Chapter 39
Legacy Camp
"Sloan!... Wake up!" shouted Boyle as he pulled the precept from his bed.
"Wake up! Derek's alive!... Aziz is on the radio!"
William bounded to his feet. His heart threatened to burst from his chest.
"What?... Now?" Never had he seen the major's usually expressionless face so vividly
excited. Both men raced back to the supply tent, where Kym still sat lifelessly by the
radio. Surprised, the precept glanced at Boyle, who shrugged in reply.
"He's masquerading as the shipping clerk of Green Flag Imports," she quietly
explained. "He'll only speak with Mr. Williams of London... you."
Sloan picked up the microphone and pressed on the transmit button. "This is Mr.
Williams," he said, forcing his voice into a calm, business tone.
"Yes... Mr. Williams," replied a scratchy, disembodied voice.
Johnny reached over the precept's shoulder to gently adjust the frequency.
"My employer wishes to convey his sadness and distress at the loss of your
shipment from Amsterdam," he said. "The persons who accidently intercepted it are
planning to post it to another destination for safe keeping. He will be unable to contact
you again, but he and his business associates wish to assist in any way possible in the
recovery of your package. He will be at the southern office tomorrow afternoon to
await notification of your arrival."
William cleared his throat, paused for thought, then spoke into the mic. "We
have three associates who were sent to find the missing parcel. If unsuccessful, they
have been instructed to meet your employer at his home to offer their knowledge and
services. Please, convey the message to them that their severance pay will be awaiting
them at their accommodation of the past few days."
"Yes... I understand... we will watch for them," Hassan said. He hesitated, then
continued, "My employer fears that the condition of your lost item may not be the best
and suggests that you take steps to inspect the article, prior to recovery... and to make
certain that it is not suddenly destroyed or diverted. He will do all that he can to
facilitate the inspection and to be at your service when needed."
Kym buried her face in her hands and quietly wept... the Holy Mother had heard
her prayers. "Thank you, thank you, God," she murmured.
"It will be much appreciated," said the precept. He wiped his sweating palm on
his pants leg. "Our plane will arrive from Templehof early tomorrow afternoon. I will
be making the inspection. Will the north runway be convenient?" As Sloan waited for
a reply, he said over his shoulder, "I hope he understood Templehof... near Tanit's
temple."
"Templehof... understood.... Tomorrow afternoon I fear the southern office will
be in turmoil," said the arms dealer. "Until then... Allah be with you."
"Thank God," the precept sighed as every ounce of strength drained from his
body. With a trembling hand, he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. "Now,
at least, there's a chance... but if they move him, we'll never get him back." He refused
to consider the possibility.
"Sloan," Boyle said firmly, "I'm the one who should go in.... I have the medical
training and could defend him if it comes to it. If it goes wrong, you'd be stranded
too."
"No," William replied. "My responsibility... my call.... We'll need your military
training to get us out."
The major hesitated, thinking. "What are you planning?" he finally asked.
"You're not good enough to sneak in there alone." He saw the precept's strong chin
thrust itself outward as he bridled at the comment.
"I'm not sneaking.... I'm getting captured."
Slowly Kym raised her head and wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. With
a sniff, she asked softly, "Why do we have to wait until tomorrow afternoon? Why
can't we go now?" Personally, she thought William's plan was one of the dumbest she
had ever heard, but... anything to save Derek.
"I know it's risky waiting that long," said William absently. His mind was
already far into tomorrow. "...but the chopper won't be ready til morning, and...."
Johnny interrupted. "Successful military operations take careful planning and
execution," he explained. "Aziz's people have to be in place, as does William."
"It's the execution part I'm worried about," Kym snapped.
The soldier ignored her. "Sloan... are you sure you can handle what comes your
way?"
William looked at Kym and coldly responded, "That's why I'm going in... when
all hell starts to break loose, their standing orders will probably be to either kill Derek
or move him.... I'll be there to stop it."
"Or get yourself killed too," Johnny added.
"Not if I can help it," Sloan replied as he tiredly pulled himself to his feet. Only
then did he notice that he'd forgotten his shoes. "Remember," he chuckled, "I'm out
of the Kincaid-Boyle school of self-defense."
Kym read the disgust in the precept's eyes as he added, "Even if we don't make
it, he'll know someone cares. Can you think of a better cause?"
< < + > >
Al-Kufrah
The steel pipe smashed down on Derek's right arm. A scream tore through his
body, inside and out, as pain became his entire existence. He slipped toward blessed
unconsciousness, only to have it washed away in a deluge of putrid water. He choked
as his head was yanked back by the hair... he could feel it ripping out by the roots.
"Who do you work for?" the voice beside his ear demanded. Through the pain,
he could no longer see the beast to whom the voice belonged. "You're a Yankee
dog.... You work for CIA?... for British?... for Israeli Mossad?"
"No," Derek mumbled. He could barely speak... his lip was so swollen from the
last backhand across his jaw. He doubted he'd even be able to move his mouth again.
"What?"
His head was jerked back farther. The swelling from the blow to his skull
collided with the back of the gray metal chair to which he was tied. Consciousness
slipped. Another blow across the face, shook him awake. Each movement tightened
the yellow nylon cord around his throat, forcing it deeper into the gash on the side of
his neck.
"I'm Dutch... not American," he whispered as best he could.
"You are American! What did you do to us... to take our minds... our
memories? We have lost a month.... Did you poison the water? Tell us and you will die
now... no more pain."
"I'm an archaeologist... I was in Egypt searching for antiquities... I got lost."
"Archaeologists carry IDs.... Where's your's?"
"I lost it," Derek groaned. He was so thirsty... he sucked on his bleeding cheeks
and swallowed the blood. His mind chuckled in its fading consciousness...
Gadverdamme!... I'm becoming a vampire on top of it all... hellava way to gain
immortality.
"You are a lost archaeologist with lost ID... I see... I am not a subtle man, nor
a patient one... I know the value of pain."
Derek's interrogator moved around to lean against the metal table that stood in
front of his prisoner. He raised his foot and pressed it into Derek's abdomen. The
precept had no way to anchor himself against the pressure. His legs had been pulled
wide and brought behind the chair's legs where his ankles were bound to the cross bar.
There was no way he could brace his feet against the floor or the chair... it was like
being left spreadeagled in midair. The sadist before him understood the vulnerability
and discomfort of the position. His heel ground toward Derek's spine, then upward,
then down. His prisoner screamed and felt the blood begin to flow again from the
wound in his hip. Focus! Derek's mind cried, but every nuance of discipline he had
ever learned failed against the pain. The fingers of his left hand gripped the chair's
metal arm... his right fingers could not... they were a misshapen mass of black and
purple, swollen to thrice their normal size. Yesterday's victims... all had been either
broken or dislocated one agonizing hour at a time.
Derek gagged on his own bile as a tidal wave of nausea swept over him. He tried
to retreat into the fortress of his own mind, as he had finally done the day before. But
the monster with the steel pipe now knew that trick.
"No!" he shouted. "You will stay here! I've seen that talent before and know
how to deal with it."
Another bucket of water hit Derek with such force that it knocked his head back.
He coughed... his body shuddered in anguish. His legs struggled to close as his feet
instinctively fought for the floor.
"You were here... some of us remember that... you were here because one of us
asked you.... Who? Who is the traitor?" the torturer demanded.
Derek knew he was going to die... it no longer mattered... but he wasn't going
to make it easy on them, or himself. "Verrot in hel! Eikel!" he spat as he lashed out
with all the mental and emotional energy he could muster.
The monster was pushed back a step. "You should have taken the time to learn
to use your new toy." He laughed... a deep, rolling bellylaugh. "A puny effort from a
puny mind."
In that instant, Derek's mind saw a flash of vision... it touched something so vile
and so powerful that this Legacy precept, who had encountered more dark horrors than
he ever dared to remember, recoiled in incomprehension... something so horrid that
even the darkest dark would look as bright as noon.
"Rot in hell? I think not... I rule there!"
The steel pipe crashed down once more... on his right hand. Derek had never felt
such agony. It consumed his entire world. There was nothing but pain... no scream...
no breath... no vision... no life. The water came again, and the slap to the face. The
beast grabbed his head and forced him to look at his mangled hand. His arm was
already turning purple, and the electrical tape that bound his wrists to the chair was
slicing into his rapidly swelling flesh. His torturer pulled on Derek's dislocated thumb
to twist his hand around. Even that small movement forced a scream from the precept's
lips. He pushed Derek's head down again. Sharp, white bone protruded through his
palm.
"We will wait," the beast said calmly. He sliced through the ropes and tape that
bound his prisoner and signaled the two guards to haul Derek to his feet. "'Tomorrow
is another day,' as Miss Scarlett would say."
There was no feeling save misery in Derek's left leg. He couldn't even tell if his
foot was on the ground, let alone use it for support. The guards started to drag him
toward the door.
"I do so love that film," his smiling tormentor continued.
Suddenly, not the "Sight," but inspiration came upon Derek Rayne. He had to
force the end. He could not allow himself to be broken or risk slipping into a fevered
delirium, babbling about ibn Aziz, or worse reveal the existence of the Legacy. He was
a precept... he knew what he had to do. Derek turned as much as he could and said in
his coldest tone, "Frankly, ass-hole, I don't give a damn." Kym and her movies, he
thought... bless her. He gave one last mental thrust that had all the strength of a baby's
breath.
The monster with the pipe lunged at his captive. He shoved one of the guards
aside and threw Derek against the concrete wall. He smashed the pipe into Derek's
shoulder. The precept felt his collar bone snap. He was beyond agony... past all
feeling. He collapsed face first to the floor. More blows fell on his ribs. He could hear
the bones crack. Suddenly, a burst of flame pierced the numbness. He wrapped himself
in the pain, absorbed the pain... became pain itself. He knew that with luck one of his
own ribs was going to kill him. He prayed with all of his might that it would.
Oh... poor precept... you came all this way and never realized you were the
Legacy's "anointed" sacrifice... anointed fool. I shall have the Legacy just as I have
the Legatus. As the words seared through Derek's mind, his brain blistered like an egg
in a frying pan. "Oh... God!" he screamed. His "Sight" seemed to explode with the
fiery intensity of a supernova. He knew his "gift" was charred relic of the past.
That's right... cry to Him, the voice laughed. He always sleeps when his
minions need him most.
"Throw this garbage back into his dung heap," the monster said with a parting
kick. "I tire of him."
| CHAPTER 40 |
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