Dark Rule (COIL Book 3), page 21
"Don't you care that others may die?" Albert raised his eyebrows. "You could warn them, or help them escape the ambush."
"Why? I don't care. I can't even chew food with my jaw right now!"
"Whoever chose to attack you could've killed you, but they didn't, did they? You were left alive for a reason. Consider that." Albert smiled, thanking God in his heart for this opportunity. "Nothing is an accident before God. Horatio, you must decide the right thing to do."
"I serve my country. That is what's right. You came here and broke the law. Others who come here will meet the same fate. Don't talk to me anymore about your God."
Horatio forced Albert's shirt over his head and thrust his arms through the sleeves. Breathless and wincing in pain, Albert was drawn to his feet and pushed out the door.
Down the corridor, Albert was shoved into the rehab holding room. He rolled onto the floor and lay still. It hurt too much to move. Paul was instantly at his side, searching with his one eye for visible injuries on the older man's body.
Against the Cretan wall, Albert noticed Lacy beside the sick woman. She looked worriedly at her father. Out of habit, she touched her earlobe that had been damaged since childhood.
"Daddy? Paul, is he all right?"
Lifting Albert's shirt up, Paul examined the bruises. The young black man would surely know from experience that some of Albert's ribs were broken. Albert's labored breathing was evidence as well. The two men's eyes met, and Albert hoped Paul understood his pleading look.
"He is well," Paul said. "Your father will catch his breath and be like new in no time." He pointed at the wall where Albert's drawings were incomplete. "Come. God will not take you from us until you finish."
Paul helped Albert to the wall on the right beneath his first drawing. He pushed a worn-down piece of Albert's colored pencil into the man's hands. Albert thanked him with a nod of the head, then Paul sat against the wall next to him.
From the Cretan wall, Lacy rose shakily to her feet, attended by one of the dark-skinned women, and walked over to Albert where they sat down on the floor in front of him. Albert forced a smile and reached out to touch his daughter's face.
"You're so beautiful . . ."
Tears came to Lacy's eyes, then she looked at Paul.
"I thought you said he was okay. Paul, I have some nursing background. I can see he's not well."
"It is nothing we can care for." Paul slumped and looked at the floor. "It is his bones."
"Mista Albert?" The Cretan woman set a blue stone on the floor in front of Albert's knee. The stone was the size of a fingernail, almost as clear as a sapphire. Albert knew many of the superstitious women in the Greek Isles carried such trinkets. "This is for you. I want you to have it. It will keep you safe, Mista Albert, and protect you from evil spirits so you can continue to tell us the stories."
Albert rolled the blue stone between his fingertips, not wanting to be insensitive.
"Jesus Christ has given us victory over evil spirits, my friends, so we need not depend upon beautiful stones such as this one. This is why enemies of Jesus can only hurt our bodies, but they can't hurt our souls." He smiled at the woman. "Thank you for your gift. It will remind me of this special time Lacy and I spent with you all, when we shared the good news of Jesus."
"Where did I leave off, hmmm? Let me see here." Albert closed his eyes, drinking in the presence of God, then opened them again.
"You were about to tell us this morning about the Man who walked on the water, Teacher," one of the Muslim men said. "The others would like to know as well."
"Of course." He looked to Lacy for help. She knew the Bible well and was able to share anything that he could. Like the others, she watched his face, surely hoping to be distracted by stories as they waited for their next interrogation, or for death itself.
Lacy still fingered her earlobe. In the past, she'd said it was a reminder of what God had brought her through. If she had survived Nigeria, she could survive this as well. Sometimes, Albert considered, God left scars like Lacy's ear to remind us how He has brought us through the fires of life.
"Go ahead, Lacy." Albert gestured to her, and her face lit up. "You tell them the story of Peter. I'll rest up for the next one."
"Me?" Suddenly, Lacy seemed self-conscious of her weakened, battered state. But each one of them was battered and abused. Albert prayed in his heart for her in those few seconds, and she opened her mouth as she positioned herself to face them all. "The day began when Jesus of Nazareth was teaching on the shores of the Sea of Galilee in Israel . . ."
The pain wasn't so bad now, not when he could hear the Word of God shared. They didn't need a Bible when God's Word was in their hearts and in their mouths.
Albert closed his eyes and rested.
*~*
Chapter Twenty-three
In the dining room, Nathan Isaacson sat next to his Zalzunian driver and tour guide—a soldier under Fredrick. All morning, they'd toured the southern city of Sankaddan. They'd returned to the fortress for a noon meal before going back out again.
Poking a finger at something that looked like pita bread, Nathan watched his escort gobble up everything on his plate. From what Nathan had witnessed, the only men who ate well on the island were those who worked for General Yousef and his cabinet. Though Nathan knew why he was on the island, he was desperately brainstorming for ideas as to how he could make a difference while there. If he would've arrived with better resources—including an escape boat once things got too dangerous—he could've taken the time to find a replacement for the general and caused enough of a rebellion that the peasants would no longer support a communist regime. But that was an operation for another time.
The same server from the night before waited on them again, but Nathan knew the man was doing more than serving. He was watching Nathan. Even the driver assigned to him for the tour of Zalzuna had certainly been instructed by Fredrick to watch him closely.
Nibbling on his light lunch, Nathan glanced to his left where the dining room hallway led to the bedroom suites. Another hall was there as well, running perpendicular to the main corridor. On several occasions, Nathan had seen a number of clerks come and go from that hallway. The satellite on the rooftop of the fortress told him he needed to venture down that corridor if he were to contact the outside world. But, he wouldn't access such technology easily. He needed to find another landline or communication device with satellite capabilities. Somehow, he had to alert his contact of the Jamison family's location. Every minute counted until he was to leave the next day. Even warning his contact a day ahead of schedule could make a world of difference, but how was he to do that?
"Are you ready, sir?" his escort asked. A Libyan-born loyalist to the general, he was nearly as tall as Nathan was, though thinner, and seemed to walk light on his feet. His left hand was never far from either his ornamental sword or his pistol. But Nathan wasn't interested in brawling with the man. He needed only to endure the man's company through the useless tour.
The tour was useless because Nathan had already found the prisoners he'd been sent to find. Instead of contributing to their rescue, he had to listen to how the olives were harvested, the tobacco was bundled, and the fish were fished. When Nathan had seen poverty, his escort bragged of triumph. When Nathan witnessed disease, his escort boasted of that year's crops. When Nathan noticed ruin, the communist's eye saw only order and achievement. As Nathan relied upon his God through life's obstacles, communists relied upon their communal efforts.
"Where are we going next?" Nathan felt his heart beating faster.
"New Manchester. It's the smallest of the three cities, but a worthy visit."
"When will you show me the rest of Zalzuna?" Nathan wanted to see the rehabilitation building in the daylight, if he could, especially before he reported to his contact. It all depended on the escort's next answer.
"We won't have time. You leave tomorrow." The driver rested his hand on his ornamental sword. "Besides, you've seen enough of Zalzuna driving through the streets, yes?"
Nodding, Nathan understood he wasn't being given a chance to see the capital city. So be it. He'd make the phone call now.
"I need to use the restroom." Nathan rose from his chair holding his abdomen. "Your food is affecting me adversely, I believe."
"All right. I'll wait here, but we must be leaving soon."
"Thank you." Nathan bowed slightly, then dashed out of the dining room and into the hallway toward his suite. He didn't know what to do, or even if he'd be able to do anything, but he had to try.
Inside his suite, he hurried straight to the balcony and looked out on the rear garden, which he now knew intimately. But he wasn't going down this time. Climbing onto his rail, he reached overhead to the balcony above. Pulling his body up, he dragged himself over the support. The drapes on this third story suite weren't drawn, so he found himself peering directly into the room. If someone were in the room, Nathan would easily be seen.
Testing the handle, he found it to be unlocked, and the door swung outward. An instant later, he was inside the suite, searching for a telephone line, laptop, or anything else useful. He guessed the occupants of this room were a married couple from Sankaddan. Their field had yielded the most crops in the south; their reward was a week's stay in the fortress.
Nathan's search ended abruptly when he heard a door slam outside the room. Tensing, he prepared to bolt to the balcony. But no one entered the room. Cautiously, he crept to the door that led out to the hallway. Cracking the door open, he looked both directions. It was empty at the moment, so he stepped out.
Spying an ornate door, he slinked over to it, opened it a few inches, and peeked into the room to see the splendor of a large furnished room. This was the general's sprawling master suite, occupying equal floor space of the kitchen and dining areas below.
Tapestries and rugs in bright Indian and African colors hung on the walls, and pillows covered giant sofas. While the civilians of Zalzuna starved on government rations, General Yousef relaxed on Persian silk.
The room seemed to be vacant, so Nathan eased inside and closed the door. His eyes studied everything hastily. There! Running to a cabinet, he opened the hinged door. A rotary phone stared back at him. He glanced back at the door. If someone came in now, he was busted, destined to be imprisoned and executed, though surely not before a taste of Zalzunian rehabilitation.
Praying through his doubt, he picked up the receiver and listened for a dial tone. He was about to hang up when he heard it, though very faintly. A dial tone so far away—Nathan figured the general was somehow splicing into nearby island telephone cables.
Though Nathan had memorized dozens of numbers, he dialed the States' number to his call-forwarding account. It was set up to connect to whomever he was to report to if it wasn't directly to Corban Dowler's Manhattan COIL office. After the line bounced off routers around the world, there were three rings. Every second was a greater risk to Nathan's life. He checked his watch. Already, seven minutes had passed since he'd left the kitchen.
"Hello?" a youthful voice answered.
Thankfully, it was the same voice that had contacted him a week earlier through COIL, so Nathan wasn't fazed. COIL wouldn't have forwarded the job to Nathan unless they'd thoroughly checked the contact for legitimacy.
"It's me."
"King David's grandmother?" the youth tested for security.
"Ruth. I'm in a hurry."
"Speak. I'm recording."
"Found father and daughter. Mother deceased, body unknown. Father and daughter one click west of shoreline in Zalzuna capital. Look for a large, whitewashed building shaped like an L. Do you copy?"
"I copy. Anything else?"
Nathan jumped. He could hear the footsteps. Someone was approaching the room from down the hallway!
"They're all armed with sidearms and sabers. Gotta go!"
There was no exiting the room through the door—not now. Nathan lunged across the room in search of the suite's balcony, but found none. Instead, he found a large window. He threw up the glass slider and climbed onto the small ledge. Balancing on two inches of crumbling cement, he moved to the side of the window, clinging with his fingertips to the grooved wall of the fortress. Using his right foot, he slid the window closed as he heard the door inside open.
Steadying his breathing, Nathan didn't look down for a few seconds. The phone—had he put it back? Had he closed the cabinet? Yes, he'd slammed it shut as he'd searched for an exit from the room. He'd left no other trace in the room; no one knew he'd made the call.
Only after gathering his senses did he study his surroundings. Since the sun was on his back, he was on the southern face of the most prominent section of the fortress. The ledge under his right foot crumbled under his weight. Moving more to his left and away from the window, he looked to his left. The ledge disappeared around the corner twelve feet away, but the ledge was also cracked between him and the corner. He was trapped—unable to go back to the window or go farther to his left.
Finally, he looked down. Below him, the exhaust vent blew fumes from the southern wall of the kitchen. Beyond the blower, it was another ten feet to the cobblestone ground and a small avenue that led to the keep. Carefully, Nathan turned his head to look behind him. Only ten feet below him, and across the avenue expanse, was the roof of another building that Nathan had earlier identified as a barracks for the soldiers who worked at the fortress. He looked up. The roof's edge was too high to reach. His only option was to leap for the barracks roof.
He was out of time. If his driver hadn't already checked on him in his suite, he would any minute. The only satisfaction was that Nathan had already completed his mission. If he were caught now, he'd still be victorious in having located the Jamisons.
Taking a deep breath, he planted his fingertips on the wall on either side of his shoulders, and bent his knees. Slowly, he began to lean away from the wall. As he fell backward, he gathered his strength and shoved off the wall, leaping as far as he could. Attempting to land on his hands and feet, he turned through the air, but in an instant, he realized he'd over-rotated.
Slamming onto the roof on his right shoulder, he slid down the shingled slope toward the edge. Desperately, Nathan clawed at the clay shingles, but to no avail.
Again, Nathan fell through the air. Extending his legs, he dropped feet-first from the roof. It was farther than he'd jumped to the cobbled ground before. The impact bruised his heels. Tumbling sideways, he brutally bashed an elbow on the weathered rock. Finally, he came to rest on his back. He staring up almost thirty feet at the ledge outside the general's window. Dazed, he sat up; he had no time for laying around! Nearby, he heard men talking. Though he saw no one yet, someone was coming.
Jumping to his feet, he ran down the avenue away from the keep until he reached a gate that led to the garden below the many suite balconies. Like a track star, he leaped over the gate and counted the balconies from right to left before he spotted his own. Like earlier that morning, he used the windowsill at a dead run to vault upward. He caught the bottom of his balcony and strained with both arms to pull himself up, but he was exhausted from the night's activities and his recent ledge adventure. Though he tried to swing his leg onto the balcony, he lacked the strength. Stubbornly, he couldn't bring himself to let go and fall back to the grass, nor could he climb any farther upward.
"Did you find the toilet?"
Looking up, Nathan saw his soldier escort on the balcony. The man extended a hand to Nathan. Accepting his help, Nathan was dragged over the balcony railing where he fell onto his back, gasping for air.
"What were you doing?" The escort peered over the balcony at the grass below.
Touching his brow, Nathan's fingers came away bloody, as was his elbow and a knee.
"I fell!" Shaking his fist at the balcony railing, he growled. "What do you think? You should make this railing safer!"
The soldier tested the balcony's solid railing. Nathan hoped the man would just think of him as a fool—how only a fool could accidentally fall over the railing. Then the man knelt down to inspect Nathan's brow.
"It is not serious. Wash yourself and then we must be going. There is someone you must meet in New Manchester."
Nathan climbed to his feet and trudged into the suite toward the bathroom. He began to wash his wounds as his escort watched with crossed arms.
"You have gravel in your wounds." The soldier pointed at Nathan's elbow. "There is no gravel in the grass below your balcony."
Admiring his swollen brow in the mirror, Nathan was undaunted by his escort's skepticism.
"If you fall hard enough, you hit gravel." He winced as he touched his wounds. "Trust me. There's gravel under that grass."
The soldier didn't seem to be convinced, but Nathan could say nothing else. He'd been caught in the act. If they had any real suspicion of what he'd done, they could check the phone logs and find evidence of the phone call he'd made. That would prove very little, but the suspicious activities linked to him were beginning to pile up.
"Okay." Nathan tugged on a fresh shirt. "I'm ready to go to New Manchester."
#######
Sitting on the portside railing of the bridge, Brad rocked with the bounce of the vessel on the waves. For the last two hours, he'd been learning how to plot a course and operate the Predator's automated cruise control. As Walter had guessed, it was dawn and they were nearly to the island known as Mykonos, which was nearest Zalzuna. He'd not seen Walter for over an hour, though, since he'd gone below deck to catch a little sleep.
Anticipating adventure, Brad was too excited to sleep. If the team wasn't going in, that meant he'd be going ashore to rescue his cousin, aunt, and uncle. He'd be the hero—if he made it out alive.
"Brad!" Walter stumbled onto the deck, his laptop in his hands. His eyes were wide. "He called!"
"What?" Brad jumped to his feet. "Your guy in Zalzuna?"
"Yeah! Check it out." Walter set the laptop on the pilot's seat and flipped up the screen to show an animated satellite image of Zalzuna. He pointed at an L-shaped, white building in the center of the capital city. "They're being held here, he said. It's some sort of administration building, single level."
