The Devil's Heart: A Nick Randall Novel by Robert Rapoza

Author:Robert Rapoza [Rapoza, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robert Rapoza
Published: 2020-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Souda Naval Base, Greece

July 27, 2:48 p.m.

Randall paced the floor of the Souda Bay cell. He had stridden it so many times he knew the dimensions well enough to walk it with his eyes closed. As much as he tried to put his concern for Sam out of his mind, being trapped in the cell and not knowing what was happening to her was overwhelming.

I’ve gotta get out of here!

He heard boot steps and looked up to see Michael approaching with military police from the base. Good to his word, Michael had returned with a guard who opened the cell for Randall.

“Thanks, Michael. Are we going to see the base commander?”

“I’ve arranged for you to meet with him, but I can’t guarantee how you’ll be received. If you don’t mind, I’m going to tag along.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’ll take any help I can get.”

Two burly armed guards escorted Randall and Michael through the facility. Their intense demeanor while escorting an unarmed fifty-year-old college professor seeming a bit excessive.

The trip to the base commander’s office only took a few minutes and upon arrival, one of the guards held the door open as Michael stood at the doorway. “After you, Dr. Randall.”

“Thanks,” Randall said before entering the office and taking a seat. Michael entered next, followed closely by the two MP’s. One stationed himself in the corner opposite Randall, his angry glare locked on the professor’s face. The second stood by the doorway, obviously prepared to keep Randall from making a break from the office. Despite the circumstances, Randall couldn’t suppress a grin. He stared down at the floor and shook his head, the irony of the situation not lost on him.

“What’s so funny?” Michael asked.

“I traveled for nearly a day, hell bent on finding this place and now these guys are worried that I want to leave,” Randall replied.

“He’s just doing his job. It’s a military thing,” Michael replied.

The base commander arrived at the office door a moment later. Michael rose to his feet, standing straight as a flagpole as the commanding officer entered his office, walking around to the front of his desk.

“At ease,” he said, dropping his hat onto the desk before lowering himself into his chair. He then studied a file on his desk, making Randall wait for several minutes.

The commanding officer wasn’t what Randall expected. Judging him to be little more than five and half feet tall, Randall found himself curious how a man of his stature commanded so much respect in an environment known for excessive masculinity. Studying him more closely, Randall noted the graying patch of short hair circling his nearly bald head. His thick, short neck fed into his stocky frame and his arms and legs were broad and short. Randall suddenly understood where the term ‘resembling a fireplug’ came from.

The commander opened his desk drawer and retrieved a stubby cigar. Placing it into his mouth, he reached back into the drawer, retrieving a silver-plated lighter with what appeared to be a special forces insignia engraved in its side.

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