Fortune Favors by Sean Ellis Page B

to loosen the tow bar attachment and free one of the small motorized vehicles from its treasure wagon. He started it up and climbed aboard. Elisabeth still had not stirred.
    The sounds of the shelling now filled the night. Much of the fortress was in flames, and the wall on the ocean side was breached in three places. On the threshold of the barn-like storehouse, Kismet had an unobstructed view of the assault.
    Three helicopters—judging by their silhouettes, Kismet reckoned they were reliable old UH-1 “Hueys,” repurposed after the Vietnam war—beat the air high above the pirate compound. Several thick lines dropped from the hovering aircraft like spider-silk, and human figures began abseiling into the midst of the compound, protected by covering fire from their comrades still aboard. In a matter of seconds, a dozen camouflaged warriors had fast-roped down and were spreading out to engage the confused pirates. Kismet surmised that the commando squad was there in response to his own summons, but the fortress was presently a free-fire zone; the only salvation lay in physically removing himself from the battlefield. He revved the throttle on the ATV and charged into the midst of the skirmish.
    The pirates were attempting to muster a response to the overwhelming attack, but their numbers were already severely diminished and their arsenal of poorly maintained rifles and handguns was no match for the concussion grenades and assault rifles wielded by the attacking force. Most of the pirates simply threw down their weapons and fled into the jungle. Reasoning that the refugees would know the best way out of the fortress, Kismet swerved the quad in their direction, plunging into the darkness beyond.
    The explosions did little to illuminate the dark woods. The canopy of overgrowth quickly eclipsed any ambient light, forcing Kismet to slow the vehicle to a crawl. He debated using the quad’s headlights, but decided that doing so would merely make him a target. Instead, he switched off the engine and let the noise of the jungle settle over him like a blanket.
    “Well,” he sighed. “That didn't go too badly.”
    His grin faltered as he became aware of several shapes, nothing more than silhouettes, ringing his position. A flashlight blazed in his face, blinding him momentarily, but also revealing the jungle pattern fatigues worn by the group surrounding him. He raised his hands slowly, painfully aware of the fact that the Sultana of Muara was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
    “It’s okay, I’m one of the good guys.”
    “Lieutenant?”
    The voice was familiar, but even more so was the pronunciation of that single word. Kismet hadn’t held military rank in nearly twenty years, but in all the time he had been an officer, he had only once heard the word pronounced as “Lef-tenant.” He blinked in the direction of the voice—the man holding the light.
    “Sergeant Higgins?”
    Another shape interposed, stepping into the light. Kismet recognized the man from his publicity photos, but in most of those he was smiling.
    “Release my wife,” demanded the Sultan. His hand rested on the grip of a holstered pistol.
    Kismet eased the semi-conscious woman from her undignified perch, setting her on the rear fender of the ATV. As he did, her eyes fluttered into focus. She looked first at Kismet, and then turned slowly to face her husband. Kismet expected her to launch into some kind of conciliatory plea, but when the former actress spoke, her tone was anything but contrite.
    “What are you doing,” she rasped. “He’s one of them.”
    Kismet was still trying to make sense of her declaration when the Sultan drew his sidearm, thrusting it toward him. Kismet was taken aback. “Your highness?”
    “I will have your head for this,” raged the Sultan.
    Kismet gaped, mouthing a reply. Judging by the Sultan's fierce expression, trying to explain the facts would do little to help the situation. He decided to try a