Sacrifice

“I see.”

Annja heard the rustle of papers. “We have your passport here.”

“They took it from me when I was kidnapped,” she said.

“Yes, and it’s a shame they didn’t bother to look at it. Otherwise it might have saved us both from the embarrassing situation that now confronts us.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yes. You see, my colleagues are sometimes a bit, shall we say, overzealous in their work? It’s a stressful thing—I’m sure you can appreciate it. There are all sorts of logistical elements to planning a proper kidnapping. Emotions run high. People make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” Annja wondered where this was going.

“Yes. You were not our intended target, Annja Creed.”

“You didn’t mean to kidnap me?”

“No.”

Annja smiled. “Oh well, that’s cool.”

“It is not…cool. It is a bad mistake,” the man said calmly.

There was movement behind Annja. A guard pushed another man through the doorway. His hands were bound behind him and he was gagged. But Annja recognized him as the terrorist who had kidnapped her.

Annja looked back into the darkness. “Well, like you said, everyone makes mistakes.”

“Mistakes are not tolerated in our organization. It would set a bad precedent if I allowed such behavior to fester within our ranks.”

The gunshot sounded like an explosion and Annja jumped. She looked behind her and saw her kidnapper facedown on the floor, a pool of blood rapidly pooling around his head.

Annja turned back. “So, we’re all through here, then? I’m free to go?” she said quickly.

“Unfortunately, no. You’ve seen too many things here.”

Annja shook her head. “I didn’t see a thing. I was blindfolded until I got here.”

“Even still…”

Annja shook her head. “I have no issue with what you do or who you do it, to. You said this was a mistake. So let’s correct it. Let me go,” she spoke confidently, hoping she was persuasive enough.

“No. I think you’ll be able to help us out, after all,” the voice said.

“Oh?”

“Indeed. But it will, most unfortunately, mean your death.”

2

The guard with the big nose steered Annja out of the cloistered environment of the thatch hut and back down onto the muddy ground. He deliberately pushed her fast enough so that Annja’s legs had trouble keeping up with the momentum, causing her to stumble and trip most of the way down. At last he shoved her and Annja had to turn her head at the very last minute before she crashed to the ground.

She sat up and spit out some dirt. “Thanks for the help, jerk,” she muttered.

The guard grinned and took his pistol out. Annja frowned. This was not good. The guard thumbed the hammer back.

“Stop.”

The guard and Annja both turned toward the veranda of the hut she’d just left. The man standing there lit a cigarette. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the dense jungle air and regarded Annja.

“Are you scared about dying?” he asked her.

Annja got to her knees and stared at him. “I’ve faced death before.”

The man nodded. “I can tell. You have that look about you. My friend here doesn’t intimidate you much, does he?”

Annja smiled. “Who are you?”

“My name is Agamemnon.”

“You’re joking, right?” Annja said.

Agamemnon grinned. “My parents. What can you do? They grew up with this fixation on Mount Olympus. They named us all after the gods and goddesses of mythology. My brother was named Midas.”

“Was?” Annja asked.

“Government troops killed him while he slept. Him and his young bride. They were but twenty years old.”

Annja flexed her wrists. The cuffs still held her tight. “I’m sorry for your loss. Really.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Is this really necessary?” Annja asked, hoping she could talk her way out of her predicament.

Agamemnon shrugged. “Is anything we do ever really necessary?”

“You tell me—you’re the one in control right now.”

“Yes.” Agamemnon nodded. “I am indeed. And unfortunately, your death will help to convince the government we are truly serious.”

“Since when have you had trouble with the government thinking you aren’t serious?” Annja asked.

Agamemnon came down the steps. Annja could see he looked to be in his late thirties. His close-cropped hair was still jet-black. His eyebrows hung over his dark eyes like heavy velvet drapes. The way he walked reminded Annja of some of the more ferocious fighters she’d met in her lifetime. Agamemnon was thin, but he resonated with strength and cunning.

He stopped just short of coming into range if Annja had decided to try to kick him. “Ever since the American troops started hunting us, the government has considered us a has-been organization,” he explained.

“I didn’t realize the U.S. forces had done so much damage to your organization,” she said.

Agamemnon stepped on his cigarette butt and ground it under his foot. “They hunt us when they can find us. Their special-operations troops are quite skilled at navigating the jungle. Even though we know it like the back of our hand, they are quick to adapt and learn our tactics. I have lost many soldiers since they started combing the islands for us.”