Antoine stared expectantly into Julian's eyes, a corner of a smile on his face. A drop of soup dangled from Julian's chin, a remnant of his awkward feeding. He thought hard on how to tell this psycho his dad was at best a remote acquaintance.

"I want very much to help you Antoine. But my dad is on assignment in Myanmar. They don't exactly let him have a civilian phone on base. We can try calling command and see–"

"NO!" Antoine raged, "you must listen to my words." Antoine angrily filled another spoonful of noodles. "I know Marcos was on assignment in Myanmar. But now he is missing. AND I MUST KNOW WHERE HE IS!" He rammed the soup into Julian's mouth, half the contents spilled out.

"Think very carefully before you speak. I need to talk to Marcos. In person. You will make this happen. Or you may find your next words more difficult." The spoon handle poked out of Julian's mouth. Antoine pushed it further in.

Julian struggled to turn away, but Antoine's free hand shot out and held his chin in a vise-like grip. Hard metal filled the back of his throat and the gag reflex kicked in. Unable to dislodge the spoon, the convulsions only made things worse: thin metal scraped against soft skin. Julian looked to Antoine for mercy, but the eyes staring back were wild, barely human.

Julian thrashed and kicked, trying to push away from the table as he struggled for air. His chair toppled over backward, the spoon popped free. Julian landed on his back with a thud, turned his head and retched pale soup onto the floor.

Antoine stood over him, blotting out the lone light. "Be more careful in your chair friend." The cheeriness had returned to Antoine's voice. "Here, let me help you up." Antoine tipped Julian and the chair up with casual ease.

He tutted at the vomit on the linoleum. "You have made quite the mess there! I thought Britts were supposed to be a tidy people. No matter Julian, I am a gracious host, I will clean it up.

"Now, you were about to tell me how we could reach your father." Antoine dabbed a napkin in a glass of water and tenderly wiped the bile from Julian's mouth.

Julian's thoughts tumbled over each other. Was he going to die here? What could he tell him that wouldn't make it worse? He had no secret backchannel for contacting Marcos. But Antoine would maim him if he said as much. What kind of spy shit might his dad do? Julian grasped for a plausible lie, something to stall with.

"There's a message board," Julian blurted, "old plumbing site, not something anyone uses anymore. But it still works, you can still post to it." Julian was bullshitting hard now, the words flowed effortlessly. Back in his natural element.

"Marcos told me if I ever got in trouble, I could leave a message there. I'm supposed to post under the name 'Sergey Ushenka,' ask about replacing a rusted-out flange on a cast-iron pipe. That's the signal. His software agent will notify him, and respond asking for pictures." Julian had used the site last month for fixing a busted shower valve. They always asked for pictures.

"I am listening. I do not understand how this allows us to meet with Marcos."

"Oh, right. So when I respond, I embed my location in a picture of a rusted out pipe. Basic steganography stuff. Marcos will come as soon as he can."

Antoine slapped Julian on the back. "Capital, good chap. See, I knew you would want to help. This is what good friends do. Unless..." Antoine darkened. "Unless this is a trap. Maybe this message board is where you post when you are trying to warn him of something? Hmm?"

Antoine leaned across the table, inches from Julian, staring hard into his eyes. "Are you trying to trick me, little Julian? Friends do not lie to friends. You are my friend right? Because if you are not my friend, well, you might not believe it of me, but I can be quite unpleasant to my enemies."

Julian put on his best poker face, summoning a confidence he had no right to. "Marcos will come."

Antoine clapped his hands. "Fabulous. I don't know about you, but I can't eat when I'm excited. Let us get posting! I will clean up this mess and grab a computer."

Antoine grabbed a filthy rag from a hook and mopped up the regurgitated soup. He tossed the mess in the sink, washed his hands, then disappeared into the basement through the kitchen door, whistling.

Julian sat where he was, trying to think. How much time had he bought? Someone would ask for pictures within hours. From there, once he posted the coordinates, how long would it be until Antoine figured out Marcos wasn't coming? A day? Two? A little bit of breathing room, but what could he do with it?

He scanned the kitchen for weapons. It wasn't promising. There were no kitchen knives in evidence, and the canned food was all soups and beans - nothing you'd need even a butter knife for. Plus his hands were still zip-tied behind his back and Antoine had shown no sign of unbinding him. Maybe a better man than he could improvise something, but Julian didn't have his dad's military training, and he'd dropped his childhood martial arts class without even earning a yellow belt.

Thinking about Alice brought back Antoine's tossed off proclamation - was she really gone? Or was it just more head-games to keep Julian off balance? His relationship with Alice was complicated, but he loved her. The thought of her being dead... Tears welled up in his eyes. He blinked them away. No point in dwelling on it now. Survive first, then mourn.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Antoine's return. He emerged carrying a a laptop that looked as old as Julian and a flip-style cellphone that could have been from a museum. He brought the pair over and set them on the table.

"You will have to forgive the dated technology, I'm a private man and I like to keep control over what is transmitted. The modern gear is all a little too eager to phone home." Antoine fished a SIM card out of an inside pocket, stuck it into the phone, then powered up both devices. "Now, let's post that message!"