Sacrifice. Alex Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ had to be another way. But what?

      Annja looked up. Somewhere in the camp, there seemed to be some sort of commotion. She heard more voices. They spoke loudly. Was it an argument? Annja strained to listen, but her knowledge of Tagalog was minute. And there was no way of knowing what particular dialect these terrorists were using.

      The voices seemed to be getting closer. Annja sat back, trying to feign disinterest.

      The guard with the big nose came into view. The AK-47 assault rifle he wore dangled from its strap on his shoulder. The gun looked large in his smallish hands, but he kept it fixed on Annja.

      She wanted to smile. Like I’m any type of threat right now, she wanted to say. But she kept her mouth closed.

      Big Nose knelt behind her and untied the leash binding her to the tree. He stood and gestured to Annja with his gun. “You will come with me,” he said.

      Annja nodded and the guard motioned back the way he’d come. Annja took a few stumbling steps, waiting for the blood to flow back down her legs. She tried flexing her arms, but the cuffs really restricted her movement.

      The man led her to a large hut. As Annja walked toward it, she saw other members of the terrorist cell peering at her intently. Did they know who she was? Was this why they’d kidnapped her? Did they even get Chasing History’s Monsters out here? And if they did, Annja would still be surprised they might know who she was. Since she didn’t make a habit out of wearing skimpy clothes, her fan base was significantly smaller than her buxom cohost’s.

      The guard walked her up the steps of the hut. Annja’s feet felt the rough-hewed wood flooring under her. It felt good to be standing again after sitting for so long. She ducked under a palm frond opening and walked inside the hut.

      It was much darker inside. But a small fire kept it just shy of total darkness. The heat was worse in here and Annja instantly felt herself sweating even more than she had outside.

      “What is your name?”

      The voice wasn’t one she’d heard before. It sounded quite cosmopolitan.

      “Annja Creed,” she said, looking for the source of the voice.

      “Where are you from, Annja Creed?”

      “Brooklyn.”

      Annja strained to make out any details, but she could only see that he had close-cropped hair. There was also a vague tinge of some sort of cheap cologne on the air. He’d obviously showered recently. Or maybe he’d rolled around in the cologne sample inserts that they stocked magazines with these days.

      “What brings you to our country?”

      “I work for a television show. One of the story ideas brought me here,” she replied.

      “You’re a reporter?” he asked.

      “Sort of.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “I’m not with the news. It’s more of a history show. Like documentaries.”

      “You don’t have a camera crew with you?”

      Annja shook her head. “I came over first to see if the story was legitimate. Only then would the camera guys come over so we could film it.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ