Gray Resurrection by Alan McDermott Read Free Book Online

am being held by Abu Sayyaf and I
need all the money in the account, plus another half million dollars.”
    There was silence as Farrar took in the news
and it seemed an age before the reply came, exploding into Grant’s ear.
    “You really are the most incompetent
shit I’ve ever had the misfortune to deal with.”
    Grant allowed him that cheap shot. 
“Will you get the money?”
    “It isn’t our policy to negotiate with
terrorists,” was the frank reply.
    “You don’t have to negotiate, you just
have to pay them,” Grant said menacingly through gritted teeth, his patience
with Farrar exhausted.  Leader sensed the call wasn’t going well and
grabbed the phone from Grant’s hand.
    “I am Bong Manalo.  Who is this?”
    “James Farrar.”
    “Well, James Farrar, we want one million
dollars for the safe release of Sam Grant.  You have until the end of the
day to agree to pay or we will deliver his head to you.”
    Manalo killed the connection and pushed
Grant back to the ground before striding back to the men standing at the
entrance to the tent.
     “Who’re the guys he’s talking to?”
Grant asked, nodding towards the trio.
    “The taller one’s name is Zandro Calizo,
but they call him Jonjon.  He’s the main man.  The other one is his
second-in-command, Abel Guzman.  Neither of them speaks English, so Bong
acts as an interpreter.”
    As she spoke there were raised voices
from the trio, with Bong and Jonjon shouting at each other and Abel trying to
calm them both down.  Grant caught the word Sundalos a few times
and got the gist of the conversation: keep your voices down or you’ll bring the
soldiers down on us.
    Bong eventually backed down and stomped
off in a huff, taking his frustration out on anyone who got close enough, but
it seemed everyone knew to keep out of his way when he was in this kind of
mood.
    The packing up moved at double-quick
time and when they were ready to move off the group of prisoners was told to
get to their feet.  It was only then that Grant saw them tethered to each
other by the ankle in groups of three.  One of the younger terrorists came
over and released Eddie Halton, then used a fresh piece of twine to tie him to
Grant, turning a bad day into a really shitty one.
    They were lined up in their little
groups and flanked by eight guards they moved off into the jungle, the
mosquitoes taking their turn to heap misery on them.
    “You know, your voice sounds familiar,”
Vick said to the back of Grant’s head.  “I’ve heard it somewhere before,
I’m sure of it.”
    “Yeah, that happens a lot,” Grant said,
not happy that she’d brought it up.  Farrar may have changed his name and
looks, but the voice remained the same, the voice which had been broadcast
worldwide a year earlier.
    “People say I sound like the guy in that
advert,” he offered.
    “Which advert?”
    “You know, the one for car insurance.”
    He left her with that vague answer and
concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other in time with Halton.
     
    * * *
     
    James Farrar put his phone back on the
bedside table and tousled his hair, trying to shake off the remnants of the
previous nights’ sleep.  He hated Mondays as a rule, and to start one this
way wasn’t going to do anything to help his mood.
    He’d met some ill-disciplined people in
his time, he thought, as well as his fair share of imbeciles, yet Grant was the
only one who fell into both categories.  Only an idiot could get himself
kidnapped four days before a mission, one that had been manufactured especially
for him.  Well, perhaps manufactured was the wrong word, but they had been
awaiting an opportunity to get Grant out into the field and one had presented
itself in the shape of a small-time arms dealer who was looking to provide
weapons to terrorist cells in Pakistan. 
    Hakan Farli was a Turkish national who
had spent a few years selling small arms in his country of birth but was now
hoping to step up to the big