Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (61 page)

THEY COME

SPURS AWAKENED TO Saber’s stirring. She turned on the flashlight and checked her watch. She’d been asleep for half an hour.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He had pushed away and was staring at the small round door. He held his finger to his mouth and seemed to be listening intently.

Someone was walking outside. They beat on metal—possibly one of the other boiler tanks. The sound of hinges creaking, like those of the small round door they now watched.

The footsteps came closer. The metal banging came again, sounding as if they were at the tank next to theirs.

Saber turned to her.

“When the door opens,” Saber said, “I will go out and fight with them. You run.”

The hinges on the tank next to theirs creaked open.

“No Saber, we’re together in this,” Spurs said and pulled out her fingernail file and held it in one hand.

The footsteps came closer.

“Please do what I ask. I know what I am doing. I can get away. I have a bicycle hidden nearby. You run. Get back to your ship. Stop these men from killing many people. Don’t worry about me. I will be all right. I always am.”

Spurs thought about Ma’hami. He was a nice man. He would help the boy.

“There’s a man named Ma’hami. He has a café not far from here.”

“I know this man,” Saber said and nodded. “He has given me scraps and goat milk.”

“Go to him,” she said. “Tell him that you’re my friend. He’ll help you.”

The banging came, three sharp raps.

Saber stood and leaned with his head and shoulders down, ready to do a bull charge.

“I smell rats,” said a voice. “I’m gonna kill me some rats. A stupid whore boy rat and a foolish American bitch rat.”

Spurs had no time to think.

The door opened.

“Good bye, Spoors!” Saber said and jumped through the opening.

Spurs followed.

By the time she came through, Saber was getting off of the large Arab, who seemed stunned, lying on his back and shaking his head.

Saber climbed over and got behind him as the man sat up.

Spurs flopped onto the concrete floor like a banked fish. The resulting abrasion on her chin would be a small one compared to what would happen to her if she didn’t act quickly.

As Spurs stood she realized her fingernail file had been knocked from her hand. She scanned the floor briefly, but it wasn’t in sight.

Saber kicked the man in the back. He turned and grabbed at Saber’s kicking foot and snagged it, pulling him in.

Spurs tried Saber’s kick and caught the sitting man in the side of his goateed jaw. He let go of Saber but sprang to his feet faster than expected and went for Spurs just as someone grabbed her, pinning her arms.

Now the big Arab was mad.

“Hold her, Fahmi,” he said in English, apparently to ensure that she also understood.

He took his time stepping up to her. Blood ran from his mouth, nose and from below one eye.

He drew his hand back and brought it hard across her face.

The pain was a lightning bolt.

“Please Saddam,” Fahmi said, “don’t do this, now. Let us take her.”

Saddam spat curses to him in Arabic.

He put his face in front of hers, blood running from the corner of his mouth into his coarse whiskered chin.

“Now I’ll have your American pussy,” he said, pressing his mouth against hers.

She pulled her face back quickly, then snapped her teeth onto his nose. Even though tasting the bastard’s blood and mucous, she was as determined as a snapping turtle and held on, trying to bite it off.

He wrenched it loose and writhed back in pain, and then was reminded of Saber as the boy’s foot caught him in the groin.

It worked before
. Spurs whipped her head back catching her unseen captor in the mouth. Teeth popped. She pushed her butt into his middle, causing him to double over her and she stepped to the side and grabbed him by both pant legs at the knees.

She found out that what her Marine Corps hand
-to-hand combat instructor had taught her in Officer’s Candidate School really did work.

After pulling the man off his feet, with his hands still weakly clutching her arms, she slammed her fist into his groin. The Arab let go and fell to the concrete, rolling into a ball.

“Go, Saber!”

Spurs ran for the open door, Saber sprinting after her. Short yards away, two more men stepped in, blocking the doorway. Spurs set anchor, but Saber lowered his head and shoulders once again and barreled past into the enemy. With his head, he struck the first man in the sternum and drove him into the second man. Saber ended up sprawled out on the floor with them.

“Run, Spoors, run!” he said as he wrestled with them to keep the men down.

The other two men’s running feet were coming up from behind.

“Tijani!” said one of them, seeing the others sprawled on the floor.

There was no way they could both escape now. Saber’s sacrifice could not be for nothing. Spurs ran past and through the door and sprinted down the alley toward the street.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two of the men come out after her, but they stopped, seeming to realize that catching her would be hopeless.

She heard voices as she ran down the middle of the alley. Someone was coming in the street in front of her. They were all over the place, like roaches in a dark kitchen.

She ducked in behind some crates next to a trash dumpster.

Three Arabs came around from the street and trotted by.

More voices. Something rattled like a bicycle.

“Get him! Don’t let the kid get away, too!” It was an American’s voice.

Spurs heard the bicycle rattle away.

“Damn it!” the man yelled.

She smiled, crouching lower.

“Get the car. Get the car you stupid asshole towel-heads!”

Spurs waited until the voices were gone, then peeked out. The alley was empty. She stood up and cautiously moved out of the trash pile, looking both ways. Heading for the street, she knew that the pier was only three blocks away.

Near the street, she pressed up against the wall of a building before looking out. It seemed empty, but she could hear a car’s engine race in the distance. There was nothing nearby to hide behind. She had no choice but to spring out and sprint with all she had toward the ship three blocks away.

Saber suddenly popped out of an alley a block ahead. He raced toward her on his old bicycle, it rattling on the stone street as he came.

Spurs smiled and waved, relieved he was all right.

Headlights came from the alley he’d just exited.

He waved her back as a car shot out.

Spurs ducked into a shop doorway as Saber raced past, the car in close pursuit. It flew by, at least three men inside, and its tires squealed as it turned into the alley behind Saber.

Spurs bolted out and ran madly for the ship. She could see its mooring lights now beside the pier. She ran sucking air frantically.

A clattering crash came from the alley giving her soul a crushing blow. It drove the wind out of her. Her pace slowed, strength drained, but still she ran. Surely, little Saber had escaped, leaped from his bike before the crash. The boy was so resourceful, so bright. Surely he made it.

Now the car backed out of the alley, surprising her. She went into the next one, only a block and a half from the ship, and hid in a doorway.

The car drove by. More voices came. More urgent footsteps. Spurs found a fifty-five gallon drum with a loose top and opened it. It smelled of oil but was empty. After climbing in, she found about three inches of oil in the bottom. She set the lid back in place and waited.

THE RECEPTION

May 10, 0600

THE NEXT S
EVERAL hours were full of sleep-stealing nods and harsh awakenings as Spurs waited out the hunt that was taking place around her. Exhaustion overruled fear and she’d dozed several times, hunkering in the barrel.

Finally, seeing the dim rays of dawn glow through the small crack she’d left for air, she decided to risk a peek and carefully edged the lid open.

A dirty face confronted her, sending her heart into a panic. The beggar gaped into the drum looking as startled as she did.

“
Ca-hoou
!” he hacked as he turned away.

At first, Spurs thought it was some sort of Arabic alert, like, “Here! She’s here!” But after the bum coughed twice more then carped a mouthful of mucous and saliva to the alley in front of him, she realized it wasn’t. She watched, rising gradually from the barrel as the beggar staggered away.

Once he was around the corner, she climbed out.

She rubbed her neck and looked down at her once sexy dress. Her body was coated with oil, her hose shredded, feet bare, toes sticking out. Her arms were scratched, knuckles bloodied, fingernails broken and she could feel a swelling in her bottom lip and right eye.

She took several steps to the street and leaned out. It was deserted, but with the morning light growing, she knew that soon the streets would be full of vendors, beggars and a whole bunch of Arabs who were out to kill her.

Only a block and a half from the ship, she stepped to the middle of the street.

“The hell with them,” she said aloud, marching toward the pier.

Still, there was no one on the street.

Nearing the ship, she saw that it was preparing to get underway as they began lifting the dock brow. Lieutenant Junior Grade Goodman had been watching her for some distance. He only took his eyes off of her to quickly call out to Commander Reeves. Soon numerous heads appeared over the bulwarks as she approached. Several crewmembers came running to stare. They seemed astonished as they gawked over the side of the ship.

Spurs stepped up the gangplank, glaring back at them. She glimpsed their eyes, never looking more than a split second at any of the two-dozen faces.

Lieutenant Commander Reeves now stood beside Goodman and seemed to have a loss for his smooth sounding Southern words, his eyes mooning and lips parted.

“Spurs?”

Looking out of the corners of her eyes, she could see Commander Naugle watching from the portside bridge walkway, above. Captain Chardoff came out and looked over the skipper’s shoulder. He was the only one that didn’t appear stupefied. His eyes were narrow, a slight grin on his lips. Spurs glared back, but said nothing, until coming to the top of the brow. It was her word against his. She didn’t have any proof of his wrongdoing yet, only hearsay. But she’d have proof soon. She hoped it’d be soon enough.

The crew’s comments volleyed at her as she walked through the parting crowd.

“Look at her!”

“Told you they were crazy to put a woman aboard.”

“She’s been nothing but trouble.”

“Now they’ve reason to get rid of her.”

“After they find out ‘bout her there’s no way they’ll put the others aboard.”

“Hope she’s learned her lesson!”

“Gang way!” she said through gritting teeth. “Make a hole!” She shoved Goodman aside. He backed into Reeves, stepping on his toes. “Request permission to come aboard!” she said as she passed by.

Doc Jolly was at the end of the verbal gauntlet. He also watched, wide-eyed. When close enough he took her arm. She pulled it away, but then allowed him to usher her below to sickbay.

* * *

“What’s going on, Doc?
” Spurs asked Lieutenant Tell Jolly as she sat on the examination table in sickbay.

“All I know is that we’re on alert,” he said, pressing a butterfly bandage to her right eyebrow. “They cancelled liberty last night and brought everyone in, except you. Chardoff, Reeves, Daniels, Goodman and Ingrassias split up and went looking for you under orders from the old man. No one could figure out where you were. Thought maybe you got your fill and jumped ship.”

Spurs shook her head. “What about North? Didn’t he tell anyone what happened?”

“I don’t know about that. Didn’t hear. Someone said Lieutenant North was transferred to the
Enterprise
.”

“That’s impossible, Doc.”

“In the Navy nothing’s impossible. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

“No Doc, I mean, he couldn’t have been transferred, wouldn’t have been.”

“And why’s that?”

Spurs thought for a moment knowing she could jeopardize the mission if she said more. She was on her own now. What could have caused North to transfer? Maybe the investigation had led him to the
Enterprise
. There would be no other reason for him to have gone. Unless it was some kind of Navy juggle, but that would have only been done if he weren’t with NCIS—if he’d lied. Or, perhaps someone lied about his transfer and he’d been killed. They could have done him in at the bicycle peddler’s shop.

Spurs felt a sharp pain in her left arm and realized that while she sat on the examination table daydreaming, Doc Jolly had rolled up her sleeve, daubed on some alcohol and punched a hypodermic into her arm.

She frowned. “What’s that?”

“A sedative. You need to sleep now.”

“A mild sedative, right?” she said as the room began to spin, thinking about everything she must do, about the investigation, about Saber, about the plot to sink a ship, about the Arabs that tried to kill her and who might have killed her little hero. “I didn’t—hear you—say—
m-i-l-d
. . . ?”