Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 (21 page)

Acton heard footsteps and then the man appeared in the foyer where they could all see him. Dressed the same as Mr. White, Bravo Eleven also sported some sort of machine gun that he had his hands resting on, using the straps as support.

Bravo Eleven splayed his fingers out, as if to indicate he meant no harm, showing his fingers nowhere near the trigger. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said.

Mr. White turned to the new arrival. “Get on a secure channel and find out about any helicopter activity in the target zone, and tell Control we’re going to need another bird on standby.”

Bravo Eleven nodded, did a two fingered salute at the still frozen Sarah, turned on his heel and walked back out.

Mr. White turned to Acton. “You’re going to have to come with us.”

Acton shook his head. “No damned way are we going with you.”

Mr. White held up his hand. “I think you misunderstand me.
You
need to come with us, to Egypt.”

Acton’s eyes shot open in surprise. “But—” He wasn’t sure what to say.

“But he’s already got a flight leaving in a few hours,” said Sarah, still on the stairs, leg still suspended in midair.

“Come on, Honey,” whispered Milton as he urged her forward with his hands. She took a tentative step, then joined her husband in the foyer.

Mr. White smiled.

“Trust me, I can get you there far faster than any airline can.”

Egyptian Coast

Laura watched as her captors hurriedly loaded a large yacht she estimated at over two hundred feet long, that was anchored just offshore, several small boats ferrying men and supplies, mostly weapons from the looks of things, to the boat. Her hands bound again, along with her ankles this time, she sat in the sand, thankfully in the shade of one of the vehicles. Nobody could be spared to guard her, which for her made no difference, as hopping away was simply not an option.

Oh, James, I wish you were here!

She knew they planned on dumping her overboard. If she were to survive, she would need to escape before getting aboard that boat, convince them not to kill her once aboard, or hope they’d cut her bindings before they pushed her overboard, and then hope to get lucky. She glanced again at the ties. There was no way she was escaping.

What can you offer them in return for your life?

She made the mental tally. Men like this always wanted one thing according to the movies. Sex. She’d rather die than offer herself up like a piece of meat. Money? This operation appeared well funded. But she was rich. Very rich.
Money talks
, she had heard James say on many occasions when dealing with suppliers in the third world. Would it talk with these men? What was their agenda? Was it even compatible with money?

It’s your only hope. Try to play the ransom game.

One of the men approached her and reached down, seized her by the tie holding her wrists together, then yanked her to her feet. Her wrists screamed in agony, the plastic ties cutting through the already raw skin, but she forced herself to keep her face emotionless, meeting his stare with as little emotion as she could muster, his smirk and sadistic eyes revealing disappointment at not receiving the reaction he had hoped for.

He leaned into her, burying his head in her breasts, sniffing deeply. She shut her eyes and turned away, closing off her mind for what she feared was about to come. His nose pushed into her flesh, his hot breath scorched her navel, then her thighs. She heard the sound of a knife unsheathing and she opened her eyes, looking down to see what was happening. He was staring up at her, a leering grin on his face, the glint of a large Bowie knife filling her vision as he pulled it from the sheath on his belt. She returned her attention to him, trying to read what he would do next. He licked his lips then turned his head toward her feet. The knife disappeared from view, then a tugging sensation at her feet which led to the sudden release of pressure as the tie binding her ankles was cut. She watched as he sheathed his knife, then repeated his journey with his nose and mouth up her body, finishing again at her breasts. He stared at her as he cupped her breast in one hand, then slowly turned his face toward it, his mouth opening like the sucker on a leach.

“Quit fooling around and bring her already!” yelled a voice in the distance. She looked and saw a man in one of the dinghies waving.

The letch straightened up and pulled her waist tight against his crotch. His erection pressed against her, through her pants, and a slight dizziness overcame her as she realized she had most likely just avoided being raped.

“Come along, princess,” he said as he shoved her toward the shoreline. “Time for your swim.”

She chose not to say anything. Her plan to try to buy time with a ransom offer was almost forgotten as the panic of the situation had taken over. But as she neared the boat, her mind returned to the task at hand. There was no point in talking to the help. She would need to wait until she saw the man whom she assumed was the leader. And she knew he was already on the boat. Her feet, still shod in her hiking boots, splashed through the water on shore as she was herded toward the dinghy. Reaching it, the man already sitting in the rear reached out to help her in. She stretched for his hand as she raised her right foot to step into the boat. A shove on her back sent her flailing forward, into the boat, her head landing in the lone occupant’s lap.

Her wrangler roared in laughter behind her as she struggled to her knees. “Perhaps we can get a little somethin’ somethin’ out of this bitch before we toss her to the sharks?” he said to his companion as he climbed aboard.

“You’re a pig, Gabe,” said the man as he helped Laura upright.

The letch shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette, as the other man powered up the boat’s small engine and turned them toward the yacht. They bounced along the waves as the nose of the dinghy skipped across the water, the pig at the prow, his arms spread wide across the rubber shell, all the while eying Laura like a starving fat man who stumbled upon an all you can eat Chinese buffet. Laura was determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how uncomfortable he was making her feel, not to mention how terrified. Would she become this man’s next conquest before she died? She shuddered at the thought.

He smiled.

Damn!

Somewhere over the Atlantic

“How are you doing back there?”

Acton wasn’t sure. He was almost giddy. He was perfectly
fine
, but he was also more excited than he could remember. A good excited. Not the kind of excited where you’re afraid you’re going to get your head blown off, but the kind of excited you get on a rollercoaster. And this was one hell of a rollercoaster.

“Fine!” he said, the roar of the twin General Electric F414-GE-400 turbofan engines of the F/A-18F Super Hornet he was occupying the rear seat of surprisingly unobtrusive.
I guess when you’re going faster than the speed of sound…
He never would have dreamed he’d ever get to fly in a jet fighter, going Mach 1.8 over the Atlantic Ocean then Mediterranean Sea. When Mr. White, whom he had later heard some of his men call BD, had said he had a faster way of getting to Egypt, he had assumed he meant skipping customs. He knew with Laura missing he shouldn’t be having this much fun, but he couldn’t help it. He was like a little boy getting to ride in the fire truck. A fifty-five million dollar fire truck with a Vulcan cannon, 22,000 pounds of thrust and half a dozen missiles.
Greg is never going to believe this!
His mind flashed back to his friend. He would have to try and get in touch with him when they landed in Egypt, just to let him know he was okay.

“We’re going to be refueling in about five minutes,” said the pilot, Major Keith Miller, pointing to his two o’clock position above them.

Acton looked up and saw a large refueller above them. To the right of his aircraft he saw four Super Hornets, flying in formation, each containing part of what he assumed was a special ops team, perhaps Delta Force. Apparently at the speeds they were travelling, they would reach Egypt just after the rest of the team arrived. To do what, Acton didn’t know. He didn’t care about the nuke. Well, he did care, but his primary concern was Laura.

I wonder if Reading has found out anything.

Cairo International Airport, Cairo, Egypt

Reading awoke as the person sitting beside him moved. He opened his eyes, still groggy. It took him a moment to remember he was on an airplane, and then another moment to realize they had landed and already arrived at the gate.
How the blazes did I sleep through the landing?
He wiped his eyes with his knuckles and bent over to put his shoes back on, removing them at the beginning of the flight a trick Acton had mentioned and he now had a chance to try. As he stood waiting, he noticed how much better his feet felt. They weren’t tired or sore from being cramped for hours in footwear never designed for sitting in a pressurized aircraft without moving.
It works!
He patiently waited for the cattle to move, then joined the crowd inching their way toward the exit. Fifteen minutes later he was at the baggage carrousel, and another half hour later, he had his bag, and was heading for customs. After making it through the snaking lineup, it was at last his turn.

“Passport, please.”

Reading presented his passport and waited while the man flipped through it.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

“I’m an off duty police officer, joining a friend on an archaeological dig site in the Nubian Desert.”

The man frowned. “You are not here perhaps to steal Egypt’s treasures?”

Reading knew he was being baited, and remained calm. “Of course not. This is a sanctioned dig, authorized by your government.”

The man scanned his passport and frowned at what he saw on a computer screen. He waved at another agent standing nearby. The man approached, and judging from his accoutrements, was definitely a superior. They spoke in hushed tones for a moment then the new arrival took the passport and looked at Reading.

“Please come with me, Mr. Reading.” The man held out his arm, indicating he should walk in the direction he was pointing.

Reading didn’t move. “Is there a problem?”

“No, sir, but I need you to come with me.”

Reading again didn’t move.

“I must insist.” Two armed guards walked toward them. Reading picked up his bag and nodded. They walked to a side room with no windows.
And no witnesses
. The man held the door open and Reading walked in, not sure what to expect, the horror stories of third world countries flashing through his mind.

“I would be searching his luggage very thoroughly if I were being in your position.”

Reading immediately recognized the voice and smiled at the man sitting at the table, feet up, sipping a cup of tea. “Rahim!” Reading dropped his bag and rounded the table as his friend stood. “So good to see you! I thought we were meeting at the hotel?”

Rahim shook Reading’s hand and motioned to another chair. Reading sat down as Rahim poured him a cup of tea and the other officers closed the door, leaving them alone. Reading had met Rahim years before on a case that had brought him to Egypt with Scotland Yard, and with them both now in Interpol, Rahim was an obvious phone call. Reading took the cupper, and a sip, pleased Rahim had remembered his penchant for tea.

“Yes, that was indeed the original planning, but something of the unexpecting kind has happened.”

“What?”

“Your friend from America, your Professor Acton, he never did the boarding of his flight.”

Reading’s heart thudded, his tea forgotten. “He never boarded? Are you sure?”

Rahim nodded. “I have done the pulling of the passenger manifest. He is not on the flight.”

Reading pulled his cellphone out and tried Acton’s number but it went immediately to voice mail.

If he’s not on his flight, where could he be where he’d be out of reach?

Egyptian Coast

As the dinghy pulled alongside the yacht, the letch she had heard the other man call Gabe, grasped the ladder running down its hull and steadied the craft alongside. He motioned at her to climb the ladder, as a doorman at a posh hotel might. She crawled forward and gripped the bar with her bound hands, then pushed herself to her feet, steadying herself by leaning forward against the ladder. She let go of the bar and quickly moved her hands up, grasping at a rail at shoulder height as the boat swayed under her feet. She fell forward and her hands slid down until she managed to grab the bar. She stepped up with one foot on the lowest rung of the ladder, and pushed herself up.

“For Christ’s sake!” she heard Gabe yell, then felt a hand on her behind as she was shoved up and over the side of the boat. She spilled onto the deck, her face smacking the polished wood, sending an excruciating pain through her cheekbone. She heard the clang of boots on the metal ladder, and looked around to see Gabe step aboard. He reached down and hauled her to her feet, again by the plastic tie, tearing her skin open. She winced, but immediately looked for the leader of her captors.

She was pushed toward a doorway further along the boat. She saw several crew and men from the shore party further up the deck, stowing equipment. She searched behind her, past the letch who shoved her shoulder to get her moving faster, but again didn’t spot Cole. She turned her gaze upward and saw him standing on the upper deck, talking to what might be the ship captain.

“I need to talk to you!” she yelled.

He looked down at her and tilted his head, indicating to Gabe to get her moving.

As she neared the doorframe, her heart pounded in her chest and the world closed in on her. She knew she only had moments before she may be out of his sight forever. She reached out with her bound hands and grabbed onto a handhold, grasping it as hard as she could.