Hell's Choir (NICHOLAS SHARP THRILLER SERIES Book 3)

by Mark Mannock

  Ten minutes later, after I’d said yes, mmm’d and agreed with the big fella several times, he seemed better positioned for a rational conversation.

  “We need to get clear in our heads what’s going on here,” I began.

  He nodded.

  “From the comments we’ve heard among the terrorists, I reckon we can assume that Atha Riek is somewhere in this camp. It is therefore more than likely…”

  “That Vice President Blake is here too,” concluded Greatrex.

  The big fella was back to his clear-headed normal self.

  “Yes, he may be in any of these caves. So, even if we could escape our current situation, I don’t know how we’d locate him,” I said.

  “We need to access some local knowledge.”

  “We do,” I agreed. “The question is how?”

  “And how the hell do we get out of this cave?”

  “And if we get out of the cave, and get lucky enough to snatch Blake, how in God’s name do we extricate ourselves clear of here?” Nicholas Sharp: pessimistic in defeat.

  Silence.

  Then more silence.

  We eased our way back toward the cavern entrance. We’d previously moved as far away from our guards as possible so we wouldn’t be overheard. Now I wanted to perform whatever reconnaissance was achievable from our captive position. There was no plan, not even a vague idea. Maybe checking out the lay of the land would inspire me.

  “Not one more step,” warned our guard as we approached the entrance. He emphasized the point by raising his rifle. We didn’t need to be told twice.

  Without venturing further, our prison cave still provided us with an unobstructed view across the encampment. It was an impressive vista. The valley appeared narrow but long. Foreboding rock faces surrounded it, although from our position, we couldn’t see the other caves embedded in the same escarpment as ours. As the steep canyon walls curved to the east, I observed several other positions where there may be more holes in the rock. The terrain looked dry and uninviting yet held its own rugged beauty. Brave but unforgiving country.

  At ground level, I noted six vehicles scattered across the area. That included our own Nissan. The terrorists’ vehicles, all four-wheel drives, were sprayed in desert colors. Even with that, I sighted enormous sheets of army surplus camouflage netting nearby that would provide further cover for them in an instant. Two men stood beside the Nissan, already disguising it with the nets. As they threw the screens over, the SUV disappeared into the landscape.

  Close to a dozen tents appeared randomly positioned throughout the immediate area, all covered in similar camouflage netting. Most sat in the flat basin of sand adjoining the vehicles, but three were in a separate compound to the north, surrounded by a makeshift, yet robust-looking wire fence. The guards posted around the perimeter of the fence posed more questions than answers. What were they guarding? Were they stopping people from getting in or getting out?

  As I watched, I started noticing movement on some outlying embankments and cliff tops. Despite the distance, I noted the glint of metallic weapons in the moonlight. A sniper’s eye. The camp and the valley itself stood well protected. It would take an army to break in here.

  We didn’t have an army.

  Each tent would serve a function. I assumed there would be a mess, sleeping quarters and conceivably even an armory. Greatrex made careful observations, presumably attempting to identify each. It had taken little to kick him back into military mode. It never took either of us long to make that switch. The fire that burns within never truly goes out.

  After twenty minutes of surveillance, we returned to the rear of the cave.

  “I figure the closest tent is the mess,” said Greatrex. “I saw at least one fellow stroll out with a drink in his hand.”

  “The row beyond that would be sleeping quarters,” I added. “I saw no one going in or out. Why would they if the tents provided only beds?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Did you notice the canvas-and-rope structure out on its own and furthest from the sleeping quarters?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “My guess is it’s the armory,” I said. “Far enough away to avoid accidents, close enough to be in reach.”

  “Wouldn’t they be better off keeping guns and ammunition in the caves? It would be more secure.”

  “I reckon that they’ll have their substantive arsenal in a cave in another location. If this site became compromised, they would not want to lose all their weaponry,” I countered.

  “Then the tent would be their traveling stash, ready at hand.”

  “Exactly. I would sure as hell like to know what’s in there,” I replied, although I couldn’t see any way we would find out.

  “Now for the significant question,” announced Greatrex.

  “The compound. Three large tents inside and surrounded by wire and guards.”

  “What’s that all about?”

  “I’ve no idea. I didn’t notice any people or even any movement, but there must be a reason it’s there.”

  Nothing came to my mind or to Greatrex’s.

  “How many men all up?”

  “I estimate at least forty, possibly ten more or ten less,” I responded. “Either way, too many.”

  “Any ideas about how to get out of here?” asked Greatrex.

  “Not yet, but I’m hopeful an opportunity will arise. If it does, we take it.”

  “Agreed.”

  “When I get my hands on Jumaa, he’ll live to regret his cowardice.”

  “I appreciate that,” I responded, “but for now I need to think… we need to think.”

  Our thoughtful silence engulfed the cave.

  Chapter 12

  It was dark outside when they came for us.

  Erratic flashlight beams accompanied by hushed, urgent voices preceded our visitors. The leader of our kidnappers–the man Jumaa called Gataa, at the betrayal earlier that day—entered the cave. A guard flanked him on either side. One held a lantern, the other a Kalashnikov.

  “On your feet. Al Fahad will see you now,” he said.

  To emphasize the point, the guard with the Kalashnikov kicked Greatrex hard in the thigh. I hoped he would live to regret that. I never liked bullies. We stood up, stepped forward, and descended the few steps to the ground.

  “Walk.”

  We followed the guard with the lantern past the row of tents we had assumed were allocated for sleeping. Fifty yards ahead, we saw the glow of a campfire. A sizable group of men stood around it. I could hear shouting and laughter. Between the fire and the voices, these people showed confidence they would remain undetected in this location. Perhaps we’d find an opportunity in that. Arrogance could be a killer.

  The guards stopped twenty feet from the cluster of men. We waited. A minute later, the men standing on our side of the group parted.

  It took less than two seconds to identify Atha Riek. He sat on the other side of the fire, the reflection of the flames in his amber eyes making them glow. Cat’s eyes. The man’s weathered skin complemented the tightly drawn features of his face. He held his forearms in front of his chest. They appeared sinewy but strong. Even if I didn’t know his moniker, the man’s appearance would have suggested a wild cat about to pounce.

  The surrounding men became silent, waiting for their leader to speak. I looked directly at him, captivated, searching for some form of expression, or perhaps a vulnerability. I’m usually good at reading people. With this man, I could read nothing, I could see nothing. The void sent a chill through me.

  “Step forward, Christians.” He spoke softly.

  The guards at our rear manhandled Greatrex and I into the circle.

  Riek’s expression narrowed, his lips drawn tight like a wild animal anticipating a fresh kill.

  “You have caused us trouble.”

  He stared down into the flames, his head tilted to one side.

  “I do not know why you sought to interfere,” he continued, his eyes still c
ast down, “but I’m certain you’ve achieved nothing.”

  The men around the fire remained silent, respectful of their leader.

  Al Fahad looked up, his gaze penetrating. “You may be fools, you may be heroes. It’s not important.”

  I’d never been good with the ‘naughty boys being brought before the principal’ scenario. I decided to speak. “Where is—”

  My head lurched forward as waves of agony shot from the back of my brain to the front. The butt of a rifle in the base of your skull will do that.

  “Save what little breath you have. There will be no questions.”

  I struggled to remain standing, sensing Riek’s eyes washing over me like a waterfall of jagged ice. I searched his gaze. It was as though no emotion connected him with the moment. A sociopath.

  “Jumaa Al Fadil!” he commanded.

  Jumaa stepped out of the gloom into the glow of the flames. “You have a final task. It will clarify your loyalty… or your fear.” Jumaa nodded.

  Looking up at his lieutenant, Riek continued. “Gataa, take Khalid and Mayen with you to the large cave. Supervise Jumaa Al Fadil as he interrogates these two. If he serves with honor, allow him to extinguish their lives in the most painful way possible. If he hesitates, kill them all, including Jumaa’s wife and child.” Wife and child? Jumaa had told us nothing about having a wife and child.

  “Wait,” I said. “What about Vice President Blake—”

  The second round of pain hit the small of my back, then rippled up my spine. Nicholas Sharp: slow learner.

  Riek looked at me with contempt. He nodded at the man to his right, who stood up and walked off into the darkness. No one spoke.

  Several minutes later, two shadows appeared in the distance. The terrorist who had just left the group walked beside another figure. He was tall, with broad shoulders, although his gait belied his physique. He moved slowly with his frame arched forward. As his face emerged out of the darkness, I could see the bruising around his eyes. Trails of dried blood streaked down his cheeks and neck. A checkerboard of deep cuts encircled his arms, suggesting someone had been merciless with a blade. As he stepped fully into the light, it was obvious. Vice President Jefferson Blake had been having a very hard time.

  “Sharp?” The strength in Blake’s voice defied his current demeanor.

  “Sir.”

  “How in God’s name…?”

  Riek turned to Blake’s guard. An almost imperceptible nod between the two, and the guard raised his rifle above his head. Without hesitating, he brought it down, slamming it into the base of the vice president’s neck. Blake faltered, but didn’t go down.

  The terrorist leader took a moment to survey Jefferson Blake’s condition before rounding to focus on me. “You see where the power lies in our relationship. You would all do well to keep your silence.”

  Those around him nodded in agreement.

  Al Fahad rose to his feet. He advanced a step toward Blake before sweeping his open palm in the vice president’s direction. “How does the almighty United States of America look right now? What has your pursuit of arrogance and control bought you? Pathetic impotence. You stand here with the second most powerful man in your country bowed before me, his life in my hands. While my own government dances around with the conviction of a wildflower in the wind, I will bring America to its knees. Our allies, the Chinese will thank me, the Russians will be amazed, and my country will again live under Allah’s protection.”

  Riek spat the words as much as spoke them. I’d been wrong. This man remained totally connected with the moment.

  “I am just one of many who stand for democracy—you can’t kill us all,” said Blake, his voice unwavering. The vice president was rewarded with a sharp punch to the kidneys by the guard next to him. Most men would have doubled over in pain. Blake stood his ground.

  “While I may have some respect for your defiance, it serves no purpose,” replied the rebel leader, looking again at Blake. “At the appropriate time, I will execute you myself. We’ve arranged for the event to be streamed to the world. There are others moving into place who are tasked to assassinate selected Western leaders. Your death is their cue. Together we’ll sing a requiem for your way of life.”

  Atha Riek turned back to Greatrex and me. “I suspect that you two came to our country hoping that Sudan would join the capitalist economy in some type of market-based unification. Perhaps like your Ronald Reagan all those years ago… ‘Mr. Gorbachev, tear down these walls.’” The terrorist leader allowed himself a slight grin. “Instead, I will give you a 9-11 moment. America’s humiliation again, in the eyes of the world. I can assure you, the walls surrounding Sudan will remain standing for many decades to come.”

  Jefferson Blake gasped for air, but he had more to say. “You may kill me, but the US will react. Once our forces search you out, you’ll be destroyed.”

  Al Fahad sat back down. His body crumpled into his robes, as though all energy had been spent. Once more he sought counsel from the flames. After some time, he spoke with quiet malice, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I believe you overestimate your own importance and the character of your president. He won’t risk going to war with China to avenge a vice president he never wanted. He is not a man of principle nor conviction. I imagine a few heartfelt speeches, perhaps even a token coalition investigation. We’ll be long gone.”

  “They’ll find you,” said Greatrex, speaking for the first time. “We are not a country that gives up easily.” The guard behind him used the butt of his machine gun to strike the big fella hard in the back. There was a grunt, more of defiance than of pain.

  Riek looked at him, his lips curled in faint amusement. “And how long did they take to find the great Osama bin Laden…? We’ll disappear and reappear as we are needed. There are many powerful nations who wish to retain their influence in our region. Even bin Laden never had that level of protection.”

  I looked over at Jumaa Al Fadil. He said nothing throughout the entire exchange. Did Judas plan to take his thirty pieces and run? Maybe I was being unfair. The Sudanese man had betrayed us, but it appeared the lives of his wife and child hung in the balance. I wondered what I would have done in the same situation. Across the fire, Jumaa’s features formed a mask of steel, his focus fixed on Al Fahad.

  Riek inspected his group, as though assessing the commitment on each man’s face. “Enough of this talk—we have work to do and an execution to prepare for.”

  Once more, I looked through the flames into the terrorist leader’s cold eyes. Ice on fire.

  Chapter 13

  Once we were thrown back into our cave, we waited for at least another two hours, sitting in the shadows, talking through possibilities. The cold desert air seeped into our tired bones.

  “If we walk into the place Atha Riek called the ‘large cave’, the most likely probability is we won’t walk back out again,” said Greatrex.

  “I get it,” I responded, “but at this point I’ve got nothing.”

  “We could try to take the guards out as we’re moved up there. We’d only have a slight chance, but at the very least we’d go down fighting.”

  “You’re right, the chance of success would be minimal. But that may be all we have.”

  Again, we sat alone with our thoughts.

  Eventually…

  “I can’t get away from what is at stake here. The life of the vice president of the United States is in our hands, and our hands are tied, almost literally,” I said. “I suppose the good news is that at least we know Blake is alive, for the moment.”

  “If we have nothing else by the time they come, we go for it then?” said Greatrex.

  “Agreed.”

  “If it comes to that, I hope we can take Jumaa Al Fadil with us as we go down,” stated the big fella.

  I said nothing.

  “Christians, to the front of the cave… now!” came the command.

  “Here we go,” said Greatrex.

  We moved to our pri
son entrance.

  “Put your hands in front of you.”

  As we did so, they wound heavy rope around them. Our hands were tied.

  “Is this necessary?” I asked.

  “Al Fahad does not trust you, nor anyone,” replied our lead guard. “We’re ordered to take no chances.”

  As I moved out onto the ledge to descend the steps, I saw what he meant. At the bottom stood eight guards, forming a semicircle. Each had a Kalashnikov. That made four guards per man. Once on the steps, I peered up at Greatrex and shook my head. There was no point. We were grossly outnumbered.

  One hundred and fifty yards along the floor of the rock face, the guards stopped. A longer ladder leaning against the cliff, reached up to a ledge above us. It was lit from above.

  “You climb,” said the lead man. “One hesitation or incorrect move and you’ll be shot.”

  I climbed up first. It was only twenty feet to the ledge, but with my hands bound and so many men pointing so many guns, it would be a terrible time to make an innocent slip. When I reached the top, Jumaa waited. With him stood the tall one they called Gataa, and the two other terrorists that Riek had demanded.

  “Step aside so your friend has room,” he instructed. His face expressionless.

  Greatrex joined us on the ledge.

  Gataa motioned his gun toward the cave entrance. “Move.”

  As we walked forward, this new space appeared to be much bigger than our previous prison. On the left-hand side burned a smoldering open fire, its smoke being drawn up through a natural flue in the rock ceiling. The implements sitting among the coals drew my attention. There were two pokers, three knives and a hook, all glowing red hot.

  The guards followed us in. “Hold up your arms, both of you.”

  One of the guards unbound our ropes. That was surprising.

  “Put your hands behind your back.” Less surprisingly, our hands were re-bound.

  Still standing, they tied Greatrex’s wrists to a sturdy rail embedded in the earth in next to the cave wall opposite the fire. They pushed me closer to the furnace, its hot coals radiating waves of heat. One of the guards picked up a thick chain off the ground, its end attached to a link bolted into a large rock. He secured my hands to the other end.