Alex Archer - Sacrifice (Rogue Angel Series #18)  

The air was so thick, Annja Creed felt she could use her sword to slice itopen. But doing so wouldnt affect the extreme humidity that seemed tosurround her every second of the day. Even when the blistering sun didntpenetrate the thick canopy of the jungle, she could still feel the heat of itsmerciless rays burning down. Something as simple as taking a breath felt as if shewas swallowing thick porridge.

Shed already resolved herself to the one simple fact about being inthe jungleshe would never be dry. Her clothes clung to her, accentuatingevery curve of her body. They were soaked through with sweat and thetwice-daily rains that haunted her new home.

It wasnt a home she wanted to live in. But, for the moment, she hadno choice.

She worked her hands behind her back, trying to relieve some of the pressureon her wrists. The handcuffs didnt help matters.

She stretched to get her hands under her, hoping shed eventually beable to slide them under her legs so her hands ended up in front of her ratherthan behind her. A stream of sweat ran down her face for her efforts.

Annja took a deep breath and sighed. How do they stand it here? shewondered. Shed been in the Philippines for less than a weekand she still hadnt acclimated to the tropical environment.

Of course, she hadnt come here thinking she would end up as aprisoner of the dreaded Abu Sayyaf, the notorious terrorist group with links toal Qaeda. Annja was supposed to be researching a new story for ChasingHistorys Monsters. But a contact hadnt turned out to be whohe said he was. Instead, Annja found herself looking down three gun barrels,and when the small Toyotavan had rolled to a stop in front of her, the wisest move was to get inside.

She smirked. If she was being totally honest with herself, part of herwanted to see where things led. She was getting used to unexpected adventuresand the truth was she usually enjoyed them. She was pretty good at gettingherself out of tight spots.

Her smile faded. I should have considered all the options beforehand, shethought. Before she was forced to endure a bumpy flight away from Manila, and then ariverboat ride to some desolate part of the country.

And there was also the fact that she had no idea where on earth she was. ThePhilippinescomprised over seven thousand islands. Annja could be on any of them.

With no real way home.

She racked her brain. What do I know about Abu Sayyaf? Not much. Just whathad made it to the news. She knew they were notorious for their cruelty. Theyhadnt pulled off much in the way of actual terrorist attacksastray bombing here and there. But what they lacked in a track record, they madeup for in terms of their lucrative side businesskidnapping.

Abu Sayyaf operatives had resorted to kidnapping over the past ten years tohelp finance their various other operations. Normally, the kidnappings tookplace at expensive resorts frequented by wealthy Europeans. But in the past fewyears, Annja knew that Abu Sayyaf had also kidnapped several missionaries. Theresults werent always positive. If the ransoms were paid, by and largemost of the victims were released. In the case of one missionary, however, hewas beheaded.

Annja wondered what they hoped to achieve by kidnapping her.

She looked around the makeshift camp. There were several huts built a footoff the ground on stilts. Their rooftops had been painted and thatched over tohelp conceal them among the other plants of the jungle canopy, probably todiscourage them from being seen from the air by the military units that huntedthe terrorists.

She wondered if it was true that U.S. special-operations troops wereinvolved in the hunt for Abu Sayyaf. She supposed they could be, and thethought of them attacking the camp cheered her.

The reality of it seemed unlikely, though. Annja hadnt heard any typeof aircraft in the area since shed been here.

The jungle, she knew, could be utterly impenetrable. Walk in any directionand within ten yards, youd be totally lost unless you knew exactly whereyou were going and how you were going to get there.

She heard a chicken clucking off in the distance. They were one of the fewanimals that Abu Sayyaf members seemed to keep around the camp. She wasgrateful they at least fed her well enough. Last night shed had achicken-and-rice dish that had filled her stomach and set her at ease for thefirst time in a few days.

They kept her well hydrated, too. Of course, they had to. In this heat, evenjust being leashed to the wooden pole a few feet away, Annja could dehydratefast. Someone stopped by about once an hour and forced her to drink water.

The dark skin of her Filipino hosts suggested they were indigenous to thisarea, rather than city transplants. She knew that Abu Sayyaf, like manyterrorist groups, preferred the disenfranchised lower classes to the middleclass or wealthy. It was easier to recruit them, easier to get them to committo suicide missions if they believed their families were going to be taken careof after they were gone.

From her vantage point in the camp, Annja had seen a total of twelve men andfour women. Each one of them was dressed in camouflage fatigues. And even Annjawas wearing fatigues. Her own clothes had been unceremoniously stripped offwhen shed first arrived. Annja wondered if her nakedness might havearoused any of her guards, but they merely looked away while she put on the newclothes, which smelled of mothballs.