Emerald Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

stairs when he realized that the priest and his daughter hadn’t moved.  He turned back to them.  “Come on!” he told them.
                “Go with him Bridget,” McKenzie said, shoving his adopted daughter towards the stairs. “I’ll catch up to you,”
                “I’m not going to desert you, Dad.”
                “You’re not,” McKenzie told her, his eyes urging her to follow Hannigan. “I'll meet you at the Mission.”
                “Bridget, come with me,” Mike Hannigan urged, reaching for her.  He caught her hand and drew her along behind him as he climbed the stairs.
                “Where are we going?” Bridget asked.
                “I have no idea, Bridget, up maybe?” Hannigan told her, still half-dragging her up the stairs.
                “Is there another way out of here?” Shotsky asked, spinning Degiorno around to face him.  Sweat was pouring down the Italian’s face.
                “The roof,” Degiorno gasped.  His bulk was not made for running, especially in the African heat.
                “Lead the way,” Gregor Shotsky shoved him towards the door.
                “Dad,” Bridget said, trying to tug loose and head back down the stairs.
                “The Padre will be fine, Bridget,” Hannigan reassured her. “He wanted me to get you out of here and away from trouble.”
    …But he wished he were as confident as he sounded.  Actually, he had no idea if the priest would escape the raid on the bar, but he intended to make sure that the girl got out and was safe from harm.
    He followed Shotsky and Degiorno until the four of them burst out onto the roof of The Broken Tusk. The sunlight was blinding after the dim interior of the bar, forcing Hannigan and the others to squint their eyes in order to see.  The gunfire from below was louder now as it echoed up from the street. Hannigan moved to the edge of the roof and peeked over. 
                The soldiers weren’t government troops at all, at least not from the Belgian government.  They were wearing khaki uniforms with red armbands emblazoned with a white circle centered below a black swastika.  Nazis!  Nazis storm troopers were raiding the mercenary meeting place.  But what on earth for?
                Hannigan ducked back away from the edge of the roof as bullets began to chew at the parapet.  He spun towards Shotsky and the fat Italian.  “Those are Nazis down there!  Does this have to with your big job, Degiorno?”
    Hannigan crossed the distance in two steps, grabbing the man by the lapels of his white tropical weight suit jacket.
                “They want the map!”  Degiorno stammered in reply.  “I didn’t realize that they knew I had made a copy of it.  It leads to a hidden treasure deep within the Congo - in pygmy country!”
                “Treasure?” the other three asked in unison, disbelief written across their faces.
                “A mystic gemstone of some sort.”  Degiorno replied, his face a beet red.  “They want it for their leader, Adolf Hitler.”
                “Hitler?  That upstart?” Hannigan asked in disbelief.
                “He seeks a great many occult artifacts.  He apparently believes that with their aid, Nazi Germany will become invincible.”
                “You seem to know a lot about the guy,” Hannigan snarled.
                “It’s my job to know who I am dealing with,” the Italian replied.  “Personally, I think the monetary value of the gem far outweighs its alleged mystic value.  I want it for the money.  That’s why I was hiring men to send after it.”
                Bullets chopped through the doorway leading to the roof from the bar.  “I think maybe we should get the heck out of here,” Hannigan said, drawing the Colt