8
I beached the bayou boat within half-a-day’s trek of the city walls. As we disembarked, I reflected that, if our rescue mission had seemed doomed before, it was now beyond doomed. I was outside the fortified city where Bob and Tom were being held captive, the few weapons I had were woefully hopelessly inadequate for the task. My arsenal consisted of a garrote, a handgun with an empty cylinder, and a knife, on top of which I was accompanied by an unconscious eighteen-year-old who was more of a liability than an asset even when awake.
Where to start? There was nothing for it other than to resume my search for weak points, which I was nearly sure would prove fruitless. If it did, I had no idea what to do. The logical thing to do would be to give up - but I couldn’t do that, not to Bob.
I
