Alex Archer - Sacrifice

“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.

She was just thirty feet from the hut. Agamemnon disappeared inside.

A volley of gunfire exploded across the camp. Annja felt hot lead zipping past her head. She ducked and zigzagged across the compound. Agamemnon’s people must have had their weapons closer than she realized.

I have to get out of here!

Annja took a hard right and ran between two huts, the sword leading the way. A young man stepped in her path and aimed his AK-47 at her. Annja leaped into the air and screamed as she came down, swinging the sword.

The man dropped dead and Annja ran on.

Ahead of her, she could see the thick jungle. She ran for the twisted vines and warped tree trunks as if the devil himself was on her tail.

She entered the foliage.

Under the dense canopy, the air grew even thicker. Annja didn’t think the terrorists behind her would stop. She needed to put some real distance between them.

Annja pressed on, using the sword to cut a swath through the dense jungle.

Suddenly she stopped. They’ll track me if I keep doing this, she thought.

She sighed. As much as she hated doing it, she closed her eyes and returned the sword to the otherwhere.

Annja opened her eyes again and took a deep breath. From here on out, it gets tough, she thought. I’ll have to take my time and creep through this jungle if I have any hope of getting out of here alive. The more I fight it, the quicker it will win.

Annja parted a blanket of vines in front of her, carefully moving them out of the way just enough for her to get past. Once she did so, she turned and slid them back into position.

She hoped her pursuers would think she had magically disappeared.

Annja looked overhead and all around. The color was the same anywhere she turned. Green.

How in the world am I going to get out of this mess?

Agamemnon watched as his men scampered about the camp collecting themselves and their weapons. The carcass of his man lay in the dirt, staining the ground with dark blood and gore. The air stunk of his death and it only made the rage growing in Agamemnon’s chest swell even further. Already hundreds of tiny flies and mosquitoes fed upon the corpse.

One of his men noticed the sudden invasion of bugs and came over. “Shall we dispose of Jojo’s body?”

Agamemnon watched as the flies seemed to form one undulating mass as they crawled over Jojo’s body, eagerly feeding. He watched for another full minute and then finally shook his head.

“Leave it.”

“Sir?”

Agamemnon faced him. “I want him left where he died. Let the bugs eat him for all I care. His death is an object lesson to you all. You can never, ever let your guard down. Not for one instant. If you do, the same will happen to you.”

His man blanched. “I understand, sir.”

“Do you think that is cruel of me?”

The man’s eyes never met Agamemnon’s. He was far too scared to look his boss in the eyes. “I understand your intentions, sir.”

“Further,” Agamemnon continued, “if your search parties do not come back with the woman, then all who failed will meet the same fate as Jojo. Am I making myself perfectly clear? I will not tolerate failure.”

“Yes, sir.” The man jerked his hand up in salute and then excused himself.

Agamemnon watched him run away, corralling the other men who would assist him in the search. He could hear the hushed tones they used as they discussed the urgency of the mission before them. Of course, Agamemnon wouldn’t kill them all. That would be foolish of him. There was little sense killing his own troops. But with the image of Jojo’s body still so fresh in their heads, he knew the threat of another death would make his men work harder. It would drive them to turn the jungle upside down.

And then they would find Annja Creed and bring her back to the camp, where Agamemnon could dispose of her properly. After all, her death would play a key role in the events that were about to unfold in Manila.

Agamemnon smiled and turned away from the corpse. He wandered over to his hut. At the steps leading inside, he paused and watched the various search parties fanning out to enter the jungle.

Good luck, he thought to himself.

Inside, he sat down at the small radio console and opened up the channel. A screech of static punctured the humid air, and then he heard the voice he wanted on the other end.

“Yes, sir?”

Agamemnon leaned into the microphone. “Is everything ready, Luis?”

“The package has been delivered as promised. We are in the final stages of preparing it for delivery now.”

“Excellent. And how long do you anticipate it taking?”

“Perhaps the rest of the night. If all goes well, we will leave with it tomorrow morning and have it in position the following day.”

Agamemnon smiled. Luis was his most trusted man. If he set a task before him, he knew Luis would always get it done. Unlike Jojo, Luis would not have let himself be taken so easily.

He leaned back and took a breath. Who would have ever expected that the son of a beggar could have risen so far as Agamemnon had? Certainly not the worthless souls who called themselves his family. They’d forsaken him years ago when he’d revealed his plans to them. The idiots—they were content to stay in the slums he’d grown up in, scavenging a meager existence while the wealthy aristocrats and new entrepreneurs drove past them, oblivious to the children running barefoot in the late night traffic hoping to beg a few coins off of them.