Читать книгу Sacrifice - Alex Archer - Страница 13

Agamemnon crouched over the radio, listening to the chaos on the other end crackle out through his speakers. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt as if someone had just kicked him square in the crotch.

He keyed the microphone. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s nothing that could be done?”

There was a pause and the delay caused Agamemnon to stab the key button again. “Answer me, dammit!”

“I’m sorry, sir. The doctor did the best he could, but the bullet entered his head right between the eyes and just dropped him. There was no exit wound. According to the doctor, the round must have tumbled around inside his head, killing him instantly.”

Agamemnon slumped back into the swivel chair. The old rusted springs creaked in protest. Agamemnon felt the air surge out of him, leaving him deflated.

Luis was dead.

I just spoke with him a short time ago, he thought. Everything was set for tomorrow. Everything they’d worked so hard to achieve. Now, it was all evaporating right in front of him.

He leaned forward and keyed the microphone again. “Who did it?”

“We don’t know. The shot came from the jungle. Possibly, it was a sniper. That’s what we think it was.”

“You have men out there now looking for him?”

“No.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Why on earth not?”

“It’s night, sir. Our men would never find him in the dark. Worse, they might get lost and we’d have to send out more men. Plus, we weren’t sure what you would want us to do given the scope of our operation tomorrow.”

Agamemnon chewed his lip. “Send out a squad of your best and most experienced men. I want the sniper found. And I want him dead,” he ordered.

“And tomorrow?”

“Everything is on hold until we can determine if this killing was due to a leak of our plans to the enemy. If it was, then we’d be fools to go through with it right now. We could be walking into an ambush. And I don’t intend to lose the one thing that can level the playing field.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Report back when you have the sniper’s body.”

“Very good, sir.”

“But before you kill him…”

“Yes?”

“I want him tortured. I want to know who he is and why he was assigned to kill Luis. We need to know the extent of what our enemies know about our plans. If they know anything at all.”

“I understand, sir.”

Agamemnon was about to disconnect when he thought better of it and keyed the microphone again. “What’s your name?”

“Eduardo, sir.”

“Good.” He switched off the microphone.

The connection broken, Agamemnon slumped back in the chair again. He supposed being a leader meant somehow managing to keep his people focused even in the face of adversity like this.

But losing Luis was a tough blow. Agamemnon, as much as he manipulated his people for his own purposes, still had a great deal of respect and trust for Luis. He’d kept him close, entrusting him with tomorrow’s operation.

Now he would have to find a suitable replacement.

And soon.

A loss, even a small one like Luis, had to be filled or else his people would think Agamemnon had lost his edge, his ability to function in the face of a crushing loss.

We’ll see how well Eduardo does with his quest for the sniper. Perhaps if he is successful with that task, then he might make a suitable replacement for Luis. He’d already shown prudence by not sending out his entire force to get the sniper. He had to have something kicking around in his skull. Most people would have panicked and emptied the camp.

Eduardo at the very least seemed to understand the greater good.

He studied the map of this area of Mindanao. The jungle grew thick and impenetrable around these parts, which was why Agamemnon had chosen it as their base of operations. Most of his people had grown up in the area and knew the jungle well.

A thought occurred to him then. Perhaps the sniper was the American woman he’d almost killed earlier.

“That’s impossible,” he said aloud.

She would have had to kill one of his men and gotten their weapon. And then she would have had to cross the jungle to the other camp, get herself into position and then figure out a good kill shot on Luis.

Agamemnon shook his head. There was no way she could have done that. Annja Creed wanted nothing more than to get out of the jungle and find her way home with her head still intact.

No, the sniper was someone else.

He sighed. He knew that the American military had sent a lot of its special-operations commandos into the Philippines, ostensibly to help an ally, but also to hunt down al Qaeda operatives. And Abu Sayyaf, with its feelers extended to other radical Islamic fundamentalist groups, was a logical target choice for the roving Yankees.

Perhaps one of their famed snipers was on the prowl now in Agamemnon’s jungle.

He took a drink of the water in front of him and then replaced his glass. He would have to find out who was causing this disturbance.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Tomorrow was supposed to mark the greatest event in Abu Sayyaf’s tortured history. Tomorrow they would have unleashed hell on the government scum that ran the country. The masses would have woken up out of their poverty-induced slumber, risen up and overthrown the fat cats who had their fingers in everything.

No more.

Agamemnon rose from his chair. The pause in the operation would be temporary. Just long enough for Eduardo to find the sniper. Once he did that, Agamemnon had little doubt that his potential Luis-replacement would exact great pain and suffering in his quest to find out all the sniper knew.

Not that Agamemnon expected to learn all that much. He was a realist, after all, at least in some matters. He knew the soldiers in the field generally had little knowledge beyond what their assignments were. If Luis had been the target, then the sniper may not know the reason why, just that he had to be killed.

Still, he would not discourage Eduardo from attempting to find out more than that. Agamemnon knew that Luis had been loved and respected by his men. They would feel his loss hard.

And they’d want revenge.

Agamemnon stabbed his finger into the jungle map. “I hope wherever you are, you are well hidden.”

The curtains by the entrance to his hut suddenly parted. One of his men entered the hut, sweat covering his face. Agamemnon could see the dark stains around his uniform. He’d clearly exhausted himself.

“Report.”

The man tried to come to attention, but could barely manage it. “Sir.”

“Did you find her?”

“No, sir.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Did you find anything?”

“Tracks. She’d hidden in a tree. She seems to have a working knowledge of the jungle.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

The soldier coughed, but somehow maintained his composure. “We found tube vines. Cut. She knows how to get water.”

Agamemnon shrugged. “So she knows how to stay hydrated. That doesn’t concern me. And you’ve hunted enough people in the jungle to know they don’t always last that long. Even if they get a promising start.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your men have all returned?”

“We needed more supplies, sir. In order to hunt her properly, we had to come back.”

Agamemnon quelled his displeasure. The rush to get them into the jungle earlier had been too impulsive. He looked at the soldier and then offered him the remaining water in his glass.

“Drink it, and then go get yourself cleaned up.”

The soldier gulped down the water. “Thank you, sir.”

“Get your men squared away. Food and baths and then get some sleep. I want you back out there first thing in the morning. And this time, I don’t expect you to come back unless you have the body of the American woman with you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go now. Rest well.”

The soldier turned and exited the hut. Agamemnon walked to the red plaid recliner he’d had brought into the camp some months ago. The cloth fabric was already beginning to deteriorate in the intense humidity of the jungle air, but Agamemnon loved it anyway. The Americans made the most comfortable furniture.

He kicked his feet up and felt the footstool come up under them.

Today had not gone well.

And certainly, tomorrow was now compromised.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He could feel his heart slow as he inhaled and exhaled in slow, steady time.

A slight breeze washed over him and he cracked his eyes. Marta, his personal assistant, stood before him.

“Sir?”

“What is it?”

“You’ve missed dinner. Would you like me to bring you a plate of something?”

“Is there any adobo left?”

She smiled. Even at her advanced age, Marta could cook circles around most of the chefs in Manila. “I think I might have saved some for you. Just in case.”

Agamemnon closed his eyes. “You’re too good to me, Marta. And I sometimes wonder why you choose to stay here. You could live a luxurious life anywhere you wanted with your kitchen skills.”

“You are a great man. And I have chosen my place well,” she said.

“Very well, then. I would love some of your adobo.”

“Yes, sir.”

But she didn’t leave. Agamemnon opened his eyes again. “Is there something else?”

She smiled. “It’s just I thought you might like something after dinner, as well.”

“After dinner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Marta turned and with her withered hands, clapped twice. The curtains parted again as two young girls entered the hut.

Agamemnon could see them trembling. They didn’t look much older than sixteen, and their light skin marked them as coming from the north. Perhaps from the cities. He could see a few light bruises from where they’d been roughed up by their handlers.

“Where are they from?”

“Bagiuo.”

Agamemnon smiled. “They’re a long way from home.”

“They are the daughters of a spoiled landowner.”

Agamemnon grinned. “Careful, Marta. You betray your past with statements like that.”

She bowed her head. “Forgive me, sir.”

Agamemnon waved the girls over. They walked tentatively toward him. “They’ve been trained well,” Agamemnon said.

Marta nodded. “They know their place.”

“And what is expected of them?”

Marta nodded. “Without question.”

Agamemnon smiled and waved Marta out of the hut. “Perhaps I’ll have my dessert first tonight.”