by Ann Gimpel
The desert gave way to mud huts, and then to more substantial buildings as they hit slums marking the northern outskirts of Cairo. A brown pall clung to everything from chronic air pollution.
The Land Rover took a hard left toward the Nile Delta.
“Is the water as bad as the air?” Brice asked.
“Yup. Plus, they’ve had issues with mercury poisoning.”
The car wove through run down tenements. Garbage rotted beneath the hot sun lending a stench that mingled with broken—or nonexistent—sewers. A distant pop-pop reached her. Gunfire?
The driver hit the brakes and the car squealed to a halt. With a rush of Arabic, he bolted from the vehicle and took off running.
The pilot cursed under his breath, slid into the driver’s seat, and the car rolled forward again.
“Where’d you find him?” Chris asked.
The pilot shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He won’t get paid.”
“What’d he say when he ran off?” Brice turned to Julie.
“Loosely translated, it was that no amount of money is worth getting killed over. That’s rifle fire, and we’re closing on it.”
“Probably the trafficker’s den,” the pilot said. “Half a mile, and we’ll be there.”
Chris vaulted into the backseat. Reaching into the jumble of cases behind it, he grabbed one of the long, black bags. He unzipped it and removed the automatic rifle she’d suspected was there, inserting a magazine.
“Yeah. Assemble the other one for me,” the pilot said, “and then get back up here.”
Her father unpackaged the other rifle and slid both across the back of the front seat before clambering over himself. Brice pulled his weapon from its holster. She reached for hers, but her hand shook so badly, she couldn’t unsnap the piece of leather holding the revolver in place.
The sound of gunfire had grown so loud, she wished for earplugs. The men seemed on edge and excited. She wanted to crawl under the seat and hide.
She inhaled deeply, and wished she hadn’t. The reek of raw sewage and rot burned the back of her throat and made her eyes water.
“One more block,” the pilot said. “Get ready.”
The Land Rover skidded around a corner on its outside wheels and came to a stop behind a line of six hard-bodied, flinty eyed men with rifles trained on a long, low, concrete building that looked like a bunker. Volleys of bullets rained from the bunker, and the mercenaries fired back. Chunks of the building sloughed off, turning into projectiles of their own.
“Get down,” Chris instructed. He and the pilot leapt from the Land Rover, rifles firing almost before their feet hit the ground.
Brice pushed her into the footwell, throwing his body across hers as added protection. Her heart ratcheted into hyperdrive, and her tongue flooded with the sour taste of adrenaline.
“I can’t see what’s happening,” she protested, writhing beneath him.
“Maybe not, but you’re safe. I can’t see anything, either.”
Her ears rang; her head throbbed. The proximity to Brice would have been exciting in almost any other circumstance, but he was providing something far more precious than sex. He was shielding her, offering the ultimate proof he still loved her. In the midst of the heat and noise and stink of gunpowder, she fought the quick, hot bite of tears. She didn’t deserve him. Not the way she’d acted.
He heaved his weight off her, and she realized everyone had stopped firing. She unfolded from her crouch in time to see Brice scrambling through their gear for one of his bags. Once he had it in hand, he bolted from the car.
She scanned the cracked, dry earth in front of the bunker, noting it was littered with bodies. The front door cracked open, followed by a flash of something white. More of it emerged, and she recognized a torn strip of cloth.
“No more gunfire,” Chris yelled. “They’re surrendering.”
One of the mercenaries—this batch garbed in Western clothing—trotted to Chris. He touched the tip of his ball cap. “General. Do you trust these yahoos? Because I sure don’t.”
“Of course I don’t trust them,” Chris growled, “but I bet they ran out of ammo, which would explain why they quit firing on us. Use the bullhorn. Tell them we want the slaves out in the open. Pronto.”
The man nodded and directed a few words of horribly bad Arabic at the bunker. A stream of emaciated bodies stumbled out the door, lining up in the yard. Scraps of cloth had been knotted into a semblance of clothes. Everyone was barefoot with matted hair and open, running sores. Some of the people couldn’t walk unassisted.
“Goddammit,” Brice cursed from where he knelt next to a fallen man dressed in Bedouin robes. “Those poor bastards.”
The cavalcade of human misery continued, but Katie wasn’t among them. Julie got out of the car and hurried to her father, grabbing his shoulder once she reached him. “She’s not here.”
“Yes. I have eyes.”
“Who are all the bodies?” She gritted her teeth, swallowing back revulsion at the carnage spread before her.
“The bad guys. Save your pity. They don’t deserve it.”
The mercenary who’d approached them before trotted close. “I have no bloody idea what happened to the target. I swear, she was inside. Hold up. I’ll conduct a search.”
“Can I ask the ones in the yard about her?” Julie tightened her grip on her father’s shoulder. “Please.”
He nodded. “Yes. I’ll be right next to you.”
She waited for Chris and his automatic rifle before walking closer. Using the Egyptian dialect of Arabic, she greeted the people milling about. Then she asked about her friend, her sister, who was missing. Tears gathered in her eyes at the misery surrounding her.
A man shuffled forward. Iron bands circled his ankles with a chain connecting them. He didn’t look at her but said Katie had escaped through a little-used tunnel the previous night. When she asked how he knew, he switched to English and said, “I help.”
“Why didn’t you run too?” she asked, also in English. He pointed mutely at his hobbled ankles.
Julie bowed her head in deference and thanked him. She turned to her father. “What happens next?”
“Help for these people should be en route, and we need to update our game plan.”
The mercenary emerged from the bunker and called, “She’s not here, General. I checked all the cells. The keepers aren’t here, either, but I figured they’d run before the authorities showed up.” He gave a short bark of a laugh. “Maybe we got lucky and killed them all. Fuckers.”
“Did we sustain any casualties?” Chris asked.
“They winged Joe, but it wasn’t bad.” He pursed his lips into a thin line. “Figured out how the target escaped. There’s a tunnel, probably part of an old sewer system.”
“No, it’s not,” Julie said. “This area has been inhabited for thousands of years. People lived underground as a hedge against the heat. There are grottos down there. Whole towns, like as not. It’s how Katie found a way out. She’s studied the history of this place, so she knew what to look for.”
Chris turned his steely blue gaze her way. “Put yourself in Katie’s place,” he instructed. “Where would you go?”
Brice was moving from one person to the next, sorting them into groups.
Juliana got her bearings. They were miles from the more civilized part of Cairo. She shut her eyes and did her damnedest to reconstruct what her student would do. When she opened them, she said, “I bet she headed back to the dig site. It’s maybe five miles that way.”
“Why the hell would she do that?” her father asked.
Julie skinned her lips back from her teeth. “To confront Orestes about what he did to her. She’d have no way of knowing he’s not there.”
Cars were pulling up, and a variety of officials had gathered. Brice latched onto one man and was gesturing, no doubt explaining how he’d triaged medical needs. A black flatbed truck backed into the crowded courtyard. Two men piled out and began tossing corps
es into the truck’s bed.
“Brice. Back in the car.” Her father raised his voice to be heard over the din.
He nodded and ran to them. “Did the best I could. The man I was talking with assured me they’ll transport the sickest people to local hospitals, but I’m not sure I believe him.”
“They’ll provide a cursory level of treatment,” Julie murmured and left it there. No reason to go into how limited any type of medical or social services interventions would be.
They drove away from the bunker, following a series of smaller and more deeply rutted roads until they turned onto a track she recognized. “One more mile,” she told the driver.
He waved his satellite phone in her face with a mapping program on its display. She wanted to ask if he’d always been a know-it-all, but bit back the words. They rolled into the clearing where she’d lived for ten months. Yellow tape hung from shrubs and bushes, and a dark-eyed, slightly-built man ran toward them screeching in Arabic that the site was off limits. He wore Western field garb comprised of tan trousers, a white shirt, and a floppy sun hat.
She jumped out of the car before her father could stop her. “I’m Dr. Wray. Did Katherine Johnson show up last night or today?”
The man drew himself taller and replied in British-accented English. “Dr. Wray, the pleasure is mine. I have read—”
“Katherine Johnson,” she pressed. Interrupting a man was the height of rudeness, but she’d apologize later.
“Of course not. I’d have alerted the embassy, the authorities.”
Julie had always trusted her instincts, and every single one screamed Katie was in the bush somewhere between here and that godawful bunker. Or between here and the river. They’d have to search on foot.
Her father would give her nine yards of hell, but she marched back to the Land Rover. “I’m going to traverse the most likely route on foot,” she announced.
“I’ll come with you,” Brice got out of the car and shouldered one of his medical bags.
“It’s not a bad idea,” the pilot said. “I’ll carry a rucksack with water.”
The man who’d warned them to stay away walked to her. “I called the embassy. She isn’t there.”
“Thank you,” Julie told him. “We’ll be back before dark.”
“Best of luck.” The man bowed formally, and she bowed back.
Her father had extracted a device and turned in a circle, holding it in front of him. Something must have alerted him because he took off at a fast lope on a diagonal in the direction of the river.
“What is that?” Brice asked the pilot.
“Thermal scanner. Damn if the general didn’t lock onto something.” He bolted after Chris with Brice right behind him.
Julie trotted after them. Thermal meant heat, so her father could have picked up on anything. Or was his device sophisticated enough to sort human emanations from those belonging to animals? She’d never been the praying type, but she offered up a plea her father was on a track that would lead to Katie Johnson. She’d been missing long enough that she was running out of time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brice moved the duffle of supplies he’d slung over a shoulder, so it didn’t bang his hip with every step. Whatever whiz-bang device Chris was using apparently wasn’t foolproof. The general had changed directions a few times. Julie ran alongside Brice. The pilot trotted next to Chris a few feet ahead.
“Watch out for snakes,” Julie said. “The afternoon’s moving along. Once the heat of the day ebbs, they come out of their nests.”
“Any particularly bad ones?”
Breath hissed from between her teeth. “Yeah. Cobras and black mambas are the worst. Several types of cobra—” She stopped talking and extended an arm.
He followed the angle she was pointing toward and spotted a flock of large, dark-colored birds. “I see them. What’s the significance?”
Instead of answering him, she called out, “Dad. Look up at about fifteen degrees.”
“Good eyes,” Chris muttered and altered course toward the birds.
“Are they vultures?” Brice asked.
“I believe they’re a type of raptor, and it looks to me like they’re waiting for something to die. No other reason for so many of them to have collected in close proximity. I’ve never been much for bird identification—unless it’s bones and they’re underground.”
Chris had stepped up the pace. Brice welcomed it. Moving dissipated the disappointment of not finding Katie at the sad human slave encampment. He worried they wouldn’t locate her at all—until it was too late. Every person in the bunker had been malnourished and dehydrated. Several had the deep, rattling cough that probably meant they suffered from tuberculosis.
Katie hadn’t been a prisoner long enough to run a serious risk of catching anything, but dehydration would weaken her. If she was dressed the same way as the other detainees, she’d be barefoot. Not a good bet traveling through snake country.
He had antivenom in his kit, but there was a specific window where it was effective. If they found Katie more than a short time after exposure, it wouldn’t do much good.
The flock of birds squawked, not pleased by their approach. Insects whined and buzzed, and the distant chitter of monkeys and small rodents rose and fell. Julie dashed around her father, straight for the protesting birds.
“Juliana. Behind me,” he yelled after her, but she ignored him and kept on running.
When she got to the thicket supporting at least twenty birds, she ducked beneath a luxuriant growth of some spiny plant.
“Brice!” she shrieked. “Hurry.”
He sprinted for the spot he’d last seen her, with Chris and the pilot close on his heels. Thorns stymied him, snagging on his clothing as he worked his way deeper into the hedge from hell. “Where are you?”
“Middle of this hedge. I found her, but she’s barely breathing and burning up.”
Brice followed the sound of her voice, but muscling his way through endless thorns meant he moved at a snail’s pace. Noting space below, he dropped to his belly and crawled. It worked. In about twenty feet, he entered a rough opening a few feet across.
Julie knelt next to Katie Johnson, cradling her in her arms. The woman’s blonde hair trailed in the dirt. Her face was streaked with grime, and her exposed skin bore marks from being whipped.
“Move over,” Brice said. Grabbing a pair of gloves, he started a quick assessment.
“How can I help?” Julie asked.
“Open my bag. Get my stethoscope and the BP cuff.”
She handed them over.
“Good. Go through the medication vials. They’re in a padded leather case.”
“Found it. Which one do you want?”
“Hang on. I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, locate the syringes. They’re individually wrapped. I’ll need an eighteen-gauge, three milliliter, with a one-and-a-half-inch needle.”
Chris and the pilot slithered through the same low tunnel Brice had used. “What the hell is this place?” the pilot asked. “Never seen anything like it.”
“Exactly what it looks like.” Juliana’s words were terse. “A natural shelter, which is why Katie crawled into it. Before she passed out.”
Brice examined Katie’s bare feet and sunburned legs. The bottoms of both feet were abraded and blistered. Assuming she pulled through, she wouldn’t be walking for a while. Her lower calf bore telltale viper marks, only one set, though, which might bode well.
“I need the antivenom and that syringe and an alcohol wipe.”
Julie gave them to him and looked at Katie’s legs. “Her poor feet. I’m blown away she made it this far, but that woman always had guts and nerves of steel.” She fluttered one hand over the bite mark. “I’m pretty sure a cobra did that.”
“Then this should work. The antivenoms are specific, and this one is SAIMR polyvalent, the one your father told me to bring.” Brice made a guess at Katie’s weight and drew an appropriate amount of drug into the syring
e.
“It works on mamba snakes too,” Chris said, his voice gruff. “While I’d love to take credit for the roster of supplies I gave Brice, the military maintains medication and supply lists specific to geographic locations.”
Brice cleared a spot on Katie’s thigh and injected the substance slowly, watching her. A whole lot of things could happen. Antivenoms could be brutal. “Julie. Dig out the epinephrine and another syringe.”
“Sure, but isn’t that for severe allergic reactions?”
“Exactly. I have no idea how her system will react to what I just gave her, and I want to be ready.” He craned his neck around until he saw the pilot. “I could use a bottle of water.”
The pilot removed his rucksack and located one, dropping it next to Brice.
“How long before we know if this is going to work?” Julie had moved back to Katie’s side and was cradling her head in her lap.
Brice took her vitals again. Not much had changed, but her heartbeat was a little less thready. He had Ringer’s solution and IV equipment. He turned toward his bag and dragged it closer. He’d just pulled out a sterile packet with an IV needle and fresh gloves when Katie moaned.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here,” Julie crooned, bending close and smoothing tangled hair out of her face.
“Julie?” Katie’s voice came out in a croak that sounded like long-dead leaves rustling in a brisk wind.
“Yes. It’s me.”
Brice uncapped the water and got an arm around Katie’s shoulders, supporting her in a more upright position. “Take a sip. Not too much.”
Katie opened bloodshot green eyes, squinching them against the light. “Damn. Everything hurts.”
“Water,” Brice urged.
Katie swallowed but then coughed and coughed, struggling for air.
Brice turned her to one side and waited until she caught her breath before offering more water. “This time it will go down easier,” he promised. “You have to drink. You’re dehydrated.”
She swallowed obediently. “Who are you?”
“An old friend of Julie’s. And a doctor. Concentrate on taking nice, deep breaths. You’re going to be fine.”