would turn forty-five . . .
She felt the rough hands all over her body. The guards getting in one last good feel, squeezing her breasts painfully. Then she was alone at the stake. She heard their boots clomping away from her. She heard the low keening noise of the crowd beginning to reach a fevered pitch.
She took a deep breath, knowing it was her last. Finally at peace, she waited for an eternity or more for the lead slugs to pierce her flesh and find her heart.
She heard the guard captain scream the order to fire.
Fire!
Fire!
Fire!
The crowd saw her head pitch forward, her chin on her chest. A roar went up. Deafening.
But there had been no blood, no twitching corpse riddled with bullets. They’d all fired above her head. She’d heard the rounds whistle above her. She had simply fainted.
This was not the first mock execution the joyous crowd of prisoners had witnessed. They’d seen hundreds. And so they knew the appropriate response. They laughed. Wildly and insanely, letting the guards know they were in on the joke, that they appreciated the entertainment.
“WRITE THE LETTER!” HER TORMENTOR screamed at her. She was back in the basement in a private room on the lowest level of hell. Kang was in rare form today, practically frothing at the mouth. He was the only one who spoke enough English to be trusted with interrogation of such a prize as the valuable American woman Kathleen Chase.
“You write! Tell your husband what happened this morning. About our Dear Leader’s beneficence in sparing your life. His mercy. Tell him about your good health. About how well you are being treated here, you and your children. Hot food, good beds. If not—”
“Show me my children, damn you! Show them to me!”
“Your children are alive, we keep telling you. But they will die if you do not obey. They will watch you die before we decapitate them. They will suffer before—tell him. You write the letter now!”
“You write it, Kang. Sign it, too. And then go fuck yourself.”
“Bitch!” he screamed. The he raised his fist and slammed it down, the ballpoint pen in his grip piercing her hand, nailing it to the wooden table.
She howled in pain, unable to stop it, but her cries were no longer enough for him. He started slapping her viciously across the face, whipping her head around until she thought she’d pass out again . . .
She no longer believed her two children were alive. She had not seen them in so very long . . .
She had only one hope now.
That next time, the bullets would not miss.
C H A P T E R 9
South China Sea
H awke didn’t have to wait long.
One second all was calm, the next he felt the rippled pressure of sudden underwater movement.
He waited for what always came next.
A soft nudge in the small of his back. No pain, just the tentative probing of some large fish. Exactly just what kind of fish it might be was not a question he preferred to speculate about. But the words just wouldn’t go away.
The bad one was snout . That’s what the nudge had felt like.
Then, a minute later, there was the really bad one.
Shark.
No mistaking it.
Minutes later, another punishing blow.
Christ. A jarring slam to the rib cage on his right side. A second later, he saw the shark’s dorsal fin knifing toward him maybe two seconds before it hit him. Sharp pain now, it hurt like a bastard. Broken ribs in there for sure. He turned slowly in the water, minimizing his movements.
Even in the pitch-black darkness, he could see the dorsal fins circling lazily around him. What did they say about curiosity? Oh, yeah, curiosity killed the pilot. Right now, they weren’t in dining mode. Right now they were only curious about this new object in the neighborhood. He took a deep breath, winced at the resulting pain, and let it all out slowly.
This could go either way.
They could get bored with him and just disappear.
Or, the other way, they could shred him into several bite-sized chunks, ripping away his limbs
She felt the rough hands all over her body. The guards getting in one last good feel, squeezing her breasts painfully. Then she was alone at the stake. She heard their boots clomping away from her. She heard the low keening noise of the crowd beginning to reach a fevered pitch.
She took a deep breath, knowing it was her last. Finally at peace, she waited for an eternity or more for the lead slugs to pierce her flesh and find her heart.
She heard the guard captain scream the order to fire.
Fire!
Fire!
Fire!
The crowd saw her head pitch forward, her chin on her chest. A roar went up. Deafening.
But there had been no blood, no twitching corpse riddled with bullets. They’d all fired above her head. She’d heard the rounds whistle above her. She had simply fainted.
This was not the first mock execution the joyous crowd of prisoners had witnessed. They’d seen hundreds. And so they knew the appropriate response. They laughed. Wildly and insanely, letting the guards know they were in on the joke, that they appreciated the entertainment.
“WRITE THE LETTER!” HER TORMENTOR screamed at her. She was back in the basement in a private room on the lowest level of hell. Kang was in rare form today, practically frothing at the mouth. He was the only one who spoke enough English to be trusted with interrogation of such a prize as the valuable American woman Kathleen Chase.
“You write! Tell your husband what happened this morning. About our Dear Leader’s beneficence in sparing your life. His mercy. Tell him about your good health. About how well you are being treated here, you and your children. Hot food, good beds. If not—”
“Show me my children, damn you! Show them to me!”
“Your children are alive, we keep telling you. But they will die if you do not obey. They will watch you die before we decapitate them. They will suffer before—tell him. You write the letter now!”
“You write it, Kang. Sign it, too. And then go fuck yourself.”
“Bitch!” he screamed. The he raised his fist and slammed it down, the ballpoint pen in his grip piercing her hand, nailing it to the wooden table.
She howled in pain, unable to stop it, but her cries were no longer enough for him. He started slapping her viciously across the face, whipping her head around until she thought she’d pass out again . . .
She no longer believed her two children were alive. She had not seen them in so very long . . .
She had only one hope now.
That next time, the bullets would not miss.
C H A P T E R 9
South China Sea
H awke didn’t have to wait long.
One second all was calm, the next he felt the rippled pressure of sudden underwater movement.
He waited for what always came next.
A soft nudge in the small of his back. No pain, just the tentative probing of some large fish. Exactly just what kind of fish it might be was not a question he preferred to speculate about. But the words just wouldn’t go away.
The bad one was snout . That’s what the nudge had felt like.
Then, a minute later, there was the really bad one.
Shark.
No mistaking it.
Minutes later, another punishing blow.
Christ. A jarring slam to the rib cage on his right side. A second later, he saw the shark’s dorsal fin knifing toward him maybe two seconds before it hit him. Sharp pain now, it hurt like a bastard. Broken ribs in there for sure. He turned slowly in the water, minimizing his movements.
Even in the pitch-black darkness, he could see the dorsal fins circling lazily around him. What did they say about curiosity? Oh, yeah, curiosity killed the pilot. Right now, they weren’t in dining mode. Right now they were only curious about this new object in the neighborhood. He took a deep breath, winced at the resulting pain, and let it all out slowly.
This could go either way.
They could get bored with him and just disappear.
Or, the other way, they could shred him into several bite-sized chunks, ripping away his limbs
Similar Books
