The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,56
the earlier scream.
A huge man lay strapped to a wood table in the room’s center. He’d been stripped to his boxers, his sweating, muscular bulk stretched across the planks. His arms were tied above his head. Thick leather straps secured his torso and legs to the tabletop. A blackened, blistering wound marred his upper left thigh, the flesh still smoking from the press of a hot brand.
The Daughter of Moses grabbed Elena’s arm and dragged her closer. Once at the foot of the table, her captor patted its surface. “The Daesh jihadis invented this simple but effective device. They call it the Flying Carpet.”
Elena girded herself, knowing the Daesh were better known in the West as ISIS.
The Daughter drew her to the side and nodded to the giant. “Kadir, a demonstration, please.”
Kadir lumbered past them and stepped alongside the center of the table. He reached to a large steel wheel there and slowly turned it.
The table started to bend. The hinged middle rose up, while the ends dropped down. The man strapped and sprawled across its length groaned as his spine was bent backward. Each crank brought his vertebrae closer to breaking.
The Daughter lifted a hand. “For now, only a small demonstration, Kadir.”
The giant stopped turning the wheel and straightened. “Özür dilerim, Nehir,” he mumbled apologetically, then quickly bowed his head and corrected himself. “Ana asfa, Bint Mūsā.”
Elena eyed her female captor, whose face went even darker. Kadir’s first apology had been in Turkish, then repeated in Arabic. Elena studied both of them as the realization struck her.
Could they be Turks . . . either masquerading as Arabs or using their language for some reason? Elena also learned one other detail from Kadir’s slip of the tongue: the true name of her captor.
The Daughter of Moses’s real name must be Nehir.
Clearly irritated, the woman dragged Elena onto the top of the table and brusquely shoved her toward the tortured man. “Either help us, or this American will suffer in your stead.”
Elena turned to the figure on the table. Horrified by all that had happened, she had failed to get a good look at him. Sweat dripped from his strained brow. Dried blood caked his swollen nose. She had not expected to recognize the man—but she did.
It was the man Maria Crandall had been seeing for two years. Though Elena had never met him, Maria had sent her pictures, posting even more on Instagram. Elena remembered the two of them had been planning to meet her in Greenland. She stared down at the man, shocked and confused.
What is he doing here? Where’s Maria?
“Joe . . .” she whispered at last.
“Don’t help them,” he croaked back at her.
His words set off the already angry Nehir. She cursed, and from the way she glared at the man, Elena suspected Joe might be the source of her dark mood this morning.
But what did he do?
Nehir waved to Kadir. The giant swung back to the crank and began to slowly turn the wheel. The table bent more—as did Joe’s spine. His neck stretched in agony; fresh blood flowed from his nostrils.
“Stop!” Elena yelled, fearing Nehir might shatter the man’s spine before her fury could be reined in. To appease the woman and focus her attention elsewhere, Elena reached to the back of her pants. “Here . . . I found these aboard the ship in Greenland.”
Elena pulled out the two weathered books and shoved them at Nehir.
The woman took them. She quickly noted their titles, and her eyes grew wide. She barked to Kadir, who then rewound the crank, drawing the table flat again. Nehir promptly headed to the door and hurried out with her newly acquired treasures. But not before ordering the armed guards to return Elena to her cell.
As Elena was prodded at gunpoint toward the exit, Joe frowned at her, looking angry at her capitulation. She turned away, knowing the truth, hearing it clink in her pocket.
Don’t worry, Joe. I haven’t given them everything.
At the room’s threshold, she turned back to the table, plagued by one immediate question.
“Where’s Maria?” she called out.
He let his head drop to the table and sighed. “Safe . . . she’s safe.”
Relieved, Elena allowed herself to be led away.
Finally, a bit of good news.
16
June 23, 7:10 A.M. CEST
Castel Gandolfo, Italy
This is bad . . . and only getting worse.
Maria listened as a hush fell over the subterranean vault hidden beneath the Pontifical Palace. The barrage had ended a few minutes ago. The bombing had been brief, but