Читать книгу Intersection With Nibiru - Danilo Clementoni - Страница 12

The two strange characters, still dressed as Bedouins, had just walked into their hideout in town when a faint intermittent sound from the laptop, still running on the living room table, attracted their attention.

"Who the devil's that?" asked the thin guy annoyed.

The big guy, who was limping more than ever now, approached the computer and, after keying in a decidedly complicated password, said: "It's a message from base."

"They'll want to know if the operation was successful."

"Give me a second to decode it."

A series of incomprehensible symbols appeared on the screen then, after entering a combination of codes in sequence, the message slowly began to appear.

General captured and taken to the air base at Camp Adder. Requires immediate rescue operation.

"For crying out loud!" exclaimed the fat guy. "They know already."

"How on earth did they manage that?"

"Well, they've definitely got more direct links than us. They don't miss much."

"And what do they expect us to do?"

"I don't know. It just says here that we must go and free him."

"Dressed like this? I don't think that's a good idea at all."

The tall, thin guy pulled a chair out from under the table, spun it around ninety degrees and then, uttering a series of intermittent groans, slumped on it. "This is all we needed!"

He rested an elbow on the polished surface and looked absently out of the window in front of him. He noticed the windows were decidedly grimy and the one on the right had a crack in it running almost its entire length.

Suddenly, he raised his eyes towards his companion, and with a sardonic little grin said, "I've just had an idea."

"I knew it, I know that look."

"Go and fetch the first aid kit and let me have a look at that bump you've got on your head."

"To tell the truth I'm more worried about my wrist. I wonder if it's broken."

"Don't worry, I'll fix it for you. I wanted to be a vet when I was a boy."

After a little more than an hour and massive doses of painkillers and various ointments smeared everywhere, the two cronies were almost as good as new again.

After looking at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall next to the entrance door, the thin guy said with a grin, "Now we can get going," and slipped into the bedroom. He emerged shortly afterwards holding two well pressed American military uniforms.

"Where did you get those?" asked the fat guy in amazement.

"They're part of the emergency kit I brought with me. You never know."

"You're completely crazy," said the big guy, shaking his head slightly. "And what are we supposed to do?"

“Here's the plan," said the thin guy, with a satisfied air, throwing his companion an XXL. "You'll be General Richard Wright, head of a top-secret government agency that nobody knows about."

"Obviously, if it's top-secret. And you?"

"I'll be your right-hand man. Colonel Oliver Morris, at your service, sir."

"So, I'm your superior. I like this."

"Don't get used to it though, okay?" said the thin man raising his forefinger. "And these are our papers with our identity badges."

"Heck! They look real."

"And that's not all, old chap," and he showed him a sheet of letterhead signed directly by Colonel Jack Hudson. "This is the official prisoner handover request for transfer to a 'safer place'."

"But where the devil did you get that?"

"I printed it out earlier while you were in the shower. Did you think you were the only computer wizard?"

"I'm astounded. It's even better than the original."

"We'll get into the military base and let them hand over the General. If they should object, we could always tell them to call Colonel Hudson directly. I don't think mobiles work in space," and at that they both roared with laughter.

About an hour later, when the sun had dropped behind a high sand dune, a military Jeep, carrying a Colonel and a General in full dress uniform, stopped at the entrance barrier of the Imam Ali air base or Camp Adder as the Americans had renamed it during the Iraq war. Two servicemen, armed to the teeth, came out of the armoured sentry box, and moved quickly towards the vehicle. Two others, at a distance, kept their sights on the passengers.

"Good evening Colonel," said the nearest soldier, giving a smart military salute. "May I see yours and the General’s documents, please?"

The tall, thin Colonel who was sitting in the driver’s seat, said nothing. He took a yellow envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to him. The serviceman spent quite some time reading and shone his torch in both their faces a couple of times. The General distinctly felt the drop of sweat which, starting from just under the bump on his forehead, began to slowly trickle down his nose, to then drop onto the third button of his jacket, which was being unbelievably strained by the mighty thrust of the enormous stomach underneath.

"Colonel Morris and General White," said the serviceman, again pointing the torch in the Colonel’s face.

"Wright, General Wright!” answered the skinny Colonel in a decidedly annoyed tone of voice. "What's the matter Sergeant, can’t you read?"

The Sergeant, who had pronounced the General’s surname incorrectly on purpose, smiled slightly and said, "I’ll get someone to accompany you. Follow those men," and with a nod ordered the two servicemen to lead them to the prison.

The Colonel slowly started the Jeep. He hadn’t gone barely a dozen metres when he heard a shout behind him, "Stop, Sir!"

The blood froze in the veins of the vehicle’s two occupants. They remained motionless for a few very long moments, until the voice continued saying “You’ve forgotten your documents."

The corpulent General drew such a large sigh of relief that all the buttons on his uniform risked popping.

“Thank you, Sergeant," said the thin man holding out his hand towards the soldier. “I'm getting old faster than I thought."

They set off again in the jeep and followed the two soldiers who, proceeding apace, quickly led them to the entrance of a low and decidedly shabby building. The youngest soldier knocked on the large door and went in without waiting for an answer. Shortly afterwards, a large, completely bald, coloured man, with the stripes of a sergeant and the face of a tough guy, appeared on the threshold and stood to attention. He saluted and said, "General, Colonel. Please come in.”

The two officers saluted in response and, trying to ignore the various pains that were starting to reappear, entered the large room.

“Sergeant" said the thin guy with determination. “We have a written order here from Colonel Hudson authorising us to pick up General Campbell," and he handed him the yellow envelope.

The large sergeant opened it and took his time reading the contents. Then, fixing his dark, penetrating eyes on the Colonel’s, he sentenced, "I’ll have to check."

“Go ahead,” replied the officer calmly.

The large coloured man drew another sheet of paper out of a drawer in the desk and carefully compared it with the one in his hand. He looked at the Colonel again and, without showing any emotion, added, "The signature is the same. Do you mind if I call him?"

“It’s your duty. But let’s try and be quick, please. We’ve already wasted too much time," replied the skinny Colonel, pretending to be about to lose his patience.

By no means frightened, the sergeant slowly put a hand into the pocket of his uniform and drew out his mobile phone. He dialled a number and waited.

The two officers held their breath until the serviceman, after pressing a key on his phone, laconically commented "he can’t be reached."

"So, sergeant, shall we get a move on?" exclaimed the officer with a decidedly more authoritarian tone than before. "We can’t stay here all night."

"Go and fetch the General”, the large Sergeant ordered one of the soldiers who had accompanied the two officers.

After a couple of minutes, a totally bald man, with a large moustache and grey eyebrows, and two small bright black eyes, appeared on the threshold of the door behind the sergeant. He wore the uniform of a General, but one of the four ordinance stars was missing on his right shoulder. He was handcuffed and, behind him, the soldier from before held him at gunpoint.

The General jumped for a moment at the sight of the two officers, then, guessing the plan, remained silent and looked as sad as he could.

“Thank you, Soldier," said the skinny Colonel, removing his Beretta M9 from its holster. “We’ll take this scumbag now."