The Navigator by Clive Cussler, Paul Kemprecos Read Free Book Online Page A

snaked around her neck from behind and squeezed tight. The man standing in front produced a knife and held it so close to her left eye that its sharp point was a blur.

    She croaked out a feeble call for help.

    The door opened with a crash. The arm relaxed around her neck. Corporal O’Leary stood in the doorway, the muzzle of his carbine pressed against the base of the door guard’s skull. The marine had heard Carina over a walkie-talkie tuned to the same channel as the one clipped to her vest.

    A Humvee was parked across the street. The vehicle’s top lights were on, and those inside the teahouse had a clear view of the long barrel of the M2 machine gun mounted on the vehicle’s roof. The gun was aimed at the door. A squad of marines stood in the street with rifles in attack position.

    The marine kept his eyes on the man with the knife. “You okay, ma’am?”

    “Yes, thank you,” she said, rubbing her neck. “I’m fine.”

    “Crash course I took in Arabic didn’t teach me how to tell this guy I will splatter his brains around the room if his friend doesn’t drop the knife.”

    Carina did a rough but effective translation. The knife clattered to the floor, and the marine kicked it out of reach. The thugs almost tripped over themselves as they retreated back into the murk that had spawned them.

    A voice called out in English from behind a curtain at the back of the teahouse.

    “Peace be upon you.”

    Carina responded to the traditional Arabic greeting. “Peace be upon you, Ali.”

    A man emerged from between the dingy sheets of cotton that served as curtains and wove his way around the close-packed tables. The light from the Humvee fell on his pudgy face and fleshy nose. A circular knit cap covered his shaven head. His NEW YORK YANKEES T-shirt was too short for his ample body, exposing his hairy belly button.

    “Welcome, Signorina Mechadi,” he said. He clasped his palms together. “And to your friends, the same.”

    “Your man was about to stick a knife in my eye,” Carina responded. “Is
that
how you welcome guests?”

    Ali’s small, cunning eyes surveyed Carina’s body and lingered on her face. “You’re wearing a military uniform,” he said with an unctuous smile. “Perhaps he thought you were an enemy soldier.”

    Carina ignored Ali’s comment. “I want to talk to you.”

    The Iraqi scratched a scraggly black beard that had bits of food caught in it. “Of
course.
Let us step out back and have some tea.”

    The marine spoke up. “Do you want me to go with you?”

    “I’ll be all right.” Carina surveyed the room. “I wouldn’t mind some insurance, however. As you can see, Ali’s place doesn’t attract the finest clientele.”

    The corporal grinned. He poked his head out the door and gave a wave. Several marines piled into the room and took up positions along the walls.

    Ali held aside the grubby curtains, opened a metal door, and ushered Carina into a room bright with electric lights. A generator purred in another part of the building. Richly colored rugs covered the floor and walls. A television screen connected to an exterior security camera showed images of the street outside the building. The Humvee was clearly visible.

    Ali gestured for Carina to take a seat on a platform piled with large velvet cushions. He offered her tea, which she refused. He poured a glass for himself.

    “What brings you out for a visit in the middle of an invasion?”

    She met his question with a hard gaze. “I came from the national museum. It’s been looted of thousands of antiquities.”

    He lowered his glass in midsip. “That’s
outrageous
! The national museum is the heart and soul of Iraqi’s cultural heritage.”

    Carina laughed out loud at Ali’s feigned shock. “You should have been an actor, Ali. You’d easily win an Academy Award on that line alone.”

    Ali had learned his acting skills as a professional wrestler. He had even wrestled in the United States under the