by Adam Hamdy
Pearce seized the moment of confusion and shot the driver, hitting him once in the neck and once in the temple. As the man slumped forward, Pearce got a clear view of the motorcycle man holding the woman hostage through the passenger window. Believing the van had provided him with cover, the guy had taken his gun away from the woman’s head. His startled eyes met Pearce’s but he didn’t move quickly enough and Pearce shot him through the van window, before rolling onto his side and opening fire on the legs of the second man in the van, which were visible beneath the vehicle as he climbed out. The man screamed and dropped his assault rifle as he fell to the floor, writhing in agony.
Gunfire from close range. Pearce rolled instinctively and tried to get to his feet, but as he rose, he caught sight of the two Thai men who’d taken the women into the office bearing down on him. They’d come through the double doors and must have climbed out of a window to get round the building and behind him. The taller of the two held a black pistol, which he was reloading. The other man came at Pearce with a huge hunting knife. Pearce tried to raise the barrel of the ZEV, but the knifeman was too close and swatted the muzzle aside as Pearce pulled the trigger. The bullets went wide and clattered into the steel doors. Pearce flipped the gun and tried to drive the stock into the knifeman’s face, but he ducked and swung the huge blade at Pearce’s head. Pearce jerked back and the keen edge sliced the air centimetres in front of him. The gunman had reloaded, but his line of fire was blocked by his ferocious comrade.
‘Get out of the way,’ he yelled in Thai, striding forward.
The knifeman lashed out with his boot and the fierce kick sent the ZEV flying from Pearce’s hands. He was defenceless and outnumbered. His best chance was to engage the knifeman and use the guy’s body to block the shooter. But the vicious, sinewy man wasn’t stupid and jolted back as Pearce lunged for him. The gunman now had a clear line of fire and raised his gun, aiming it at Pearce’s face. Two gunshots echoed around the warehouse.
The first popped the gunman’s head like a melon. The second tore a hole through the knifeman’s chest. He looked at Pearce in dismay, dropped the knife and pawed at the bloody opening as he fell to his knees. Moments later, he was dead.
Pearce looked at the figure striding through the doorway. Wearing black tactical gear, complete with protective vest and balaclava, and holding a smoking SIG MPX Copperhead was the woman he knew as Brigitte Attali, a former operative for DGSE – French Intelligence – he’d encountered while investigating Black Thirteen. Her brilliant blue eyes shone with pride and as she removed her balaclava, her distinctive white hair glowed in the low light.
‘That’s the second time I’ve save your life, n’est-ce pas?’ she said in her thick French accent.
Pearce stood upright and shook his head, trying not to betray his surprise at the presence of the capable woman.
‘Impressive, huh?’ Brigitte went on. ‘Blaine Carter had me follow you when you left San Francisco. Those tracking devices you use made it quite easy, really. I also tapped into your video feed. When I saw the mess you were making, well . . . I couldn’t stand by and let you get yourself killed. Coming in here was foolish. You’ve blown any chance of finding what you were looking for.’
‘How’d you know—’ Pearce began, but she cut him off.
‘The report you wrote before you left Six made it clear you thought the conspirators were connected to the Islamabad attack through the Thai man you killed. But now it will take a feat of magic to pick up the trail.’ She hesitated and smiled wryly. ‘Still, it was commendable, trying to save these women.’ She gestured at the four kidnap victims, who had gathered near the office door. They were still afraid, but had started to regain their composure. ‘You were their knight in shining armour, but it seems that even a knight needs to be saved by the more powerful queen.’
‘That’s you?’ Pearce asked.
‘Of course,’ Brigitte replied, checking her watch. She indicated her earpiece. ‘One of the locals has called the police. They’re about three minutes out. We should go.’
Pearce leaned down and picked up the pistol that had fallen by the dead men. He walked towards the four women, glancing round the van to see the man whose legs he’d shredded. He was clutching at the bloody mess, weeping and moaning in pain.
‘Do you speak English?’ Pearce asked.
One of the women nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said tearfully.
‘The police will be here soon. If they give you any trouble –’ he indicated the three wounded men, who were too focused on their serious injuries to concern themselves with the women – ‘shoot them. The safety is off,’ he advised, handing the pistol to the woman.
‘Come on,’ Brigitte urged.
Pearce joined her by the doors. ‘I appreciate your help, but I meant what I said. I’m not working for the American.’
‘Not even if it leads you to your objective?’ she replied playfully. ‘I said it would take magic for you to find the elusive conspirators. Well, you really should come and speak to the wizard who can make that happen.’
She hurried outside and, after a moment’s pause, an intrigued Pearce followed her into the night.
Chapter 5
Deni Salamov must pay for what he’s done. The words had become a refrain that cascaded through Ziad’s mind, bringing with them a storm of anger which swept away all other emotions. Sometimes the words would rise unbidden. Other times they would come from Elroy Lang. Ziad knew what his companion was doing, stoking his hatred of the man who’d sent him to Al Aqarab. But he didn’t mind. In his quiet moments, often when he was on the cusp of sleep, Ziad felt cloying guilt at the lives he’d taken during their escape. Some of those men had been evil, but not all, and who was he to have become their executioner? His nightmares were plagued by visions of the men rasping and choking out their final moments, so he embraced his righteous fury at every opportunity. His anger left no place for guilt.
Ziad and Elroy had been met outside the prison by a wiry Thai man who’d been introduced as Awut. The man had driven them across Cairo in an old Fiat and taken them to a safe house where they’d stayed the night before starting their week-long journey to America. Elroy had said little about himself other than to reveal that he worked for a group that wanted to revolutionize the drugs trade on the Pacific Coast. This meant they had a mutual interest in the fall of Deni Salamov. Having abandoned all hope of vengeance inside Al Aqarab, Ziad was surprised at how quickly and powerfully the old fire was rekindled.
It took them seven days and numerous false passports to reach Seattle. The people Elroy worked for must have been well connected because they arrived on the West Coast without incident. Elroy took them to a three-bedroom house on Kenyon Street, in South Park, a run-down neighbourhood a couple of miles south of Seattle Port. It was a tumbledown wooden house on the kind of impoverished street where people knew it was better for their health to mind their own business. Elroy had spent their first evening quizzing Ziad about Deni’s operation, confirming things he already knew, probing for details he didn’t.
The next day, Elroy had gone out before Ziad was up and hadn’t returned until the evening. Ziad had kicked around the house, watching TV, while Awut, the silent Thai sentinel, padded around the place like a caged tiger.
When Elroy finally returned, he said, ‘There’s something you need to see, Ziad.’
He took Ziad across town in a dilapidated Buick. Ziad felt a flush of humiliation and panic when he realized where he was being taken. They went to Point Edwards, to the condo where Essi Salamov lived. Deni Salamov’s daughter had been the love of Ziad’s life and being this close to her home pained him.
‘Why are we here?’ Ziad asked as they rolled to a halt across the street from Essi’s building.
‘You need to see what they’ve been doing while they left you to rot in prison,’ Elroy replied. ‘It’s important you know. It will carry you through the difficult times ahead.’
Ziad watched the building with a growing
sense of dread. He knew what was coming, and as much as the prospect horrified him, he simply couldn’t look away. He had to see it, he had to take in the scale of his betrayal. He kidded himself he was prepared for anything, but when Essi finally left her building arm in arm with another man, Ziad felt as though a giant hole had been torn in his guts. The hollow pain was made worse by the fact he recognized this tall white guy; his chiselled jawline and his tight frame like that of a long-distance athlete. He flashed a bright mouthful of perfect teeth at Essi, and his short brown hair fluttered in the ocean breeze, giving him a fun, impetuous air, when in reality he was a corrupt, greedy man. His name was Jack Gray and he was Deni Salamov’s lawyer, but tonight he and Essi looked like a couple of catalogue models, smiling and chatting in groomed perfection. As they crossed the parking lot towards a black Porsche 911, Ziad pictured himself smashing the man’s perfect teeth with a brick and drilling a couple of holes through his skull. Why not? He was a murderer now. A mass murderer with all the bodies of Al Aqarab to his name.
‘Follow them,’ Ziad said.
‘We can’t do anything to him,’ Elroy replied. ‘Not yet.’
Ziad flushed crimson. The fact this relative stranger was witness to the betrayal made it even more shameful.
‘Follow them,’ Ziad repeated through gritted teeth. ‘I have to see this.’
The first heavy raindrops burst on the road as the Porsche left the parking lot. Elroy gave Ziad a sympathetic glance before he put the car in gear and followed.
Chapter 6
Jack took Essi to Rustica, the Italian restaurant on the corner of East Pine Street and 14th Avenue. The hostess tested them for Covid-19 before they were allowed inside. Ziad, unsettled by the terrible anger that burned within him, told Elroy to leave.
‘I’ll make my own way back to the house,’ he said.
‘You sure?’ Elroy asked. ‘You must have seen enough.’
Like a desperate addict, Ziad needed more. This woman, this beautiful heartless woman, was who he’d planned to spend his life with, and as painful as it was to see her with another, Ziad didn’t feel he could leave. Not yet.
‘Don’t do anything to him,’ Elroy cautioned.
‘I won’t,’ Ziad replied, before he got out of the car.
He pulled the soft fabric hood of his jersey over his head to shield himself from the rain. He crossed the slick sidewalk as Elroy drove away, and took up a position in a shadowed doorway opposite Rustica. With Elroy gone, he didn’t have to keep up a pretence, but he was still grateful for the autumn storm that whipped the worst of the Seattle rain into his face. The weather masked his tears and the sharp sting of each windblown drop was a tiny penance for his failure.
He’d promised her he wouldn’t get caught, that he’d be careful, but in the end it hadn’t been his assurances that had earned her blessing. Her father, Deni Salamov, his name now forever synonymous with treachery, had spoken to Essi and told her how important it was for Ziad to go to Cairo to open up another supply line. Ziad sneered at the memory. The trip had been important, but not for the reasons Deni had claimed. Ziad’s stomach churned as he considered the possibility Essi had been in on what her father had planned. Had they both lacked the courage to reject him in person?
No, Ziad told himself. Essi loved me. That’s why her father had sent him to Cairo and set him up. To get rid of him. In one move Deni neutralized a potential threat to his power and brought Ziad’s unwelcome relationship with his daughter to an end.
But she’d moved on pretty quickly. The man sitting opposite her, Jack Gray, was nothing more than a thief. Jack had been Ziad’s only point of contact after his arrest, and the lawyer had made it clear the Salamovs wanted nothing to do with him, and had even hinted they’d set him up. With Ziad out of the way, Jack had moved in and stolen the love of Ziad’s life.
Ziad was in turmoil as he watched from the darkness and saw the young couple trade gentle touches, loving glances and soft words on the other side of the brightly lit restaurant window. Even if Essi had known his fate, she’d think he was destined to spend another seven years behind bars. He’d tried to phone her from Al Aqarab, but had never been able to get through. All her phone numbers had changed. As had Deni and Rasul Salamov’s. He’d managed to reach Jack Gray once after he’d been moved to Al Aqarab, and the lawyer had reiterated that the Salamovs wanted nothing to do with him.
‘They sent you to Cairo,’ Jack had said. ‘It should be obvious, even to you, what they really want.’
Ziad’s anger rose as he watched Jack reach across the table and take Essi’s hand. The lawyer had his own reasons to cut Ziad off. Had they all colluded to get him out of the picture? No, he couldn’t believe it of Essi. Nor could he blame her for moving on. Seven years was a long time. It was unreasonable to have expected her to wait for him.
You would have, a little voice said. You would have waited until the end of time.
And the fury built again, because Ziad knew the voice was right. He would have waited an eternity for her. But the eyes that once lit up his world were now turned to another.
Ziad wiped away the rain and tears and shrank into the doorway as Essi and her all-American jock left the restaurant. Jack the jock kissed her and ran down the street, heroically braving the weather to retrieve his car, while Essi waited under the restaurant canopy. But she didn’t wait long. Once Jack was out of sight, she skipped into the rain, navigated the passing traffic and crossed the street. Ziad’s heart thundered. She was coming for him, of that there was no doubt, but his stomach churned at the thought of what she might say.
‘Zee, what the hell are you doing here?’ she began. ‘Dad told me you’d been arrested in Cairo.’ She stood on the sidewalk a few paces from the doorway, her long black hair already grouping into thick tresses in the relentless downpour. Her tanned face glowed with vitality in the light of the corner street lamp, and her azure eyes shone as brightly as ever. She wore a light woollen three-quarter length coat and the green dress Ziad had taken off so many times. He sensed no warmth from her and was dismayed that she hadn’t even given him so much as a hug.
‘I got out early,’ he replied.
‘And you decided you’d stalk me instead of phoning like a normal person,’ Essi said accusingly. ‘What happened to your nose? Did you break it?’
Ziad ignored the question. ‘I tried calling. From prison. I tried phoning you, but I couldn’t get through.’
‘Oh, Zee.’ Essi softened slightly and her face flashed with realization. ‘I had to change my number and email. Dad said we needed to review our security after you got arrested. He said you’d sent a message releasing me, that I shouldn’t wait for you.’
She’d been sold a lie. He longed to tell her the truth; that her father had cut ties with him the moment he’d been arrested. Deni hadn’t answered any of his emails or phone calls and had offered no support whatsoever. Ziad had been cut off and cast adrift. But questioning her father’s actions could make him more wary, a more difficult target. Ziad couldn’t give any hint he knew Deni had betrayed him. So he remained silent and fumed as the rain lashed his face.
‘I told you not to go,’ Essi said. ‘I’m sorry. You probably didn’t need to hear that. What are you doing following me? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?’
‘So you’re with Jack now?’ Ziad responded coolly.
The look in her eyes at that moment, more than the lack of warmth, the absence of a greeting, or the way she folded her arms around herself, told him he had no chance. He studied the blue gemstones and saw their normal lustre was lost to pity. She looked so sad and sorry for him.
‘We started seeing each other a few months ago. He helped me forget.’ Her face was covered in rain, but Ziad was certain he could see tears in her eyes. ‘He helped me move on. I’m sorry, Zee.’
Ziad longed to wrap his arms around her and take away the pain. Just as he’d done in so many sad moments, like when her uncle had died. But pride and anger kept him roo
ted. If the tables had been turned, he would have found her no matter what. He wouldn’t have abandoned her to seven hard years in Hell. Her father might have gutted their relationship, but she’d slit its throat.
‘What are you—’ Essi began, but she was interrupted by the toot of a car horn.
Jack the jock leaned out of the open window of his Porsche and called out to Essi, ‘Hey, honey, who are you talking to?’
Essi made a show of reaching into her pocket. She produced a crumpled mass of bills and shoved them into Ziad’s hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered before turning away. ‘Just a homeless guy,’ she told Jack as she ran to the car. ‘I hate seeing them out in this weather.’
She gave Ziad a final glance as she slid into the passenger seat. Jack peered at the doorway, but Ziad wasn’t sure how much he could see through the shadows and rain.
And then they were gone, leaving Ziad with nothing but the cold chill of the driving rain and the cascading rush of spray from passing traffic. He looked down at the wet bills in his hands and let every single one of them fall on the flagstone steps. Essi Salamov couldn’t buy her way out so cheaply. She would have to pay a much higher price.
Chapter 7
When he’d returned to the dilapidated house on Kenyon Street later that night, his body numb with ice-cold fury, Ziad had asked Elroy a simple question.
‘What do you want me to do?’
In the grip of fierce anger, the answer had seemed so reasonable, but now, here in this crowded bar, Ziad’s heart thundered as he prepared to make Elroy’s words real. Tony’s Place was a favourite with port workers and it was heaving as Ziad pushed his way through the crowd. A bouncer had tested him for the virus before granting entry; a common inconvenience of the post-pandemic world. He finally spotted the men he was looking for; Richie Cutter, Weasel, and Hot Rod. Three greedy, stupid, live-for-today dockers who’d come up with Ziad. According to Elroy Lang, Richie Cutter – ambitious, ruthless Richie Cutter – had taken Ziad’s old job at the port. He needed it back if they were to implement their plan, but Cutter wouldn’t surrender it willingly. Elroy had given Ziad his instructions, and, as though anticipating the misgivings he’d feel when confronted with the reality of following them, had told him that this was Ziad’s initiation. He would view it as proof Ziad was truly with them – that he had a genuine desire for revenge and was willing to do whatever it took to get it.