Daniel raises his head. Now he's really hallucinating, because there's no way he just got called 'gringo' in the middle of some drafty-ass black site somewhere in Chechnya.

Though it looks like he's not exactly in Kansas anymore.

All he knows about the brand is that his wrist burns like hell; later he'll see it and know it's a Cyrillic letter sha, the first letter in the word shpion. Spy.

He shakes his head at the question, unsure, and immediately realizes that was a bad choice when the world spins around him. Dehydration and drugs will do that to you.

"Dunno. Prob'ly," he mutters, trying to keep from throwing up. His luck's never been good enough that his captors would have just buggered off somewhere. They're probably lying in wait.

His stomach lurches again when he realizes it's probably a trap and he's the bait.

"Don't let Jake come for me," he says, looking back up with effort. "'s a trap. Make him leave me here. Not worth it."