Free Once A Warrior (Mustafa And Adem) by Anthony Neil Smith Page A

in my life. I need to move around. I could never get used to the same view."
    Gunfighter was looking at the stars. "Oh, I could. I could stare up and around and all over for all of my years."
    "Have you heard anything about my assistant? If I could find her, we could start negotiating—"
    "You killed your best friend and ran off to America."
    Adem didn't say anything.
    Gunfighter smiled and glanced over. "I know people who were there. They told me the truth, but the myth is more fun. I don't think I'll give you away. Not yet."
    "That's not true anyway."
    "It's more true than the other stories. I can smell a legend from a fraud, man, and you, you're a huge fraud. I don't need your help to get my ransom, and something tells me you don't really want to give it. It's, like, the carrot for the donkey? Is that right?"
    Adem didn't say anything for a long time, maybe over a minute, and Gunfighter didn't seem to expect him to. If they had wanted, either could get rid of the other with a few words to the crew, but then what? Adem didn't want to lead these guys.
    Then there was the schlick of an automatic pistol. Adem turned back to Gunfighter, now looking like his nickname with a Glock in hand. "Don't worry, though. I don't want a mutiny, not from you or from them. I would take your help, if there's actually some to give."
    Adem slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Gunfighter didn't flinch. He was not someone with an itch to kill, that was good. He was patient. To get where he was and live for this long, someone higher up had either recognized the importance of having a mind like his in the wheelhouse, or either Gunfighter could go from cool to brutal in the blink of an eye.
    "You want me to make a call?"
    Gunfighter pretended like he was thinking about it. "One of their crew died from a gunshot wound. We tried to treat him, and he held on for several weeks, but he died. When they find out, they will send the military. We will all die, even their crew. It is about image. They would kill their own to avenge one they don't even care about to keep from looking weak."
    He was right. Adem had to fight off the sickness in the pit of his stomach. Just like Gunfighter had said—time to show strength. "This is what you give me to work with? I don't make miracles."
    "No, no, listen. No. If you could tell the company that I would give...oh...eleven of my crew. Lieutenants, even, for the life of their one, and would cut our ransom down to four hundred thousand American, I believe they will take it. Then we can go on from here."
    "I thought you didn't want a mutiny."
    "My men will never have to know that I was the one who turned them in. I'll give them the shooter, even. And his friends."
    Adem nodded. "These kids would blame me."
    "No, not exactly. You are protected. The legend helped with that. No one wants to take out Mr. Mohammed. They need you so they can believe they've got a saint. You know saints? Christians?"
    "I've heard about them."
    "You could lead the pirates to slaughter, and still they would pray for you to show them mercy before they die. It's win-win for you."
    "Do you know where she is?"
    Gunfighter aimed at stars, didn't fire. He made silent "boom" sounds like a kid playing army. "I can find out."
    "But not until I make my call first, right?"
    "It would be an honor."
    "All I can promise is a sit-down with them. They might still not agree."
    He nodded. "That is enough, then. I am okay with that."
    The captain slipped the gun into the back of his waistband, then reached out to shake Adem's hand. "Like Americans."
    They shook. They started back towards the wheelhouse, Gunfighter saying he would get the sat phone. Adem took in a deep breath of clean air and hoped he'd have an unlimited supply of it soon.

NINE
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    M ustafa woke up alone in Heem's king-sized bed, with its headboard of intricately carved wood, a huge mirror in the middle. The royal purple satin sheets were sweated through again,