Foreign Hostage

by Aiden L Bailey

  But he had already disappeared.

  PART II: THE ASSYRIAN CONTRABAND

  “Surround yourself with human beings, my dear James. They are easier to fight for than principles.”

  — Ian Fleming, Casino Royale

  Authors Note

  The events of this story take place after Blood Ivory and before Threat Intelligence. Simon Ashcroft has resigned from ASIS and is now employed by a South African security company, DevWorld…

  CHAPTER 1

  Moheli Island, Comoros, Indian Ocean

  Emerging from the surf onto the hot sandy beach, Simon Ashcroft kicked off his flippers, tore the snorkel and mask from his face, and readied his spear-gun.

  He could hear a woman screaming and the crude grunts of a man nearby. Twenty meters into the distance, along the rainforest encased beach, he watched with disgust as a wiry thug, wearing loose pants and shirt, and a kufi knit cap, slapped a young woman so hard that her head snapped to one side. The other hand gripped her wrist, twisting her arm, preventing her from getting away.

  He slapped the woman again, a wet, abrasive noise that echoed in Simon’s mind as he imagined her pain. Simon saw her surrender to the thug, falling limp, her screams crushed into exhausted whimpers. Victorious, the thug dumped her, like a sack of old laundry. She landed unconscious.

  Approaching, Simon raised his spear-gun. The thug seemed oblivious to Simon’s presence, distracted as he was by his brutal kicking of the prone young woman, who was now lying face down in the sand.

  Five meters from his target, close enough that there was no way he could miss, Simon squeezed the trigger. The metal shaft whooshed through the still, humid air like a bolt of silver lightning, piercing the man’s forearm, ripping through flesh, to lodge itself dead-center between the two bones.

  The thug’s screams erupted from the gross blackness of his mouth, spectacular compared to the abused woman’s frightened earlier pleading. Twisting his arm forward, looking for the source of the pain, he bumped the spear, cutting into a major artery. Blood exploded everywhere, covering him and his still unconscious victim in a shower of warm, crimson fluid.

  Simon drew a jagged knife from his leg sheath. Balancing the weapon in his right hand, he pointed the sharp, shiny blade towards the enemy. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted towards his foe.

  The thug heard Simon and turned in furious agony, laying eyes upon him.

  By then it was too late.

  Simon landed upon the thug. Locking his left arm around the man’s wounded arm, he twisted against it to cause further discomfort, while driving his twelve-centimeter blade into the assailant’s kidney, over and over, until more blood gushed like a broken dam, and the man fell dead into the sand.

  Panting, wiping sweat from his forehead, Simon watched, just to be sure the thug didn’t get up again.

  But it was clear he never would.

  His threat neutralized, Simon turned to the young woman. She was gasping in the sand, blood trickling from her nose and mouth where the thug had beaten her. The assailant’s blood soaked her torn shirt and loose cotton pants. Shaking, she rubbed at the bruises that showed on her limbs. Assessing her range of movement, Simon saw she didn’t seem to have suffered any major or lasting injuries. Although that could just be the effect of the adrenaline that was now running through her body.

  She raised her head to look up at him, ready to burst into tears.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, wiping away the wetness from her eyes.

  Her fiery red hair fell halfway down her back, setting off her pretty face, pale freckled skin and long slim legs. She looked like the photograph her father had provided of her with her younger sister. Unlike the image though, this twenty-five-year-old showed signs of the recent brutal assault. Bruises were forming around her eyes and mouth, masking her attractiveness.

  “Mienke, I thought we were meeting at the hotel for breakfast?” he said, offering a hand and helping her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “You followed me?” she asked, incredulous.

  He nodded.

  “What were you doing down in the surf then, snorkeling?”

  He laughed. “I saw a shape in the water, one that could have been your body.”

  She looked alarmed. “What was it? Not my sister?”

  “No. Just seaweed.”

  She looked away, ashamed, trying to control her heavy breathing.

  Simon nodded towards the nearby corpse, directing her gaze back towards the broken and bloodied body. “I’m guessing that’s a thug who kidnapped your sister. Had you put two and two together?”

  “Of course I did,” Mienke Venter snapped. “That’s why I came.”

  Back on her feet, she observed the length of the sandy beach. Tropical forest, with palms and other tall trees, grew to the sand’s edge from all directions, green clad mountains rose towards the interior and the ocean swelled everywhere else. They were alone, if they didn’t count the corpse bleeding into the dry sand, and the rotting shell of a sea turtle, looking, and smelling, as though locals had harvested it weeks ago for its meat.

  “I’m certain he was about to rape you — then kill you.”

  She snatched her arm from his grasp. “I guess that’s the advantage of being a woman,” she raged with sarcasm. “If I was a man, I would be dead by now. Your rescue would have been too late.”

  Simon nodded, realizing that he had seemed insensitive. He worried about her, but he was angry too, because her running out here meant he’d failed to protect her. And he couldn’t take that out on her. This was his fault. He should be angry with himself, for allowing her the opportunity to come here alone.

  “I’m sorry, everything I just said was uncalled for.” Pulling the spear from the dead thug’s arm, he cleaned it and his knife on the corpse’s shirt. He then reinserted the spear into the spear-gun for later use.

  “Simon, this isn’t about me, or you. This is about my sister, Ariana.”

  He was having trouble working out whether Meinke felt afraid or furious. Perhaps she was both. “At the risk of you biting my head off again, what were you doing here?”

  “You really followed me?”

  “Of course. We agreed to stick together while in the Comoros Islands — at all times! I heard you on the phone this morning, but you didn’t tell me about it. I knew you were up to something.”

  Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “How did you know?”

  “Meinke, I’ve been in this business fifteen years. I know how to work these things out.”

  “I don’t care what I did.” She paced, raising her hand over her eyes to keep the bright sun from them. “This is my sister we’re talking about…” He watched as she opened her mouth to say more, paused, choking back a sob, then composed herself. “A man called the hotel. One of ‘Them’… One kidnapper… He offered money to release Ariana. Insisted I come alone… So I came… thinking… hoping…”

  Simon shook his head, reaching out to touch her shoulder in an offer of comfort. “It would never play out like that. I’m certain they wanted you as a hostage too. Double their ransom with your father.”

  Meinke burst into tears.

  Simon pulled her close, hugging her tight against his bare, muscular chest.

  Considering the circumstances, Simon thought she was holding herself together rather well. A week ago, Meinke’s younger sister Ariana had vanished off the streets in Durban. They had found her car abandoned, gutted by fire. The police had investigated, but there were no tangible clues leading to anything, and no viable suspects. It was soon assumed her attackers had raped and murdered her — a random, senseless and violent attack with the body buried in a location no one would ever find. It was not uncommon for young South African women to suffer such a cruel fate.

  Then they had received a phone call that raised their hopes. Ariana was alive and being held hostage. Demands for an exorbitant ransom followed, and they provided a meeting place for the e
xchange: the Comoros Islands at the center point between Madagascar and Tanzania, and Yemen and South Africa. It was a tiny nation of three islands, Muslim, African, tropical, densely populated and poor. This was a country where the local law enforcement would not bother getting involved and the military was too ineffective to patrol their own borders, making it an ideal area for hostage exchange and a quick getaway.

  Simon considered that this also made it an ideal location to kill a man, knowing that a hidden body would remain hidden, or if it somehow was, no one would report it.

  He held Meinke until she was ready to stand on her again. Stepping away she paced. “Can we move away from the body… please?”

  “Sure. Just give me a moment.” He searched the corpse, finding a knife, a 9mm semi-automatic, a wallet with some Yemeni rials and South African rand, but no identification. He also found a set of keys, looking like the kind used on passenger ships.

  As he searched Simon wondered about the man he had just murdered. Where was he from? Did he have a wife? Children? He must be someone’s son. A mother, at least, had once loved him. What had driven him to a life of crime? Poverty, most likely. He knew this was not an uncommon story in Africa. Had life so jaded this man over the years he had given up on his dreams, or had he lived in the unrequited hope that things could get better for him?

  Simon shook his head, then looked away. He knew these questions were academic. He wondered why on earth it mattered to him?

  His profession seemed to have turned him into a brutal operator — a trained killer of ‘bad’ men, but that wasn’t who he was inside, it wasn’t his personality. The problem, as far as he could understand it, was that he was starting to care. He didn’t want to be a murderer, and yet life kept throwing him circumstances where he had to make a choice… himself, or the other guy? It would always be the other guy, as long as he could help it, because he had a desperate desire to keep on living, despite the battering his conscience kept enduring.

  “What’s up Simon?”

  “Nothing.” Shaking his head, he dismissed the introspective thoughts, focusing instead on the mission. “Just thinking through our next steps.”

  Despite the clothing being sticky with blood, Simon dressed himself in the man’s tattered shirt, pants and kufi cap. The clothing was a poor excuse in impersonating the dead thug — Simon’s pale white skin was a dead giveaway, given the dead man was a black African. But from a distance… maybe he could pull off the deception. Maybe…

  Simon looked Meinke in the eyes. “Still think your sister’s kidnapping was random?”

  Meinke shrugged. “How should I know? She drove a BMW, that’s a lot of money in most South African’ eyes. They probably got dad’s number from her cell phone. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m seeing an international angle here. Something just doesn’t stack up.”

  “I’ve no idea, Simon. I just want my sister back.”

  He nodded, acknowledging her needs. “I should hide the body.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’ll carry him into the jungle. You clean up the sand.”

  “How am I supposed to do that, Simon?”

  He lifted the corpse and threw it over his shoulder. It was heavier than he expected. “Scatter clean sand over the bloodied area. That should be enough for now.”

  He marched twenty meters into the jungle, threw the corpse down and covered it with palm leaves. Hopefully scavenging dogs would be the only locals to find the body, at least until he, Meinke and her sister flew out of here.

  Returning to the spot where he had hidden his clothes and possessions, Simon made sure that he could see Meinke at all times. His travel wear comprised a long-sleeved shirt, cotton pants and hiking boots, because this was a Muslim country and they expected modesty. He remained dressed as the thug, hoping it would work as a disguise.

  Next were his armaments. A 9mm Glock automatic pistol, more spears for the spear-gun and an Uzi 9mm submachine gun. He grinned, appreciating the strings his boss had pulled to permit Simon to bring such lethal weapons into the Comoros islands. They had made some significant bribes, no doubt that Meinke’s father would fit the bill for.

  Returning to the beach he could see Meinke was still kicking sand over the bloodied area. He inspected her work, nodding his approval. There were no signs of either blood or a scuffle left anywhere.

  “Good job.”

  She smiled, no happiness showing through her distress.

  He couldn’t blame her for that.

  As soon as Simon had everything he needed, he took Meinke by the shoulder. They walked towards the surf and kept moving, following the tracks of the thug who had attacked her. She stopped only to gather up her day pack, which she had dropped during the assault.

  “You know what Meinke? You might have fast-tracked everything.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “These tracks might lead straight to the kidnappers, and your sister.”

  The beginnings of a smile showed on her face. “Should we call Pa? He’s worrying himself sick.”

  “Do you still have the satellite phone?” He grinned. That had been another clue she was planning her disappearance this morning — their satellite phone had vanished from his travel pack.

  Meinke opened the bag, rummaging through beach towels, water bottles and suntan lotion until she found the phone. As she held it in front of her, he saw that they had the adequate connection and power, and said, “I think we should, don’t you?”

  CHAPTER 2

  While Meinke Venter called her father, Simon thought about how very different his life had been just twenty-four hours earlier. He’d been enjoying his weekend off in Cape Town, downing beers and watching South Africa versus Australia in the cricket at his local bar. Fast forward one day and here he was, on a tiny green island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, juggling hostage negotiations and covert action to ensure the safe return of Meinke’s sister, Ariana Venter.

  Simon Ashcroft had once been an intelligence officer with the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, more commonly known by its acronym ASIS. Before that he had been with the Australian Army reaching the rank of lieutenant. Over fifteen years, across both services, he’d operated throughout Asia and Africa on many covert operations, until a harrowing disaster in Afghanistan left him with no choice but to leave the service, and enter the private sector.

  Initially he’d been optimistic that life would simplify with the change, but given his most marketable talents were espionage tradecraft, anti-terrorism skills and an efficient ability to provide security services in the world’s hottest war zones, he soon discovered the Australian private sector had no need for him. And so here he was in South Africa, in a job far away from home, his wife and his children. His wife had refused to leave their nice house, progressive school and her own career opportunities in Sydney. And why would she? South Africa posed the question of not whether assailants would rape your wife or daughter, but how long until one of them succeeded in their first brutal assault.

  DevWorld Security was his only answer, a private military company, or PMC, who were desperate to use him. Simon had negotiated a lucrative contract, insisting on operating from the head office in Cape Town and limiting his assignments outside of South Africa to a minimum. Best of all, he’d negotiated a week off after every four weeks on, to fly home and spend time with his wife, Melissa, and daughters, Katie and Rebecca. It was the deal that ensured he’d stick with DevWorld for some time, because the conditions were good, providing he didn’t get himself killed during some stupid hare-brained hostage rescue scheme in a dysfunctional African island nation, like this one.

  “Hallo Pa.”

  It seemed Meinke had got through to her father.

  Simon eavesdropped while focusing his attention on their surroundings, prepared for more of the kidnapper’s thugs who might lurk in the jungle’s thick foliage. He heard her switch to speaking English rather than Afrikaans, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to follow
much of the conversation.

  “Yes, Pa, I’m fine… Would you expect me to…? Ja, Simon thinks we have a lead… Ja, I’m holding up okay… I am… Are you sure…? All right! Goed… Ek het jou lief.” She handed the satellite phone to Simon. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Simon nodded, taking the receiver in his hand and placing it against his ear.

  “You have a lead? A real one?” Tristan Venter yelled down the line, half-sobbing, half-pleading. He was unraveling. But he would be. Even if they found Ariana alive and uninjured, her captors would subject her to traumas that would fundamentally change her, might even break her. Even the best outcome was likely to be horrific. Simon knew it. Meinke knew it. Tristan Venter was having trouble coping with this fact.

  “We do, sir. We contacted one kidnapper.”

  “Do you have him with you? Can I speak to him?”

  Simon hesitated, already regretting his words, knowing the lead was dead. Telling Venter the truth would only worry him more. “I think we’re close to working out where Ariana is being held.”

  “Where? Tell me!”

  “My intel suggests a ship, nearby, one with the range to travel from Durban to here. I’ll know soon enough, and will call in again as soon as we can confirm.”

  It did not surprise Simon when Venter succumbed to his emotions, sobbing two and a half thousand kilometers away. He tried to talk several times but struggled as his throat closed with the impact of both fear and rage.

  Simon had no words to comfort him. There was nothing to say. All they could do was find his daughter and bring her back to him.

  “Sir,” he asked, “is my boss with you, Roger Gridley-Brooks?”

  “Ja,” Venter sobbed. Simon heard shuffling, crackling noises, then the deep Afrikaans accent of the Managing Director of DevWorld Security. “Simon?”

  “Roger, g’day. Please hold one second.”

  “Sure.”