Sacrifice

“And so now you’ve taken to kidnapping?”

Agamemnon shrugged. “We kidnap high-profile targets in the hope that our cause gets publicity, drives more recruits to us, and that the ransoms get paid. That money helps fund our operations in Manila and other places.”

“I see.” Annja saw that several other members of the impromptu village had come out of their huts. Agamemnon certainly seemed to hold sway over them; they seemed to be hanging on his every word.

“These are my people,” he said spreading his arms as if about to hug them all. “I’ve led them through some harrowing incidents. They trust me completely and I do believe they would follow me straight into the depths of hell itself if need be.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Annja said. “And I have no doubt they trust you completely. But I still don’t see why you need to kill me.”

“Because our intended target was not picked up. The plan cannot be canceled just because of that one simple flaw,” he said.

“I won’t get you any type of respect. I’m a nobody,” Annja said.

Agamemnon shook his head. “Nonsense. You said it yourself—you’re a television personality. I’m sure a woman as lovely as yourself has thousands of devoted fans.”

“I don’t think the number’s that high. It’s just an offbeat history show on cable.”

Agamemnon frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Annja shook her head. “The show is a bit of a joke. No one takes it seriously,” she said.

“We will videotape your beheading and then broadcast it all over the world. Your death will help us reestablish ties to our friends in other regions. It will also serve as a call for others to join us and help overthrow the government.”

“Beheading?” Annja asked, horrified.

Agamemnon unsheathed a large knife hanging at his side. “Unfortunately, the world has grown desensitized to shootings. People see thousands of them on TV and in the movies. Simply shooting someone has no impact. But decapitation, well, that is something else again.”

Annja swallowed hard. Having her head sliced off wasn’t what she’d imagined coming to the Philippines would entail. And the thought of that knife cutting into her neck sent adrenaline flooding into her veins.

I have to get out of here, she thought. She closed her eyes and saw the sword hanging where it always did when not in use. If she could just get it and get free of her cuffs, she could cut these butchers down and then disappear into the jungle.

But where would she go?

She frowned. It didn’t matter. Anything was better than staying here and waiting for her head to be lopped off.

“Annja?”

She opened her eyes. Agamemnon was staring at her intently. Annja coughed and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting to be killed in that fashion. You don’t strike me as being that barbaric,” she said angrily.

Agamemnon laughed. “Oh, but I am. Trust me.”

Annja flexed her wrists. There was no give in the cuffs. If she didn’t get them off, she was as good as dead. And by the sound of it, beheading wasn’t exactly a quick and painless event unless done by guillotine. Being hacked off with a knife sounded extremely painful and messy.

“I need to pray,” she blurted.

Agamemnon frowned. “What?”

Annja looked at him. “I need to pray. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me a final chance to make amends with my god before you kill me?”

Agamemnon lit a fresh cigarette. “Forgive me for saying so, Miss Creed, but you don’t exactly strike me as the religious type. I’ve killed missionaries before. They walked with much more an air of God than you do.”

“And you’ve never heard of people finding religion right before they die?” Annja said.

“I have.”

“Then you should have enough respect for me—if only for what my death will represent to your cause—to grant me a few final moments of inner peace.”

Agamemnon sighed. “Very well. I will give you five minutes to pray. I suggest you use it well.”

Annja turned herself slightly. “I need the cuffs removed, please.”

“Why?”

“My religion dictates that my hands be free when I pray. In order to make the proper signs of my god, I must have both hands free.”

“What religion is this? I’ve never heard of such a need before.”

“I’m not exactly orthodox in my religion,” Annja said. “I belong to a new church that incorporates the teachings of many religions into its values,” she said.

Agamemnon took a deep drag on his cigarette. He gestured to the guard. “All right, you may have your hands free. But I warn you not to try anything. My friend there will have his gun trained on you at all times. And he will shoot you if need be.”

Annja bowed her head. “Thank you for the consideration.”

The guard knelt behind her and Annja heard the key slip into the lock. In another moment, the pressure on her wrists vanished. Annja took a deep breath and rubbed them, trying to flush some blood and feeling back into them.

“All right. Your time starts now,” Agamemnon said.

Annja brought her hands together in front of her. I have to make this look good, she thought. They’ll expect me to make a move immediately if I’m going to try anything at all. So let’s give them a show when they least expect it.

Annja raised her hands overhead and opened her mouth. She called out in an imaginary dialect and mixed it with a bit of Swahili slang she knew. As she did so, she moved her hands around her, gesturing first to the sky and the sun and then to the ground and the trees.

She let her head loll around as if she was possessed. She got off her knees and squatted, drawing a circle on the ground and then dancing in the center of it.

Her words grew louder. Annja felt her body responding to the sense of freedom for the first time in days. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She felt energized and alive.

With her eyes closed, she saw the sword.

She reached for it with her hands.

Felt the hilt of the sword slide into her hands.

She instantly dropped to the ground and pivoted, slicing as she opened her eyes.

A gunshot rang out, but Annja knew that the guard would have fired above her head. She heard the bullet ricochet but then felt her sword cut into something even as she continued to spin.

The guard grunted as the blade bit into his midsection, slicing him open.

Annja yanked her sword free and rushed toward Agamemnon. He looked utterly unfazed by the sudden appearance of the sword in Annja’s hands.