A droning whine filled the air. As it grew louder and louder, Caine felt for the dangling cord. He grabbed a rod-like handle attached to the end of the cord.
His fingers curled around a plastic trigger on the inside of the handle. He was holding a defibrillator paddle.
Caine gritted his teeth and pulled his knees up to his chest. The big man grabbed his gun in both hands and yanked it upwards, freeing it from Caine’s hold. Caine kicked forward, pinning the man’s gun arm against his chest. He hissed with exertion as he used his feet to lever the bigger man’s weight off him.
Reaching back, Caine grabbed the other paddle mounted to the side of the machine. The high-pitched whine went silent, replaced by a loud beep.
Yiel jerked his gun arm up, pulling it from under Caine’s foot. Before he could aim the weapon, Caine leaned forward. He slapped the two paddles on either side of the man’s bulbous, glistening head and depressed the trigger.
The crackling hum of electricity filled the air. Yiel’s eyes bulged and his limbs went stiff. One thousand volts of electricity surged through the man’s skull. Only the rubber soles of Caine’s boots touched the man’s twitching body. They insulated him from the high-voltage current.
The lights in the room pulsed, then dimmed again. The machine went silent, and Yiel fell backwards.
Caine panted for breath, then slid off the stretcher. He bent over Yiel’s body and checked for a pulse.
“Ya elhahi …” It was a woman’s voice, low and quavering in shock. “Oh my God. Is he …”
Caine looked up. A shadowy figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the other room. She rested her hand on the frame of the open door as she turned her head, surveying the carnage in the clinic.
“Dead,” Caine said. He pried the pistol from the man’s stiff grip. He glanced at the weapon as he stood up. It was a Chinese-made Norinco Type 54, chambered in steel-jacketed 7.62 mm. It was a knockoff of a Russian Tokarav, and a common firearm in the region. He patted the body down and found a spare magazine in the man’s front pocket.
He took the spare mag and slipped the gun into his waistband. Then he grabbed the tactical pen and shoved it back in his pocket. He took a step towards the girl. She backed up, glancing up at him with wide, frightened eyes. As she stepped back into the light of the other room, Caine saw her features clearly. Dark, almond-shaped eyes, thick, black hair. Flawless ebony skin … It was her.
He spoke in a calm voice. “Doctor Vasani. It’s okay, I’m here to help. I saw these men follow you up from the street. I thought you might be in trouble.”
Her wide, cat-like eyes narrowed. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
A loud squawk crackled from Yiel’s body. Caine turned and rolled the corpse over. Another push-to-talk phone was clipped to his belt. A voice was shouting through the speaker, using the same dialect as the other men.
He pulled the walkie off the man's belt and held it up. “Do you understand what they’re saying?”
The voice repeated. The girl listened for a moment, then nodded. “He is asking if they have … if they have me. He says if he does not get a response, they will send more men.”
Caine clipped the phone to his belt.
“I promise I’ll explain everything, but we have to leave now. Do you have a car?”
She nodded. “It’s parked in a garage down the street.”
Caine glanced over her shoulder. The room behind her was in shambles. Clothes were strewn across the floor. What little furniture there was had been smashed to splinters.
“These men were looking for something. Did they find it?”
She shook her head. “No. What they were looking for … it is not here.”
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “For now, that will have to do. Let’s go.”
She looked down at his bloody shirt. "Oh, you are injured."
"It's nothing. Come on."
She shook her head and grabbed an empty tote bag from the floor. She began throwing first aid supplies into the bag.
He gently took her arm. She looked up at him but did not pull away.
"It will only take a second," she said.
He pulled her towards the open door. "We have to leave. Now."
He glanced left and right, making sure the hallway was clear before they moved through the doorway. He locked the door and shut it behind them.
She sniffed the air. “What is that smell? You reek of arragi! Are you drunk?”
“Not yet,” he muttered. “But a drink is sounding better and better.” He pulled her down the stairs to the dark, lonely streets below.
Chapter Eighteen
Caine heard Nena gasp in the dark stairwell as they sidestepped around the bodies he had left there. He looked back at her and grasped her hand in a reassuring grip.
“Careful, watch your step,” he said in a low, quiet voice. He guided her down the stairs.
“It’s pitch-black, how can you see here?” she whispered.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he answered.
They emerged into the alley. She brought her hand to the bruise on her face. She winced as she touched it. Caine watched the look of shock and fear disappear from her eyes. It was replaced by an angry glare.
“These men, they came here to hurt me, maybe kill me. I know the NISS has been watching me, at first I thought it must be them—”
Caine looked her in the eye. “It’s not the NISS.”
“Yes, I know that now. But what I don’t know is, who are you?”
“My name is Tom. We can figure out the rest later. You said you had a car?”
“Yes, it’s a few blocks away. Follow me.”
Nena turned and walked out into the street. All traces of the timid, scared woman from the apartment above were gone now. She moved with the confident stride of someone who was no stranger to violence and danger. Khairi said she operated clinics in South Sudan, and Darfur … Hellish zones of war and conflict, where death, or worse, could come calling at any second.
The walkie at Caine’s belt crackled to life. He couldn’t understand the words, but he was familiar with the urgent, clipped tone of the man’s voice.
“Nena, wait!”
As Caine hurried after her, a motorcycle roared around the corner. The growl of its engine drowned out Nena’s reply. She turned and froze, like a deer in headlights.
The rider raised his arm towards her. He was carrying a submachine gun of some kind. Caine could make out a cruel sneer on the man’s lips as he aimed the weapon.
Caine charged into the street. He grabbed Nena by the collar of her shirt and yanked her backwards just as a barrage of automatic weapon fire streaked towards her. Puffs of dirt kicked up at their feet, and the explosive chatter of the weapon echoed down the street.
As the bike screamed closer, Caine grabbed the wooden beam of the barricade and lifted it from the two sawhorses. He ducked behind a parked car. The engine noise was deafening now as the rider streaked towards them. He aimed his weapon at Caine, preparing to fire another burst.
Caine charged into the street and swung the beam like a baseball bat.
CRACK!
Caine’s arms and shoulders shuddered as the blunt weapon made impact. The wood splintered and cracked, snapping in half against the rider’s chest.
The rider fell backwards but remained seated as the bike lunged forward. It dipped down into the pothole. As the wheel struck the edge of the depression, the entire bike flipped and careened into the air. The rider went flying. He had just enough time to scream before his head crashed through the windshield of a parked car.
His body lay still, sprawled on the truck’s hood in a widening pool of blood.
Caine ran over to the bike and lifted it from the dusty ground. It was a Kawasaki KLR 650, with off-road tires and a dusty, dented neon-green body. Caine sat on the bike and kicked the starter. The engine roared to life.
More chatter squawked from the walkie. He turned to Nena.
“Get on.”
Nena gave him an incredulous stare. “On that? But my car is—”
Again, the roar of motorcycle engines rose up in the distance. More bikes were closing in.
“There’s no time,” Caine snapped. “They’re almost here. Get on!”
Nena hurried over and straddled the rear of the Kawasaki.
“I hate these things,” she muttered. “They are noisy and dangerous.”
“Yeah, so are submachine guns.”
Caine shifted into first gear and gunned the throttle. They tore away from the building. Nena yelped and wrapped her arms around his waist. Caine leaned the bike into a turn and sped around the corner. Glancing down, he saw a series of headlights reflected in the Kawasaki’s side mirrors. It looked like a Jeep, or an off-road vehicle of some kind, flanked by two more pairs of motorcycles.
Caine turned his head towards Nena. “Hold on tight. Whatever you do, don’t let go!”
His words were almost drowned out by the hot night air rushing past his ears. But he felt Nena nod, and her grip around his waist tightened.
Caine turned again and sped down a crowded market street. The throng of pedestrians parted as he hammered at the bike's horn. Behind them, the lead rider raised his weapon and fired.
Bullets ricocheted through the street. A metallic twang sounded from the back of the bike as a bullet struck its exhaust pipe.
The crowd panicked. Pedestrians dove for cover behind parked cars. A tea woman ducked behind her cart and covered her eyes with her hands.
Nena gasped and gripped tighter still as Caine leaned the bike into another turn. They zipped down an alleyway, the roar of the engine echoing around them in the tight, confined space. Two of the riders followed, their tires chirping as they skidded across the pavement. The Jeep and remaining motorcycles sped past the alley’s entrance.
“At least you lost some of them,” Nena shouted.
Caine did not answer. The bike exploded from the alley and exited on another crowded street. The smells of cumin, garlic, and other spices filled the air. Colorful tents lined each side of the street. Thick, aromatic smoke billowed from slabs of meat cooking on long, flaming grills.
He skidded to a stop as a group of men in green robes ran into the center of the street. Their robes and beads billowed around them as they danced and spun in circles. Arabic music blasted from speakers inside the tents.
“It’s the spice market,” Nena said. “They close the street here at night.”
The other two bikes shot out of the alley behind them. Caine gritted his teeth and gunned the throttle. He swerved the bike left, circling around the spinning, dancing men. He tore through several silk curtains and found himself riding through the rows of tents.
He pulled the pistol from his waistband and waved it at the merchants in his path.
“Naql! Move! Get out of the way!” he shouted.
A dark-skinned Arab dove into his spice jars as Caine’s bike roared past. Clouds of red and yellow powder exploded into the air.
The other bikes tore down the center of the street. One of the riders lashed out with his right leg, kicking a green-robed dancer out of the way. The man yelped as he collided with a grill. His robes caught fire as he fell onto the red-hot metal.
Caine glanced to his right. The two bikes were gaining on them, racing along the other side of the tents. He extended the pistol and took aim.
The gun roared twice as he sent a double tap towards the closest pursuer. The rough terrain and the speed of the bikes made accuracy almost impossible. The bullets sparked off the enemy bike’s fairing, but his shots did nothing to slow his pursuers.
Caine ducked as low against the bike as he could. Their attackers returned fire, sending a barrage of gunfire tearing through the tents.
Caine fired again. The men veered off, then disappeared behind a long row of carpets that hung between the tents. Caine could hear the roar of their bikes on the other side. They were neck and neck.
Up ahead he saw a group of men sitting around a large, circular grill. Flames leapt up from the red-hot coals as thin strips of lamb cooked on the grill’s surface.
“Keep your head down!” he shouted to Nena.
“Down where?” she yelled back.
Caine gunned the throttle and angled towards the sizzling grill.
“Min altariyq! Out of the way!”
The men dove off to the side as the motorcycles charged towards them.
As they cleared the row of carpets, Caine maneuvered the bike alongside the grill. He swung out with his right foot, kicking the flaming platter towards the enemy riders.
The burning oil and hot coals struck the leg of the closest pursuer. The hot air whistling around them fueled the flames. The man roared in pain as the inferno crawled up his leg, and the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh filled the air. His bike wobbled and swung left, crashing to the ground in front of Caine.
The flames leapt to the cloth tent surrounding them. Smoke clouded the air. Caine cursed and leaned right. Using a wooden crate lid as a makeshift ramp, he launched the Kawasaki up and over a long stack of produce crates. The studded tires of the bike tore through rows of squash, tomatoes, and dried beans. A shredded paste of mangled vegetables sprayed behind the bike.
They reached the end of the crates and slammed back down into the middle of the street. Caine gunned the throttle and the bike leapt forward, pulling ahead of the other pursuers.
They turned off the market street and merged into the heavy traffic on Omdurman’s Nile Street. To their right, the city lights reflected across the dark, rippling surface of the Nile River. They were north of Tuti Island, and the two Niles had joined into one single, massive stretch of water.
Caine heard tires squeal behind him. He glanced down at the side mirror. The Jeep had returned, flanked by the four remaining motorcycles.
With a silent curse, Caine glanced to his left, searching for an opening in the traffic. Cars swerved behind them as the Jeep scraped against a three-wheeled delivery truck. The rickety truck careened off the road. The Jeep surged forward, closing the gap between them and Caine.
Caine leaned left and cut in front of a row of yellow taxi cabs. The bike’s powerful engine roared as he leapt up and over the narrow strip of grass and palm trees that divided the two lanes of traffic. Nena’s fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt as the bike slammed down into the opposite lane and sped towards the oncoming traffic.
As he wove the tiny bike between the headlights rushing towards them, he heard honking horns and screams behind him. The four motorcycles had jumped the divider and continued to give chase.
Then the crack of snapping wood and crumpling metal rose above the traffic noise. Caine looked back. The Jeep had plowed through a row of palm trees and crashed into the street.
A loud airhorn howled in front of them, and Caine jerked his head back to the road. He swerved right, narrowly avoiding an oil rig truck hurtling towards them. The four motorcycles split up and veered around the lumbering vehicle. Gunfire roared through the street. Caine felt trails of hot air streak past his ear.
“I need a clear shot!” he shouted. Nena hunched low, tucking her head under the crook of Caine’s arm. He gave one last glance at the road, then spun around, aiming the pistol behind him.
His gun barked three times. The lead rider jerked back in his seat. His bike wobbled, then fell, crashing the ground. Sparks rose from the pavement as it skidded forward.
A neon-pink van swerved around Caine and bounced over the fallen motorcycle. The shriek of crumpling metal drowned out the rider’s cries. The van dragged the bike’s wreckage across the pavement. Caine allowed himself a quick grin of satisfaction, then turned his attention back to the oncoming traffic.
His victory was short lived. More gunfire shot across the pavement, sparking inches from his leg. Glancing in the mirror, he saw the Jeep closing in behind them. One of the men leaned out from the rear seat and aimed an AK-47 rifle towards them. The r
emaining three motorcycles had dropped back, allowing the Jeep to take point.
They were heading towards an intersection. Caine swung the bike left and hurtled through the stop light. Brakes squealed as more traffic skidded out of their way. The Jeep spun around the turn, followed by the motorcycles. A pair of the bikes charged forward and closed in.
Caine darted down a smaller street but the other two bikes swerved after him. They streaked past a row of parked cars. More gunfire erupted behind them. The cars’ windshields exploded as they drove past, showering them in shards of broken glass.
Caine glanced at his pistol. The Norinco’s box magazine held eight rounds, and he had already fired seven. That left him with only a single bullet in the pistol’s chamber. There was no time to reload.
One shot, two bikes …
He looked up and swung the bike into another tight turn. More gunfire ricocheted off the pavement. Caine glanced to his right and spotted a squat metal pipe studded with valves. It was painted white and poked up a couple feet from the sidewalk.
That’s it! he thought.
The bike engines roared as they followed him through the turn and straightened out. Once again, they were closing the gap.
Caine’s eyes darted across the sidewalk. There had to be another one somewhere in the city …
There!
He shot around a tight bend. As he straightened out, he aimed the pistol at another of the strange metal pipes.
As he sped closer, he lined up the pistol’s sights over one of the valves welded to the side of the pipe.
The men behind them fired again. Sparks flew off the tail pipe of the Kawasaki. Nena gasped and clutched him tighter. Caine gritted his teeth, but he did not flinch.
He pulled the trigger.
BLAM!
The 7.62 steel-jacketed slug tore into the valve of the fire hydrant. As Caine streaked past the hydrant, a jet of pressurized water exploded from the pipe and shot straight across the street.
The high-powered jet struck the riders behind him with the force of a firehose. One of the bikes wobbled, then slid sideways. It slammed into the other bike, and both motorcycles skidded to the ground in a shower of sparks.
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 82