Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

4

Elise and Rondi had been onshore just long enough to stomp the mud off their feet when a loud explosion shook the ground. Past an adjacent cornfield, a cloud of black smoke mushroomed into the air.

“It’s from the camp,” Elise said. “Hurry!”

She sprinted down a path, Rondi following close behind. But her strength quickly ebbed, and she was winded by the time they reached the field’s far edge. The sight of the camp just beyond made her stop in her tracks.

The palm-thatched awning around the camp, or what remained of it, was billowing with flames. Beneath it, the benches and workstations had turned into a black, smoldering mass. The nearby tents had mostly disintegrated.

Phil staggered from behind the ring of tents, his clothes singed. Specks of blood peppered his face where he’d been hit by debris from the explosion. He didn’t notice Elise, instead raising his hands to someone across the camp to halt.

Two people stood on the opposite side of the crater left by the explosion, facing him. They weren’t part of the aid team, nor were they villagers. Each wore dark clothes, with low-slung ball caps and sunglasses concealing their faces. It wasn’t their attire that caught Elise’s eye. It was the assault rifle each carried, balanced on the hip with the barrel thrust forward.

One of the weapons spit fire, and a bloody seam appeared on Phil’s chest. The scientist staggered backward, tripped over a tent stake, and fell to the ground, where he lay motionless.

“Phil!” Elise tried to take a step toward his body. Something stopped her. It was Rondi, grabbing her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction.

“Run, Miss Elise, run!” The teen yanked, then shoved her toward the cornfield.

In a daze, Elise yielded to his urgings, turning and streaking toward the field. From the corner of her eye, a light flashed on the lake, but her attention was consumed by more gunshots. She and Rondi had reached the first row of cornstalks when the fusillade began. Rondi pushed her ahead as the bullets chewed up the ground at their feet, then struck flesh.

“Go,” Rondi gasped, as a half-dozen rounds tore up his back.

Elise felt a sting in her arm as she staggered forward. Her eyes tracked Rondi as he fell in a heap. She kept moving, driven by the clatter of automatic rifle fire and her pounding heart. The gunfire ceased for a moment as one shooter ran closer, then fired again. Bullets whizzed over Elise’s head and shredded the cornstalks beside her.

She diced through the rows, feeling woozy as blood dripped down her arm. She was in no condition for a footrace. As she jumped over a small irrigation ditch, she saw a pile of dried husks in a clearing. Elise burrowed in like a rat, tucked into a fetal position, and froze.

In the distance came the screams of others and more bursts of gunfire. But it was the closer sound of swishing cornstalks that made her hold her breath. Heavy footsteps entered the clearing, then paused. The crunch of husks underfoot told Elise the killer was circling the pile.

A shrill whistle sounded from the camp’s direction. The gunman hesitated, then fired a short burst into the husks. He waited and watched for movement, then turned and bolted for the camp.

Under the husks, Elise fought to keep from trembling. Dried stalks near her face had disintegrated under the gunfire. Somehow she escaped harm. The footfalls had retreated. Was the killer waiting? She could do nothing but lie as still as possible, taking slow, shallow breaths.

Minutes passed. She heard a car start and drive away. She waited a bit longer, then began inching from beneath the stalks. Light-headed from blood loss, she fought to keep from passing out. She was nearly free of the pile when she heard a rustling. She tried to scramble back under the husks. It was too late.

“Elise?”

She turned to see Pitt step into the clearing. He rushed to her side and pulled her from the pile.

“Looks like you got a little nicked up.” He tore off his shirt and wrapped it around her arm to stem the flow of blood.

“Two gunmen attacked the camp,” she rasped. “They shot Phil and the others.”

“Who were they?”

Elise shook her head, and her eyes turned glassy. Pitt slipped his arm under her and raised her to her feet. She regained her balance, and he led her to the shore, where Giordino came from the camp.

“Anyone else?” Pitt asked.

Giordino shook his head.

“Rondi? What about Rondi?” Elise asked.

Giordino just stared at the ground.

“No . . .” she moaned, tears welling in her eyes. She sagged against Pitt.

“She needs medical attention,” he said. “Best to take her by boat back to Suchitoto.”