H.J. brought up the rear. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow as her finger rested light, but ready on the trigger. She licked her lips, which caused her to realize how dry her mouth was.
Twenty yards from where the curve broadened into a court yard, Duncan stopped as he saw men standing in front of the weatherworn structure that had one time been a jewel of the Algerian coast. He counted seven bodies scattered in awkward positions around the piazza, with an eighth draped across the low wall surrounding an overgrown fountain. Death was always awkwardly met.
A large man in Arab dress laughed nervously as he talked to a military type who Duncan figured was the senior officer. Surrounding the two men, the majority of the mixed group of Arab-dressed and military-garbed individuals argued and gestured with each other. Some listened to the two men, while three others trained their guns on a group near the truck. Two of the military men stood warily near the front door of the villa. From inside the villa the flickering of a lantern bubbled across the opening.
The large truck was not military. It had wooden sides, and Duncan assessed it to be a commercial vehicle. The faces of the prisoners were easily seen in light of the small campfire burning nearby. Duncan motioned H.J. forward.
The three prisoners squatted with their hands behind the backs of their necks. They leaned against the rear right truck wheel. Duncan saw the fear in the men’s faces. Two of the military-garbed men walked around the guards, grabbed a prisoner, and began to tie his hands behind him before roping the hands to the feet. Reminded Duncan of a pretzel.
Finished, they shoved the prisoner onto his side, and moved to the next. They continued until all three were trussed up in the same fashion. Then several of the Arabs picked the prisoners up and tossed them, unceremoniously, into the old dry fountain in the center of the courtyard, to be rewarded with grunts and low moans as their captives hit the concrete bottom. Lucky for the prisoners it was only a couple of feet deep and dry.
An elderly individual emerged from the villa with a suit coat draped across his arm, his opened white shirt half-tucked into dark trousers.
The man walked down the steps of the villa to where the huge Arab and the military leader talked. Dun can recognized the newcomer as President Alneuf from the photographs Commander Mulligan had shown him before they departed the Nassau.
Duncan waved Gibbons further left, knowing the petty officer would position himself to protect Duncan’s flank while covering those whom they were observing. He tugged H. J.“s shirt. She scampered forward.
“Stay here and cover me,” he whispered, holding his hand over his mouth to muffle the words.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“That’s Alneuf. The gentleman we’ve been tasked to bring back. Can’t think of a better way to find out if they’re friendly or not than go introduce myself.”
“I’d be careful, Captain. I don’t think they’re in any mood to take a chance. They may start shooting before you start talking.”
“Yeah, that’s my thoughts, too, but …”
Monkey gave a thumbs-up as he reached his position directly across the road from where Duncan and H.J. lay. Further left, past Monkey, Gibbons, in a prone position, trained his carbine on the crowd around the truck.
In this three-prong position, the SEAL squad had the entire group covered, able to deal out a deadly first fire if necessary. Without knowing for sure how the others were positioned, Duncan assumed that Beau and his squad had the left flank covered. The parked truck obscured their firing field, so it was up to Beau to take care of that vulnerability. Monkey’s weapon would nullify anyone seeking shelter between the truck and the house. It would be up to Beau’s squad to cover the blind side of the truck.
Duncan reached down and pressed the transmit button on his brick to activate the red light on Beau’s MX-300. Duncan hoped Beau was in position and saw it. He released the button.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Duncan whispered. He crawled forward another ten feet to distance himself from H.J. Her weapon pointed over Duncan’s head at the Algerians.
He stood and stepped into the middle of the road. Duncan raised his hands, holding his carbine aloft gripped tightly in his right hand.
“Hello, the house!” he shouted.
The sound, like a thousand crickets, filled the night as safeties clicked off and they leveled their weapons at him.
Duncan had this quick, fleeting recognition that if they had been any less professional, they would have shot him.
The mustached leader shoved Alneuf behind him, where two of the Guardsmen moved in front of the Algerian president. Yosef brought his weapon to bear on Duncan.
“President Alneuf,” Duncan announced in a loud voice. “I’m from the travel agent you phoned a couple nights ago.”
Duncan took several steps forward. A couple of the Guardsmen ran from the sides toward him with the intention of taking his gun.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Duncan said, holding the carbine aloft and out of reach of the shorter Guardsman, who reached for it.
“Leave him,” Colonel Yosef said, waving his men back.
Two more Palace Guards walked casually behind Duncan. Duncan, his weapon still above his head, walked slowly toward Colonel Yosef.
“Tell your men not to get nervous with their weapons, as I’m going to bring my hands down. My weapon will point away from President Alneuf while I bring it down, and once down it will point at the ground. I would appreciate it if you could reassure your men, uh, General?”
“Colonel. Colonel Yosef.”
“Roger, Colonel Yosef. If you would just reassure your men?”
Colonel Yosef nodded. “Most speak English. Just don’t make any unusual moves, please. And you are American, I presume?”
“I am Captain Duncan James, United States Navy. And you, Colonel Yosef?” he asked as he lowered his weapon.
“Captain Duncan, welcome to Algeria. I am Colonel Daoud Yosef, commanding officer of the Algerian National Palace Guards.”
“Colonel Yosef, my pleasure. I am here at the request of your president.” Duncan pointed to Alneuf, who stood silent behind the colonel. “We are answering a diplomatic request from the president of Algeria to provide transportation to a safe haven out of your country.”
He licked his dry lips. His head still hurt, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Yosef cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, I am aware of President Alneuf’s request. He told me of it last night when you failed to keep your appointment.”
“I apologize for being late. As I am sure you are aware, we are having our own problems in Algiers.”
“Yes, I know,” Yosef replied, thinking of the truckload of Westerners he and his men had freed on their escape from the capital.
President Alneuf stepped around the two Guardsmen standing in front of him, and strolled forward to stand beside Yosef. He stuck his hand out to the tall U.S. Navy captain.
“Welcome to Algeria, Captain. We are pleased to see you,” Alneuf said as they shook hands. A broad grin accented his statement.
“Mr. President, we have transportation on the beach below.” Duncan looked at his watch. It showed two o’clock. “The primary transportation is due in an hour. We’ll need to leave soon to make our rendezvous.”
“Captain, where do you intend to take me?”
“Mr. President, my job is to get you out of the country. I have no idea where you go from there. I have been asked to relay from my government that the final destination is yours and to offer asylum in the United States if you so desire.”
“I appreciate the offer of your government, but I think I would like to go to Tunisia,” he said.
Duncan’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m sorry, Mr. President.