaps now you can fully appreciate the gravity of your situation.”

After a short pause Valeriy went on. “Now you need not explain to me how you came by this tainted information. I already know. Instead you will finish your story, and tell me this very personal secret of yours that Mister Carson was so thoroughly blackmailing you with. And before you object, remember that he supposedly already knows this, which means he will be telling me all about it shortly; so think of this as an opportunity to tell me your side of the story.” Valeriy shrugged a little. “And I have no use for blackmail; that is for amateurs. You have already been working for us quite voluntarily, and if you go to Giwa Barracks tonight that will merely be this country’s version of justice. But there is still a chance I will show you some consideration Doctor Blake, if you are completely honest with me …”
 
She stared at him in shock. "I wasn't a spy at all! For the past few months, I've been threatened... emotionally and physically threatened. Have you ever waterboarded someone to force cooperation? Have you ever been on the receiving end?" Her expression darkened. "I've been living in constant fear of that man, with no one that I could turn to for help, never knowing when he was going to be waiting for me to harass me. And I gave him nothing, because I don't know anything. He knew I was holding back, and so his methods worsened. Do you understand the psychological impact of that?"

"I would never put you, your team, and especially not Jack in danger! So you can fuck off with that bullshit. Whatever information that you got from me came from out there." She jabbed an angry finger in the direction of the clinic. "That was the deal, remember? That's what Jack wanted. We heard things and we passed them along. I gave him names, but had no idea who they belonged to or what it would lead to. I'm not in the intelligence game. It isn't my job to verify if that information is accurate or not. That's your job and part of the risk you take. So don't try to pin that on me."

Her jaw tightened again, which did absolutely nothing good for her pounding head. She glared at the two men. "My secret is none of your damned business. The only person I will even think of telling that story to is Jack, because he's the only one that will understand. Get it from Carson if that's your plan. Find his damn file. I don't give a shit. There's not any 'sides' to the story. I did it, and am not proud of it, but that has nothing to do with any of this except that Carson thought he could use it as leverage. That's all you need to know."

"So call me a cab, or haul me away, but if you want more information, then get me to my apartment and get me Jack. And maybe, I don't know, have someone sweep my place to find whatever listening device the man planted that could possibly lead to you to his real collaborators."
 
Valeriy frowned. “And you were doing so well.” He took a moment to put the three phones sitting next to him into his bag, then looked back at Miranda and continued speaking. “So you would have me believe that when Mister Carson was magically murdering your patients, and somehow blackmailing you into spying on the Nigerian Army, you were just a poor helpless woman. Yet now, when I show you a little courtesy, instead of cooperating you suddenly find the courage to start giving lectures, and make demands, and act like a barrister.” Valeriy shook his head. “So typically American; you want things both ways, when it is convenient for you. But this is not America Miss Blake, this is the real world.” The man sitting across from Miranda stood up, exchanged a few muted words with Mikhail and then walked out of the office; as he did Miranda could see Valeriy pulling his own mobile from his pocket.

A few moments later Mikhail sat down in front of Miranda; his jacket reeked of cigarettes and his dark eyes looked directly at her. He spoke in his usual flat tone and heavy accent, and the Russian may have blinked twice the entire time he talked.

“Doctor Bleck my sister is a doctor. Like you. She thinks she is an angel, coming down from Heaven to save people.” Mikhail held his left hand out flat, at shoulder height and then lowered it slowly as he fluttered his fingers; a clear pantomime of an angel descending to Earth.

“When I joined the army she cried.” Mikhail paused for a second. “When our father got sick I asked her, ‘Katya what are you and the other doctors going to do? Feed the kencer a bowl of soup? Or kill it?’” Another pause. “The doctors were not very good killers.”

“Jek is my friend. And you have hurt him very bedly. He loved you.” Pause. “He did not say those words to me but I know it.” There was one final pause. “That is why I came here tonight. To do this. But do not worry Doctor Bleck, if your time has come it will be quick. And painless.”
 
"I'm not making demands, I'm trying to get you to see logic and reason," Miranda said, mostly to herself.

She sighed and reached for the bottle of acetaminophen on her desk, cracking open the bottle and spilling a few of the tablets into her hand. She knocked them back with a swallow of water, eyes rolling toward Mikhail as he sat down. Her lips pressed tightly together in response. "I appreciate that, Mikhail. I really do. I'd rather it be over quick than be dragged into some room to be tortured for hours on end. I don't know anything more than I've already said, so that would just be a waste of everyone's time." After replacing the bottle on the desk, she reached for her pen and a notepad and started to write, speaking as she did.

"I'm sorry I hurt him. I never meant to, Mikhail. I... really do care about him. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I was going to tell him everything. That's not a lie. I never lied to him; I just didn't tell him all of the truth. He won't see it that way, though. I wanted to protect him, as well as myself. I should have trusted him sooner, but I couldn't. I didn't even trust myself. Not until last night."

Her pen paused as she bowed her head slightly. "I am no angel. Far from it. I have many, many sins staining my soul. I care about the people here, and truly wish to help, but I came here for selfish reasons. It was a pitiful attempt to atone for those sins, but I can see now that will never work. I'm too broken. Too worthless."

Her shoulders sagged, and she began to write once more. "I tried to make a change, to run from my past, but it will always haunt me until I face it. I'm a coward, and I let myself be used because I was afraid of having everything taken from me. If I'm no longer a doctor, I'm nothing. If I can't help people, then what is the point of me living? I let that man manipulate me until I was backed into a corner. I did what I could to escape, everything except the one thing I should have done -- faced my sins. If I'd done that to start, Carson would have never had anything to hold over my head."

The paper ripped from the tablet. She took the sheet and folded it into even thirds, writing something on the outside. Then her pen returned to the tablet, pen scribbling frantically across the page. The second note was much shorter, and she stared at it for a long moment before finally signing it. Ripping the paper from the tablet, she also folded that one into thirds, and again wrote on the outside. Then she stacked one atop the other upon her desk and folded her hands over them both.

"He deserves better," she whispered as she closed her eyes.
 
Mikhail looked at Miranda as she spoke to him, but he remained impassive and said nothing in reply so there was no way for her to tell if he had believed her or not. His eyes flicked briefly down towards the tablet when she wrote on it, but he didn’t say anything about that either and also stayed silent after she closed her eyes.

Several minutes later Valeriy stepped back into the room, conversed briefly with Mikhail in Russian and then passed the other man a couple of zip ties and another folded up sandbag. As Mikhail stood the tall intelligence officer looked over at Miranda. “You will be coming with us.” Then he raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head down towards the fresh pieces of paper on her desk. “A confession?”

---Bonus Content---

From the audio commentary to the Director’s Cut of Hearts of Darkness:

Deep Voiced Announcer Guy: “There’s a short deleted scene on the DVD labeled ‘The Angel.’ Can you talk about where that came from, and why it wasn’t part of the Director’s Cut?”

greybishop: “Sure. When I originally wrote the scene between Miranda and Mikhail it turned out differently. The producers didn’t like that version, so I changed it to the way it is now. But I also penned a little coda to the scene that reflected what I originally wrote; that got filmed but was edited out of the original theatrical release. I wanted to add it to the Director’s Cut but the producers insisted it was still too surreal. I argued that if anything it was actually hyper-realistic.” (Sound of laughter.) “At the end of the day we compromised; they forked out the money to remaster the scene and included it on the DVD as a bonus feature.” (More laughter.) “Which is fine by me, since this way people can decide for themselves.”

As Mikhail sat down in front of Miranda the Angel of Death looked on from outside the room. As soon as the second man returned and said “She’s coming with us” the Angel spread his wings and flew away through the ceiling; he was a busy guy and had places to be. And he also knew he’d be back for the woman some other day.
 
Miranda looked up blearily as Valeriy returned to her office, gripping the two letters as she rose. She offered them both to the Russian. "I wrote them for Jack, but you'll read them just the same. I decided that at this point, it doesn't really matter. You'll believe me or you won't. I've told you everything I could, except this. This is the last of me, and all that I have left. If he won't see me, at least convince him to read the letters. It won't lessen his pain, but at least he'll understand why."

Slowly and carefully, she removed her lab coat and left it folded over the back of her chair. She'd worn comfortable clothing to the clinic, a loose blouse and slacks, with flats rather than heels. With that blouse, she'd also worn the necklace that Jack had given her. She considered removing it, giving to Valeriy to give to Jack, but doubted the soldier would want it. It meant more to her than they could know, so she kept it on and said nothing.

Her head was still pounding, but the pain killers were beginning to shave away some of the sharp edges that pierced her brain. She still had trouble focusing, and her mind wanted to drift, but she did her best to swim through the fog and stay in the present. Lifting her empty hands, she offered the men her scarred wrists.

"I'm ready."


---The Confession---

greybishop's honor system™: Will you wait to read Miranda's letters until his characters do? Or are you a cheater? :sneaky:

Jack,

You will likely think differently, but I've only lied to you four times during the course of our relationship:

- First, when I told you that the scars on my wrists were from surgery, that was a lie. I thought that it was painfully obvious that wasn't the case. A couple of months after Thomas died, I entered a deep depression, had no reason left to live, and so I slit my own wrists. My neighbor found me before I could bleed out, saving my life.
- Secondly, I told you that Thomas and I had talked about having children, but hadn't started trying. While that wasn't a lie, as we hadn't started trying, but I didn't mention the fact that I had already gotten pregnant without knowing. The night he died, and I was shot, I miscarried our unborn child. At only 4 weeks, the baby wasn't much more than clump of cells, so I don't know the gender. I didn't have a body, or a tiny casket to mourn over, but that was likely for the best. As I said before, I wasn't fit to be a mother then.
- Thirdly, when you asked me about the bruises on my arm, I couldn't tell you the the truth. They weren't made by a patient. They were put there by the man that's been harassing me since I arrived in Nigeria when he felt I wasn't being cooperative to his demands. It wasn't the first or the last time he hurt me, and I should have been honest with you then.
- Lastly, you once asked me why I'd decided to come to Nigeria at all. I told you that I was here to help the people here, which is certainly true, but I was also running from my previous life. I ran from Thomas' death, and all the heartbreak that came after. I've been running ever since, and Nigeria was merely the latest stop on my quest to escape my past.

For those lies, I'm more sorry than you could ever know, but they were told to man that I barely knew and one I didn't know I could fully trust. Last night changed all of that, and showed me that you meant more to me than I'd let myself believe. Last night wasn't a lie. Everything about what happened between us was as open and honest as I've ever been with another person. I fully intended to tell you everything tonight, because it felt wrong to keep things from you, and I'm sorry that I won't have that chance. Just know that what I did, I did to protect myself and the people around me, including you. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you. I made a promise to you last night, and it still holds true.

If you haven't yet guessed, I love you, Jack. Those words might ring hollow to you now, but I can't take them back. I pledged you honesty, and that's the last bit of truth I have to give.

~ Miranda

The honest account of Dr. Miranda Rose Blake and the crime she committed:

October 20, 2015 -- Thomas and I had just escorted the last of the lingering patrons from the bar and were about to lock up for the evening, when a man in a dark hoodie, ski mask, and a shotgun barged in and demanded the cash from the register. We'd never kept much cash in the register at night. There was maybe a couple of hundred bucks in the till. Certainly nothing worth fighting over. Thomas did as the guy asked, but our robber must have assumed that he was going for the gun he kept beneath the counter. He shot Thomas with no warning and the ricochet hit me, as well, leaving us both bleeding out on the floor. I survived. Thomas did not.

I gave the police everything I could remember about that night, but I never saw the guy's face. His voice sounded familiar, and I remembered a tattoo on his neck, but that's all I had. Even with our surveillance footage, the man was never identified and no arrests were made. Thomas' killer escaped justice.

July 2016 -- Nine months later, my life had changed dramatically. I'd lost both my husband and my unborn child. I'd tried to kill myself. I'd spent six months in a psychiatric facility before being released. I had to pass a battery of psychological tests and recertify before I could practice medicine again. I'd lost my high paying job at Northwestern Medical, but Thomas' life insurance made it possible for me to do something more meaningful with my life. I began working at a non-profit hospital in the emergency and trauma surgery. It paid a fraction of what I was making before, but money wasn't my motivation then. I'd dedicated my second chance at life to providing humanitarian aid. It wasn't enough to fill the void left inside me, but it did help to ease the pain a little.

February 14, 2017 -- Valentine's Day is always a difficult holiday for single people. It was doubly painful for me without Thomas. I'd volunteered to work that night because I had no one significant in my life. Others were leaving for their dates. I threw myself into my work. I was the trauma surgeon on duty in the emergency room that evening. The day had been relatively quiet, but around 9pm, we had an influx of critical care patients. A local gang war had spilled into the streets and the gunshot wounds came pouring in. Some were bangers, some innocent civilians caught in the crossfire, but we treated them all the same. We were there to save lives and leave the rest for the police to sort out.

I was on my fourth surgery when I was surprised to find a patient I knew. I recognized his voice as he screamed before they put him under. I recognized his face. His name was Shane Harris, and he'd been a regular at my husband's bar before Thomas had banned him for causing trouble one too many times. He hadn't been the first kicked out, and he certainly hadn't been the last, but he was just the sort of man to hold a grudge.

I was elbows deep in his abdomen fishing out a 9mm slug before it dawned on me why his voice sounded familiar. It wasn't just from the bar. I'd heard that same voice the night that Thomas had died. He was out under anesthesia, but a look at his neck tattoo told me all I needed to know. I'd found the man that had killed my husband, and his life was in my hands.

I'd taken an oath as a doctor to do no harm, and I'd never broken that oath until that night. Shane was bleeding internally, and I knew where. I could have stopped it, but something snapped inside me and I couldn't let him live. I let him bleed out. His blood pressure tanked as I frantically pretended to search for the nicked artery. The sound of his heart coding was probably the sweetest sound I'd ever heard at that point. It's also the sound that haunts me even now. He might have died on my table from his wounds, but I didn't leave it up to chance. I murdered a patient. I murdered him for Thomas.

The medical examiner was a friend of mine. She knew I'd never make such a rookie mistake. I was too good. When she pushed me, I confessed the truth. I was willing to pay the consequences then for my actions. I was distraught, but convinced I'd done the right thing. Rather than turn me in, however, she covered up my crime and changed her report. By all official accounts, Shane Harris was a piece of shit gang member that died in a turf war, and no one but the two of us would ever know the truth. Or so I thought. What I didn't know was that the ME had deleted the file from her hard drive, but forgot to shred the original document. It lay collecting dust in one of her files until it was found by the man I've known only as Carson, who attempted to use that file to blackmail me into spying for him. Who else has seen that file, I could not say, but it no longer matters.

I've murdered a man for the sake of vengeance. I've broken my oath as a doctor to do so, and no amount of humanitarian efforts could ever make up for that sin. If given the choice today to save the man's life or let him die, as I did, I would undoubtedly elect another course of action. However, that doesn't change the fact that a man is dead by my hands. I fully confess to that crime and will suffer whatever consequences arise from it.

This is my full and honest accounting of these events, and the sin I should have confessed long ago.

~ Miranda Blake, MD
 
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Valeriy pursed his lips as he accepted the letters. “Gathering information is one of my tasks;” his voice sounded annoyed. It looked as if he might read the notes then and there, but instead ended up putting them into his bag. Valeriy glanced at Mikhail, then back at Miranda. “Thank you Doctor Blake. After I have reviewed what you’ve written, I promise you I will give the letters to Jack.” He paused before he went on, and a note of real regret crept into his voice. “But I cannot promise you he will read them.”

Mikhail zip tied Miranda’s hands behind her back; the plastic bindings were snug, but he didn’t crank them down all the way. The sandbag placed over her head was porous so she could breathe, but her exhalations quickly warmed up the bag’s inside. She was led from her office and her clinic, then strong hands lifted her into what seemed to be the back of a vehicle; she could hear it running and her head was held down until she was nudged into a sitting position on a hard metal floor, her back up against something equally metallic. The vehicle moved off and drove along for some time, stopping and starting periodically; she could hear the sounds of other traffic for awhile, but eventually the only sound she heard was made by the vehicle she was in. After a final series of stops and starts accompanied by the vague exchange of words and some rattling and clanking, the vehicle stopped for good. She was helped up and then handed down to stand on the ground; it felt like she was on gravel. After being guided along for a short time Miranda could tell she was now inside a building; the zip ties were cut off and the bag was removed from her head.

She was standing inside what looked like some sort of in processing room; the walls were concrete and some equipment sat on a table next to a laptop. The furniture looked like cheap local stuff, but the equipment appeared to be new and modern. Mikhail was standing to Miranda’s side and a Nigerian soldier approached her with a digital camera in his hands; after she was photographed and fingerprinted the soldier also took a DNA sample from her using a swab. As the soldier sat down at the laptop she could see him begin going through her personal things and look at her Nigerian government identity card. Another soldier came in and escorted her into a different small room while Mikhail followed them; there was nothing in the next room.

The second soldier spoke to her. “Take off your clothes and shoes.”

Mikhail looked from the soldier to Miranda. “You must wear the clothes of a prisoner now Doctor Bleck. Face the wall and do as he says.”

Once Miranda had disrobed the soldier spoke up again, apparently to Mikhail. “I have to search her. Inside.”

“I have already done this. Give her the clothes.”

“But …”

“Give her the clothes.”

There was a short pause and then the soldier handed Miranda an orange coverall and a pair of flip flops. The coverall seemed to be clean but was clearly used and worn; one of the buttons was missing and there were holes in both elbows. It was also too big, as were the flip flops, and she had to roll up the sleeves and legs for the garment to fit. Then she was led from the building across a gravel covered inner yard; she could see bright lights and barbed wire everywhere around her. In another, larger building she was led down a wide concrete hallway which had many, many stout metal doors on both sides; the guard opened one door and gestured Miranda inside.

The cell was about four feet square; enough floor space for her to sit, but not enough for her to lie down flat. It contained a plastic bucket, a bottle of water and, perhaps as a concession to her nationality, a small roll of local toilet paper; as the door shut she could see Mikhail looking at her.

There was no light inside the cell, but illumination from the hallway spilled in through a small grated opening cut in the door. After a short time she could also see a little more light coming in through a grated ventilation slot about ten feet up on the wall opposite the door. After the guard and Mikhail left Miranda’s cell grew very quiet, and started to feel cold compared to the heat of the day …
 
As the men transported her to whatever holding facility had been selected, Miranda found herself resigned to her fate rather than fearful. Even though she was plunging into a new and terrible future, she was relieved to finally be out from under Carson's vile influence. It was a relief to have finally confessed to someone what she'd done, unburdening herself from the weight she'd carried through the years. Her life as she'd known it was over, of course, but at least she was no longer running from her former one. It had found her, and now she would face the consequences as she knew she must.

She didn't weep or beg or wail as they rumbled along in the vehicle. There was simply no point to it. These men couldn't be bargained with in such a way, and she had her pride to consider. She'd been strong enough to live with the crushing weight of her sins. She would be strong enough to endure prison and whatever happened there.

As the bag as removed from her head, she squinted at the sudden blaze of light and stood meekly while they processed her into the system. Even when she was ordered to undress, she didn't hesitate to do so. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but she deserved every moment. So she stood naked until they handed her new clothes to wear, and silently blessed Mikhail for saving her the indignity of a cavity search. She threw him a look of thanks once she was dressed in her new uniform, but did not speak to him again.

The last thing to leave her body was the necklace that Jack had given her. She removed it reluctantly, but handed it over without comment. Her eyes followed it as the man tucked it into an envelope to keep with her things, and she silently wondered if it'd be appropriated by someone else during her incarceration. The thought of being imprisoned was depressing. The thought of losing Jack's necklace forever made her physically ill.

Within her cell, she stood for a moment to study her new home, then stared back at Mikhail through the window grate until he disappeared from view. Left alone, she took a seat, resting her back against the cool wall and closed her eyes. Only then did she allow herself the small comfort of tears. They streamed down her cheeks silently and with great dignity. She didn't sob or scream. She mourned quietly for all she'd lost, both physically and otherwise -- her husband and child, her career, her reputation, but mostly, she wept for the loss of Jack. This betrayal, though clearly not of her making, was surely unforgivable. He would come to hate her when he'd read what she'd done, if he didn't already hate her for making promises that she couldn't keep.

I'm sorry, Jack. I wish it could have all been different.
 
Miranda was able to keep track of time by the rising and setting of the sun seen through the ventilation slot on the outside wall; she spent three full days in that cell. She had only one visitor; on Friday morning Doctor Tovey showed up to ask about her concussion. After a perfunctory exam he gave her a bottle of painkillers and left; there was no professional courtesy and no answers to any questions either. She was fed a metal bowl of gruel and mashed vegetables in the morning and evening, along with a piece of flatbread to eat it with; that’s also when she received a fresh bottle of water and her bucket was swapped out as needed. The guards also didn’t answer questions and her only entertainment was the other detainees in the building as they occasionally cried or prayed loudly; she also heard a couple of distant screams over the course of the three days, but there was no way for her to tell where they’d come from or why.

After breakfast on Monday morning a guard came to escort Miranda from her cell; they left the cellblock and crossed the gravel covered inner yard back to the processing building. Captain Olayinka was waiting for her in the same small room where she’d been told to disrobe; her clothes were sitting on a plastic stool but her shoes were nowhere to be seen. “Get dressed;” the Nigerian Captain’s tone was just as unfriendly as Doc Tovey’s had been. Once she’d changed Olayinka and another soldier led her from the building to a parking lot; she was put in the back seat of a twin cab pickup and the soldier climbed in beside her. After the Captain got in front he ordered the driver to get going and the vehicle slowly weaved its way through the many barriers that secured the detention facility. Once clear of the security Miranda could see they were on the edge of town and headed back into Maiduguri.

About twenty-five minutes later the pickup rolled into the parking lot of the Prime Lodge and Apartments; Olayinka got out and had Miranda do the same. He handed her a plastic bag containing her personal effects; when she went through it later she discovered that her necklace had gone missing along with her shoes. Then the Captain handed Miranda her passport and finally told her something. “Leave Nigeria by Friday. Otherwise you will be arrested, tried and imprisoned. Beyond that, there is only one other thing for you to remember. You did not see Carson on Thursday night. You worked late at your clinic and were detained there by the Nigerian Army; nothing more. Your future depends on you remembering that.” Then Olayinka climbed back into the pickup and drove off, leaving Miranda standing there.

---

As Doctor Blake eventually found out, she had missed quite a lot during the past three days. On Friday MSF was thrown into a tizzy when both she and Steven Isaacs suddenly disappeared, and then the Nigerian army showed up at Isaacs’ office looking for him. Then the rumor mill really went into overdrive when an expat reported seeing Isaacs being taken into custody by Nigerian military police later in the day, at a snap checkpoint set up on the highway to Chad. By Monday all MSF knew was that Isaacs was still being detained for questioning on a “state security” matter.

But talk of the MSF drama was quickly eclipsed at Friday happy hours around town by a far more interesting mystery; the death of a British diplomat in Maiduguri. His body had been discovered that afternoon, during a raid conducted by a new police counter terror unit at a seedy hotel frequented by prostitutes. The raid itself was pretty small potatoes; no one from Boko Haram had been there but the police did recover some hand grenades and RPG rounds. It was when they searched the room next door that they found the diplomat’s body; accounts differed, but he’d either been beaten to death or strangled. How he’d ended up there was the real question people wondered about; was it just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or had something else been going on? The fact a pistol had supposedly been found among the diplomat’s things led to all sorts of speculation, as did media reports stating the UK’s High Commissioner had been summoned to the Foreign Ministry in Abuja for an explanation.

Sunday was when the real bombshell landed. The Guardian up in London published an extensive expose in print and online, which alleged that the Nigerian government was using “death squads” to cull the political opposition in the run up to national elections. The most sensational part of the story claimed that in Borno State foreign mercenaries were running the death squads and also using Doctors Without Borders as cover for their murders; quite a few pictures purporting to show the mercenaries and doctors working side by side accompanied the expose. Abuja immediately denied the allegations but the MSF response was a bit more muddled; at first they also denied the report, but then changed their response to saying the allegations were being “looked into.”

Amidst all the craziness there was one small bright spot for Miranda. On Monday night a worker at the Prime Lodge knocked on her door and handed her a small envelope; inside was her necklace. The worker said the envelope had been dropped off by a short Russian man and that there'd been no message. But she never did get her shoes back.
 
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"That's... quite a story."

Miranda sighed. "Yes, I know. It doesn't seem real."

Lee threw her a look of pity. "You could have come to me for help, Miranda. You know that, right?"

"And what would you have done about it?"

He hesitated and frowned. "I... I don't know. Something..."

"Yea, that's what most people think. Something. And it would have gotten you killed. No, I wasn't going to put anyone else in danger."

"Well, regardless, I think it is all for the best. Rumor has it that Steven was running an illegal operation selling MSF supplies for his own profit. We're here thinking that the MSF doesn't give a shit about us because we can't get the equipment that we need, when the entire time, they've been sending us more supplies than we could use and that bastard was selling ninety percent of them."

"It doesn't surprise me," Miranda replied. "I should have figured that there was more to it, that he was in deeper than I suspected. He dismissed all of my claims and then passed my worries on to the wrong people to make certain I kept quiet."

"Then he deserves what he gets." He threw a glance about her barren apartment. Any evidence of her personality had been swept away, packed, or purged. "You need anything before we go? Our flight leaves at eight tomorrow morning. I'm not looking forward to the interrogation we'll likely have to endure when we get to Geneva, but I'll be glad to be back in civilization."

"No, all of my stuff is packed. I've got a car scheduled to pick me up tomorrow morning to take me to the airport."

"Alright. I'll see you in the morning."

---

Leaving Nigeria hadn't been difficult for Miranda. While she enjoyed working in the clinic, she was glad to be free of the place and all of the nightmares it represented. Her one regret was Jack. She'd hurt him deeply, and she'd not seen him before leaving. Likely, she'd never see him again. The memory of that one night, when she'd learned what it truly meant to trust a man completely, would be all that would sustain her in the days ahead. That left a void within her that he'd temporarily filled, but her cowardice made certain that they'd never be together. She didn't blame him for refusing to see her, but it still hurt thinking that he now hated her. She looked for him at the airport until the plane finally rose into the air, but real life wasn't like the movies, and the man never materialized. He wasn't going to chase her down and beg her to stay, nor would she bump into him accidentally at the terminal's coffee stand and suddenly discover that he'd forgiven her for everything.

When she left Nigeria, she departed with the other MSF staff members that had been recalled, but she still left feeling quite alone.

---

Chicago, Illinois
A few weeks later

"Doctor Blake?" The attorney waved a hand at the chair across from him. "Go ahead. Have a seat. Now, I read through your statement and case, and have gotten several interviews back, but I'm afraid that there's no point in going forward with this."

Miranda blinked in surprise. "But... I'm telling the truth. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Of course it does, but a confession isn't enough for a conviction without evidence. Simply because you say you've done something doesn't mean we can throw you in prison for that crime."

She sagged in her chair. "No evidence? What about the report?"

"Ah, that. Yes, we contacted the medical examiner you mentioned, and she insisted that the report she filed was the only one she created."

"Then... she's just trying to protect herself."

"Very likely, but still... we have no evidence. She even suggested that your guilt at losing a patient has brought you to this state." He cleared his throat. "I'm aware that you spent several months in a mental health facility?"

"That has nothing to do with this," she said with a frown.

"Even so, it's merely one thing that would be used against you. You've confessed, but there's no body for an autopsy as the man was cremated. The medical examiner states that there was only one report. And our inquiries at South Shore about your character revealed that you're a highly professional and well respected doctor. Frankly, I couldn't find a single person that would speak ill of you. So... this is where things stand right now."

"So... that's it, then? I just walk out of here and never think about it again?"

"Do you want to go to prison, Doctor Blake?"

"Well... no."

"Then yes, that's it. But I'm sure you'll be thinking about what you did, if you actually did it, for some time to come. Though, off the record, it sounds like the guy was a piece of shit and deserved what he got. I suggest you focus on moving forward with your life rather than dwelling on the past. Was there anything else?"

"No... wait... yes. Could you refer me to a good lawyer that specializes in family law?"

---

A few months later

"It is a bold step. You're sure you're ready?" The woman paused at the door, one hand on the knob as she glanced back.

Miranda was staring through the window at the playroom beyond, but nodded at the question. "Yes. I'm not letting them go through life like I did. They deserve better than that."

"Lucky for them, they have family that cares. Most don't. And most couples looking to adopt want babies, not older children, though they are still cute at this age." She glanced at the two boys on the other side of the glass. "Your visits have been going very well. I think they're ready, but don't be disappointed if they're still reluctant. It takes time to build trust with children that have been abused."

"I know," she said softly. "Even as adults, we don't trust easily."

She ignored the sympathetic look the woman gave her as she stepped into the room, smiling at the two children, Nico and Matthew, that looked her way. She'd been a touch younger than the littlest when child protective services had removed her from her mother's home. She was surprised that these two had survived as long as they did, given how little their mother seemed to care about their welfare. Her time with Jack showed her that she didn't want to be alone any longer, and she realized that her reluctance to become pregnant didn't mean that she couldn't have a family. Her half siblings had thoroughly screwed up their lives, but these two innocent, young boys didn't have to follow in their footsteps. It was time to break the cycle.

"Hey, sweethearts. I've come to visit again, and I brought presents." She crouched down and pulled two identical bears from her bag, each wearing a military camouflage. As they joined her to collect their gifts, she opened her empty hands to both of them. "I was wondering if the two of you wanted to come live permanently with your Aunt Miranda. Would you like that?"

Though neither gave her verbal affirmation, Miranda had all the answer she could ever need as two tiny bodies flung themselves into her arms. She kissed each on the top of their head and hugged them tightly, letting her tears flow freely. "I already love you," she murmured. With those simple words, she found the missing piece of her heart filled with the unconditional love of two little boys that needed her as much as she needed them.

There would always be room for another, the gold chain she wore about her neck and the leather collar she kept in a box in her closet both proved that, but she also didn't need anyone else to take control. Thanks to Jack, she no longer had to run from her life. She could now start living it.
 
Valeriy kept his promise to Miranda early on her first full day of detention at Giwa Barracks; he passed the letters she’d written to Jack as both men sat at the conference room table with their boss. Valeriy and Dieter looked like they’d both been up all night; Valeriy was drinking tea with sugar while Dieter’s coffee had been sweetened with Klippies. Jack looked like he’d been drinking most of the night; he was alternating between coffee and water. Jack set the letters aside but got a reader’s digest version of their contents during Valeriy’s briefing anyway. Dieter sat back, pulled out his cigarettes and looked at the Russian. “So what’s your final assessment?”

“About Isaacs I cannot say yet. We will know more when we question him. But Carson? He has clearly gone rogue. His methods were … unsound. SIS, or MI6 if you prefer, can be quite ruthless when they need to be, but rape and outright murder? No.”

Dieter shrugged and sipped at his drink. “It happens. What about the doctor?”

Valeriy had some tea before he answered. “She certainly worked for him, but not very effectively. Carson has confirmed this. She gave him photos of the team in the field but little else, and no money changed hands that I know of. She was being threatened, blackmailed, abused. When we arrived she was about to be raped. And this Isaacs let it all happen.”

Some more brandy flavored coffee was drunk and a little more cigarette smoke filled the air. “Alright. Let her be, for now. We’ll revisit her after you’ve had a chat with this Isaacs.” Dieter had some more of his drink, then took another drag of his smoke. “So we end the Pom?”

“That would be for the best. The sooner the better. But … he is still one of theirs. Do we want to worry about the SAS coming to visit us for the rest of our lives? Because that is how long they will take, if they find out.” Valeriy had some more tea as he looked at his OC.

Dieter shrugged again. “So we sort it out so they don’t.” He looked at Jack, and so did Valeriy.

The big soldier looked up from his coffee mug; his voice sounded tired. “Sure, I can make that happen.”

---

Monday night, the day Miranda was released, Jack locked the door to his room, unloaded his guns, and then secured them too. He went and got the bottle out of his pack and started drinking. He finally read the pieces of paper Valeriy had handed him, then tossed them in the waste basket. As he drained his bottle he watched a video on his laptop over and over again, then he pulled the letters from the pail and used a match to burn them to ash. And that’s how it went for him, until his little room got dark and his body went limp, and the glass slipped from his hands …

---

“Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content. But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.” Sun Tzu, The Art of War.

---Bonus Video Content---

The video Jack watched.

Five Finger Death Punch - Blue On Black, Gary Sinise Foundation edition.
 
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This has been Hearts of Darkness

Starring

ShadowOfDesire as Doctor Miranda Blake

With

greybishop as Jack Grainger

And

Mikhail R. as Himself

And Introducing

Harriet as Billy, the Goat

Written and Produced by greyShadow Productions

Medical Advisor – ShadowOfDesire

For information on Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) or to make a donation:

Click here

If you or a loved one are thinking about self harm and live in the United States, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline can be reached 24/7 at: 1-800-273-8255

Military Advisor – greybishop

Military equipment provided by the Armed Forces of the Federal Republic of Nigeria

Lead helicopter pilot – Ivan “Vanya” T.

To begin a career as a Private Military Contractor, contact your local Armed Forces Recruiter or La Légion Étrangèr Française (the French Foreign Legion)

Travel arrangements by Azman Air

Lodging provided by the Grand Pinnacle Luxury Hotel – “The best pizza in Maiduguri!”

No goats or other animals were harmed in the creation of this roleplay

Soundtrack available from: greyShadow Recording

What’s Up? performed by 4 Non Blondes

Sundown & The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald performed by Gordon Lightfoot

Right Down The Line performed by Gerry Rafferty

Don’t Bring Me Down performed by ELO

What A Fool Believes performed by The Doobie Brothers

Barra, Barra performed by Rashid Tahib

Blue on Black performed by Five Finger Death Punch

(The) Hearts Of Darkness (end credits love theme): Lead singer – ShadowOfDesire. Written by and lead guitar – greybishop. Drums and keyboard – Mikhail R.

Production babies – Miranda Jelena Auditore

Copyright 2020, jointly held by greybishop and ShadowOfDesire in their true identities; all rights reserved.

Please deposit your trash in the receptacles located near the exits and drive safely!
 
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