Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (36 page)

“What
the hell is this?” asked Spock, his eyebrow climbing his forehead. “Here we
thought you were dead, and instead you’ve got wheels, computers, the works!”

Dawson
laughed. “Not quite the works, but I got lucky. I’ll explain later.” Suddenly
he was serious. “Sit rep?”

Red gave
him the run down on what they knew so far, Dawson updating them from his side.
He pointed at the comm gear. “We better get a sit rep in to the Professor so it
can be passed on. With the Sudanese on our tails, we need them to know the
world knows.”

“Roger
that,” said Red, activating the comm.

Nairobi Serena Hotel, Nairobi, Kenya

Laura Palmer lay on one of the two double beds, Reading the other,
both splayed out, basking in the minimum amount of clothing dignity would
allow, a ceiling fan and fantastic air conditioning helping with the cool down.
Reading was snoring, sometimes gently, sometimes fiercely, but Laura was too
wired to let herself drift.

And she
couldn’t stop checking the comm gear set up on the table nearby, all the
equipment that had been promised in place when they had arrived an hour ago.

Something
squawked.

Reading
bolted upright in bed. “What the bloody hell was that?”

Laura
was already rushing toward the table, grabbing the nearest headgear and putting
it on. She grabbed the mic as Reading put his own gear on.

“Dragon
Fish, Bravo Two, come in, over.”

Laura
grinned at Reading then keyed her mic. “Bravo Two, this is Dragon Fish, go
ahead, over.”

“Dragon Fish,
Bravo Two. Are you ready to receive sit rep, over?”

Reading
held up his pen, the pad already in front of him.

“Roger
that, go ahead, over.”

“Sit rep
is as follows. We have found Bravo One, he is unharmed. Approximately one dozen
survived the crash including Bravo One-One and Juliett-Alfa. They have been
taken by local hostiles and are currently held in a large walled compound to
the north of the town of Hamashkoraib. Sudan regulars were at the airport and
are now in pursuit of us. We have lost them for the moment. The gold was
transported by the hijackers, a group of Russians, on a pre-positioned Shaanxi
Y-8 that left about fifteen minutes after the initial crash. Bravo One said he
recognized one of the hijackers as ex-Spetsnaz.

“Here
are your instructions. One. Contact whoever is necessary to make sure the
Sudanese know that we know they found the wreck, that the gold is gone and they
didn’t take it, and that we expect their cooperation in rescuing the hostages.
Don’t tell them where the hostages are, they’re liable to get them killed. Two.
Use the number I gave you to contact Bravo One-Two. Give him the plane type and
have him track it. Got that, over?”

Reading
nodded.

“Affirmative,
over,” replied Laura.

“Good.
We will contact you again in three hours. Bravo Two, out.”

Laura
pulled the comm gear off and leaned forward, dropping her head on the table as
she slowly sobbed in relief.

James
is alive!

al-Sadiq Compound, Hamashkoraib, Sudan

Samir stood alone in the shadows at the rear of the compound. It was
quiet, dinner having finished an hour ago, his few men milling about, chewing
their khat and wondering what was next. He hadn’t told them that his share had
been reduced to ten percent, meaning the benefit they might gain could be
minimal. Then again, if they did receive one hundred thousand dollars or more
like Ali had suggested, his share would be several thousand for sure.

At least
he assumed so.

Any math
beyond what could be done on his fingers and toes was beyond him. It was times
like these that had him questioning his father’s strict Muslim upbringing,
calling education a Western scourge, he having survived with no education
whatsoever, so why should his children need any.

His
mother disagreed, but never dared contradict her husband. It was only when he
would leave for the day to work another more educated man’s fields would she
gather the children around and try to teach them to read and write.

He had
failed miserably, treating his mother with little respect and threatening to
tell Father if she should try to force him.

I was
a little shit.

His
parents were dead now from some disease and his two sisters had left for
Khartoum years ago and he had never heard from them since. It didn’t surprise
him—he had never treated them with respect either. He saw how some of the
townsfolk were with each other, big families, big gatherings, happiness.
Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, all getting along.

That
wasn’t his family, nor was it that of his men. All were essentially outcasts
with no one to go home to. They were each other’s families. They were his
brothers. And they deserved more than what he was going to be getting them.

If
anything.

Samir
had a sinking feeling that he would be dead before the sun rose tomorrow. If
Abdul’s men did indeed arrive and demand he be handed over, Ali might just do
it. Samir was of zero worth to him now that he had the hostages under his own
lock and key.

What
a fool I was to come here!

But it
had been his only choice. Abdul’s men were too numerous for his small cadre to
take on alone.

But
who shot him?

He was
pretty sure that was a question he’d go to his grave having no answer to.

Footsteps
behind him had him spinning. One of Ali’s men walked up to him. “The prisoners
are demanding to see you,” he said. “Shut them up.” The man pointed to a
doorway a dozen yards away. “Down the stairs, straight through two sets of
doors, the room at the end.”

Samir
nodded and hurried off, glad to be useful for the first time since he arrived.
If he could do this, if he could keep the prisoners quiet, Ali might see some
value in keeping him around.

Night
suddenly turned into day as every light on the compound turned on. Shouts could
be heard as guards rushed toward the front of the complex along with the sounds
of engines revving as what he was certain was Abdul’s men arrived, seeking
revenge.

Samir
decided the best place for him was out of sight, so he continued on task,
descending the stairs and through the first of two heavy metal doors, the
guards manning them nodding as he passed. He heard a woman cry out that sounded
American and he paused. Stepping back a few paces, he looked through the small
barred window and gasped. The Asian looking woman was naked, tied onto a table
by the wrists at one end, her legs dangling over the other edge of the table,
one of Ali’s men undoing his belt, a lecherous leer on his face as his tongue
flicked in and out of his mouth in anticipation.

In the
far corner the blonde American was huddled, her hands over her head, trying to
protect herself from what was happening, the two men paying her no mind at the
moment, more interested in their prize already laid out for them.

He had
to admit he felt a stirring in his own loins, a naked woman something he could
count on three fingers the number of times he had seen one. And this one was
far more attractive than the cows he had paid to be with.

But he
had never raped a woman, nor would he. Pay? Yes. Why not? But rape? No. Real
men didn’t rape, no matter what the reason. He had made a commitment to that
Asian man that their women wouldn’t be touched, and he was a man of his word.
Usually. He had given Abdul his word, which was why he had hesitated to shoot
the man.

Who
fired that damned shot?

He
opened the door, stepping into the room unarmed, and grabbed the man about to
rape the Asian woman by the shoulder, yanking him back. “What do you think
you’re doing?” he yelled. “These women are under my protection! If you soil
them they won’t be worth anything!”

“Go mind
your own business, coward!” yelled the man, wrenching himself free and
returning his attention to his target. Samir grabbed him again but this time
the man shoved him back toward the door in a rage, turning to face him as he
put his wagging member back in his pants. The other guard simply turned toward
Samir and pumped two rounds of lead into his stomach.

Samir
grabbed his stomach, immediately feeling the warm fluid rush over his hands as
he bled out, slipping down the door as he quickly weakened.

Then a
scream of rage brought him back to his senses. The blonde woman erupted from
the corner, a knife held high in her hand. She plunged it into the shooter’s
back, yanking the blade out as the man dropped to his knees, then thrust
forward, burying the blade deep into the second man’s kidney as he turned to
retrieve his gun, now sitting in the corner of the room.

She
pulled the knife from the would-be rapist then with a flurry stabbed the
shooter at least a dozen more times in the back, the frenzied attack bringing
him down hard, then finally silencing his cries. The rapist was crawling toward
his gun. The blonde woman, now covered in blood, leapt like a tiger onto his
back. She raised the knife high, two handed, then plunged it down, the blade
sinking to the hilt, probably piercing the man’s heart as he stopped moving
almost instantly. She withdrew the knife and plunged it in again, over and
over, screaming the entire time.

“Stop!”

She
froze, the knife in mid-air, ready for its next blow. It was the Asian woman
who had given the order.

“Cut me
loose!”

The
blonde woman jumped to her feet, quickly complying with the instruction,
slicing the bonds holding the Asian woman’s wrists to the table legs. The woman
immediately sat up and looked about the room. In a corner sat a pile of
clothing that she quickly donned, then, taking the knife from the blonde, she
stepped toward Samir, dropped to one knee and jammed the knife deep into his
throat, twisting the blade.

His head
dropped onto his chest as she withdrew the blade and kicked his body aside. And
as the last few coherent thoughts flashed through his dying brain, he realized
he had led a life entirely wasted until now. He had saved these women, of that
he was sure, and his death at their hands was a fitting justice for all he had
done to this point.

His eyes
closed for the last time and his lips murmured his last words.

“I’m
sorry.”

US Embassy, Khartoum, Sudan

Laura Palmer was sporting a female power suit that exuded wealth. It
was a way she hated to dress, but found it very effective when dealing with
bureaucrats, especially in the Third World. They respected money, power and
penises. As a woman, she had plenty of the first, which gave her the second,
and according to James, she had more balls than most men he knew.