Foreign Hostage by Aiden L Bailey

Author:Aiden L Bailey [Bailey, Aiden L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-01T22:00:00+00:00

PART II: THE ASSYRIAN CONTRABAND

“Surround yourself with human beings, my dear James. They are easier to fight for than principles.”

— Ian Fleming, Casino Royale

Authors Note

The events of this story take place after Blood Ivory and before Threat Intelligence. Simon Ashcroft has resigned from ASIS and is now employed by a South African security company, DevWorld…

CHAPTER 1

Moheli Island, Comoros, Indian Ocean

Emerging from the surf onto the hot sandy beach, Simon Ashcroft kicked off his flippers, tore the snorkel and mask from his face, and readied his spear-gun.

He could hear a woman screaming and the crude grunts of a man nearby. Twenty meters into the distance, along the rainforest encased beach, he watched with disgust as a wiry thug, wearing loose pants and shirt, and a kufi knit cap, slapped a young woman so hard that her head snapped to one side. The other hand gripped her wrist, twisting her arm, preventing her from getting away.

He slapped the woman again, a wet, abrasive noise that echoed in Simon’s mind as he imagined her pain. Simon saw her surrender to the thug, falling limp, her screams crushed into exhausted whimpers. Victorious, the thug dumped her, like a sack of old laundry. She landed unconscious.

Approaching, Simon raised his spear-gun. The thug seemed oblivious to Simon’s presence, distracted as he was by his brutal kicking of the prone young woman, who was now lying face down in the sand.

Five meters from his target, close enough that there was no way he could miss, Simon squeezed the trigger. The metal shaft whooshed through the still, humid air like a bolt of silver lightning, piercing the man’s forearm, ripping through flesh, to lodge itself dead-center between the two bones.

The thug’s screams erupted from the gross blackness of his mouth, spectacular compared to the abused woman’s frightened earlier pleading. Twisting his arm forward, looking for the source of the pain, he bumped the spear, cutting into a major artery. Blood exploded everywhere, covering him and his still unconscious victim in a shower of warm, crimson fluid.

Simon drew a jagged knife from his leg sheath. Balancing the weapon in his right hand, he pointed the sharp, shiny blade towards the enemy. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted towards his foe.

The thug heard Simon and turned in furious agony, laying eyes upon him.

By then it was too late.

Simon landed upon the thug. Locking his left arm around the man’s wounded arm, he twisted against it to cause further discomfort, while driving his twelve-centimeter blade into the assailant’s kidney, over and over, until more blood gushed like a broken dam, and the man fell dead into the sand.

Panting, wiping sweat from his forehead, Simon watched, just to be sure the thug didn’t get up again.

But it was clear he never would.

His threat neutralized, Simon turned to the young woman. She was gasping in the sand, blood trickling from her nose and mouth where the thug had beaten her. The assailant’s blood soaked her torn shirt and loose cotton pants. Shaking, she rubbed at the bruises that showed on her limbs.

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