Vanished

by S. L. Menear

  I continued pacing into the bedroom, stopped at the balcony, and stared out at the Atlantic Ocean. “Come on, Mike.” I gripped the silent phone.

  “Okay, I’m back.” He hesitated. “My team was just ordered to stand down.”

  “What does that mean?” My heart rate skyrocketed.

  “Nothing good.”

  “What about Ross?” I tried not to panic.

  “No news on him or his team.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, sis. Hold it together. I’ll check a few sources and get back to you.”

  I had a sudden urge to vomit.

  Somalia

  Ross sucked in his breath as Khalif glanced at his gold watch and grinned at the prisoners. “Ready for the big show? Just in time for late news in London and early evening news in Washington.” He motioned to the guards. “Take them inside.”

  Beefy men dragged the captured soldiers into a tent where floodlights and cameras faced a cloth backdrop. For the girls’ sakes, the SAS team didn’t resist. Khalif’s image, superimposed over crossed rifles, formed the banner’s centerpiece. Four young captives cowered in the corner.

  “The world will see what happens when foreign soldiers interfere in our affairs.” Khalif motioned for two of the girls to kneel in front of the backdrop.

  The terrified children trembled and stumbled forward. Tears ran down their sweet faces as they were shoved into kneeling positions side-by-side in the center. Urine pooled under them.

  Ross exchanged glances with his teammates. His mouth went dry and his breath caught as he focused on the scimitars two soldiers held. The saying: “Live by the sword—die by the sword,” had never been more literal to him than it was at that moment.

  Khalif pointed at Chris and Ian as the children sobbed. “Them.”

  The guards dragged the men into kneeling positions flanking the girls.

  Khalif waved at the laptop. “Check the Internet feed. Are we live?”

  The man handling the camera and computer nodded.

  Ross swallowed hard as he looked into the eyes of his teammates for the last time. Chris and Ian were resigned to their fate, knowing any resistance would result in more girls being killed. They showed no fear as they faced the camera.

  Two men holding sharp, curved blades stepped behind the kneeling prisoners and grabbed the girls’ hair. The children screamed just as a satellite phone rang.

  Khalif held up a hand. “Wait.” He snatched up the phone and stepped outside the tent.

  Tense minutes ticked down.

  When the leader returned, he stared at Ross and Derek and then tapped commands into the laptop. Pictures of them filled the monitor. “Put these two in the truck.”

  Khalif followed as guards dragged Ross and Derek outside. He barked orders in his native language to the truck driver, and the guards pulled black bags over their captives’ heads and tossed them into the canvas-covered truck bed.

  The truck’s engine rumbled to life, and Ross felt what he hoped was Derek beside him. The vehicle began moving, and pain shot through his cracked ribs as every pothole in the primitive road added to his agony. Ross wondered where they were going and what fate awaited them when they arrived.

  Khalif swatted mosquitoes as he watched the truck disappear into the dark jungle. He dialed a number on a satellite phone. When his call was answered, he said in Arabic, “Ismail, your package is on the way. Transfer funds.”

  “Understood. Funds will be transferred, my brother. Allahu akbar.”

  Khalif took a moment to relieve himself on a bush. He stroked his beard, thinking about the two million dollars that were being transferred into his bank account. He’d check it before he continued with the live videos.

  He entered the video tent, typed commands into the computer, and waited. Nothing. “What happened to our Internet connection?”

  “Sometimes heavy rain interrupts service.” The cameraman checked the laptop’s battery and the gas-powered generator’s electrical output. “Okay, the Internet is back on.”

  Khalif tapped in commands. It took a few minutes for the response. The funds had been transferred as promised. He grinned.

  “Now for some fun.” Khalif stood facing the kneeling prisoners and glanced at the executioners. “Ready?”

  They nodded.

  He glanced at his videographer. “Everything set?”

  The man rechecked his camera and then stood behind it.

  “Do the girls first. I want these infidel soldiers to see the result of their foolish actions.”

  The executioners yanked up on the girls’ hair, exposing their necks, and raised their blades high for maximum force as their victims’ high-pitched screams filled the tent.

  Khalif’s emotion changed from glee to confusion. Soft pops preceded the executioners’ deaths a nanosecond before his brain exploded, covering the kneeling captives with blood spatter.

  Palm Beach

  I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed sneakers from under the bed. My long hair would have to air dry while I packed a suitcase. When Mike called back, I didn’t want to waste a minute. Jeans, cotton cargo pants, and light, long-sleeved shirts would be best for buggy areas in Africa. My free week might not be enough, but I wouldn’t stop looking until Ross was rescued. If only the visions would return and help me locate him.

  I tried to push my worries aside and focus on packing. On the edge of panic as bloody images of Ross invaded my mind, I stumbled to my walk-in closet. Grabbing my best hiking boots and heavy socks, I thought about weapons. How would I sneak them into Somalia?

  My cell phone trilled, and I snatched it up. “Mike, give me good news.”

  “Sis, the Brits sent in four SAS teams. They got there just in time to save Ian and Chris and all the girls.”

  My mouth went dry. “Ian and Chris? What about Ross and Derek?”

  “His men said they were driven away in a truck about fifteen minutes before the teams parachuted in and attacked the camp. The cloud cover was too low and heavy to use a drone for overhead views. By the time the nearest satellite was tasked, the truck was long gone.”

  “Did the Brits find out where they took them?” I resumed pacing.

  “Khalif was about to have Chris and Ian beheaded.” Mike paused. “They had to put him down.”

  My voice shot up two octaves. “There has to be someone there who knows where Ross and Derek were sent.”

  “Sorry. The few survivors were foot soldiers. Khalif didn’t share his plans with them. Your visions might be our only hope of finding them.”

  “I have no control over what I see or when I see it, so I’m hoping I’ll get another vision when I’m in Africa. I’m catching the first flight to Mogadishu.”

  “Whoa, Sam, forget it. If they found you alone in that dung pit, a beautiful blonde like you would be a prime candidate for the sex-slave trade. Besides, I need you on my team.”

  “You want me on your SEAL team?”

  “Well, not exactly. I volunteered us for a covert joint-forces mission tasked to rescue Ross and Derek. You know everyone on the team.”

  “Really? Who’s going?”

  “Banger will be the other SEAL with me, and we’ll have SAS Lieutenant Bryce Manning and MI6 Agent Lisa Atwater from Great Britain.”

  “I’ve been in life-threatening situations with all of them. They’re extraordinary people, but how did you manage to get me on the team?”

  “I recommended you because of your psychic abilities. They already know from past experiences that your combat skills are adequate.” He paused. “Are you in?”

  I punched my fist in the air. “Where do I meet you?”

  “Pack sensible clothes and good boots. They’re expecting you to fly into NAS JAX. Banger will be waiting. You have three hours to get your butt up there and hop a C-17 to Somalia. I’m already in Africa.”

  “No problem. I’m almost done packing. One of our corporate jets can take me.”

  “Good. I’ll have all the gear and weapons ready wh
en you get here.”

  “Thanks, Mike. See you soon.” I rushed to my desk and grabbed my passport. My next call was to the Starr Corporation’s flight department. The company had been founded by my late father, and my mother was the majority shareholder, so their corporate jets were always available to our family.

  Captain Hiller answered on the first ring. “Hello, Sam, what can I do for you today?”

  “Hey Bill, I need a ride to the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville. Any chance you can have a jet ready to go in thirty minutes?”

  “Let me check.” He paused a moment. “I can have a Lear 35 fueled and ready by the time you get here. I’ve got a pilot who lives nearby on short call.”

  “Thanks. See you in thirty.”

  I opened my wall safe for the first time in a month and pulled out a square gold medallion with a trident and a pyramid-shaped diamond embedded in it. The medallion was a unique key that had opened hidden doors for me in Petra. Maybe it would aid me in Africa. I hung it around my neck and concealed it under my shirt.

  About to close the safe’s door, I felt a strong urge to put my hands on the huge power diamond I had carried out of an obsidian pyramid in the submerged city of Atlantis. Two feet long and shaped like a rhombus, the gem had been an integral component of Poseidon’s Sword, a weapon of mass destruction housed in the enormous pyramid. Now it was enclosed in a thick velvet sack, and it barely fit in the back of my safe. Only a handful of trusted people knew I had it.

  Reaching inside, I loosened the drawstring and pulled the sack halfway down the diamond. The moment my hands closed around the gem, my head tingled, and I experienced a vision of Luxor in Egypt. Atlantean words that meant “pass tests, find the Blue Dragon in the Dark Continent, save them” kept repeating in my head.

  I understood the strange language because Atlantean triplets had telepathically transferred all their knowledge of ancient Atlantis to me, the last queen, before they were killed. I created a translation program for the U.S. government so their experts could read all the scrolls recovered from the Hall of Records, but I kept the rest of my knowledge secret for self-preservation. I’d never admit my new ability to mentally control Earth’s electromagnetic energy, and I prayed I’d never need to use it. That power had earned the triplets a death sentence, and I wasn’t eager to join them.

  I possessed some unusual abilities, and my body carried a rare frequency of electromagnetic energy passed down from my ancestors who had been worshipped as goddesses in ancient Atlantis. They were the only women qualified to serve as queens, and it turned out I was the last heir to the throne of a nation I had never known. Now that all the Atlanteans were dead, and their home rested on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, I didn’t think the crown mattered. Queen of Atlantis was a title I didn’t want or need.

  Wondering what to think about the vision and its message, I tugged the sack up over the diamond, tied the drawstring, and locked the safe.

  Maybe the message was meant to help me save Ross and Derek. Had to be. Being queen of a dead nation might have some perks after all.

  In minutes, I was in my SUV heading for the general aviation side of Palm Beach International Airport.

  Two

  Africa

  Inside a noisy truck bed, Ross and Derek had few options as they lay with their wrists and ankles bound and their heads covered with black sacks.

  Drifting in and out of consciousness, Ross wondered how long they’d been traveling. He had no idea how far they’d gone or if they were still in Somalia. And so far, Derek hadn’t made a sound. Maybe his injuries were more severe. He prayed his best friend would survive.

  The truck turned onto another road covered with deep potholes. Each jolt bounced his body, and pain knifed through his cracked ribs. The agony was so intense, Ross could barely catch his breath. The torturous ride brought about a wave of nausea, and he was close to vomiting when the truck stopped.

  Slow, deep breaths helped him calm his stomach as he listened for clues. Muffled voices blended with the distant roar of a lion as rain pattered on the truck’s canvas roof. Exhausted, Ross was almost asleep when the tailgate dropped open with a loud clang.

  Someone gripped his ankles and yanked him out. He landed on his back in soft mud, and something thudded onto the ground beside him. The rain stopped moments later, and his soaked hood almost choked him.

  A man with a deep voice said in Arabic, “Uncover their heads so I can see if they’re the right men.”

  A soldier yanked off Ross’s sack. Dizzy, his vision blurred when he squinted into a bright floodlight and glanced to his left. Derek lay unconscious beside him. He looked up at the man giving the orders and recognized him as an ISIS leader, Ismail Mustapha.

  Nearby, men in black fatigues unloaded supplies from military trucks and stacked the boxes. A sea of dark tents housing hundreds of ISIS soldiers filled a narrow clearing beside a mountain.

  “Wake that one,” Ismail yelled in Arabic, pointing at Derek.

  A soldier doused Derek’s head with a bucket of water, and some of it splashed onto Ross’s face. He ran his tongue over his wet lips, eager for any moisture.

  “His eyes are open now. Cut their ankle ties.” Ismail stared at his prisoners.

  A guard reached for Ross and pulled him to his feet.

  “Walk them inside before a spy satellite passes over. Hurry!” Dressed all in black, the local ISIS leader had a full beard and dark, emotionless eyes. A keffiyeh covered his head, and a gold lion medallion hung on a heavy gold chain around his neck.

  Two men shoved Ross into a dark, musty cave and led him into a long passage. He glanced back in the dim lantern light and nodded at Derek stumbling behind him, his ankles also untethered. Using his fingers, Ross signaled him to attack their captors in ten seconds.

  About twenty yards inside the cave and far enough away from the majority of soldiers, Ross and Derek summoned every ounce of strength left in them for one last chance to escape. They landed hard kicks into the groins of their forward guards. The surprised men dropped, writhing in agony, and the SAS soldiers kicked their heads at just the right angle to snap their necks. The attacks were accomplished in a few seconds.

  The remaining two guards charged them from behind, and the elite British soldiers turned and headbutted their faces, crushing their noses. Blood spurted from their smashed nostrils as the guards spit up blood and bent over, trying to catch their breath. The duo rammed their knees under their captors’ jaws while simultaneously headbutting them for maximum effect. The injured men crumpled to the ground, and Ross and Derek stomped their windpipes.

  The sounds of their battle had echoed through the cave. Ross tried to get his fingers around a dead guard’s sheathed knife, but he didn’t have time. In seconds, he and Derek were surrounded by armed men. An angry soldier hit Ross hard on the back of his head with a rifle butt, and his world went black.

  He woke with his wrists chained to brackets above his head and Derek chained beside him. He grimaced, every inch of his body throbbing in agony. On the opposite wall, two white men in dirty civilian clothing hung limply from similar chains. Their faces were swollen, and their eyes were closed.

  Ross glanced at Derek, bruised and bloodied. He whispered, “You okay?”

  “I’m worried I might live,” he rasped. “You look as bad as I feel.”

  Ismail strode in and glared at his men. “Fools! You allowed these infidels to kill four of our comrades.” He pointed. “Stretch the banner across the cave over there and get the video equipment and floodlights ready.”

  Ross looked at the ISIS banner. As long as he and Derek were alive, there was hope. He feared the worst had already happened to Chris and Ian. And now his new captors probably planned to tape a beheading video like the one Khalif had set up earlier. The thought of Sam seeing such a gory execution turned his stomach.

  Despite the pain, Ross closed his eyes and tried to relax. He had several cracked ribs, lacerations on his head and arms, and severe bruising
all over. One eye was swollen shut. Derek nudged him with his leg.

  “Try to send a mental message to Sam.” He licked blood off his split lip.

  “And how do I do that?” Ross looked at him. “I’m not telepathic.”

  “Aye, but she is. Try shouting her name over and over in your head until she answers you.” Derek paused, then said, “We’ll both do it.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Ross whispered. “She may be our only chance.”

  “All right, mate, do it now.”

  Palm Beach

  I rushed through the corporate hangar, pulling my roller suitcase and carrying a backpack. A Learjet waited outside on the ramp with its door open and the airstairs down.

  Chief Pilot Bill Hiller rounded the airplane and trotted over. “Hi, Sam, let me get those for you.” He grabbed my bags and walked beside me.

  An airliner taking off roared in the distance at the busy international airport.

  “Are you flying me to Jacksonville?”

  Bill nodded. “I like to stay current on all our airplanes, and I haven’t flown the Lear 35 in a while. I did the walkaround inspection to save time.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Ah, there’s my copilot.”

  A young woman hurried to meet us, her blond hair billowing in the wind. Out of breath, she said, “Sorry, boss, I got stuck waiting for the stupid drawbridge on Southern.” She glanced at me, and her jaw dropped. “Oh, geez, you’re that famous airline pilot. I’m new here and was hoping I’d get a chance to meet you sometime.”

  I held out my hand and smiled.

  Petite and pretty, she shook my hand and grinned. “I’m Laura Burke. It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Lady Samantha.”

  “Just Sam, please.”

  A deep masculine voice with a Texas accent yelled, “Hey, wait for me!”

  I turned and spotted my favorite copilot at Luxury International Airlines, Lance Bowie, trotting toward us with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He and I had been stranded in South America a month ago and shared some harrowing experiences. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was way too good-looking with liquid-green eyes and a body that would be the envy of any male sports model. What was he doing here?