Free The Abrupt Physics of Dying by Paul E. Hardisty

a start.’
    ‘Get the Army on it,’ said Parnell, turning to Zdravko. ‘Tell ’em everything we know. They want this fucker as much as we do.’
    Clay’s stomach lurched, sank.
    ‘More,’ said Zdravko. ‘Much more.’
    ‘What about Abdulkader?’ said Clay. ‘We need to get him back.’
    Parnell twisted partially in his chair to face Karila. ‘What’s our policy on local casual labour, Nils?’
    ‘Cash only. No contract. No obligation.’
    Parnell crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Clay.
    ‘I have an obligation,’ said Clay, struggling to contain his voice.
    Karila glanced over at Parnell. ‘The car wreck in Lawdar, last month. Clay’s driver pulled him clear.’
    Parnell lowered his voice: ‘This has nothing to do with what happened month last.’
    ‘So you’re just going to leave him there?’ said Clay.
    ‘No, we ain’t,’ said Parnell. ‘We’re going to get the Army and the PSO to go and take this fucker out, like I already said. Your driver can fend for himself, Straker. He’s one of
them
, after all.’
    ‘Then I’m going back out there to get him myself.’
    Parnell jerked to his feet, sucked in his breath with a rasp. He looked like he was going to go into cardiac arrest.
    ‘You stay put, Straker, goddammit.’
    ‘Please, Straker,’ said Karila. ‘Go and see the doctor. He’s in the building now.’
    ‘Yeah,’ smirked Parnell, ‘go and get your head examined, Straker.’ He grinned at Karila.
    ‘Then I want you back here in an hour,’ said Karila. ‘We have an important visitor.’
    ‘And don’t leave Aden, Straker,’ said Parnell, lumbering towards the door. ‘The PSO is gonna want to talk to you.’ He stopped short of the doorway, turned to face Zdravko and jabbed his index finger into Zdravko’s chest. ‘And you, Todorov, you make damn sure he talks to them.’

Bulgarian Gangbang
    An hour later, Clay stood in the office courtyard with the other employees, about forty in all, under a sky writ in drought. They had already been waiting half an hour and people were getting restless, shuffling about, shielding their eyes against the low-angled sun, chatting in half a dozen languages. Parnell had arranged the group with expats at the front – Parnell, Karila, Clay and a few of the engineers – the overseas nationals, Egyptians mostly, behind, and the Yemenis at the back near the compound’s west wall: teaboys, cleaners, drivers, guards – all men. Now he paced nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead and neck with a greying handkerchief, checking his watch. Zdravko was standing at the main gate speaking into a radio handset. He clipped the handset to his belt, looked up at Parnell and nodded, barked a command at one of the Yemeni guards.
    ‘Ready everyone,’ shouted Parnell, clapping his hands twice, taking his place beside Karila and Clay. ‘He’s here.’
    The steel gates rolled open. A black Mercedes sedan with tinted glass pulled to a stop in the courtyard. The gates closed with a clang. An expectant hush fell over the group.
    Parnell pushed his hair back across his head. ‘Let me do the talking, Nils. And keep your mouth shut, Straker.’
    Clay speared out a ragged salute.
    Parnell’s jaw twitched.
    A tall man in a perfectly tailored cappuccino wool suit and open-collared white shirt emerged from the Mercedes, looked briefly around the compound, nodded to Zdravko, and strode toward thewaiting crowd. Clay recognised him from the photos in the newspapers. Rex Medved, President and major shareholder of Petro-Tex, made directly for Parnell, hugged him as if he were his best friend, and pumped his hand.
    ‘Wonderful to be here,’ said Medved, flashing an American dental-work smile. He was very good-looking, in a magazine kind of way: square-jawed, mid-forties, Clay guessed, salon-perfect skin, Caribbean tan. A diamond solitaire stud winked in his left earlobe.
    ‘Thanks for coming,’ said Parnell, a smile plastered over his face.
    ‘On our way to