Corsair by Clive Cussler; Jack B. Du Brul

Author:Clive Cussler; Jack B. Du Brul
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Cussler, Fiction, Political Science, Missing women, Terrorism, Fiction - General, Political Freedom & Security, Cabrillo, Adventure Fiction, Mercenary troops, Mystery, Libya, Sea Stories, Thrillers, Clive - Prose & Criticism, Juan (Fictitious character), Action & Adventure, Mystery & Detective, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, General, Suspense, Men's Adventure, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction
ISBN: 9780399155390
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc
Published: 2009-03-02T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

His precious face was a mix of determination and delight. His mouth was formed into a tiny O, and his eyes were open despite the chlorine sting. Beads of water clung to his impossibly long lashes like diamond chips. His body wriggled with the almost rhythm of his kicking legs, and the inflatable bands around his arms kept bumping into his chin with each awkward stroke.

Alana felt like her heart was going to explode, as she stood waist-deep in her condo's community pool, Josh striking out for her as she retreated a slow pace at a time. He knew the game, would complain bitterly if he tired out before reaching her, or beam with pride if he made it to the sanctuary of her waiting arms.

Her buttocks pressed against the pool's concrete side. Josh was a few feet away, his mouth now spreading into a triumphant grin. He knew he was going to make it. And then his water wings suddenly vanished, and his face fell into the water. Alana tried to push herself off the wall, but it was as though her skin and swimsuit were adhered to the concrete and tile.

Josh came up, sputtering. His eyes were wide with panic as the first choking cough shook his little body. Water and saliva bubbled from his lips. He managed to cry out "Mommy!" before his head slipped under the surface again.

Alana stretched her arms, feeling like they were pulling from their sockets, but she couldn't reach him. Couldn't move. There were people all around the pool area, lounging on chairs or sitting at the water's edge with their feet dangling in the cool water. She tried to call to them but no sound escaped her lips. They were oblivious to her plight.

Josh's thrashing became less frantic, his longish hair spreading around his head, swaying in the eddies like some sea creature. His hands were balled into little fists, as if trying to hang on, but there was nothing Alana could do. The pool's filtration system was pushing him farther from her. Her arms screamed with the strain of trying to reach him, and her head pounded with an unholy ache -- the punishment for being a bad mother, she knew.

Her baby was dying.

She was dying.

And she would have accepted such a fate, but reality was much more cruel.

She came back from the nightmare.

The pain in her head was from being clubbed and momentarily stunned by one of the guards. Her arms ached because she was being dragged from the serving line, where moments earlier she had been slopping a thin gruel onto the tin plates of the other prisoners. Her backside felt numb because the ground was rough gravel and the man dragging her set a strong pace.

Another of the guards shouted at the man who had hit her. He stopped midstride and let her fall to the dirt. She paid no attention to the rapid-fire Arabic the two shot at each other. She simply lay still, hoping against hope that they would forget about her.

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