Читать книгу Intersection With Nibiru - Danilo Clementoni - Страница 10

In the laboratory tent, the two fake Bedouins who had tried to steal the shuttle’s ‘precious content’ from the two aliens, were gagged and securely tied to a large drum of fuel. They were sitting on the ground with their backs against the heavy metal container, facing in opposite directions. One of the doctor's helpers stood guard outside the tent and looked inside, every so often, to check on them.

The thinner of the two, who definitely had a couple of broken ribs from the Colonel's blow to his side, despite the pain which was almost preventing him from breathing, had not stopped, even for one moment, looking around in search of something that might come in handy to free himself.

The light of the afternoon sun timidly penetrated inside the tent through a small hole in the wall, throwing a thin beam of light into the hot dusty air. That sword-like ray of light painted a small white ellipse on the ground, that was moving very slowly in the direction of the two prisoners. The thin guy was watching the slow progress of the bright patch, almost hypnotised, when a sudden flash of light brought him back to reality. Half buried in the sand, about a metre away, something metallic reflected the sunlight straight into his right eye. He moved his head slightly and tried to figure out just what it was, but in vain. So, he tried stretching a leg in that direction, but a terrible stab of pain in his side reminded him of the state of his ribs and he decided to desist. He thought he probably wouldn't reach it anyway and, trying to talk through his gag, whispered "Hey, are you still alive?"

The fat guy was no better off. After Petri had sent him flying, a large bruise had appeared on his right knee, he had a nice bump on his forehead, his right shoulder was killing him and his right wrist was swollen like a balloon.

"I think so," he answered in a small voice, mumbling through his gag.

"Thank goodness! I've been calling you for some time now. I was getting worried."

"I must have blacked out. My head is splitting."

"We've absolutely got to get away from here," said the thin guy with determination.

"But, how are you? Nothing broken?"

"I think I may have a few broken ribs but I can manage."

"How come we let them take us by surprise like this?"

"Never mind now. What happened, happened. Let's try and free ourselves. Look to your left, where that ray of sunshine falls."

"I can't see anything," replied the fat guy.

"There's something half buried there. It looks like a metal object. See if you can reach it with your leg."

The sudden noise of the tent's zip opening, interrupted the operation. The guard appeared and looked inside. The fat guy went back to pretending to be unconscious while the other one remained absolutely still. The man glanced at them, then cursorily checked all the equipment scattered around and, with a satisfied air, withdrew and closed the entrance again.

The two remained still for a while, then the bigger guy spoke first, "that was close."

"So, can you see it? Can you reach it?"

"Yes, now I can. Wait, I'll try."

The burly fake Bedouin began to rock back and forth trying to loosen the ropes that held him a little, then he began to stretch out his left leg as far as he could in the direction of the object. He could just reach it. He began digging with his heel until he managed to uncover a bit of it.

"It seems to be a trowel."

"It must be a Marshalltown Trowel. That's the tool of choice for archaeologists to scratch the ground looking for old crocks. Can you get it?"

"I can't reach."

"If you'd just stop stuffing yourself with all that junk food, you might be a little more agile, you fat ugly thing."

"Now what has my powerful physique got to do with it?"

"Come on then 'powerful physique', let's see if you can get hold of that trowel or they'll find a way to make you lose weight in jail."

Images of unsavoury and malodorous pimps suddenly appeared before the fat man's eyes. That terrible vision released a strength in him that he no longer thought he had. He arched his back as far as he could. A stab of pain shot straight from his sore shoulder to his brain, but he ignored it. With a decisive lunge, he managed to get his heel behind the trowel and, quickly bending his leg, drew it towards himself.

"Done it" he shouted from behind the gag.

"Will you just shut up, you ugly idiot? What are you screaming for? Do you want those two thugs to come back in and punch us up again?"

"Sorry," the big guy replied softly. "But I did manage to get it."

"See? If you put your mind to it, even you can manage to do something useful. It should be sharp. See if you can cut these damn ropes."

With his good hand, the big guy grabbed the handle of the trowel and began to rub the sharper edge on the ropes behind his back.

"Assuming we can free ourselves," the fat guy murmured "how are we going to get away from here? That site is full of people and it's still daylight. I hope you've got a plan."

"Of course I have! Aren't I the ingenious mind of the two of us?" exclaimed the thin guy proudly. "While you were having your cosy little nap, I analysed the situation and I think I've found a way to beat it."

"I'm all ears," replied the other one continuing to run the trowel up and down.

"That chap standing guard looks in here approximately every ten minutes and this tent is the outer one on the east side of the site."

"So?"

"How on earth did I get you as a partner for this job? You've got the imagination and the intelligence of an amoeba; hoping the amoebae don't take offence at the comparison."

"Actually," retorted the fat guy slightly piqued, "it was me who choose you, since the job was given to me."

"Have you managed to free yourself?" cut short the thin guy; the discussion was taking a turn for the worse and his accomplice was absolutely right.

"Just give me another moment. I think it's about to give."

Sure enough, shortly afterwards, the rope used to tie the pair to the drum broke and the big guy's belly, finally free of its constraints, resumed its normal size.

"There, done it!" exclaimed the fat guy satisfied.

"Great. But now let's keep this up until the guard comes back. We have to make everything look the same as before."

“Okay partner. I'll go back to pretending to be asleep."

The two didn't have long to wait. A few minutes later, the doctor's assistant was back to peep inside the tent. He gave his usual cursory glance around taking in the situation and, not noticing anything strange, closed the zip, then repositioned himself in the shade of the veranda and calmly lit a hand-rolled cigarette.

"Now," said the thin guy. "Let's get moving.

With all their aches and pains, this turned out to be rather more complicated than expected but, after letting out a few dull groans of pain and several curses, they found themselves standing in front of one another.

"Give me the trowel," ordered the thin guy removing his gag. The pains in his right side prevented him from moving very easily but, by laying his open hand on his side, he managed to alleviate some of the pain. He reached the side opposite the entrance to the tent in a couple of steps, knelt and slowly pushed the Marshalltown Trowel into it. The trowel's sharp blade cut through the soft fabric of the east-facing side like butter, creating a small slit of about ten centimetres. The thin man put his right eye close to it and peered through the slit for a few moments. As he had expected there was nobody there. Only the ruins of the ancient city could be seen, about a hundred metres away, where, beforehand, they had hidden the Jeep that was going to be used for their get-away with all the loot.

"All clear," he said, using the blade of the trowel to lengthen the small cut he'd just made down to the floor. "Let's go!" And he crawled through the slit.

"You could have made this hole a little bigger, couldn't you?" muttered the fat man, between one groan and another, while he tried with difficulty to slip outside.

"Come on! We need to get away as quickly as possible."

"Easier said than done. I can hardly walk."

"Give over, hurry up and stop complaining. Remember, if we don't manage to get away, nobody's going to stop us spending a good few years in jail."

The word "jail" always managed to instil extra strength in the fat guy. He didn't say anything else and, suffering in silence, followed his companion who crept stealthily away towards the ruins.

It was the rumble of an engine in the distance that aroused the suspicions of the man on guard. He looked at the now finished cigarette for an instant, then flicked it away with a quick gesture. He slipped inside the tent with decision, but could barely believe his eyes: the two prisoners were gone. The rope lay abandoned untidily next to the drum of fuel, a little farther on there were the two pieces of fabric they had used as gags and on the end wall of the tent a large gash that went right down to the ground.

"Hisham, guys," yelled the man with all the breath he had in his lungs. "The prisoners have escaped!"