Logan had spotted the crocodile lurking in the water as he’d begun pulling Namir toward the shore. He realized the splashing and blood had attracted the predator.
Even as he’d spoken to Namir, his eyes had never left the large beast that had slowly begun to swim toward them, cutting through the water like a giant serpent. Logan estimated the river monster to be at least fifteen feet long, but he could only see the vague outline of its body. It was the head that had him really concerned. It was almost four feet in length, concealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that could puncture and grab with a viselike grip. There’d be no escaping this animal’s grasp.
The crocodile had closed the distance to fifteen feet when sunrise prayer had begun, and Logan had been forced to make a decision—survive or die.
For a man of extreme and ruthless practicality, it hadn’t been a hard one to make. He wanted to capture and interrogate Namir Badawi, but that wouldn’t happen if they were both dead.
Other men would call it murder, but Logan considered it survival. His conscience was the only one that counted, and he knew he’d be able to live with what he was about to do—cut Namir Badawi across the chest and leave him as a morning sacrifice to the reptilian Nile gods.
Logan eased the grip on Namir’s neck with his left arm as he reached down to his hip for the Mark II fighting knife in its nylon sheath.
Namir chose that precise moment to act, sealing both their fates. He spun violently in Logan’s grasp, and his right arm broke the water’s surface, arcing toward Logan’s face like an overhand punch. Water cascaded from his arm like a liquid curtain.
The honor graduate of the arduous Marine Corps Combatant Diver Course, Logan had spent countless hours training his Force Recon Marines in underwater hand-to-hand combat techniques. He was at home in the water, an environment he respected and had used to his tactical advantage throughout his career.
Logan took a deep breath as he caught Namir’s wrist with both hands. He locked his legs around the struggling man’s torso and squeezed as he pulled Namir’s wrist toward him and down, the momentum driving them both underwater.
Logan snaked his arm over the back of the man’s wrist and pushed forcefully with his right hand. He felt rather than heard the crunch as Namir’s wrist snapped, and Logan was rewarded with a muffled scream and an expulsion of bubbles. You brought this on yourself, Logan thought.
He yanked the push dagger from Namir’s now-useless grip and encircled his neck with his left arm, his legs still securing Namir’s torso in place.
Aware that he had precious few seconds left before the crocodile reached them, he plunged the dagger into Namir’s side. The man’s body stiffened as if struck by a bolt of lightning, and Logan kicked down as hard as he could, pushing himself above the Nile’s surface and dragging Namir with him.
Logan looked in the direction where the monster had been, and his blood turned to ice. The crocodile was now less than three feet from them, and the sheer horror of its proximity sent a jolt of true fear through him.
The top of its head was still the only part exposed, its reptilian eyes now focused on the two men. But it was the shadow of its immense body below the surface of the water that created a single, solitary thought in Logan’s mind—swim.
His fear transformed into focus, a physical sensation that fueled him and provided the courage to act in the face of paralyzing terror.
Logan released Namir, turned, and buried his arm into the water in front of him as he began his frenzied stroke, pulling as much water as he could to start his escape.
Namir let out a high-pitched shriek that sent a chill through Logan. He finally sees it.
Logan heard a loud splash, followed by a definitive thwump, the magnified sound of an oversized briefcase slamming shut.
The scream instantly dimmed, and Logan realized with horror what the predator had done—struck and closed its jaws around Namir’s head.
For the love of God, Logan, swim like you’ve never swum before. You don’t want to die like that.
Logan pulled and kicked as hard and fast as any Olympic athlete in the race of his life.
The thrashing continued behind him, but he didn’t dare turn around.
The muffled scream was abruptly cut off after several seconds of horrifying, audible terror. Mercifully, Logan thought.
“Swim to the dock! Now!” Logan heard John shout from nearby.
He didn’t look up, and he didn’t look back. As he’d done so often in his life, Logan West pressed forward with one objective clearly in mind—reach the pier and safety.
His heart pounded wildly in his chest, but he controlled his breaths and exhaled below the surface of the Nile, inhaling every time his face turned to the side. He sensed the thrashing behind him—now farther away—subside, but he didn’t know if that meant the crocodile had turned its carnivorous intentions toward him.
It didn’t matter. All that did was the stroke. Keep pushing. You’re almost there.
John’s voice grew louder, and he sensed he was extremely close to the pier. He finally relented and risked a glance up . . .
. . . As two strong arms reached down into the water and grabbed his forearms. Logan grabbed John’s in return, and as John pulled, Logan kicked to propel himself upward.
The pier was nearly three feet above the surface, and a moment later, Logan’s chest lay on the rough planks, his legs dangling in the water. John reached down behind him and grabbed his pants, pulling Logan’s lower half to safety.
Logan rolled over and lay on his back, his chest heaving up and down as he fought to slow his breathing and heart rate. John sat next to him, his hand on Logan’s shoulder in reassurance that he was safe from the river monster.
“Where is it?” Logan gasped, and propped himself on his elbows, spotting the location where the crocodile had attacked.
The water was a darker shade of brown and crimson, swirling with the recent commotion. Namir was gone, dragged to the depths of his watery grave, where his body would be consumed piece by piece by the monstrous crocodile.
“After it got him by the head, it thrashed from side to side. I’m pretty sure it broke his neck. It then took him under. I saw it roll a few times, and then it was gone,” John said, and looked at Logan.
“He didn’t see it until the last second. I spotted it right away. I was going to cut him and use him as bait so I could escape,” Logan confessed. “But he made a last-ditch effort to attack with a small push dagger he had on him. So I never got the chance.”
John studied Logan for a moment and weighed the moral dilemma his closest friend had faced. “That’s the best choice you could’ve made in that situation. That’s what sets you apart pretty much from everyone else—you can make those hard choices.”
“I know, but what’s scary, even for me, is how fast I made it. There was no hesitation, no consideration for his humanity.”
“That quick decision-making is why you survived,” John said earnestly. “You made the right call, and you were prepared to do the hard, right thing.”
Logan nodded and finally stood, water dripping from his soaked clothing.
“More importantly,” John said, a wicked grin breaking across his face, “don’t you know you’re not supposed to feed the animals?”
Logan couldn’t help himself, he laughed, momentarily breaking the fatigue and tension he felt. He shook his head at his friend, grateful for the bond they shared. I’m humbled to have such companions as these.
But then he thought of Mike, and his mood sobered.
“Let’s find out how our friends are doing and then get the hell out of here,” Logan said. “I’m officially ending our Sudanese vacation.”