Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (37 page)

And this
evening all three were on display, Reading helping contribute to the third
criteria. They had contacted Wangari immediately after hearing from Red and the
IMF representative promised action but Laura had zero faith in the United
Nations or the International Monetary Fund. Instead, since she knew James and
the others were alive and definitely still in Sudan, they had checked out and
flown to the Sudanese capital of Khartoum within the hour.

And now
they sat at the US Embassy, in the ambassador’s office with several aides and a
Sudanese general, in full dress regalia, promising he knew nothing of what they
were speaking of.

Reading
was almost purple, ready to blow a gasket, and Laura’s toe was tapping in
concert with her knuckles on the arm of the chair she sat in. The ambassador
was dancing around the issue in political-speak, getting nowhere.

Finally
Laura blew, standing up and placing herself to the side of the ambassador’s
desk, perching on the corner and leaning toward the general.

“Do you
know who I am?” she asked, her tone firm with a touch of rudeness and a soupcon
of arrogance.

The man
looked up at her with a pleasant expression as if he had been through these
dances thousands of times before, and was quite content to do so another
thousand times. “Yes. You are Professor Laura Palmer.”

“It
might interest you to know that I am quite wealthy.”

“Extremely,”
interjected Reading. “Filthy rich, in fact.”

“I was
not aware of that,” said the man, shifting in his seat as if she were suddenly
of more interest than the public servant he was facing.

“Which
means I have options available to me that the general public do not.”

“Of
course you would.”

“Which
means that I can take out an advertisement in every newspaper and magazine in
the world describing either how the Sudanese government cooperated fully with
the effort to retrieve the innocent victims of this hijacking, or of how they
refused to cooperate.”

The
General opened his mouth and Laura held up her finger, Reading smirking in the
background at this side of her she knew he had never seen, as few had.

“So
here’s what I’m going to do.
I
know
you
know that you found the
plane crash site.
I
know
you
know that the gold is gone. Now
here’s what I’m going to
pretend
you don’t know, so that you can thank
me in a moment for being so helpful to your government.
I
know a second
plane left with the gold and the hijackers aboard.
I
know that almost a
dozen people survived that crash and were left behind.
I
know that
locals—whether you want to call them rebels, militants, terrorists or just
plain criminals, I don’t care—but let’s agree ‘people not representative of
your government’, took these survivors to a nearby town.
I
know exactly
where they are, and will inform you of that location when it is necessary.” She
paused, looking about the room then settling on the General. “Are we all clear
on the facts so far?”

The man
nodded, his lips pressed together tightly, clearly pissed at being spoken to in
such a way, and probably more pissed that it was by a woman.

To
hell with him and his sexist culture.

She knew
very well that the way she was dressed would earn her forty lashes as a
Sudanese woman under article 152 of the penal code. She could just imagine what
would happen to a woman who dared to wear shorts and a t-shirt in public like
she regularly did on her dig sites.

To his
credit, however, the General did manage to hide his disdain, his position
probably exposing him to all manner of Western women whether he liked it or
not.

But he
had nodded. Though not a verbal acknowledgement of what she said, it was an
acknowledgement nonetheless.

“So, now
that we’ve agreed on the facts, and I’ve informed you of several things that
you were not aware of minutes before, I have no doubt that you will now want to
cooperate fully in the international effort to retrieve these innocent United
Nations representatives.”

“Of
course.” The response was curt, clipped, almost forced. But she didn’t care.

“Excellent.
Here’s what we will need to proceed.”

Outside al-Sadiq Compound, Hamashkoraib, Sudan

“You wanted a diversion, I’d say you’ve got it,” said Spock as they
all watched the assault now taking place on the compound. About half a dozen
technicals with fifties mounted in the rear were taking turns strafing the
front of the compound while several dozen hostiles on foot had taken cover all
along the street, firing at any target of opportunity that might pop their head
up to take a shot.

And in
classic amateur style, they had left the rear completely open for escape.

Or in this
case, entry.

The
lights were quickly being taken out by the attacking forces and several RPG’s
had hit the gate which was being heavily defended.

“Now or
never,” Dawson said, motioning for them to move forward. As they raced through
the flatlands surrounding the north of the town, the sun behind them and low,
they managed to close the distance in less than ten minutes, coming to a rest
behind some heavy shrubbery. Dawson surveyed the situation once again, the sun
now set behind them. “It looks like they’ve only got one guard in each of the
towers, everyone else is up front. Let’s take out the corner tower lights, wait
sixty for him to tell his buddies he’s okay, then take him out, enter over the
wall, then find someone for a friendly chat. Questions?”

Four
head shakes and they repositioned closer to the two-three corner outside the
north-west of the compound. “Take out the lights,” ordered Dawson. Atlas and
Jimmy took aim with their suppressed Glocks, Atlas shooting from the left,
Jimmy the right, eliminating the four lights in just as many shots, leaving the
corner in near complete darkness.

Then
they waited.

“Hasni,
are you okay?” came the shout within seconds.

“Yeah,
they just hit the lights!”

“Too bad
Hasni’s about to die,” muttered Atlas. “Say goodbye, boys.”

Dawson
continued his mental countdown, listening for the chatter between the guard
posts to stop. As predicted, it did with ten seconds to spare. He raised his
own Glock with suppressor, provided by Red earlier. “Bye bye, Hasni.” He fired,
the body dropping to the floor of the guard tower.

They
listened.

“It would
appear nobody noticed,” said Atlas. “Poor Hasni.”

They
rushed forward, Red tossing a rope with hook over the wall then holding it
tight as Dawson then the others scaled the ten feet. Dawson swung over the lip
then dropped to the ground below, immediately scanning their surroundings. As
he turned he fired his weapon into the stomach of a surprised guard who had
apparently been making rounds alone. As the man grabbed at his stomach Dawson
raced forward, shoving his hand over the man’s mouth and pushing him to the
ground. Moments later the rest of the team was covering him.

Dawson
looked down at the man, his face barely visible in the dark.

“Where
are the hostages?”

The man
shook his head. Dawson pushed his knee into the man’s stomach. His muffled cry
did nothing to hide the pain he was in.

“I’ll
ask
once
more. Where are the hostages?”

The
man’s eyes darted toward the back of the building. Dawson removed his hand,
leaving about an inch of space should the man decide to cry out. “Through the
door, down the stairs.”

“Thank
you.” Dawson pistol whipped him into unconsciousness, the man at least now
dying with no more pain, a stomach wound a hideous way to go. They reached the
building unscathed, the firefight out front still intense, the light from fires
now flickering across the entire area as grenades and RPGs continued to be
exchanged. Dawson found the door and tried it.

Locked.

He
pointed at the door and Jimmy placed a charge on the lock, blasting it with a
small explosion that merely mixed in with the background noise as the door
swung open. The lights were on inside revealing two guards at the bottom of the
stairs. Two quick shots and both were out of the game as Dawson rushed down toward
them. There were four doors, two on either side, all with small barred windows.
He looked inside the first to his left and gasped.

Inside
were at least a dozen women lying on the floor in near darkness. He slid the
lock across and pushed open the door. The stench was unbelievable, clearly
latrine facilities not provided.

“Oh my
God!” gasped Jimmy as he stepped inside. “What the hell is this?”

“Slaves,”
boomed Atlas. “Modern day slaves.”

Dawson
felt his stomach hollow out as the women slid across the floor toward the back
wall, clearly terrified. Dawson holstered his weapon, raising his hands. “Does
anybody speak English?”

A girl,
no older than ten, raised her hand, it shaking in fear. Dawson almost felt
himself crack. “I do,” came the whispered voice as gunfire continued to crackle
outside.

Dawson
knelt down. “My name is Burt. What’s yours?”

“Aliya.”

Dawson
smiled at her. “That’s a pretty name.”

Her head
dropped, but her wide eyes still met his.

“We are
American soldiers. We are here to help you,” said Dawson, praying to God he
wasn’t about to give these poor women false hope and just get them killed. “Do
you understand?”

She
cried out in Arabic what he had just said then leapt into his arms, hugging him
as hard as he had ever been hugged as the other women, most just girls, rose
and surrounded them, hugging the soldiers and thanking them.

“We’ve
got three more cells just like this,” said Red from behind him. “What the hell
are we going to do, BD?”

“We
can’t leave them here,” said Dawson as the mass of once hopeless women
continued to surround him.

For
the love of God we can’t leave them here!

al-Sadiq Compound, Hamashkoraib, Sudan

“It’s getting pretty intense out there,” said Niner.

“I
wonder whose attacking?” asked Acton.

Niner
shrugged. “Dunno, but I don’t think we can count on them being friendly.”

Several
bursts of gunfire outside their cell door silenced the room, everyone spreading
to the sides and away from the line of fire. The bolt on the door slid aside
and the door swung open. Acton tensed himself up, ready to leap into action,
they having all agreed to fight the next time they had an opportunity.

When the
person he least expected burst through the door.

“It’s
us!” cried Reese, covered in blood and dirt and still barefoot. She was quickly
followed by Lee Fang who looked her usual stoic self, but her eyes revealed something
different, and Acton prayed that she hadn’t been raped.

“What
the hell happened?” asked Niner as he stepped forward.

Reese
tossed him the gun then pulled out the knife he had slipped her earlier. “I
killed them!” she cried, clearly still wired from the adrenaline rush as she
bounced around the room. “Me! Who would have thought? Little old me! Little old
me!” Her eyes met Acton’s and she threw herself in his arms, suddenly sobbing.
He embraced her, patting her head as the realization of whatever horrors she
had had to commit to escape sank in. That the alternative would have been far
worse he had no doubt, but he said nothing, realizing words weren’t what she
needed right now.

The
others said nothing, instead pulling the bodies of the guards inside and
closing the door over as they assessed their newly acquired weapons. They now
had four AK-47s and half a dozen extra magazines, along with one well-used
knife.