Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 (23 page)

“It’s okay, son, we’re here now.”

Mitchell let go and stood, wiping his eyes. “I-I’m sorry. It’s just been so crazy. Professor Palmer’s missing, and we just didn’t know what to do. Everybody has been hiding in the central tent.” He pointed his arm to the large tent he had exited. “We’ve been too scared to come out. When we heard you coming, we didn’t know what to think.”

Reading smiled, trying to convey as much reassurance to the boy as he could. “How about we go in the tent and talk to everybody?”

Mitchell nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s a good idea. I think everyone will be relieved now that the police are here,” said Mitchell as he led Reading and Rahim to the tent. “And they aren’t Egyptian.” He looked at Rahim. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that, I just mean that it’s someone from home that we can trust.” Mitchell shook his head again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean trust—”

Rahim cut him off. “It is okay, my friend, I am understanding what you are meaning.” He extended his hand to Mitchell. “I am Agent Rahim al-Massri, also of Interpol.”

This brightened Mitchell’s mood. “Interpol? Really, well, that’s…” Mitchell paused for a moment, apparently searching for a politically correct word.

“Wonderful?” suggested Reading.

“Wonderful? It’s bloody brilliant!” exclaimed Mitchell, shaking Rahim’s hand furiously. “Come, I’ll introduce you to everyone!” He opened the tent flap. “It’s okay, they’re police, Interpol!”

Reading heard the murmurings of relief from several bodies inside, and lights flicked on as they stepped into the tent.

Reading stepped through after Mitchell, and as he raised his head, having cleared the entrance, he was charged by a nearby girl, screaming. He didn’t have time to react to defend himself, but when she hit him, full force, she wrapped her arms around him and bawled.

I think I arrived in the nick of time.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, Former UNICEF Camp

Reading quickly determined the students had seen nothing on the night of Laura’s disappearance, but several were certain they had heard a helicopter early in the morning, before sunrise. He, Rahim and Mitchell now bounced along the road toward the site where the UN NGO had been, and where Mitchell was convinced they had kidnapped her. Reading gripped the dash as the boy crested the dune and hit the gas, sending them tipping down the other side. Reading glanced back at Rahim who sat in the back seat, his arms stretched, a smile on his face as he looked around at the sparse landscape.

Mitchell brought the jeep to a halt at the bottom of the hill and turned off the engine.

“This is it.”

Reading climbed out and quickly scanned the area.

Mitchell and Rahim joined him, Mitchell pointing at the hilltop they had descended. “Up there is where we found the footprints.”

Reading nodded. “I saw the photos.”

“So, do you think our theory is right?” asked Mitchell, sounding eager to have validation from an expert.

“It’s definitely one possible theory,” said Reading quietly. “And if the professor wasn’t missing, I would tend to dismiss it. However…” He trailed off as he raised his finger.

“What is it, my friend?” asked Rahim.

“Shhh!” Reading cocked his ear. “Do you hear that?”

“I hear nothing, my friend,” whispered Rahim.

“Listen.”

Reading barely heard it, it sounded like an engine, or something, approaching.

“I hear it!” exclaimed Mitchell.

The sound got louder and louder, filling the entire area. Reading couldn’t determine where it was coming from, the number of small hills in the area concealing everything.

“Look!” yelled Mitchell, pointing at the hill they had come over.

Reading’s eyes first fell upon Mitchell’s face, a look of terror etched across it, then followed the finger to where he was pointing. He gasped. The blades of a helicopter appeared above the hill, then suddenly the entire machine revealed itself. Reading’s heart raced as he had flashbacks of the last time he had seen a helicopter this close. He instinctively placed himself between Terrance and the helicopter, and reached for his weapon, but didn’t draw it.

The chopper pulled its nose up and slowed to a stop, landing less than fifty feet away. They had to cover their faces as the sand was whipped around by the now slowing blades. The door to the chopper slid open and four men, dressed head to toe in black, jumped out, weapons drawn, and spread out, taking covering positions, their weapons curiously not pointed at Reading and his companions.

Two more men jumped out and walked toward them. As the blades died off, the sand settled, and through the dust, he thought he recognized one of the men.
It can’t be!

“James?”

Karakoram, Capital City of the Mongolian Empire,

August 13, 1257 AD

Grand Headmaster Hasni held Faisal back. “No, my son,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I understand your desire, but this must be allowed to happen. It is our Master’s wish.”

Faisal relaxed slightly, and Master Hasni removed his hand from Faisal’s chest. It had been a year, a year of hiding in shadows, of gathering lost followers, of trying to maintain The Order, while publicly, those that had survived the siege of Alamut, were paraded about and humiliated, and now, were about to be ultimately betrayed.

Under the guise of clemency, the remaining members of The Order were allowed to travel to Karakoram, the capital city of the Mongolian horde, to publicly beg forgiveness, and to pledge their allegiance to the Mongol emperor, Mongke Khan. Faisal knew this was a ruse, they all knew it, including their former Grand Headmaster Khurshah, who Master Hasni had spoken to only days before while disguised as a camel herder. Khurshah had told Hasni to, under no circumstances, attempt a rescue. Their final sacrifice would allow those that remained to continue on, as the world would think The Order was no more.

Master Hasni and several others, including Faisal, who had proven himself time and again in battle, and in covert reconnaissance over the past year, now hid amongst the rocks strewn across the plain about to become the forgotten graveyard of the final members of the original Hassassins.

Faisal held his breath, a lump formed in his throat, as he heard the Mongol chief yell something unintelligible to his ears and raise his arm, then abruptly lower it. Dozens of curved blades descended as one, severing the heads of their victims, and publicly eliminating The Order of the Assassins once and for all from the whispers of men.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, Former UNICEF Camp

Acton strode toward his friend, a huge grin on his face. He had known Reading would probably eventually come to Egypt, but he had never imagined his friend would get here so soon. He noticed Reading’s hand behind his back. And apparently so had the Bravo Team Commander who muttered to him, “Better get your friend to calm down.”

Acton strode ahead of BD, placing himself between him and Reading.

“Hugh, how the hell are you?” said Acton as he grabbed Reading in a hug, and whispering in his ear, “Don’t worry, they’re okay.”

Reading returned the hug and then stepped back and looked at the soldier standing before him. He extended his hand. “Agent Reading, Interpol, and this,” he said, turning to his friend, “is Agent al-Massri, Interpol.”

BD accepted the handshake, removing his sun glasses. “Didn’t it used to be Detective Chief Inspector Reading of Scotland Yard?”

Reading was taken back for a moment, and studied the man’s face, a look of recognition suddenly springing on his face as he made the connection. His hand reached for his back when BD raised his hands, palms out. “We’re all friends here, isn’t that right, Professor?”

Acton nodded and again placed himself between the two. “That’s right. The past is the past, they’re after the same people we might be after.”

Reading’s hand stopped its movement to his weapon and he stared BD in the eyes. “Why?”

“Can I tell him?” asked Acton.

BD nodded. “You will the first chance you get anyway, so you might as well.” BD walked away, yelling orders to his men to sweep the area.

Reading lowered his voice so only Acton and Rahim could hear. “What in blazes is going on? Why are you with them?” He glanced at his watch. “And how did you get here so bloody quick?”

Acton took a deep breath, and began. “Shortly after we talked, they showed up at Greg’s house to take me, and them, into custody.”

“Why?”

“Because they had apparently intercepted the phone call from Laura about the NGO, and they had them under surveillance or something, and were worried I’d start asking questions because of what happened last year.”

“Well, they were right there,” said Reading, a wry grin on his face.

Acton chuckled. “Yeah, well, you’re probably right. But what they didn’t know was that Laura had gone missing, which was why they decided to take me with them. I guess to deal with the students, and not start an international uproar.”

“You said they were watching the NGO. Why?”

“Because…” Acton leaned in and lowered his voice further, glancing around as if worried someone might be listening. “Because they think they might have a nuclear missile.”

Reading bristled, his chest expanded as he took in a deep breath at the news, his shoulders squaring as he held it. He slowly let it out through pursed lips. “This changes everything.”

“It most certainly does,” said Rahim who pulled out a satellite phone and hit the speed dial. “Yallah!”

A dull roaring sound came from behind them. They all turned, but saw nothing.

“Look!” said Acton, pointing at a cloud of dust that appeared about half a mile away, the source hidden by one of the dunes. “What the hell is that?”

The Bravo Team Commander walked over to them.

“It’s just some Bedouins, we saw them as we passed over.”

“They seem to be coming this way,” said Reading. He turned to his friend, Rahim. “Who did you call?”

Rahim smiled. “Do not do any worrying, my friend, all will be well.”

Acton glanced at Rahim then back at the dust cloud, the roar, like the sound of hundreds of rugs beaten with as many shoes, continued to get louder, and the cloud was now spread to fill their entire field of vision to the north.

BD stepped backward, toward the chopper, motioning his men to fan out. The roar filled the air, then suddenly, over the crest of the hill, a horse appeared, a man, dressed all in black, his face covered with a keffiyeh headscarf, stopped on the top, then stood in his saddle, waving his right hand in a circle, yelling something in Arabic Acton couldn’t understand.

More horses and riders appeared, fanning out to either side of the lead man, and within less than a minute, at least fifty men surrounded them.

“Prepare to repel!” Acton heard BD yell. Acton spun around and saw the Delta team drop to one knee, aiming their weapons at the men on the surrounding hills. The lead man yelled something else in Arabic, and in unison, each of the men flipped part of his robe aside, revealing an AK-47.

But they didn’t remove them from their chests. They left them in place, as if to merely show they were armed, and that Acton and his companions were vastly outnumbered.

Rahim raised his hands and turned to BD. “I am suggesting to you that you put down your weapons, they mean you no harm.”

BD kept his eyes on the new arrivals. “That’ll be the day.”

As if on cue, the surrounding men placed their right hand on their weapons, still not pointing them at the party below, but the sound from dozens of hands smacking metal sent a chill through Acton’s spine as he realized if the situation was not defused soon, they could be cut down in seconds.

“Mr. White, please!” yelled Acton.

BD looked at him, then raised a hand, slowly nodding as he holstered the MK23 handgun he had drawn. “Stand down!” he called out. His men lowered their weapons, pointing them at the ground, then climbed to their feet.

The lead horseman urged his steed forward, and he descended the hill, with two of his men in tow. They approached the small cluster of men formed by Acton, Reading, Rahim and now BD who had joined them.

“Who are you?” asked Reading.

“I am Abdullah bin Saqr, Grand Headmaster of The Order of the Assassins. And you are all my prisoners.”

Nubian Desert, Egypt, Former UNICEF Camp

Dawson’s jaw clenched tightly as he heard the old man on horseback say they were his prisoners.
Like fuck we are.
He surveyed the situation through his shades. About fifty men, all on horseback, all on the top of the ridge surrounding the small depression they occupied. He clasped his hands behind his back and made a small circular motion with his index finger. From the corner of his eye he saw his men react, inching back toward the helicopter. Dawson knew the key was whether or not these men were trained. Fifty amateurs panic after the first half dozen go down, and so do horses. He knew his men would most likely eliminate a dozen before the enemy got their first shot off. But if they stood their ground, his men would face dozens of AK-47s from all directions, and would be quickly cut down.

Negotiation first.

Dawson stepped closer to Acton.

“Who did he say they were?” he whispered.

The man on horseback was old, but he apparently had young ears. “We are the Hassassins,” he repeated. “Perhaps Professor Acton could explain who we are?”

Acton’s eyebrows shot up for a moment. “How do you know who I am?”

The man smiled, leaning forward in his saddle as he made the rounds. “Agent Reading of Interpol, Professor Acton of Saint Paul’s University, and you”—he looked directly at Dawson—“are Mr. White, from the United States Delta Force.” He sat up in his saddle, a pleased expression on his face as no one reacted. “Of course, Mr. White is not your real name, but we need not ruin your cover.”

Dawson kept his face emotionless. The man had good intel.
Too good.
Clearly this fellow with Reading was a traitor, or at least a double-agent. That would explain how they knew who Reading was. Reading was here because of Acton and his girlfriend, so the traitor would explain him knowing that as well.