Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection

by Gordon Kessler

  He began crying again and Spurs hugged him tightly. She wondered if what he had heard was true—if perhaps he’d heard it wrong.

  “Don’t worry, Saber,” she said running her fingers through his thick hair, “I have many friends that will stop them. They won’t sink my ship or any other.” She hoped what she told him was true.

  She turned off the flashlight and rocked him to sleep in her arms.

  * * *

  Somewhere between conscious memory and dreams, Spurs made a familiar trip into the red hills of Oklahoma. She was twelve, again, crying, riding through the red dirt on Rocket. Crying because she’d killed the rabbit. That poor little bunny. It haunted her, but why? Was it because it was the first time, and she prayed it would be the last time, she’d ever kill a warm-blooded animal. But was that really the reason she cried?

  She tried to remember back before she’d mounted Rocket, to the time right after the bunny lay still at her feet and the seven or eight school children crowded around laughing. She’d laughed, too, but only for a moment, until she’d realized that maybe her friends had thought she’d intended to kill it— that it was funny to kill, that she was so tough that her heart was indifferent to life and cold as that Oklahoma red clay.

  She’d taken a life, and no matter how small, it was still a life, just like her own. She’d thrown the lariat to the ground and run away with an uncomfortable chuckle in her throat that grew and mutated into a groan. She had to go to her mother. She would comfort her—know the right things to say. She would make the pain go away. She would understand that she hadn’t intended to harm even a flea on the bunny’s back. Spurs had run, her arms flailing, to Uncle Paul and Aunt Katherine’s ranch house where they’d been staying. She’d leapt onto the porch and shoved through the back door. . . .

  Chapter 48

  THEY COME

  SPURS AWAKENED TO Saber’s stirring. She turned on the flashlight and checked her watch. She’d been asleep for half an hour.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  He had pushed away and was staring at the small round door. He held his finger to his mouth and seemed to be listening intently.

  Someone was walking outside. They beat on metal—possibly one of the other boiler tanks. The sound of hinges creaking, like those of the small round door they now watched.

  The footsteps came closer. The metal banging came again, sounding as if they were at the tank next to theirs.

  Saber turned to her.

  “When the door opens,” Saber said, “I will go out and fight with them. You run.”

  The hinges on the tank next to theirs creaked open.

  “No Saber, we’re together in this,” Spurs said and pulled out her fingernail file and held it in one hand.

  The footsteps came closer.

  “Please do what I ask. I know what I am doing. I can get away. I have a bicycle hidden nearby. You run. Get back to your ship. Stop these men from killing many people. Don’t worry about me. I will be all right. I always am.”

  Spurs thought about Ma’hami. He was a nice man. He would help the boy.

  “There’s a man named Ma’hami. He has a café not far from here.”

  “I know this man,” Saber said and nodded. “He has given me scraps and goat milk.”

  “Go to him,” she said. “Tell him that you’re my friend. He’ll help you.”

  The banging came, three sharp raps.

  Saber stood and leaned with his head and shoulders down, ready to do a bull charge.

  “I smell rats,” said a voice. “I’m gonna kill me some rats. A stupid whore boy rat and a foolish American bitch rat.”

  Spurs had no time to think.

  The door opened.

  “Good bye, Spoors!” Saber said and jumped through the opening.

  Spurs followed.

  By the time she came through, Saber was getting off of the large Arab, who seemed stunned, lying on his back and shaking his head.

  Saber climbed over and got behind him as the man sat up.

  Spurs flopped onto the concrete floor like a banked fish. The resulting abrasion on her chin would be a small one compared to what would happen to her if she didn’t act quickly.

  As Spurs stood she realized her fingernail file had been knocked from her hand. She scanned the floor briefly, but it wasn’t in sight.

  Saber kicked the man in the back. He turned and grabbed at Saber’s kicking foot and snagged it, pulling him in.

  Spurs tried Saber’s kick and caught the sitting man in the side of his goateed jaw. He let go of Saber but sprang to his feet faster than expected and went for Spurs just as someone grabbed her, pinning her arms.

  Now the big Arab was mad.

  “Hold her, Fahmi,” he said in English, apparently to ensure that she also understood.

  He took his time stepping up to her. Blood ran from his mouth, nose and from below one eye.

  He drew his hand back and brought it hard across her face.

  The pain was a lightning bolt.

  “Please Saddam,” Fahmi said, “don’t do this, now. Let us take her.”

  Saddam spat curses to him in Arabic.

  He put his face in front of hers, blood running from the corner of his mouth into his coarse whiskered chin.

  “Now I’ll have your American pussy,” he said, pressing his mouth against hers.

  She pulled her face back quickly, then snapped her teeth onto his nose. Even though tasting the bastard’s blood and mucous, she was as determined as a snapping turtle and held on, trying to bite it off.

  He wrenched it loose and writhed back in pain, and then was reminded of Saber as the boy’s foot caught him in the groin.

  It worked before. Spurs whipped her head back catching her unseen captor in the mouth. Teeth popped. She pushed her butt into his middle, causing him to double over her and she stepped to the side and grabbed him by both pant legs at the knees.

  She found out that what her Marine Corps hand-to-hand combat instructor had taught her in Officer’s Candidate School really did work.

  After pulling the man off his feet, with his hands still weakly clutching her arms, she slammed her fist into his groin. The Arab let go and fell to the concrete, rolling into a ball.

  “Go, Saber!”

  Spurs ran for the open door, Saber sprinting after her. Short yards away, two more men stepped in, blocking the doorway. Spurs set anchor, but Saber lowered his head and shoulders once again and barreled past into the enemy. With his head, he struck the first man in the sternum and drove him into the second man. Saber ended up sprawled out on the floor with them.

  “Run, Spoors, run!” he said as he wrestled with them to keep the men down.

  The other two men’s running feet were coming up from behind.

  “Tijani!” said one of them, seeing the others sprawled on the floor.

  There was no way they could both escape now. Saber’s sacrifice could not be for nothing. Spurs ran past and through the door and sprinted down the alley toward the street.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two of the men come out after her, but they stopped, seeming to realize that catching her would be hopeless.

  She heard voices as she ran down the middle of the alley. Someone was coming in the street in front of her. They were all over the place, like roaches in a dark kitchen.

  She ducked in behind some crates next to a trash dumpster.

  Three Arabs came around from the street and trotted by.

  More voices. Something rattled like a bicycle.

  “Get him! Don’t let the kid get away, too!” It was an American’s voice.

  Spurs heard the bicycle rattle away.

  “Damn it!” the man yelled.

  She smiled, crouching lower.

  “Get the car. Get the car you stupid asshole towel-heads!”

  Spurs waited until the voices were gone, then peeked out. The alley was empty. She stood up and cautiously moved out of the trash pile, looking both ways. Heading for the s
treet, she knew that the pier was only three blocks away.

  Near the street, she pressed up against the wall of a building before looking out. It seemed empty, but she could hear a car’s engine race in the distance. There was nothing nearby to hide behind. She had no choice but to spring out and sprint with all she had toward the ship three blocks away.

  Saber suddenly popped out of an alley a block ahead. He raced toward her on his old bicycle, it rattling on the stone street as he came.

  Spurs smiled and waved, relieved he was all right.

  Headlights came from the alley he’d just exited.

  He waved her back as a car shot out.

  Spurs ducked into a shop doorway as Saber raced past, the car in close pursuit. It flew by, at least three men inside, and its tires squealed as it turned into the alley behind Saber.

  Spurs bolted out and ran madly for the ship. She could see its mooring lights now beside the pier. She ran sucking air frantically.

  A clattering crash came from the alley giving her soul a crushing blow. It drove the wind out of her. Her pace slowed, strength drained, but still she ran. Surely, little Saber had escaped, leaped from his bike before the crash. The boy was so resourceful, so bright. Surely he made it.

  Now the car backed out of the alley, surprising her. She went into the next one, only a block and a half from the ship, and hid in a doorway.

  The car drove by. More voices came. More urgent footsteps. Spurs found a fifty-five gallon drum with a loose top and opened it. It smelled of oil but was empty. After climbing in, she found about three inches of oil in the bottom. She set the lid back in place and waited.

  Chapter 49

  THE RECEPTION

  May 10, 0600

  THE NEXT SEVERAL hours were full of sleep-stealing nods and harsh awakenings as Spurs waited out the hunt that was taking place around her. Exhaustion overruled fear and she’d dozed several times, hunkering in the barrel.

  Finally, seeing the dim rays of dawn glow through the small crack she’d left for air, she decided to risk a peek and carefully edged the lid open.

  A dirty face confronted her, sending her heart into a panic. The beggar gaped into the drum looking as startled as she did.

  “Ca-hoou!” he hacked as he turned away.

  At first, Spurs thought it was some sort of Arabic alert, like, “Here! She’s here!” But after the bum coughed twice more then carped a mouthful of mucous and saliva to the alley in front of him, she realized it wasn’t. She watched, rising gradually from the barrel as the beggar staggered away.

  Once he was around the corner, she climbed out.

  She rubbed her neck and looked down at her once sexy dress. Her body was coated with oil, her hose shredded, feet bare, toes sticking out. Her arms were scratched, knuckles bloodied, fingernails broken and she could feel a swelling in her bottom lip and right eye.

  She took several steps to the street and leaned out. It was deserted, but with the morning light growing, she knew that soon the streets would be full of vendors, beggars and a whole bunch of Arabs who were out to kill her.

  Only a block and a half from the ship, she stepped to the middle of the street.

  “The hell with them,” she said aloud, marching toward the pier.

  Still, there was no one on the street.

  Nearing the ship, she saw that it was preparing to get underway as they began lifting the dock brow. Lieutenant Junior Grade Goodman had been watching her for some distance. He only took his eyes off of her to quickly call out to Commander Reeves. Soon numerous heads appeared over the bulwarks as she approached. Several crewmembers came running to stare. They seemed astonished as they gawked over the side of the ship.

  Spurs stepped up the gangplank, glaring back at them. She glimpsed their eyes, never looking more than a split second at any of the two-dozen faces.

  Lieutenant Commander Reeves now stood beside Goodman and seemed to have a loss for his smooth sounding Southern words, his eyes mooning and lips parted.

  “Spurs?”

  Looking out of the corners of her eyes, she could see Commander Naugle watching from the portside bridge walkway, above. Captain Chardoff came out and looked over the skipper’s shoulder. He was the only one that didn’t appear stupefied. His eyes were narrow, a slight grin on his lips. Spurs glared back, but said nothing, until coming to the top of the brow. It was her word against his. She didn’t have any proof of his wrongdoing yet, only hearsay. But she’d have proof soon. She hoped it’d be soon enough.

  The crew’s comments volleyed at her as she walked through the parting crowd.

  “Look at her!”

  “Told you they were crazy to put a woman aboard.”

  “She’s been nothing but trouble.”

  “Now they’ve reason to get rid of her.”

  “After they find out ‘bout her there’s no way they’ll put the others aboard.”

  “Hope she’s learned her lesson!”

  “Gang way!” she said through gritting teeth. “Make a hole!” She shoved Goodman aside. He backed into Reeves, stepping on his toes. “Request permission to come aboard!” she said as she passed by.

  Doc Jolly was at the end of the verbal gauntlet. He also watched, wide-eyed. When close enough he took her arm. She pulled it away, but then allowed him to usher her below to sickbay.

  * * *

  “What’s going on, Doc?” Spurs asked Lieutenant Tell Jolly as she sat on the examination table in sickbay.

  “All I know is that we’re on alert,” he said, pressing a butterfly bandage to her right eyebrow. “They cancelled liberty last night and brought everyone in, except you. Chardoff, Reeves, Daniels, Goodman and Ingrassias split up and went looking for you under orders from the old man. No one could figure out where you were. Thought maybe you got your fill and jumped ship.”

  Spurs shook her head. “What about North? Didn’t he tell anyone what happened?”

  “I don’t know about that. Didn’t hear. Someone said Lieutenant North was transferred to the Enterprise.”

  “That’s impossible, Doc.”

  “In the Navy nothing’s impossible. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “No Doc, I mean, he couldn’t have been transferred, wouldn’t have been.”

  “And why’s that?”

  Spurs thought for a moment knowing she could jeopardize the mission if she said more. She was on her own now. What could have caused North to transfer? Maybe the investigation had led him to the Enterprise. There would be no other reason for him to have gone. Unless it was some kind of Navy juggle, but that would have only been done if he weren’t with NCIS—if he’d lied. Or, perhaps someone lied about his transfer and he’d been killed. They could have done him in at the bicycle peddler’s shop.

  Spurs felt a sharp pain in her left arm and realized that while she sat on the examination table daydreaming, Doc Jolly had rolled up her sleeve, daubed on some alcohol and punched a hypodermic into her arm.

  She frowned. “What’s that?”

  “A sedative. You need to sleep now.”

  “A mild sedative, right?” she said as the room began to spin, thinking about everything she must do, about the investigation, about Saber, about the plot to sink a ship, about the Arabs that tried to kill her and who might have killed her little hero. “I didn’t—hear you—say—m-i-l-d. . . ?”

  Chapter 50

  COMMANDER PSYCHO

  May 12, 0850

  SPURS WOKE WITH a lot of questions on her mind. At first, she didn’t know where she was, then realized it was her own stateroom. Her body ached, feeling every bump, bruise and abrasion.

  Sitting up she felt the abused muscles complain, then noticed that her hands were clean. So were her arms. She threw the sheet off and was relieved to see she still wore her bra and panties. Doc had probably given her a quick and hopefully modest sponge bath. A hot shower was the first order of business.

  As she stood, she remembered the sedative, head feeling light. She stumbled toward th
e shower and took a quick look at her watch. It read 0850. It was unbelievable that she had been under for less than two hours. She winced when she considered that it had more likely been a full day. She stumbled more and cussed her head, but then realized the ship’s motion had caused her faulty balance. They were at sea.

  She made her shower short and dressed painfully but quickly. There was much to do.

  After leaving her stateroom, she noticed that the ship seemed deserted. She stepped out topside and saw Chardoff on the quarterdeck. Most of the crew was topside, some milling around the sides, others in groups doing calisthenics. She quickly ducked back in, unseen. Things had gotten out of hand and she wondered what had happened since she had been put under. She must now go to the Captain of the ship.

  Spurs tapped frantically on Commander Naugle’s door. She didn’t want to be heard by any of the crew, just the captain. But the captain must hear, now. At first there was no answer, but after a pause, she heard the captain order her to enter.

  Naugle lay in the same position he had when they’d spoken before, in his rack, wet washcloth over his forehead.

  “It’s Sperling, sir,” she said.

  Naugle kept his eyes closed.

  “Yes, Ensign. Forgive me for not getting up— damn migraines. How are you after your two-day nap?”

  “Two days?”

  “Doc thought you should rest for a couple. He said you were still asleep when I checked this morning.”

  “It’s time I tell you. I am with NCIS. I’m investigating Ensign Nader’s death. It’s turned into an incredible plot of high treason.”

  “Good Lord,” he exclaimed, taking a second to glance her way. “What’s happening—please get my pills and a cup of water.” He motioned to the head.

  Upset by the distraction, but mindful of the man’s intense pain, she went to the toilet, took a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet and filled a paper cup with water. She wanted to be sure of the captain’s total attention so she restrained from elaborating until she returned to his bedside.