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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “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.

  Outside Hamashkoraib, Sudan

  Gunfire in the distance had Dawson pausing outside of the van. He slowly turned, his trained ear trying to determine the direction. He stopped then raised his phone, zooming in, slowly scanning the landscape toward the airport. The abandoned station was out of sight, so if the firefight was at the airport, he wouldn’t be able to see it. He saw some puffs of dust in the distance, but could make out little, the display simply too small.

  Suddenly he saw two figures crest a rise then disappear again. He steadied the phone on the hood of the van and took a rapid series of shots as the two figures popped into view again. He zoomed in on the shots and saw two men in desert gear, civilian camo pattern, not military, hoofing it hard.

  And if he didn’t know any better, the man on the right was Red, the shaved dome obvious.

  But he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t wait. Going to pick them up then returning here would take too long, and he needed to see where the hostages were going to be moved.

  But if it were his men, he couldn’t leave them hanging.

  He found a good set of tire tracks, drew an arrow in the sand then wrote ‘BD’ beside it. Then, jumping in the van, he spun the wheels, generating a large cloud of dust that he knew any of his men would spot and zero in on. And if they didn’t find his message, then they weren’t his men.

  If they were his men, he doubted they were here on a sanctioned mission. As he raced toward the town on the meager trail, his mind searched for an explanation and he could only come up with one.

  Laura Palmer.

  She’d have the money to put together a rescue mission, and she’d stop at nothing until she knew what had happened to Acton.

  And if he knew Colonel Clancy, at least some of his men would have been granted some time off.

  Please let my little fantasy be reality!

  He slowed to a halt, easing on the brakes so as not to create a cloud of dust, hiding the vehicle behind some rocks much closer to town this time, but still a good enough distance that he should be able to outrun any pursuit launched against him.

  He climbed out of the van and looked down upon the town. From this vantage point he could see clearly enough without the phone’s zoom lens to see several vehicles leaving the house the hostages had been held in until a few moments ago. He held up the phone, recording their progress until they arrived at a huge complex to the north of the town. He took several snaps of the new location, frowning as he saw the fortifications and the dozens of men manning the walls.

  Things just became a whole lot harder.

  al-Sadiq Compound, Hamashkoraib, Sudan

  Acton stumbled forward, one of the guards having shoved him hard from behind. Niner caught him before he could hit the floor and redirected him to an upward position before letting go. Acton spun, glaring at the man who simply raised his weapon at him and mouthed what he assumed were Arabic expletives at him.

  One of the guards, provided by their new captor, grabbed Lee Fang by the arm and dragged her toward the door, another reaching for Reese who jumped back, avoiding the man’s grasp. Acton stepped forward, placing his body between Reese and the others as the Brit, still weakened from his wounds, his arm around one of the Italians, lurched forward.

  “Leave the women alone, you bloody bastards!”

  Two shots rang out and the Brit hit the ground, silent, still. Reese cried out, trying to shove past Acton as all weapons were trained on the men who began to back off. Acton grabbed Reese by the wrist and Niner came up behind her, grabbing the back of her skirt, which Acton thought odd.

  Then the Delta operator slipped the knife Acton had hidden earlier in their makeshift latrine into the elastic band of the skirt, letting the blade slide down, the hilt catching on the waistline. He then pulled her donated jacket out to cover the knife, letting go of her arm. To her credit she had managed to keep the startled expression on her face to a minimum, and she nodded her okay to Acton as he let go of her arm, there no longer any option.

  As the two women were led out the door, the guards backed out with them, closing then locking the door. Niner stuck his head up to the small barred window. “I want to talk to the man who was in charge before we got here!” he yelled. “We had a deal!”

  A gun poked through the bars, the barrel jabbing Niner on the forehead. He stepped back, wincing slightly, then glared through the bars for a moment before turning away.

  As the guards retreated down the hall, Reese whimpering the entire way, Lee Fang silent, the entire room turned somber as the Brit’s body still occupied the center of their cell, and two of their own had been taken, most likely to be raped.

  “If we don’t find a way out soon, it will be too late for them,” said Niner, the room nodding its agreement.

  “But how?” asked Acton, the only one voicing the obvious.

  “Next time that door opens, we take out the guards and advance rather than hold.” He looked around the room. “Agreed?”

  A chorus of “Agreed” endorsed the plan.

  A plan that would most likely get them all killed.

  Overlooking Hamashkoraib, Sudan

  “There!” shouted Red, pointing to some markings on the dirt as he and Spock came to a halt. “I’m pretty sure this is where that dust was tossed up,” he said, kneeling down and examining the tread marks. He pointed to several deep grooves where tires had spun, then the dispersal pattern from the drive wheels. “This is definitely it.�
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  Spock surveyed the area then suddenly strode to the left of where the vehicle would have been. “Look!” he exclaimed, dropping to a knee and waving Red over. “He’s alive!”

  “Who?” Red rounded his friend and his jaw dropped. Next to a tread mark was an arrow with the letters BD scratched into the dirt. And there was no doubting what it meant.

  Big Dog is alive!

  Red stood, pointing at the message. “Take photos then get rid of it. Make sure you get the tread, he obviously wants us to follow it.”

  Spock nodded, pulling out his phone and taking a series of shots as Red activated his comm. “Bravo Seven, Bravo Two. Good news, we’ve confirmed BD is alive, over.”

  “Bravo Two, Bravo Seven. I never believed he was dead.” There was a pause for a moment as Spock wiped away the message with his boot, then a burst of static. “We should be on your asses in less than sixty seconds by my estimate. Prepare to jump in, this vehicle doesn’t make stops, over!”

  “Roger that, we’ll be ready, out.”

  Red motioned with his head for Spock to get on the other side of the trail they had discovered and within moments they could hear an engine battling up the rise then the hood of a Toyota technical rounded the corner with Jimmy at the wheel, Atlas riding shot gun. Jimmy skidded to a halt as Red and Spock swung into the back, then hammered on the gas, regaining their lost momentum in seconds.

  “Status?”

  Atlas turned to Red, sliding the window open between the cabin and the truck bed. “They’re about five minutes behind us, we figure. We need to ditch this vehicle and lose them. I’m thinking in town.” Atlas looked between Red and Spock. “And where the hell is BD?”

  “He’s somewhere ahead of us. We’ve got his tire tracks on camera, but just follow this trail for now. If we see an opportunity to ditch and evade, we’ll take it. Until then let’s keep after BD.”