Free A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3 by Bill Wetterman Page A

die now. That wasn’t going to happen. Inside her body bones reknit and tears in her flesh sealed. She thought of an old jalopy with tire plugs, radiator patches, and rust.
    Yep. That’s me.
    #
    The big man shrugged, as he counseled with the others. “This woman confuses me. First, she is physically hanging on—three teeth missing, a broken nose and jaw, cracked ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, plus more internal injuries than I can count.”
    “She is a professional assassin.” A comrade reasoned. “Her training never leaves her.”
    “I have concluded she’s telling the truth. She remembers little to nothing except her religious beliefs.” He frowned. “She is not going to convert. She is not going to give us any useful information. Beating her further is useless.”
    The man in the white parka sitting off away from the circle stood. “Ammad said she is to be beaten daily. You.” He pointed to the big man. “Need not administer the punishment. I will—thirty lashes with a prepared grapevine. She will welt and her skin will tear. But she will not die until Ammad kills her.”
    “Allah Akbar,” all said in agreement.
    Then their PacStar system rang with an incoming call, and their communications man answered. For a moment he seemed confused. Then he hung up and turned to the group. “That was Atash Akbari. He wants us to bring the woman to him.”
    “ Ann ru sar et,” their leader cursed and threw a clump of mud at the communications man. “Just when I was going to have some fun.”
    “Don’t kill the messenger.”
    “I’ll kill whomever I please. Did he suggest how to transport her? Do any of you have an idea?”
    The big man mulled over the question. “Two thousand plus miles. Our truck won’t make it. If we can get help from the Grozny Complex. Maybe air transportation. We might be able to get her to Dubai in a couple of days.”
    The man in the white parka rubbed his beard. “Possible. We could create a temporary runway east of here and hope they can land an aircraft on it.  The ground’s hard enough.”
    “Amir.” He waved to the communications man. “Contact Grozny and ask for help.”
    “You’d think, as important a prisoner as we have, the higher-ups would already have a plan.” He shrugged when no one laughed, and dialed.
    #
    Ammad thumbed through the various suggestions from his scientists and technical commanders. Akbari paced, hands behind his back. He seemed overly concerned to Ammad, who simply wished to weigh which attack plan to throw against his enemy. Wage a ground war? The people he wished to woo would have reason to fear him. But waging a war primarily in space would strain Pendleton’s capabilities and might reveal Edison’s location.
    “Stop pacing.”
    Akbari skidded to a halt. “I’m sorry. I can’t shake this feeling I have about that redheaded she-devil. My spirit is deeply disturbed, and I can’t ignore my instincts.”
    “Well she hasn’t arrived here yet.” Ammad pointed his finger at Akbari. “Worry when she gets here. Right now I need your advice. Attack London, Rome, Balmoral, and every Christian stronghold, or attack Pendleton’s space capabilities?”
    Akbari went to his knees and prostrated himself. After what seemed like ages, he stood and spoke. “Hit Rome, London, and a few other Christian complexes with warning shots. But draw out Pendleton’s firepower in space. Our intelligence says he hasn’t much to spare.”
    Ammad nodded. “Yes. That is sage advice.”
    If he could beat Pendleton by challenging him on the competency tests, he’d force an election or take the job of First Citizen outright. Scare him first. Challenge him. Then, with the man demoralized, destroy what confidence he had left. A fitting plan.

Chapter 10
    “Anticipate the worst,” Cline instructed his crew. Housed in the Global Missile Control Center deep under the London Complex., the time had come to attack Ammad. “My thinking is there are several enemy missile