Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (34 page)

Niner’s
head bobbed as he sucked in a breath, his admiration for their decision clear.
“Very well.” He raised his voice. “We’re going to open the door and toss our
weapons out!”

“Slowly!”

He
removed a knife with a six inch blade he had liberated from one of their now
dead captors and threw it, the blade burying itself in the dirt at Acton’s
feet. Niner motioned with his eyes at their makeshift bathroom and Acton knew
what he meant. He picked up the knife and stepped behind the blanket, gouging a
groove in the dirt floor with his boot then placing the knife in it. He kicked
the dirt back over the knife then placed the bucket overtop. Stepping out from
behind the screen he nodded to Niner, who then motioned toward the Italian
still at the door. He opened it slowly, keeping to the side should anyone get
trigger happy, and Niner tossed his weapon through, as did the others. Everyone
stepped back against the walls.

“Okay,
we’re unarmed!”

Several
of their hostage takers cautiously entered the room, their weapons held high as
they nervously looked over everyone. Another strode in behind them that Acton
recognized as one of the men giving orders the day before. A few bursts of
Arabic from him had the bodies from both sides being dragged out, along with
the weapons. He remained in the middle of the room with two of his men.

“We will
be moving you in a few minutes.”

“Why?”
asked Niner, his tone curious but not challenging.

“There
has been an incident. You are no longer safe here.”

“Where
are you taking us?”

“To a
more secure location.” The man left the room with his guards, leaving the
hostages alone.

Niner
shook his head. “A more secure location? That’s all we need.”

“I think
things just went from bad to worse,” said Acton. “Now what do we do?”

Niner
looked out the window. “We keep our heads down, gather as much intel as we can,
and hope that whoever has these guys scared is on our side.”

Acton
frowned. “Somehow I don’t think we’re that lucky.”

Outside abandoned 250 Sudan Squadron Royal Air Force Airfield

Atlas was slower than the much lither Jimmy, so used to taking up
the rear, but his cardio fitness was ridiculous, able to keep going and going
like a juggernaut, and as he cleared a small rise he was surprised to almost trip
over his partner.

Jimmy,
sprawled across the sand of the next rise, was lying on his stomach, binoculars
out. Atlas hit the dirt beside him, pulling out his own binoculars. He pushed
himself up the hill a little more to get a clear line of sight of the airfield
when he heard an engine roar and Jimmy yell, “Shit!”

Atlas
pushed the binoculars against his eyes just as Jimmy began to roll away and his
heart leapt into his throat as he saw the underbelly of a vehicle leaping over
a dune mere feet away. He dropped his binoculars and rolled to his left, away
from Jimmy and the path of the oncoming vehicle. Drawing his Glock he kept
rolling, spotting Jimmy doing the same. The vehicle continued to roar toward
them and Atlas realized after finally having a chance to think that through the
binoculars it appeared like it was right on top of them. In reality it was
still a good hundred yards away but closing fast, giving them time to prepare.

“Suppressors!”
he yelled as he pulled the “silencer” from one of his pockets, screwing it into
the barrel. Suddenly the vehicle crested the rise they were on. Atlas pushed to
his knee, aimed and squeezed off several rounds, taking out the passenger seat
occupant and two men in the back on the passenger side. The vehicle stalled out
as the driver’s dead foot slipped off the gas, Jimmy having finished off the
other side.

Atlas
leapt forward, his weapon still trained on the vehicle and spotted Jimmy
approaching from the other side. He adjusted his position so Jimmy wouldn’t be
in his line of fire in case he had to shoot, and within moments they had
confirmed everyone was dead.

“That
probably wasn’t a good move,” observed Jimmy. “These are Sudanese regulars.”

Atlas
turned and trained his binoculars on the airfield and shook his head as he saw
somebody staring back at him, directing men to their vehicles. “You know it was
going to be them or us. They hadn’t reported the find up to the point we jumped
which means they don’t want anyone to know. There was no way they were going to
let us live.” He dropped his binoculars around his neck and began yanking
bodies out of the jeep. “Besides, we’re about to have company within a few
minutes.”

Jimmy
had already cleared his side of the vehicle, jumping in the driver’s seat and
restarting the vehicle. The engine roared to life and Atlas jumped in, the
shocks sinking noticeably on his side. Jimmy gunned the motor and popped the
clutch, sending them racing forward. He slowed and turned right, heading
north-east to where Red and Spock should be and soon gained hard ground which
eliminated their dust trail. He poured on the speed as they travelled behind a
berm, blocking their view from the Sudanese. But that didn’t seem to stop the
Sudanese from firing blindly, their intentions no longer in doubt.

Atlas
activated his comm.

“Bravo
Two, this is Bravo Seven. We’re coming in hot. ETA your position five minutes,
over.”

al-Sadiq Compound, Hamashkoraib, Sudan

The small convoy of half a dozen vehicles pulled up to the gates of
Ali al-Sadiq’s compound at the northern edge of town, it the largest of all the
houses in the area. A ten foot high wall surrounded the entire complex, easily
a couple of acres in size, guard towers spaced every sixty feet with lights
that would flood the entire area at night every ten feet along the wall.

It was
the most secure house Samir knew of, and if al-Sadiq would grant them asylum,
they would be protected against Abdul’s men, who he knew were coming after them
in force, Jalal not believing the story of what had happened, instead fleeing
with his men to tell of Abdul’s murder. Fortunately al-Sadiq and Abdul were
never friends, and in fact were sworn enemies, which played in Samir’s favor. He
had sent a messenger ahead to explain the situation and this was the moment of
truth.

Would
the gates open for them?

Samir’s
vehicle came to a stop in front of the massive metal gates, still closed. He
could see guards inside, glaring at him, their weapons held tight as if they
were expecting to use them at any moment.

Samir
stepped out. “I am Samir. I sent someone ahead to speak to the great Ali al-Sadiq.
Will he grant us entry?”

There
was a pause, no response given, then suddenly someone barked some orders from
the house in the distance and two men jumped forward, slinging their weapons.
They unlocked the gate then pulled it open, another man urging the convoy
forward, pointing to where they should park. Within two minutes they were all
safely inside, the gates closed, and for the first time since an unknown gunman
had shot Abdul in the back, he actually felt safe.

Now
as long as al-Sadiq doesn’t kill me, we should be okay.

As he
stepped out of his vehicle he saw Ali al-Sadiq himself step out onto the stone
entranceway, his arms held out wide, his face occupied by a magnanimous smile,
leaving Samir wondering just what the man had up his sleeve. Samir plastered
his own smile on, tossing his weapon to one of his men, not daring to approach
their host armed. The two men embraced and Ali led him inside after the
customary pleasantries of their culture were exchanged.

Ali
motioned to a chair, one more comfortable than anything Samir had sat in his
entire life, then took his own seat, an opulent affair that appeared gold
plated yet plush.

“What is
it you have brought me, Samir? Hostages?”

“
Western
hostages, from a plane crash at the old airport.”

Ali’s
head bobbed, a smile on his face as his eyes drifted skyward. “I suspected
something was happening when the first plane arrived, then knew it after the
second. I had figured that whatever there was of value had left on the first
plane, but you have proven me wrong.” He leaned toward Samir, jabbing the space
between them with a cigar. “And I don’t like to be wrong.”

Samir
felt himself begin to go slack when suddenly Ali laughed, tossing his head
back. “You should see your face, my friend!” He batted the air. “Don’t worry.
You proved me wrong and yet brought me the prize. What was your plan?”

“I sent
a man to the American embassy in Khartoum. I have asked for twenty million
American dollars for their release.”

Ali
nodded, his lips shoved out. “A good starting number. It shows we are serious,
that we know what we have. We shall of course negotiate down, perhaps to a
couple of hundred thousand dollars, something that private money can easily
raise.” He paused, looking back at Samir. “And just what cut am
I
expected
to receive?”

Samir’s
eyes darted around the room, a room filled with more opulence than he could have
ever imagined before this moment, and spat out a word he immediately regretted.
“Half.”

Ali
roared with laughter, repeating the offer again and again, laughing louder each
time.

Then he
stopped, all congeniality wiped from his face as he rose and pointed at Samir.

“You
bring me these hostages because you killed Abdul, making an enemy of his men.”

“I
didn’t kill—”

Ali’s
finger jabbed upward. “Wait! I do not need to hear your lies.” He glared at
Samir who bit his tongue, keeping his mouth shut. “Now you expect me to defend
you and your men, for you would surely die if you faced Abdul’s forces alone.
And you offer me fifty percent?” He wagged his finger. “How do you expect me to
feel about such an offer?”

Samir
decided a hint of honesty with a healthy dose of obvious bullshit and
contrition was needed. “I would be insulted, sir. What I meant to say was that
half would be far less than you deserve for offering us your hospitality and
protection.” Samir paused, searching for a new figure, then smiled. “Perhaps you
had a figure in mind?”

Ali
smiled, sitting back in his chair. “Ninety percent.” Samir’s jaw dropped and
before he could make his instinctive protest, his life was saved by Ali’s
finger rising once more to silence him. “And in addition to the ten percent you
will get to keep, I also offer you your life. For it would be far easier for me
to simply kill you now and toss your body out the gate for Adbul’s men to tear
apart, but I’ve always liked you Samir. You try hard, you have big dreams, but
you just never seem to succeed, almost always late for the big score.

“But
today you have impressed me. Greatly. It took courage to do what you did. And
to kill Abdul for his share? I never thought you had it in you.” Ali rose and
extended his hand to Samir. Samir jumped up, taking the man’s hand in his. “You
have earned my respect, which has earned you your life. Do you accept it?”

Samir’s
head rapidly bobbed up and down, his eyes wide, as he realized that the
thirteenth shooter had just saved his life, whoever he was.