The Girl Who Fought to Kill by Tikiri Herath

Author:Tikiri Herath [Herath, Tikiri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nefertiti Press
Published: 2020-05-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-eight

Is this Ali Mahmood?

The man didn’t say hello or introduce himself, and seemed in a hurry.

Why didn’t Peace tell us we were going to him right away?

At the man’s request, Peace parked the Jeep inside the garage while the rest of us waited for him at the entrance of the building, gawking.

The inside looked like a semi-military installation. The garage housed a Hummer, two off-road vehicles, a rescue boat on a trailer and a run-down minivan, all painted in camouflage colors.

Once the Jeep was inside, our host pushed a lever on the wall to shut the garage door. As the large door slowly rolled down, red laser beams shot across the entrance.

I raised my eyebrows.

A tripwire.

Where did you bring us, Peace?

Until that moment, I’d trusted him one thousand percent. I’d entrusted him with the lives of my friends and the future of my mission. He was Mr. Mudenda’s son, after all. He was an eager, idealistic college boy who only wanted to help us out, or so I’d thought. But right now, I wasn’t so sure about him anymore.

We trooped in after the tattooed man to the back of the warehouse. Peace walked in front of the group with the man, neither of them talking. The two looked comfortable, like they’d known each other for a long time.

Katy followed right behind them, looking nervously around her. Win walked holding Luc’s hands but Luc’s face was so taut, I worried he’d snap at any moment.

I followed the crowd right at the back on full alert.

Through a door in the back, we entered a large open hall. I looked around. We’d walked into a well-equipped gymnasium.

Once we were all inside, the man barricaded the door behind us, fastening four locks, two deadbolts and adding a reinforcing bar across the door.

This was no ordinary building. And this was no ordinary room.

The floor was lined with thick rubber mats, and around the perimeter stood all kinds of training equipment.

And we were not alone.

Two men, wearing black martial arts uniforms, were inside the ring, sparring with each other. Two more men in the same uniforms stood outside, shouting instructions. They were speaking a language I’d not heard before. On the back of their shirts was indecipherable lettering, a foreign language I didn’t recognize.

The men themselves looked like they could have been from anywhere. The Middle East, North Africa, Southern Europe, even South or North America. All four were brawny, with muscles the size of horses’. Their faces were harsh and their eyes hard.

They stopped their practice briefly to look us over.

“What’s this?” one of them called out with a smirk. “A mini United Nations tour?”

“They’re my guests,” said the tattooed man. His voice was low and gruff, the perfect voiceover for a military action movie. “They’re here to check out the university.”

I froze.

University? Is that what Peace told him?

“Where are they from?” another asked.

The man who’d opened the door thumbed at us. “Americans.”

Katy and I exchanged quick looks.

The men gave curt nods as if to say they approved and turned back to their sparring.

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