by S. L. Menear
I stopped at the bottom of the airstairs while Bill and Laura climbed aboard.
“Sam, I’m sorry about Ross and his team. Mike told me all about it.” Lance squeezed my hand.
“Thank you, but I can’t waste time chatting. There’s a C-17 waiting for me at NAS JAX.”
“I know.” He ushered me up the stairs. “Let’s get going.”
He stuffed his duffel between two seats as Laura retracted the boarding stairs.
“Wait,” I said to Lance. “You can’t come. I’m going on a covert military mission.”
Lance waved at the copilot. “Close the door. We’re good.”
“No, we’re not. Get off the airplane.” I pointed at the door.
“Sam, calm down. Mike invited me to join the mission.” He nodded to Laura.
She secured the door and entered the cockpit. Bill already had the starboard engine running.
I plopped onto a leather recliner and fastened my seatbelt. “Dammit, Lance, what do you think you’re doing?”
He sat beside me. “I’m trying to redeem myself with Ross and keep your sexy ass safe.”
“You have nothing to redeem. Our one kiss in Hong Kong was necessary to fool the Chinese Secret Service, and I never told anyone about it anyway, so you can stand down. I’ve got two Navy SEALs, an SAS lieutenant, and an MI6 agent to keep me safe in Africa.”
“Uh, my thing with Ross has nothing to do with Hong Kong.”
“This isn’t about me climbing up you in South America when I was trying to get away from that giant spider, is it?”
He laughed. “That’s the only time I’ve ever seen you lose your cool, and as you’ll recall, I saved you from that nasty Goliath birdeater.” He grinned. “Ross wouldn’t have an issue with that.”
“Well, what is it then? I thought I knew everything about you two.”
“Not everything. You’ll have to ask Ross.” His face flushed, and he averted his eyes.
Was he red from guilt or embarrassment? He turned away and stared out the window as we rocketed down the runway. In seconds, we were airborne and turning toward Jacksonville.
Confused about Lance’s comments, I tried to clear my head and figure it out. I leaned back and reclined my seat. Everything was happening too fast.
The instant I closed my eyes, “Sam! Sam! Sam!” repeated over and over in my head. It sounded like Ross and Derek calling me.
My mind filled with a vision of them chained to a rock wall inside a dark cave. Their faces were bloody and swollen. A man dressed in black, wearing a balaclava and an ISIS armband, came into view. Blood dripped from a scimitar hanging on his belt.
“No,” I shouted and sat up.
The vision vanished.
Africa
Ten minutes after Ross and Derek started calling to Sam in their heads, an ISIS soldier entered carrying a bucket and towels. “Time to make you pretty for the beheading videos.” He smirked. A long, curved blade hung from his belt.
Ismail walked over and thumbed at the prisoners on the opposite wall. “Do them first.” He sneered at Ross and Derek. “Let these SAS cowards see what happens to infidels.”
Ross watched a preview of his fate as the battered civilian men were shoved onto their knees, the banner above them in the background. Too weak to struggle, fear radiated from their eyes, and their bodies trembled as they braced for the blades.
Ismail stepped in front of them and made a long speech about ISIS and their holy war. Then he walked behind the camera and motioned for the executions to begin.
The executioners grasped the victims’ hair, lifting their bowed heads up, and swung their gleaming blades. Still clutching the hair, they displayed the severed heads dripping blood and cheered, “Allahu akbar!”
Bile rose in Ross’s throat. He swallowed hard, fighting the burgeoning nausea.
Guards dropped the severed heads into a big sack and tossed the bodies into a wheelbarrow.
The leader pointed at the Scotsmen and grinned. “You’re next.”
Their ankles had been zip-tied to prevent a repeat of their earlier attack. Four soldiers unchained them and dragged them in front of the ISIS banner.
Ross managed to headbutt one guard before two muscular men pinned him on his knees. He sucked in his breath, trying not to show the stabbing pain that shot through him with every movement. Derek’s expression was stoic. It would all be over soon, and Ross resolved to face it without fear. He wouldn’t give these thugs the satisfaction of seeing an SAS officer afraid.
The guards held them facing the camera while the leader made another long-winded speech. When Ismail finished, the masked executioners approached holding scimitars dripping fresh blood. They positioned themselves behind the kneeling Scotsmen and raised their blades high.
The guards stepped aside.
Ross and Derek shared winks and grins, their final acts of bravado.
The ISIS leader stood beside the camera operator. His satellite phone trilled, and he raised his hand, signaling his men to wait.
Ismail paced as he listened, then said, “Understood. It shall be so.” He reached over and switched off the camera as he beckoned the executioners.
The leader whispered something to his men, and their faces flushed with anger.
Ross tried to understand what was being said in Arabic as adrenaline surged through him.
One man demanded, “Give us one good reason.”
Ismail rubbed his fingers together. “We have ten million reasons. Do as I command.”
The executioners turned and pulled head sacks from their back pockets. They strode to Ross and Derek, yanked the cloths over their heads, and waved for guards to help drag them back to the wall chains.
Ross couldn’t believe they’d been spared again. Someone had bought them for ten million. No way to know what would happen next, but he had hope.
He had no idea how much time had passed when soldiers dragged him outside. Voices speaking Arabic confirmed their ride had arrived with a satchel of cash.
The open air was much warmer than the cave had been. By the time guards tossed Ross into the vehicle, he was soaked with sweat. Another body landed next to him. Unable to see with a sack covering his head, he hoped it was Derek.
Unknown circumstances had saved them from appearing in two separate beheading videos. Where were they going this time? The stress, pain, and heat he’d endured since his capture many hours ago had dehydrated him, and his body throbbed as he longed for a cool bottle of water.
Ross focused on counting the minutes so he could estimate how far they had gone when they arrived at the destination. Mentally keeping track of the elapsed time also helped distract him from the constant pain radiating from his cracked ribs and multiple contusions.
Eventually, the vehicle stopped for fuel. Gas fumes filtered into the back of the truck before it resumed traveling along crude, bumpy roads. Ross managed to tap Morse code for “Derek” onto the body beside him. Derek’s foot tapped code against him, confirming he was his friend. Speaking would’ve earned them another beating. Ross signaled Derek that he’d try to contact Sam again.
He pictured her face as he mentally shouted her name. Every few minutes, he’d pause and listen, hoping to hear her voice in his head.
No answer.
Learjet En Route to NAS JAX
I bit my lip and tried not to cry. My eyes filled with tears as I took deep breaths and struggled to master my emotions. Lance turned and stared at me.
“I, uh, I saw Ross and Derek, badly beaten and chained inside a cave. The vision shifted to a masked ISIS soldier.” I paused and sobbed. “He was holding a bloody scimitar.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.” He squeezed my hand. “Calm down so you can get more visions.” Lance hugged me. “It’ll be okay, Sam.”
“I should call Mike.” I pulled out my cell and hit his number on speed-dial.
Mike knew why I was calling—brother’s intuition. “Take a breath, Sam. It wasn’t Ross or Derek. IS
IS posted the beheading video on Al Jazeera. The murdered men were corporate executives from England and America.”
I sighed and blew my nose into a tissue. “It’s terrible that two families lost loved ones. I hate those ISIS bastards.”
“We all do. Now tell me what you saw.” Mike’s voice had a calming effect on me.
I described every detail I could remember about the cave and the people I saw inside it.
“Good work, sis. Our drones found an ISIS camp in a narrow valley sheltered by Mount Kenya. Alpha Team is going in with the Brits. I’ll call as soon as I know something. In the meantime, keep the faith and stick with our plan.”
“That reminds me, did you invite Lance to join our team?”
Mike sighed. “He was a last-minute addition.”
“Okay, but why?”
“When he heard you were going, he asked to be included. Lance is ex-military, and he’s been on almost all of your Danger Magnet adventures. Besides, it might come in handy to have two pilots on the mission. He’s an asset. End of story.”
“Whatever you say, brother dear. I’m just grateful to be included.”
“I like the sound of that. Now, calm down and try to get more visions.”
“Okay. I’ll work on getting my emotions under control. See you soon.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes, took slow, steady breaths, and felt the tension leave my body.
“Sam! Sam! Sam!” Ross’s voice filled my head.
I concentrated hard. “Ross, I hear you. Where are you?”
“Sam! Sam! Sam!” he shouted telepathically.
I waited until he stopped and tried sending an answer.
No response.
He yelled my name again.
Hearing him but not being able to talk to him frustrated me.
A vision flashed into my head. He and Derek were lying in the back of a canvas-covered truck. I knew it was a truck because their bodies kept bouncing over bumps in the road, and I saw the tailgate near their feet.
The scene vanished.
I called Mike, put the phone on speaker, and described the vision.
“That explains why they weren’t at the camp when our guys stormed the place. I wish we knew when they left. We’ll have drones search for the truck, but as far as you’re concerned, our mission is still on.”
“We’re about to land at the Jacksonville Naval Air Station. See you soon.” I slipped my phone into my purse and glanced at Lance as I raised my seatback.
“I told you they’re alive.” He patted my hand. “We’ll find them.”
Africa
Except for fuel stops, the vehicle kept going for too many hours to mentally keep track of the time. Ross was so dehydrated it didn’t matter that he hadn’t been given any bathroom breaks during the long, unpleasant ride.
The noisy truck slowed and stopped, and so did the engine. It seemed they had finally reached their destination. For the first time since they had begun the journey, the tailgate was opened.
Someone grasped Ross’s ankles and yanked him out of the truck. His head slammed against the rear bumper on the way out, and a pounding headache added to the throbbing pain torturing his battered body. Someone thudded to the ground beside him and groaned. Derek.
Moments later, guards jerked Ross up onto rubbery legs and severed his ankle ties. They dragged him up two steps into a building, across a wood-planked floor, and shoved him into a chair. Weak and almost delirious from dehydration, he struggled to catch his breath.
A guard cut the plastic tie binding his wrists and zip-tied them to the arms on the chair. After the guard ripped the sack off his head, it took a moment for Ross’s eyes to focus in the dim interior. He blinked and spotted Derek seated beside him.
They were in a small wooden structure—more of a hut than a building. The planked floor hadn’t been joined properly, leaving thin spaces between slats.
Ross caught a quick smile from Derek before a tall man with ebony skin appeared and held a bottle of water to his mouth. Another man did the same for Ross. They drank greedily until the bottles were empty, and then the men disappeared somewhere behind them.
Ross whispered, “Third time’s the charm?”
“Better that than three strikes, you’re out,” Derek said, tugging at his wrist ties.
Ross looked around the room, searching for clues to their fate.
After a few minutes of silence, the floor creaked as someone approached from behind. The new arrival stepped in front of them.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said with a lowborn English accent. “You two and that blond bitch have cost me a fortune and ruined major operations that were important to me. Now you’re mine, and soon, she will be too.”
Ross’s jaw dropped. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” The short, balding man held a skean du dagger with a jeweled hilt. “I thought you might appreciate this traditional weapon from your homeland.”
Ross glared at him. “I’d prefer viewing it embedded in your chest.”
Lord Edgar Sweetwater tossed the dagger back and forth in his hands as he watched his captives, the evil grin never leaving his face.
“Ah, revenge will be sweet.”
C-17 Globemaster III
A courtesy vehicle drove us past the C-17’s nosecone. The pilots were already in the cockpit, and the huge aft entry door stood open. We stopped and got out behind the massive aircraft. As Lance pulled my wheeled suitcase up the loading ramp, I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Wait up, Your Majesty.”
I paused and turned. A handsome SEAL towered over me. He looked like he could be actor Dwayne Johnson’s younger brother.
“Good to see you again, Banger, but what’s with the Your Majesty crap?” I grinned and hugged him, my face against his solar plexus. His body was as hard as granite.
He grinned. “Last time I checked, you’re still Queen of Atlantis.” He made a show of bowing.
I groaned. “Lucky me—queen of a dead city buried under two thousand feet of seawater. Now please, go back to calling me Sam.” I nodded to my left. “You remember Lance, don’t you?”
Banger grinned and shook Lance’s hand. “How could I forget? We’ve shared some interesting adventures.”
“Some, as in more than one?” I caught them sharing a meaningful look. “I thought you two met in South America?”
“Uh, did I say ‘some’? Maybe because it felt like more than one. I’m not a fan of giant snakes.” Banger checked his watch. “Time to go.” He ushered us up the ramp.
What were they hiding? I didn’t like them knowing something I didn’t know and keeping it from me. Lance already had a secret about Ross. Now this. What the heck?
Military equipment enclosed in large wood pallets filled the wide interior of the cargo jet, and ten upright troop seats faced inward along the right and left sidewalls.
I stood by the starboard row of seats and nudged Lance. “This is a drastic change from what we’re used to on Luxury International.”
“Eighteen hours in one of these seats will make you long for our airline’s leather recliners,” Lance agreed, testing a thin seat cushion.
“Navy SEALs get special accommodations.” Banger grinned and pulled a netted hammock out of a duffel. He hooked one end to a wall grommet and the other end to a binding strap on a pallet. “I knew you spoiled airline pilots would whine about the seats, so I brought extra hammocks.” He pulled two more out of the duffel and handed them to us.
I kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Banger.” I bit my lip and turned away, thinking about Ross and trying not to cry. If I showed my true emotions, they’d never let me go with them.
Lance slapped him on the back. “Thank you kindly, good buddy.” He peeked into the duffel. “Where’d you pack the pillows and blankets?”
“Funny.” Banger showed us attach points on the sidewall and on nearby pallets. “Hang your sleeper slings
and then strap into a seat for takeoff.”
I hooked my hammock next to Banger’s, and Lance secured his next to mine. That put me in the perfect position to enjoy stereo snoring during the long flight to Somalia.
“Samantha Starr?” a crew member asked.
I nodded.
He handed me a satellite phone. “If you receive any intel that will aid your mission, hit the preset number on speed-dial and report to your team leader.”
I smiled and nodded. “Understood. Thank you.”
He said to us, “Smart move with the hammocks. The flight will take about eighteen hours, including inflight refueling. Buckle into the troop seats for takeoff and landing. If you get hungry or thirsty, we have food and beverages up front in the crew compartment. And the toilets are up there too.” He pointed forward. “Any questions?”
We shook our heads.
“Good.” He hit a switch and closed the aft loading door.
We took our seats and buckled up as the airplane began taxiing to the active runway. In minutes, we were airborne and turning toward Africa.
Sweetwater’s Hideout
Sweetwater pulled up a chair and faced Ross and Derek. A soldier in dark green fatigues placed a tray filled with bottled water and sandwiches on a table beside the chubby little bald man.
“Gentlemen, if you want to prolong your lives, you’ll answer my questions truthfully. Correct answers will earn you food and water.” He reached over and snatched a water bottle from the table, opened it, and took a long gulp. “Wrong answers will give me an excuse to use this.” He impaled a sandwich with the Scottish dagger.
“What do you want to know?” Ross tested the bindings on his wrists.
Sweetwater licked his lips. “Were you involved in anything that happened in Atlantis?”
