A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3 by Bill Wetterman
Authors: Bill Wetterman
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to a whisper. “Trust only loyal comrades—Van Meer, Duarte, Ziebach, and Professor Cline.”
“What? Not my own security team?”
“Duh.” George’s tone irritated her. “They can help rescue Mum. They can’t help find her. The others can.”
Even while being a tease, big brother made sense. He always did. Harry was out of touch on a dig near the Kampala Complex. His knowledge of terrain could be of help. “Can you reach Harry?”
“I’ll try. He usually returns my texts.”
“Good. He may be able to narrow the search with his knowledge of terrain, timing, and distance.”
A sigh from George caused her to purse her lips. “What?”
“Your lack of understanding of Harry’s career path causes you to underestimate his talent. His knowledge of terrain, timing, and distance exceeds even my brilliant mind. But his usefulness is far greater. Our brother surpasses even your husband in his ability to communicate with living things. We’ll need him.”
After a pause, George said. “Of course, I’ll be your strongest asset.”
“Dammit. Quit the ego trip. Just have him call me when you reach him.”
“Will do Busty Rusty. ”
“God, you’re so crude.” She cut off the call. Brothers.
#
Peacock’s eyes stared down at the cement floor. She relaxed her jaw as her body went limp. A smashing blow from a massive fist shot blood and several of her teeth into the air. The first three blows had loosened them. This one finished the job. Visions of clouds and the sound of songbirds filled her mind, as a voice from someone unseen sang “The Lord’s Prayer.”
“You’ll be toothless when I’m done with you. Then we’ll have a nice chat.” Looming over her, a six-foot tall, hairy figure grinned. “My orders are to keep you alive. Outside of that, I have no orders.”
He flipped off the lights and slammed the steel door on his way out.
She coughed up blood and slid sideways, dumping the chair to her left and landing face down on the cement. Some time passed. When she opened her eyes, darkness surrounded her. Her wrists were tied behind her back. Her ankles bound together and then to the chair. The iron shackles had cut her skin in several places.
I’m not getting out of here alive, she thought. The voice that had been singing whispered, “Yes, you are. You have one more duty to perform.”
“I don’t mind dying.” She tried to change positions—a useless thing to do. She doubted the voice would speak to her again. After all, she was insane. She remembered leaping feet first at an attacker, who collapsed before she reached him. His head blown away. A second group of insurgents arrived, killing those remaining from the first group. She’d thrown two of the new assailants to the ground, when something flashed and numbed her. She couldn’t move until she was dragged into the mine.
Where was she now? In a cell. A cell—more like a torture chamber. She guessed the area to be 8 by 8 feet. One lone lamp dangled above the center of the space. The walls and the floor were cement. Tomblike? Yes. Her enemies could encase her and leave her for God to free her, if He wished. On the walls were chains, whips, and one large, green circular symbol with Shia writing on it. Peacock knew the name—Muhammad, the Chosen.
That’s when she saw the writing. On the wall next to the green symbol. Standing, like the Alif. Kneeling, like the Dai. Prostrating, like the Mim. Sufi? God help me.
“God is helping you,” the angel said.
The steel door opened. Five men entered. All looked as vicious as the first man. But he was not among them. Two of them set her upright. Their leader asked. “Do you know where you are?”
Should she remain silent or engage in mind games? She decided on the latter. “My guess would be the Grozny Complex. But I don’t know how long I’ve been immobile.”
“You’re wrong.” He lifted her head to meet his eyes. “But you’re on the right track. You’re ninety kilometers east of
“What? Not my own security team?”
“Duh.” George’s tone irritated her. “They can help rescue Mum. They can’t help find her. The others can.”
Even while being a tease, big brother made sense. He always did. Harry was out of touch on a dig near the Kampala Complex. His knowledge of terrain could be of help. “Can you reach Harry?”
“I’ll try. He usually returns my texts.”
“Good. He may be able to narrow the search with his knowledge of terrain, timing, and distance.”
A sigh from George caused her to purse her lips. “What?”
“Your lack of understanding of Harry’s career path causes you to underestimate his talent. His knowledge of terrain, timing, and distance exceeds even my brilliant mind. But his usefulness is far greater. Our brother surpasses even your husband in his ability to communicate with living things. We’ll need him.”
After a pause, George said. “Of course, I’ll be your strongest asset.”
“Dammit. Quit the ego trip. Just have him call me when you reach him.”
“Will do Busty Rusty. ”
“God, you’re so crude.” She cut off the call. Brothers.
#
Peacock’s eyes stared down at the cement floor. She relaxed her jaw as her body went limp. A smashing blow from a massive fist shot blood and several of her teeth into the air. The first three blows had loosened them. This one finished the job. Visions of clouds and the sound of songbirds filled her mind, as a voice from someone unseen sang “The Lord’s Prayer.”
“You’ll be toothless when I’m done with you. Then we’ll have a nice chat.” Looming over her, a six-foot tall, hairy figure grinned. “My orders are to keep you alive. Outside of that, I have no orders.”
He flipped off the lights and slammed the steel door on his way out.
She coughed up blood and slid sideways, dumping the chair to her left and landing face down on the cement. Some time passed. When she opened her eyes, darkness surrounded her. Her wrists were tied behind her back. Her ankles bound together and then to the chair. The iron shackles had cut her skin in several places.
I’m not getting out of here alive, she thought. The voice that had been singing whispered, “Yes, you are. You have one more duty to perform.”
“I don’t mind dying.” She tried to change positions—a useless thing to do. She doubted the voice would speak to her again. After all, she was insane. She remembered leaping feet first at an attacker, who collapsed before she reached him. His head blown away. A second group of insurgents arrived, killing those remaining from the first group. She’d thrown two of the new assailants to the ground, when something flashed and numbed her. She couldn’t move until she was dragged into the mine.
Where was she now? In a cell. A cell—more like a torture chamber. She guessed the area to be 8 by 8 feet. One lone lamp dangled above the center of the space. The walls and the floor were cement. Tomblike? Yes. Her enemies could encase her and leave her for God to free her, if He wished. On the walls were chains, whips, and one large, green circular symbol with Shia writing on it. Peacock knew the name—Muhammad, the Chosen.
That’s when she saw the writing. On the wall next to the green symbol. Standing, like the Alif. Kneeling, like the Dai. Prostrating, like the Mim. Sufi? God help me.
“God is helping you,” the angel said.
The steel door opened. Five men entered. All looked as vicious as the first man. But he was not among them. Two of them set her upright. Their leader asked. “Do you know where you are?”
Should she remain silent or engage in mind games? She decided on the latter. “My guess would be the Grozny Complex. But I don’t know how long I’ve been immobile.”
“You’re wrong.” He lifted her head to meet his eyes. “But you’re on the right track. You’re ninety kilometers east of
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