Dark Rule (COIL Book 3), page 22
"Okay, I see it. He's certain they're there?"
"He wouldn't have called, otherwise. But . . ." Walter stepped to his tall friend and placed a hand on his arm. "Your Aunt Sarah, she's been killed. Only Lacy and Albert are alive."
"Aunt Sarah?" Brad winced. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."
"I'm sorry, Brad. But we know now we have to get to Lacy and Albert as soon as possible."
Retreating to the railing outside the bridge, Brad sat down. More than his own emotions, he was thinking of his father. Frank Alden found a reason to talk about his missionary sister at least once a day in conversation. They'd been close, even though thousands of miles apart.
"So, he saw Lacy? She's okay?"
"Maybe, but he didn't say." Walter shrugged. "There wasn't enough time to ask him questions. He was in a hurry. She and your uncle are alive, though. That's what matters." Walter studied his laptop screen again, then opened a number of additional windows to show Brad various angles and preconceived plans of extraction from the island. "We'll refuel, then head to the island. If the authorities are beginning to execute the prisoners, Albert and Lacy could be next. We need to go in tonight."
"You're coming with me?"
"Well, no." Walter shook his head. "I'll be here, in the boat, monitoring communications and maneuvering the boat for a pickup. You know me, Brad. I'd love to go, but I'd simply be in your way. You'd be saving three lives instead of two, if I tagged along. I have a plan. Due to the constraints of darkness, you'll have only eight hours to get in and out. Can you do it?"
Sighing heavily, Brad tried to shake off his despair.
"Show me."
"We drop you off here, on the west side of the island. It's as desolate as the Badlands, except for a few olive trees and tombs. Then, you hike inland around the volcano. The south side appears to be populated, but it's shorter with easier terrain. Reach the town of Zalzuna, then extract from the bay, here, in the east."
"Yeah." Brad nodded with uncertainty. "Okay, but what about getting them out of this building where they're held?"
"It depends on what type of security they have. Whatever the case, you have to go inside, I think."
"Okay, I understand that, but what's the plan?"
The two stared at each other.
"That's it." Walter's face wrinkled as if in pain. "That's all I can come up with without calculating probable statistics regarding the number of men and weapons you'll be facing."
"Use your imagination. Let's imagine the worst. Ten men are in that building, all of them armed and guarding Uncle Albert and Lacy. I have one chance. How do I get in and out?"
Walter looked down at the floor of the bridge for a few seconds, then back at Brad's face.
"I can't really do hypotheticals, Brad. You know that. I deal with hard facts. Maybe when you get there, you can report to me what you're looking at, and I can come up with a strategy on how to get in and out with the safest probability. I'm . . . sorry."
"It's okay, Walt. I'll just have to come up with something. At least I'll be going loaded with all those stun grenades."
"And you always have your pitching arm. They won't be expecting that!"
*~*
Chapter Twenty-four
"Give it to me!" a uniformed guard shouted at Albert Jamison. Behind the guard, two soldiers aimed their sidearms at the other captives in the holding room. "I know it's you! Give me the pencil, now!"
Albert moved from the wall where he'd been drawing Bible stories. The others were still gathered around him, as was Lacy, anxious to hear all he had to say about the brutality of the Jews and Romans during the crucifixion of Christ. They'd been so involved in sharing and listening, no one had heard the guards enter the room with the midday rations until it was too late.
Discouraged, Albert offered the guard the sliver of colored pencil he'd been using.
"Closer!" The guard waved at Albert. "Bring it!"
Taking two more steps, Albert held the pencil out with two fingers. Horatio wasn't among the guards, so Albert didn't trust these three. The guard snatched the pencil away with one hand, but with the other, he punched Albert solidly on the jaw, knocking him hard against the wall.
"Nobody move!" The guard drew his pistol as he and his comrades backed toward the door, taking the afternoon meal with them. "I'm reporting this to the commander! You'll all pay for this. You'd be wise to scrub the walls clean before he gets here! No food for you until tomorrow. Learn your lesson!"
The door slammed shut. Lacy and Paul ran to Albert, who groaned as he slowly sat up. Rubbing his jaw, he did his best to smile. He could feel several teeth were loose, but he said nothing of his misery.
"Now, where were we?" Albert reached into his pant leg to snatch the other half of the colored pencil from the stitching. "Oh. There were two thieves with Jesus, and they were crucified on either side of the Son of God . . ."
As if they hadn't been interrupted at all, Albert continued to share the gospel story all the way through the resurrection and ascension.
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Nathan wanted to get off the Island of Zalzuna. The next day couldn't come soon enough. His mission was complete, and he was ready for the next. But he couldn't consider the next operation until he was safely away from this one. Never before had he been such a willing captive after the completion of a job. The fact was, however, there was only one way off the island: in the general's plane to Athens. This meant Nathan had to continue to be the cool, indifferent communist sympathizer from Berlin.
"And here are the island's greatest olive trees." Nathan's escort pointed at the northern slope of the volcano as they approached New Manchester, but Nathan's mind was elsewhere. Farmland stretched inland along the cliff-side road from Zalzuna to New Manchester. Between fields of various crops were the ramshackle, whitewashed peasant dwellings—one-room houses that supported one or two families who worked the land. There were no modern machinery or tractors visible. All planting and harvesting was done by hand, cart, and oxen.
The land was rich with crops, due to the island's northern-most well and irrigation system, but without modernized equipment, the people were slaves to their own government's refusal to industrialize—the few feeding the many. The people would starve if they left their fields, but it was spiritual food Nathan wished he could give them.
The escort slammed on his brakes as two farmers crossed the road, one supporting the other who was injured. The driver honked his horn impatiently, but the farmers were too weary to move any faster. Nathan saw blood on the farmer's ankle.
"That man needs medical attention." Nathan started to get out of the Jeep. "An injured worker is no use to anyone."
"They can tend to themselves." As soon as possible, the driver swerved the Jeep around them and sped away. "Besides, only General Yousef and his army have access to the medical staff on the island."
"An injury like that—the man could die!" Nathan clenched his teeth.
"Another will replace him." The driver shrugged. "The country can't stop functioning because one man is disabled."
Now that he thought about it, Nathan hadn't witnessed any disabled or many elderly people. He wondered if the general truly did away with the weaker elements of their island society.
"This tour is more important than one man's life, anyway." The driver ground the gears as he shifted. "The assistant governor of New Manchester has requested a meeting with you. That's an honor. Mr. Niles is a demanding and important man."
"His name is Niles?" Nathan's mouth went dry.
"Yes, Mr. Trevor Niles. He'll be governor someday, and perhaps our president. Mr. Niles is a respectable leader."
Trevor Niles. He hadn't even changed his name? And he was now the assistant governor of New Manchester? Niles was finally ruling like he'd always wanted to. But what was Nathan to do with Niles now? Niles was an official; Nathan was an operative without resources. His pulse quickened as he touched his mustache. A lot could change in two years. Nathan hadn't had his handlebar mustache last time they'd met. Maybe Niles wouldn't recognize him.
Just before entering New Manchester, the driver slowed the Jeep and pulled off the road where a troop of soldiers was digging trenches on the beach. The trenches lined the edge of the shore where the sand was loose and soft.
"Expecting an invasion?" Nathan joked with his escort, but the man remained serious.
"Come. He's waiting."
Climbing out of the Jeep, Nathan followed his driver down to the beach. Only then did Nathan notice a plain-clothed man among the soldiers with shovels. Trevor Niles. Nathan's stomach felt like ice. He'd seen this man murder a man in cold blood—and try to kill many others.
Niles hadn't noticed the two new arrivals as he directed the two dozen soldiers. Most of them were stripped to the waist, their sidearms and uniform tops on a gnarled log nearby. Trailing his driver, Nathan casually looked over his shoulder, a prayer on his lips. The volcano smoked and rumbled more than usual. But Nathan would still flee toward it if he had to. He clenched his teeth when he noticed the driver had taken the Jeep keys and clipped them to his belt.
"Mr. Niles!" The driver waved. Niles looked up. "I've brought Dirk Salverskein from Zalzuna!"
As he saw recognition sweep over Niles' face, Nathan thought about running in the other direction. The man stepped away from his soldiers and approached the two newcomers. Ignoring the driver, he offered his hand to Nathan.
"Dirk. I've heard great things about you!" The man shook Nathan's hand. "Have we met before?"
"Perhaps in Amsterdam?" Nathan had never been there. He'd say anything to keep the man's mind off the Coral Sea operation, Nathan's first mission as a lone COIL agent. "Are you a book collector?"
"No, that's not it."
"I'm sorry, I don't recall." Nathan turned away a little. Why had this meeting been arranged? He gestured at the soldiers. "I know fortification trenches when I see them—the formation and depth. You're defending the island from someone?"
"In fact, it's an invasion I want to talk to you about, Dirk." Taking Nathan by the arm, Niles led him almost forcefully down the beach, leaving the driver and other soldiers behind. "I must know—how do you know the Jamisons?"
Stopping suddenly, Nathan remembered to use his German accent even in his hidden shock. Niles couldn't know his intentions on the island. How could he? Was the man merely fishing for information?
"Jamisons? Should I know this name?" He frowned. "Someone in Berlin you want me to greet for you? Family perhaps?"
Nathan watched as Niles studied his face. Niles' own face had changed considerably. The substantial scar from the shark on his right cheek was pale in contrast to the man's olive-colored skin. A dozen of Niles' mercenaries had been arrested for murder, but regrettably, Niles had escaped.
By the startled look on Niles' face, he was recalling the same Gilgal occasion. When Niles had run for his life, hidden COIL operatives had searched for him to prosecute, but no contact had ever been made. Until now.
"Patrick Gibson." Niles whispered Nathan's cover name, fury in his eyes as he backed away. "It's . . . you!"
Nathan uppercut the man on the chin hard and fast before Niles could call for help. The man staggered until his knees buckled and he fell over. Glancing to his right, Nathan noted the soldiers hadn't noticed anything, yet. They were still digging. Niles' eyes were open, but he was too dazed to get up.
Desperately, Nathan looked out to sea. He was on an island. How far could he run before they caught him?
"The Gillies disappeared after I gave them your submersible," Nathan stated. "They're still in Gilgal. Just so you know that."
Then, Nathan turned south and ran for his life. There was nothing but fields for a distance, yet the soldiers would be on foot as well. The only vehicle around was the one Jeep in which Nathan had arrived. Leaping over an irrigation ditch, he fell face-first in fertilizer, but an instant later, he was back on his feet. Gunshots rang out behind him. It was only small arms fire, with very limited range, but a stray bullet could still hit him.
He sprinted straight toward the volcano, and already, the ground sloped uphill. Ten years ago, he'd been faster on his feet, but even with the brace, his stride was such that the men now in pursuit wouldn't catch him easily. They'd have to hunt him down.
Crossing the main road that led into New Manchester, he jumped another ditch, landed perfectly, then ran one hundred more yards through a field of dry dirt. Panting, he stopped to catch his breath, but he paused for more than only his wind. First, he studied the terrain in front of him. He'd reach thick vegetation in another quarter mile. Once there, he could hide amongst the plants and foliage, with short trees and brush the color of celery. There were ravines running up the volcanic slope as well, and he'd find himself trapped if he journeyed up the wrong one.
Far behind, Niles shouted at his soldiers to form a line to pursue the enemy. Nathan flexed the fist with which he'd punched Niles. He shouldn't have hit the man. Violence was only the result of bad planning, Nathan recalled someone saying. And it was certainly not Christ-like—similar to Simon Peter who'd hastily and needlessly cut off the ear of the high priest's servant.
The Jeep Niles had could've run down Nathan, but there were two irrigation ditches between them now. Nathan had forced a long, drawn-out pursuit on foot. He counted twenty-five men, including Niles.
Facing New Manchester, Nathan guessed Niles would summon more soldiers from the small city. The military might even have access to ATVs, which could traverse the terrain faster.
The foot soldiers were gaining on him, but Nathan stood, still indecisive. He faced the volcano again. The numerous ravines were covered with crawling vines and wild vegetation, but he spotted two gullies that snaked straight up the mountain. Getting caught in the wrong one would mean capture. The walls would be too steep to climb out of. He could just barely identify two more ravines to the east that weaved through the greenery above the fortress. But Nathan wasn't interested in hiding himself among people. And he certainly didn't know whom to trust. So he focused on a single, westerly ravine caused by an ancient lava flow. The gulch snaked toward the west side of the volcano's cone, the uninhabited side of the volcano.
The soldiers were within two hundred yards when Nathan started running again at a steady, pace-consuming rate. Several shots were fired behind him again, but he simply prayed, ducked his head, and continued. They were too far behind to be accurate. He was more concerned that the peasant farmers working the nearby fields would meet a stray bullet. As best he could, he avoided the innocents.
Coming abruptly upon the end of the fields, Nathan plunged into the vegetation and short trees. None of the dense foliage was taller than ten feet, but it stretched all the way to the brim of the volcano.
Even though Nathan was out of sight of his pursuers now, he didn't stop. Rather, he turned sharply to the right in search of the westerly ravine. He figured those chasing him would expect him to flee straight ahead, or east. If they thought to find him in either of the two other ravines, they'd in fact find themselves at the volcano's crater and exposed to its fumes.
Slowing to a walk, Nathan wished he had a machete to chop a path through the vines. But chopping a trail would leave a path for his pursuers. Instead, he found himself slipping under patches of hanging plants and thorn bushes to lose everyone but the most expert of trackers.
Pausing, he checked the sun. It was midday. Though he searched for the volcano's highest point, Nathan couldn't see over the plants. Again, he moved steadily forward, watching the steep angle of the ground to stay in the vegetation while heading west.
Finally, he found what he hoped was the western-most ravine. The ground that led up the ravine was much more hazardous with aged leaves covering lava rocks and foot-swallowing holes. With care, he picked his way up the steeper ground and shuddered at the jagged walls of the ravine; he couldn't climb the walls if he'd wanted to. If this ravine became too difficult, he'd have to return to the mouth, which could mean he'd be caught.
Nathan hesitated to consider another possibility. Niles was a predator. Would he think to circle around the backside of the volcano to ambush him? Though he could imagine being captured, Nathan wanted to at least give them a chase first.
While Nathan should have felt helpless and hopeless, he'd already found hope in the fact that a team was inbound to rescue the Jamisons from the rehabilitation center in Zalzuna. But how soon? That would be the fastest way off the island—to catch a ride with the extraction team.
The worst-case scenario, however, would be to hide out on the volcano for a few days until the search waned. Then he could sneak down to the coast, steal a fishing vessel, and sail to Mykonos, a Greek island only a half-day's sail away with the right breeze. That plan depended on the pressure he received from the search party. He didn't have any food or water, which would need to be remedied before he could hole up somewhere to wait out his enemies. However, Niles wasn't the sort to accept defeat easily. Memories of his zeal to capture Gilgal spoke volumes.
Suddenly, just as Nathan started forward again, the ground shook and an explosion erupted to his left. He was forced to his hands and knees on the steep hillside as the volcano spouted wrath from the depths of the earth. A number of tropical birds flapped overhead, away from the belching cone. Vapor spewed into the air, but the wind began to dissipate it. A few seconds later, it was over. Nathan continued up the ravine, sometimes scrambling with his hands on rocks and vines, clawing upward a few feet at a time.
There was an abrupt break in the foliage around him. The view was breathtaking—the green sea spanning to the horizon. But immediately below him, and surprisingly close, was the western quarter of New Manchester. It was the first clarification he had that he was in the western ravine, headed in the right direction.
He noticed two fishing vessels not far offshore. The boats were single masts, which would be easy to sail by one or two people. All Nathan had to do was get to one of them, preferably under the cover of darkness. Nathan praised God. When all seemed lost, the Lord brought him hope with resources that were readily available. But he prayed he wouldn't be forced to steal a boat from the locals. His first choice was to catch up with the extraction team for a ride off the island.
