Chapter Text
It was a chilly Saturday afternoon, and Jack Ryan was just settling in at home. He had finally cracked the Venezuela case, and he was ready for a break. The chilly autumn air blew through the open window and reminded him of another chilly place. He picked up his cell phone and scrolled to the "G" section in his contacts. He hit the last number and waited till the other line picked up.
"Ryan? What is it?"
"Tell me about that position in Russia."
>------------<
Several months and a couple of terrifying plane rides later, Jack was in his new apartment in Moscow. He was finally ready to turn over a new leaf and really put himself into something that mattered. One of his main jobs here was to collect intelligence from the American spy in the Russian government and pass it on to the CIA. The spy's name was Jude Bennett, but the Russians knew him as Andrei Ivanov. Jack had been instructed to pass and receive coded messages from Bennett in a local antique bookstore.
Jack knew he had to always be careful, even if he was sure nobody was watching. He never showed that he knew who Bennett really was, even when they were definitely alone. Despite the pretentions and secrecy, Jack had come to like and respect Bennett and he was sure the feeling was reciprocated. He regretted that they never could be real friends.
One chilly afternoon, Jack was in the bookstore as usual. Bennett was just walking in, and they began to exchange coded remarks about the weather before moving on to the topic of books. Jude began to leaf through a book he pulled from the shelf, and Jack saw the small envelope he slipped between its pages. They began to converse, and Jude handed Jack the book before turning to peruse some other antique volumes.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack spotted a rapid movement. His marine training caused him to instinctively whip around to see what had moved in that way. Across the narrow street, Ryan spotted a tall, lean figure with a camera. She was wearing a long black coat, and seemed to be staring right at him. He gazed at her for a moment before realizing exactly who was staring back.
"Harry?" He mouthed. Her eyes widened, and she spun on her heel and began to hurry away. Jack weaved through the bookshelves and ran out the door. The bell rang as the door slammed shut behind him. He saw a fleeing black figure round a corner about fifty yards down the street, and he raced to catch up with her. What was Harriet doing in Moscow? Jack wondered.
As he rounded the corner, warning bells went off in his mind. Harry was standing still at the end of the alley, and her hands were in her pockets.
"Harriet? What are you doing here? What's going--"
Harriet turned to face him, and at the same time pulled a pistol from her pocket.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't want it to be this way."
Jack slowly raised his hands. He had a concealed gun under his jacket, but he didn’t want to pull it out and risk getting shot.
"Harry--hey now, you don’t need to do this. What's going on?"
Her eyes flicked to a spot behind him, and Jack spun to see a pair of large men approaching him. He spun back to Harry and pleaded with his eyes, but she wasn't looking at him. He felt a pair of iron-like hands secure his arms, while another hand held a damp rag over his mouth and nose. A chemical smell pervaded his senses, and he felt his consciousness slowly slip away. He struggled with the man holding him, but his vision was darkening and his movements sluggish. Finally, he felt his legs give way and he fell to the ground. Harriet's sorrowful eyes were the last thing he saw before his vision went black.
>--------<
Notes:
Hi everyone, and thanks for reading my first fanfiction attempt. I know this chapter is a little rough and very short, but needed to just get something out there so I'd have a reason to keep writing. More actual chapters are coming soon, and I'll edit this one when I have the time/motivation to.
Chapter 2: Sir
Chapter Text
Darkness. The scent of mildew mingled with bleach. Shuffling footsteps mere yards away, but the darkness covered them like a screen.
And then, light. Bright, blinding, and shining directly into Jack's eyes. He tried to shield his eyes, but he couldn't move his hands from behind his back. When his eyes were somewhat adjusted, he saw several tall figures just past the source of the light. But a fourth figure was there too--a woman. Harry? He almost had time to wonder before a man stepped directly into his path of vision and grabbed him by the chin, examining him like some kind of product.
He said a few words in Russian before forcefully releasing his grip and gesturing to the waiting men. The taller of the two, a man with ginger hair and dark eyes, stepped forward and stood at attention. The first man, presumable the leader, barked a few Russian commands at him before spinning on his heel and leaving the room. The woman followed.
Now Jack was alone with the ginger man and his assistant. The man's lean and languid face conveyed no emotion, but his eyes burned with something Jack had never seen before. It was inhuman, like the gleam in a tiger's eye before it pounces.
The ginger man murmured a few words to his assistant before approaching Jack's chair. Jack struggled momentarily, but he quickly realized that he didn’t have the strength to break the restraints on his wrists and ankles.
The ginger man began to speak with a heavy Russian accent. "You are spy. We know this. We know you see many things, say many things. You tell us what you say to USA, we let you go. Yes?"
Jack's silence seemed to infuriate the man. His eyes narrowed and he whipped around to his assistant, who seemed to be preparing something on a cart in the corner. The assistant scrambled to attention and began to push the metal cart over to the chair where Jack was still restrained. As he approached, Jack saw the array of savage-looking tools that were on the top of the cart. He hoped someone would find him before he found out what they were for.
"My name," began the ginger man, "is Sergei. You call me sir. You answer my questions, see?"
Jack spat in his face.
Sergei pulled a gun from his belt and held it against Jack's forehead.
"Not respect me again, you die. See?" He cocked the gun and pressed it more firmly against Jack's head.
Jack's heart raced, and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he had evened out his breathing, he looked back at Sergei and tried his best to glare. This Russkie didn't need to know how scared he really was.
Sergei laughed and re-holstered his pistol. He motioned to his assistant, who quickly scurried over and confidentially leaned in to hear what Sergei was going to order.
"Make him bleed."
With that, he marched out of the room, shutting the metal door behind him.
============================
Roughly a day later, Jack woke up with the biggest headache he'd had in years. As his eyes adjusted to the poor lighting in his cell, the events of the last couple days rushed back to him.
Sergei's assistant, who Jack learned to call Marlen, had followed his boss' orders exactly. The knives on the table had been put to their intended use, and Jack had passed out from blood loss within a few hours. He shuddered as he remembered the pain. It had been nearly the worst he'd ever experienced, second only to the helicopter crash.
The image of Marlen's soulless eyes, paired with the memory of his own screams, was enough to put Jack into a panic attack. How long would he be here? Did they plan to kill him eventually? What would they do to him next?
He attempted to sit up, but as he stretched, the barely closed wounds on his arms and chest began to reopen. He gasped in pain and lowered himself back onto the cold floor. He didn't want to assess the damage, but he knew it had to be done. Looking down at his torso, he could tell that Marlen didn’t bother cleaning him up at all. His torn shirt was soaked in blood, and by now most of it had dried, sticking to the wounds underneath.
He made a second attempt at sitting up, and this time he succeeded. He nearly cried out from the pain, but he managed to keep it to a sharp gasp. Now for escape. Jack began to investigate his new cell. It wasn't the same room as before, but it had the same stench of rot and chemicals. He seemed to be in a jail cell-like room--there was only one door, and it had a tiny, barred window. Other than that, there were no ways into or out of the room. The floor was cracked concrete, and it carried suspicious stains that could have been ten or a hundred years old.
He slowly and painfully rose, and then sat back down against a wall. He suddenly noticed how hungry and thirsty he had become. His throat was dry and parched, and he was ready to pass out from hunger alone. At that exact moment, a set of light footsteps came down the hall outside. It stopped outside his door, and the tiny window was blocked for a moment. Then the door opened.
"Harry? What the hell--" Jack tried to finish, but fell into a violent coughing fit.
"Shh, Ryan. They don’t know I'm here. I had no idea they would do… Whatever they did to you. I am sorry." Her words were sincere, but Jack knew he couldn’t trust her anymore.
"Get the fuck out. You turned me in. I know this is another damn trick, and I'm not taking it." Jack tried to sound decisive and angry, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
Harriet tossed him a water bottle and shook her head. "I want to help you, Jack. I can’t get you out yet, but I can try to get them to leave you alone for a while."
Despite his earlier words, Jack grabbed the water bottle and eagerly downed half of it in a single gulp. When he looked back at Harry, she was pulling out another bottle of something, as well as some paper towels.
"I couldn't get much, but this should at least keep infection away." She wet a paper towel with the liquid and began to dab at one of the deeper cuts on Ryan's arm. He winced and shrunk back, but Harriet kept at it till she'd cleaned the rows of gashes on his arms.
"Now your torso. Take off your shirt."
Jack knew it was inevitable, so he pulled it off in a single motion like ripping off a band-aid. He cried out in pain as every wound was opened anew.
The deepest cut began to bleed heavily again, and Harry balled up the shirt to put pressure on it. When it stopped, she cleaned the rest of Jack's wounds and collected the bloody towels.
"Why did you help me?" Jack was still incredulous to her earlier explanation.
"You think I know?"
And with that, she was gone.
Chapter 3: Blindfold
Chapter Text
Another week, another sealed envelope to pass on to Ryan. Jude Bennett, alias Andrei Ivanov, collected his coded papers and neatly folded them into an envelope-sized parcel. He slipped them into a nondescript white envelope before sealing it and stashing it in his pocket. He checked his watch. He was supposed to meet Ryan at noon, and it was nearly half past eleven. Bennett grabbed his coat and hurried out the door, locking it behind him.
The weather had gotten worse since last week. It was snowing on and off now, and everyone had their collars up against the vicious wind. Bennett was grateful for the heat in the bookstore as he rubbed his hands together to warm them up again. He checked his watch again—it was past noon already. He glanced around the store, trying not to make it obvious he was meeting someone. The store was nearly empty, so Jude realized almost immediately that Jack was not there. Jack was sometimes a little late, but he had never missed an appointment. Bennett made his way over to the shelves in the back to browse while he waited.
After half an hour, Jude decided that Ryan was not going to show. He paid for his book and thanked the cashier before stepping back out into the brutal wind. Where could he be? Something must be wrong for Jack to entirely miss a meeting with no warning. Bennett made his way back to his apartment. When he arrived, he sat at his desk and dialed a number on his secure phone line. He checked his watch again. It would be nearly 5 in the morning in the States, but there was always someone on duty in the CIA.
==========================
How long has it been? Jack wondered. He had been given ten-ish meals, but he knew they hadn't been giving him three meals a day. He had slept four times, but he also knew he wasn't sleeping every night by any stretch. It felt like years since he'd seen daylight or smelled fresh air.
Sergei had tortured him for information twice more since the first time. The second time, he used some kind of shocking device to electrocute Jack. He hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it had. He could still feel the echo of the fire that had filled his awareness whenever that goddamn machine was switched on. The latest time, Sergei had come back, but this time he just punched and kicked Jack a little. He was still sore, but it hadn't been as bad as the other two times. He suspected that a few of his ribs were broken, but that was the extent of the lasting damage.
Now all he wanted to do was sleep, but his mind wouldn't allow it. When he shut his eyes, all he saw was the vision of all the men he killed in the helicopter crash. Their faces as the boy pulled the pin from the grenade. Their yells as the bird fell from the sky. Their families' sobs when he returned alone. They had been in his care, and he had failed them. He had been trying to forgive himself and move on, but somehow this dark place made him dwell on his guilt all the more.
He finally passed out, but reliving the crash in his dreams gave him no rest. When he awoke, he was just as exhausted as when he'd gone to sleep.
Footsteps approached outside the door. Jack held his breath. Was it Harry, Marlen, or Sergei? The door creaked open, and an unfamiliar face stared back. It was a short man with light brown hair and pale eyes. He wore round glasses and had a thin mustache.
"I am Dr. Antonov. I have been sent by Sergei, so you will afford the same respect to me as you do him." Jack detected a very slight Russian accent, mingled with something like an English accent.
Antonov set down his bag and pulled something out. It looked like a pair of headphones, but there was no cord attached.
"Put these on," he ordered. Then he took out a long black cloth, which he held till Jack had complied. When Jack was waering the headphones, he tied the cloth around his eyes like a blindfold. The next thing he knew, Jack was being led out of the room and down the hall. He did his best to take not of what turns they were making, but they began to get muddled after a few minutes. When they stopped, Jack was pushed into some sort of chair and bound. Someone began to pour water into his mouth, which he accepted gratefully. Then he felt the prick of a needle under his collarbone.
At first, this deprivation of sense was almost calming for Jack. He couldn't see the dull fluorescent lighting, couldn't head the murmurs in Russian or the odious footsteps. But after a few hours, Jack embraced any sensation at all. Even the constant throb in his ribs and in the lacerations on his body gave him some kind of sense of being.
He slept at some point, but when he woke up it was the same. Except now he couldn't feel his pain anymore. He shuffled his position a little to be certain, but he was completely. He couldn't even feel the chair beneath him or the cuffs on his wrists. What kind of torture was this?
Days faded together. Jack tried to pass the time by counting, but he kept losing his place. He often spoke out loud, but he couldn't even hear his own voice. He slept more often than before, but he never dreamed. Even one of his night terrors would be preferable to this monotony, but his "nights" were as black and silent as his "days." He didn't even know if it was night or day, so he called it night when he slept and day when he was awake.
Sometimes he felt a slight pressure under his collarbone where the needle had pricked him before, so he assumed that intravenous nutrients were how he hadn't died of starvation yet. His days were no longer silent—he heard whispers, cries, sometimes gunshots. He could never quite make out what the whispers were saying, but they all had a malevolent tone. Now he nearly wanted to be in silence again.
He saw things now, too—usually the shapes were random and unclear, but he sometimes saw faces. Most often he saw the faces of his platoon, the one he'd failed. Other times he saw Greer, or Bennett, or even Cathy. She'd been the first one he'd talked about the heli crash to, besides the ones who already knew. Sometimes the whispers came from the faces he saw, and those were the worst times.
=========================
One morning, Jack awoke to the sound of Greer's voice.
"Ryan. Ryan, wake up. We need to get out of here."
Joy immediately filled Jack. He'd never loved that man's gruff voice more then he did right then. He opened his eyes and saw James Greer's staring back at him. The blindfold was gone, the IV was gone, the headphones were gone... Jack stumbled to Greer and hugged him. Maybe it wasn't professional, but Jack didn't give a shit about being professional right now. He was saved.
"Get off me," Greer snarled.
Jack was taken aback. He took a step back and looked Jim in the face.
"I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean any offense, sir. I'm just happy to see anyone." As Jack spoke, he realized something was wrong. The headphones were gone, but he still couldn't hear his own voice. He reached up to check his ears, but his hands wouldn't move. Suddenly, the image of Greer was torn away and blackness was all that remained. Jack was senseless again.
Chapter Text
Greer checked his phone for the umpteenth time in the past hour. It was 1:32 AM in D.C., which meant it was 9:32 AM in Moscow. The previous afternoon, agent Jude Bennett had reached out to Greer with information regarding Agent Ryan’s whereabouts. Bennett had said he had contacted a person of interest in the case, Harriet Baumann, who supposedly was connected to Jack’s disappearance. Greer had warned Bennett that Baumann was not to be trusted, but he didn’t have any better intel to go off of. Greer’s phone showed no new messages; he sighed and put it away.
===================================================
Jude hated to have to trust a source like Harriet, but the CIA had refused to help in the case because Jack’s presence in Moscow had been strictly confidential, and perhaps not totally legal. For the agency to send in a team would be seen as an act of aggression by the Russian government, not to mention how many undercover agents’ covers would be blown in the process. Jack had accepted the risks when he took the job, and now he was nothing but an unfortunate but unavoidable casualty to them. Jude refused to accept this.
Even though he had not really known Jack, something in him just prevented him from letting a fellow agent rot in prison while he stood by. Jude was also all too aware of the possibility that the Russians were doing a lot more than just leaving Jack locked up; he had personally witnessed their penchant for bloodier methods of interrogation. Baumann had refused to give details when she contacted Jude, but she gave a time and a place where they could talk without unwanted ears listening in.
It was almost ten in the morning, the time that Baumann had set for the meeting. Jude lingered in the back of the old bookstore, thinking how just weeks earlier he had waited in the same spot to meet Jack. He heard the bell on the door ding, and he strolled out from between the shelves as casually as possible. Baumann was speaking to the cashier, and Jude carefully avoided betraying their acquaintance. Jude walked out and sat on a bench across the street, and when Harriet left the shop he stood and followed her at a distance.
Her walk was brisk, and in no time they had reached a less commercial area of the city. Jude was a block behind Harriet. His suspicions rose when she turned town an alley, but when he approached, she was waiting in the alley alone.
“We should be safe here. There are ears everywhere, but I’ve made sure this spot is clean.”
“Get to the point. Where’s Ryan?”
“Be patient. Some things are dangerous to know. I have a plan, but you’ll have to trust me.”
“Trusting you was what put Ryan there in the first place. Why on earth would I trust you?”
“Because you have no choice.”
Bennett had run out out of options, and they both knew it.
“Can you at least let me in on why you’re helping him?”
“He and I have… History together. I’ve forgotten some old loyalties that I should not have.”
Jude knew better than to question her further.
===================================================
Greer woke to the sound of his phone hitting the floor. It was vibrating, which had sent it tumbling off of the edge of his bedside table. He scrambled to pick it up before it went to voicemail. The caller I.D. read “J.B.”
“Bennett. Talk to me.”
“Baumann’s agreed to help us out, for whatever reason. She won’t give any details, but I’m supposed to meet her at the old bookstore again tomorrow, and she’s going to get me into the place where they’re keeping Ryan. She hasn’t said how.”
“Okay. I know where the bookstore is. I’ll send someone for backup.”
“No, she was really clear before: the plan only works for one.”
“Bennett, this isn’t an authorized mission. If you don’t let me send someone now, we can’t come running to save you later. You’ll be on your own.”
“I’ve been on my own out here for a long time. It’s nothing new.”
====================================================
Jack could no longer differentiate between waking and sleeping. There was no longer sweet unconsciousness; his mind was restless, and the nightmares did not cease. Visions of his platoon, the little boy, Greer, Cathy, Baumann, even Bennett, flashed across his mind like in a fever dream. Some were more realistic than others, but just when the specter had him convinced he was about to see freedom, it would turn on him and inflict more pain.
The only thing that was real and consistent was the pain. The knowledge that it, too, was all in his mind did not make it hurt any less. He felt phantom bullet-holes, often in the back of his skull. He couldn’t feel his limbs, and so it felt as though they were constantly being torn off. Jack didn’t know what it felt like to be skinned alive, but now he thought he had an idea.
Jack knew he was losing his mind, and that was the most terrifying part of all.
Notes:
Another short chapter, but you're all used to that by now. I have the rest of the story planned out, so if I can stay consistent then it should all be out by mid-January. Stay tuned.