Ancients

2

On the quiet river, a fishing boat bobbed gently at anchor. A red and blue striped awning was spread out over the length of the boat and its occupants were unseen. Several fishing poles were lazily bending over the gentle current.

The quiet of the late afternoon was harshly broken by the sound of a boat motor as it approached the anchored fishing vessel in the center of the laziest part of the river. This second boat was painted dull green and there were several men standing at its gunwales. As they approached the center of the Nile, they scrutinized the anchored boat with suspicious eyes. They saw a small American flag near the stern, next to the powerful outboard motor. The stars and stripes caught the gentle evening breeze and then relaxed as the brief respite against the heat dwindled to nothing.

The men watched as a lone head popped up from the interior of the boat and looked their way. One hand plopped over the side and struck the water and then the man gently rubbed water on his face. The men in the approaching boat sneered and the tall black man at the stern said only one word: "Americans."

They watched as the dark-haired man slid slowly into the boat as they moved on toward their destination. All twelve men were armed with lethal-looking machetes and four of them had Russian-made AK-47 assault rifles. The African leader kept his eyes on the American boat but relaxed when the American didn't reappear. Then he looked at the American camp across the way and saw that they were being watched from there also. He thought that after he was finished he just might as well see what the American archaeo-logical dig had in the way of ransom. He smiled and hefted his automatic rifle and its weight felt good to him, offering up that surge of power he always received when he was about to take human life.

"Who in the hell is running an aircraft engine on the river?"

Lieutenant Jason Ryan moved his head again and felt the explosion of pain as he attempted to open his eyes.

"Boat," he managed to say through a mouth that felt as if a herd of wildebeests had crapped in it.

"What?" another man asked from his prone position.

"It looked like a boat full of Bloods or Crips, or both. Some kind of nasty-looking gang anyway," answered Ryan.

At the stern, Colonel Jack Collins attempted to raise his aching head and look around. He saw the stern of the offending boat as it was now about fifty yards past their anchored position.

"I don't think Ethiopia has a gang problem, at least not yet," he said as he lay back down. "All I want is for that noise to stop."

Another irritating sound entered the air as another boat shoved off from shore and headed their way.

"What in the hell is all that noise? Is the Ethiopian navy conducting drills out here or what?" asked a large blond man in the front of the boat. He sat up and immediately regretted it. He pushed his way out from under ten beer cans and looked around.

Jack Collins looked from Jason Ryan to Captain Carl Everett and then nudged the black man passed out at his feet with dirty bilge water lapping at his face.

"Hey, Lieutenant, this was your party, so get up and get to the bottom of this, will you?"

"This was not my idea, Colonel. I was bushwhacked," the newly commissioned officer said, not even attempting to rise from the filthy bottom of the boat. "I don't feel so good," Will Mendenhall said as a follow-up.

"That new second lieutenant drunk and disorderly already, Jack?" Everett asked as he leaned over the side and splashed water onto his face and over his short hair.

"I think it was the combination of sun, rotgut whiskey, beer, and those old CDs the colonel brought," Ryan said as he leaned over the side of the boat, wondering if he was going to keep his dinner down or feed it to the fishes.

Collins squinted into the setting sun and shaded his eyes to spy the boat from camp as it moved toward them at a good clip. "Leave my music out of it, Lieutenant; you junior officers just can't handle your liquor," he said as he gently shook his head, trying to clear it of the effects of the alcohol they had consumed early that morning.

A man and a woman slowed and brought their rubber Zodiac next to the larger boat. The woman, who knew Colonel Collins only from hearsay, was shocked to see the state of the man and his security team. Vacation or not, this was not what she expected from the man who had become a legend in his two short years at the Event Group.

"Colonel, did you see those men just pass you?"

Collins looked into the young face of Lance Corporal Sanchez, who had taken over for Mendenhall so that he could join them to celebrate the former staff sergeant's commissioning as a new officer in the U.S. Army.

"Ryan did; he said they looked kind of salty."

"Well, we just received orders to take the dig team out of here. Seems something is going on farther north of here. Major earthquakes, the Group said. There's something else: the Ethiopian government issued a warning about groups of raiders plying the river. Those salty-looking guys just may be some of them," Doctor of Archaeology Sandra Leekie said as she tied the Zodiac to the larger boat. "And it's a shame, too, Colonel; we're starting to find some very strange stuff in these sands, things that really have no right to be here."

"Well, officially, Mr. Everett, Lieutenant Ryan and I aren't even supposed to be in this country. Will here"--he nudged Mendenhall with his shoe again--"is officially the security leader on this dig."

"The director radioed and warned us that there have been several raids on Ethiopian and Sudanese national and private dig sites all along the Blue Nile. He ordered us out," Leekie said as she spied the liquor bottles and beer cans strewn about the boat.

Collins looked downriver, where the first boat had disappeared. "Do you know who's down that way?" he asked.

"As far as we know, there's a minor dig site managed by some students and professors from Addis Abba, about a thousand yards upriver."

"Well, Doctor, get your ground team ready to move and--"

A distant gunshot sounded and echoed along the river. A scream was heard, followed by another crack of weapon fire. Mendenhall sat bolt upright at the sound and Everett and Ryan did the same.

"Sanchez, you and the good doctor get back and get our team to start packing up. I assume we have helicopters coming in to remove the dig team?"

"Yes, sir," the lance corporal answered.

"Okay, move. We'll check out what evil deeds our guests upriver are doing."

"Colonel Collins, may I remind you of what you just told me? You guys aren't even supposed to be here. Corporal Sanchez said you told Niles you were going fishing in Canada, so why don't you just come with us?" Leekie asked nervously.

Collins just looked at her and started pulling up the anchor. "I'm not responsible for my junior officer Mr. Ryan not knowing the difference between east and west when he flies. Besides, what Director Compton doesn't know won't hurt him."

When silence greeted his remark about the director of the Event Group, Collins, in between pulls to get the anchor aboard, looked at the pony-tailed Leekie.

"I kinda let it slip that you guys were here to celebrate Will's commissioning. I'm sorry," she said, biting her lower lip.

Everett stumbled back toward the stern. "Well, that cat's out of the bag. I guess we're in trouble again, Colonel," he joked, but then he turned seriously to the Zodiac. "Sanchez, you still have an Ingram in camp?"

"Yes, sir," the lance corporal answered the question about the rapid-fire automatic machine gun hidden in a box of tools.

"Good, toss me that 9-millimeter, we may need it. Will, are you still armed?"

Mendenhall, not looking hung over at all, reached under a seat and brought out his own Beretta.

"Good. It's not much against what sounded like an AK-47, but it'll have to do."

"You guys are nuts. Director Compton's going to hang us all," the professor said as she untied the Zodiac just as Collins fired up the boat's motor.

"Hang on, Will; don't want to lose my new officer overboard. And grab that boom box and my CDs before they fall in the river."

"If these oldies went into the water it would be no great loss," Mendenhall mumbled as the boat shot forward.

"What was that?"

"I said I wouldn't want to lose this great music."

"That's what I thought you said."

Jack cut the large motor and let the boat's momentum carry them to the far riverbank, where it slid onto the soft brown sand with a hiss.

"Ryan, you and Will wait here while Everett and I check this thing out first."

"Oh, come on, Colonel, you always leave us be--"

Ryan's complaint about always being left behind was cut short when another scream erupted from somewhere in the bush ahead of them. It was definitely from a young woman.

Jack and Carl jumped from the boat and quickly and silently made their way into the scrub that lined the river.

Ryan watched them disappear and had to remind himself that those two men were probably the most formidable and deadly military officers he had ever met. Colonel Collins was a former Special Ops genius and Captain Everett a highly decorated SEAL, but still, heading into an unknown situation blindly with only one 9-millimeter handgun was madness.

The African leader held a small young black woman by the back of the neck. He shook her and threatened her with a machete. Her professor lay dead at her feet. His blood had already disappeared into the hot sand of the riverbank. Another woman was dead; her body lay across a large equipment trunk, and her head was five feet away. Nearby, boy was having his wounds tended to by two Ethiopian students in one of the ten tents that had been placed around the center of their dig. Six of the mercenaries were tearing through marked and tagged objects, reading the tags hastily and then throwing them away. They were obviously looking for something in particular.

The other five men were standing in a loose circle around the Ethiopian camp. Again, the large leader shook the young black student and shouted a question. Her tearful eyes never left the hovering machete as she cringed at the pressure on her neck. As the man lifted the machete above her head, she suddenly screamed out an answer. The other students, made up of half male and half female, shouted out and cried in support of the girl. As the leader let off the pressure on the girl's neck, she straightened and spit blood in the man's face. The man spit back as the girl screamed out a long blast of profanities at him.

"Dammit, they're going to kill those kids, Jack," Everett said from a small knoll where he and Collins had stationed themselves. "Who are these bastards?"

"I think they're Sudanese. It sounds like they're speaking Dinka."

"Dinka or pig latin, doesn't matter, Jack--we have to move. That girl's just about the bravest kid I've ever seen."

"Easy, Carl. This asshole has a purpose in mind. This isn't a normal crash and raid," Jack answered softly. "Look at those men: they're looking for something specific," he said as he pushed back from the rim of the knoll and lay on his back in the cooling evening.

"Our own team is here for, what, some speculation about an ancient flood washing up artifacts in the Nile basin?"

"Yeah, that's what the predig report stated. Why, what are you thinking?"

"It's just strange that these ass-bites don't look like they would know the difference between Tupperware and a Ming vase. They want something they know could possibly be here ... or maybe in the American camp. Either way, you're right, we have to do something about this. Our people won't be ready to go soon enough, so it's deal with them here or deal with them with our people on the line."

Everett nodded as Jack slid back down the knoll, and he followed. He knew that Collins was just using the American field team as an excuse to get these murdering bastards now, and he wasn't about to let those kids get killed down there. That's what he liked about the colonel. When right was right, the "book" went right out of the nearest window.

"And what do I do as you guys risk your life, sit here and mind the boat?" Ryan asked incredulously as Jack finished his hastily planned rescue.

"No, Mr. Ryan, you're the most important part," Jack said as he reached into the boat and brought up the boom box and thrust it at the naval man. "Pick some appropriate music and cause a stir on the river and just get their attention. Without a distraction our little raid will end up like the St. Valentine's Day massacre."

"And when I get their attention?"

"Then you're welcome to improvise, Mr. Ryan," Jack said as he, Mendenhall, and Everett hopped over the side of the boat and made their way stealthily back to the small ridge. Then he held up his right hand with three fingers raised: three minutes until they would need the distraction on the river.

Jason Ryan watched them leave, then shook his head and hoped that he improvised just a little faster than those mercenaries with the automatic rifles did. Jesus, he thought, all this just hours after a celebratory drinking binge. Ryan loved his job and the men he worked for; besides, where else could you kick ass on bad people before dinnertime?

Once they were in place on the knoll above the Ethiopian encampment, Jack removed a small knife and extended the blade. He looked from Everett to Mendenhall and then nodded.

"Don't be late, guys. When you see me move, take out the fastest-reacting threat elements. I would say the ones shooting at me would be a good start."

"Jack, I don't mind telling you that this plan is a little risky. I mean, depending on two men who have just a tad more alcohol than the legal limit in them to hit moving targets, well--" He let the statement fall off.

"Not up to it, swabby?"

"You know, Jack, since the president promoted me two ranks, I officially outrank you?"

"Read the small print, swabby, me boss, you little man: when you take over, you can take all the risk."

"He's right, Colonel, you're taking a knife into a gunfight--"

The stern look from Collins made Mendenhall close his mouth quickly.

"We don't let children die when we're around. No diplomacy and no red tape, clear?" he said as he looked from man to man.

Both nodded.

Down below in the camp, the search continued for whatever it was the mercenaries were looking for. The students were cowering against one another, and the African leader was still holding the small woman by the throat, only by now he had stopped shaking her. Just as Jack was about to move off to the far side of the encampment, from which he would make the initial strike, there was a ringing coming from the vicinity of the leader. As they watched, the large man dropped the woman and she sprawled to the sand and just lay there holding her throat. He reached into his vest and brought out a cell phone. Everett strained, trying to listen.

"Yes?" the man said in English.

Everett slowly brought back the slide of his Beretta and chambered a round as he listened.

"Nothing like you described. I'll take pictures on my phone and send them to you. How am I to know the period of the piece if found?"

Everett turned to Will and whispered, "Whatever happens, we try and get that cell phone, we may just have gotten a break in finding out who's paying this dickhead."

Mendenhall nodded as he clicked off the safety of his 9-millimeter and took aim on the man nearest the students who held an AK-47.

The leader angrily slammed his cell phone shut and pocketed it. Then he screamed a question at the cowering woman at his feet as he slowly raised his machete. Everett had just taken aim but he held his fire, per his orders, and forced himself to lower his weapon.

The leader got a strange look on his face as he looked at the river. He tilted his head, listening, and then gestured for two of his men to move toward a thumping noise coming from the water.

"Oh, shit," Mendenhall said as he looked at the Nile and saw the diversion Ryan was attempting to pull off.

"Un-fucking believable," was all Everett could say.

The loud sound of the motor was nothing compared to the amplified music emanating from the boom box that Ryan had fixed with wire to the tarp support. The 1970s band the Eagles blared out their hit "Take It Easy" as Ryan tied off the steering wheel and placed the boat in a slow circling spin in front of the Ethiopian encampment. All eyes were on the small, shirtless man in Bermuda shorts standing on top of the boat's awning with his arms splayed before him as he balanced himself as if he were surfing the boat. It spun crazily in the river to the sound of the rhythmic song written about hitchhiking through Arizona. The former naval F-14 Tomcat pilot had lost nothing of his sense of the dramatic since joining the Group. He was still just as crazy as the men who had recruited him.

The mercenaries were stunned by the sight. This American fool was obviously drunk and playing games with them.

"Shoot him!" the leader screamed out in Dinka as he brought the machete back up to strike the cowering girl.

Before the man could act on his murderous thrust toward the prone woman, something burst from the brush and slammed into the Sudanese leader. Jack brought down the small pocketknife with tremendous force directly into the man's neck. The blow immediately froze the machete in midair. Once the killer started to fall, Jack turned and threw the knife at the nearest armed man he saw. The knife, though not a lethal blow, struck the merc in the chest just below the collarbone, but it caused enough injury and shock that the man dropped his weapon.

On the river, Ryan heard the first distinctive AK-47 reports coming from shore and had the audacity to continue balancing himself for a moment on the boat's tarpaulin cover. Then, with the better part of the show over--his part, anyway--he grabbed the steel frame and flipped over the top and into the boat just as 7.62-millimeter rounds started striking the wooden boat. As Ryan struggled with the knotted line on the steering wheel, a sharp crack severed it and knocked it from his hands. After suddenly discovering that he had control of the boat again, he jammed the throttle to its stops. All the while, the Eagles continued to play loudly, drowning out the shouts and curses of the mercenaries onshore.

Everett sighted the first of his targets. A tall, very thin man was just turning to take aim at Jack and the young woman he was hurriedly helping to her feet. The 9-millimeter round caught the man between the eyes just to the right of his nose. At the same moment, Mendenhall outdid Everett by dropping two men who were already firing on Ryan. Both rounds struck the men in the backs of their heads. Others had turned their attention to their leader and were starting to take aim at Jack.

Carl and Will opened fire in earnest, hoping to drop as many as possible, but they were torn between the men with rifles and those who were starting to turn their attention, and their machetes, on the Ethiopian students.

Jack pushed the small woman away and charged the nearest man threatening the students. As others started to succumb to the withering fire from the knoll, Jack struck the nearest man and drove him into the ground, pounding at him with his fist. One of the young students tried to reach for a fallen machete to assist Collins, but immediately another mercenary got between him and the weapon. Then the assailant was brought down by a round from Everett.

The leader, who had been the first man dropped in the makeshift assault, started crawling away unnoticed. The killing blow that Jack thought he had inflicted guaranteed only a slow death--too slow to stop the man from doing what he needed to do. As he stumbled and tried to stand, he brought out the cell phone and struggled to his knees, just as Mendenhall and Everett shot down the last of his men. He opened the cell phone and, with his wound bleeding nastily, smashed it against a rock. Then he raised his arm to throw the remains into the river; but he hadn't noticed the changing sounds from the river as the angle and loud sounds of "Take It Easy" had changed direction.

Unknown to everyone, a stray bullet had finally found its mark and struck Ryan. The heavy round had only grazed his temple, but it was enough to leave him dazed and to send the large boat straight to the riverbank. The bow struck the small rise of sand and sent the boat full speed into the air. It rose over the scrambling students and the shocked face of Collins, who was pulling a machete out of the hand of the man he had just killed.

"What the hell?" Everett started to cry as the large boat, its motor screaming with exertion and traveling at thirty-five knots, went airborne by thirty feet.

As they all watched, the boat came down with a crash right onto the Sudanese leader, catching him in midthrow. The boat crushed him underneath as it split in two, sending the unconscious Ryan flying into the top of the nearest tent. Just like that, the assault was over, as quickly as it had started.

Collins rushed over to see if Ryan had survived his improvised diversion. Everett came down from the knoll with Mendenhall covering him and started checking the bad guys for life.

In all, the assault by the Event Group security team had taken less than two and a half minutes.

Half an hour later, as the sun was just dipping below the Ethiopian horizon, Jack, Everett, and Will Mendenhall, with the help of the Event Group dig team, assisted the stunned Ethiopian students. In the distance came the gentle thump of helicopters coming from Addis Abba, to the south.

Collins was kneeling beside a bandaged Jason Ryan and was angrily shaking his head.

"When I say 'improvise,' it doesn't mean to stand on top of a boat and have people shoot at you, Ryan."

"Did you like the choice of music? That's all that matters, Colonel."

Jack smirked and shook his head as he stood. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I did."

Ryan then grimaced, as he allowed one of the women of the Event Group to assist him to his feet.

"Jack, the doc says that we have four army Blackhawks inbound to take everyone out, courtesy of the American consulate. The Ethiopian government has been notified about the assault on their university students and the doctor also said that Niles was quoted as saying, 'Leave those idiots in Ethiopia, I have no need for them back in Nevada,' " Carl said.

"The director's not happy with our choice of vacation spots, huh?"

"Not exactly." Everett started to turn away and then stopped. He tossed Jack a small black object. "The head asshole was using this just before you started to play Tarzan with your knife. It's broken, but with a little bit of Event Group magic it may lead us to whoever was running this team of mercs."

"Colonel, I have someone here who would like to say thank you," Professor Leekie said as she placed her hands on the shoulders of the young African student who had put up the brave front against the leader of the mercenaries. "Colonel Collins, Captain Everett, I would like to introduce you to Hallie Salinka, daughter of Ethiopia's vice president, Peter Salinka."

"I ... would ... like ... to--"

That was as far as the young woman could go. She broke down crying as she threw herself into Jack's arms. She sobbed uncontrollably and Collins knew that she was still feeling the shock of the assault. He looked at Everett, not really knowing what to do, but Carl did not offer any advice. He just watched the scene stoically. Leekie placed a hand over her mouth as she imagined the terror this child must have endured. Feeling awkward, Collins finally and very slowly reached up and patted the girl on the back. Slowly her sobs lessened and then Leekie pulled her away.

Jack watched as Leekie slowly led the bloodied girl away. He looked at the cell phone in his hand for a long moment before he pocketed it. Lord, I know it's too much to hope for, but let me have that number. I want to have a very intimate conversation with the person on the other end of that call.