African Ice

by Jeff Buick

  The plan was simple. Exit Cairo on the northeast-running number three highway, skirt the international airport, and then across the desert to the Sinai Peninsula. They would follow the coastal highway until a few miles from Rafah, then cut inland and cross the Israeli border just south of the Gaza Strip. But the first thing was to escape the horrific traffic that clogged the main arteries and small side streets alike.

  “Where’s the sniper rifle?” Travis asked Alain, sliding the keys into the ignition.

  “It’s under some blankets in the box. There’s no way we’re getting through a customs inspection like this. We’ll have to dump the guns before we hit the Israeli border.”

  “Yeah, but let’s keep them until then. Just in case.” He gunned the ignition and the old Jeep motor sputtered to life, deep blue smoke belching from the exhaust. The truck was a piece of junk, but decrepit vehicles on their last legs blended into the Cairo traffic much better than a newer model. And anonymity was exactly what they were striving for.

  Travis pulled ahead slowly, and the morning sun hit the cracked windshield, momentarily blinding him. Three city buses surrounded them in seconds, the giant red and white vehicles choking them with diesel fumes. Travis slowed, letting the buses pass. He headed west, the ancient walls of the Mausoleum al-Husain crowding them on the left side. At the House of Qadi, he hung a right and headed north on Bab an-Nasr. The bumper-to-bumper traffic crawled through the gritty haze of the morning heat. The only vehicles making any time were the mopeds that darted between the stalled cars and trucks. He swore under his breath, cursing the traffic.

  “Try to keep in mind the Egyptians built this part of the city back in the eight hundred to eleven hundred AD range. There weren’t a lot of cars then,” Samantha said. She saw a tinge of a smile on his lips, but he didn’t respond. She knew both the men sitting next to her were on edge, ready and watching for anything that could spell trouble. She concentrated more on the sights, trying to enjoy the ride.

  “What exactly have we got for guns?” Travis asked as traffic began to move.

  “Two Vektors, the Sako sniper rifle, two Glock A-17s, and the Panthers for communications. Plenty of ammo for the Vektors, lacking slightly on the Glocks.”

  “How many Panther units made it back from the Congo?”

  “Two,” Alain replied. “I’ve checked them and they work

  fine. Batteries are a bit weak on one, but the range should still be over a mile, even in the city.”

  “Excellent, but we do not split into three separate groups.” The accent was hard on “not.” “Sam, you’ll have to stay with either Alain or me. I don’t want one of us without communication, and with only two mobile radios, that means we’ll have to team up.”

  “That’s fine,” Sam said. “We’re just driving out of Cairo anyway, so what’s the big deal?”

  “Yeah,” Alain said. “Stop being such a pessimist. We’re out of here.”

  Travis grinned. The traffic opened up a bit and he surged ahead with the flow. Bab an-Nasr threw off its shackles once they cleared the northern edge of the Khan El Khalili. He shifted into third gear and leveled off at twenty-five miles an hour. Ahead and to the left was the backside of the ancient walls of old Cairo. Constructed of tightly formed blocks of sandstone, the walls rose over thirty feet from the dusty ground. They were punctuated with two massive gates, the closest being the Bab al Futuh, or Gate of Conquests, with four separate towers rising above the walls and culminating in square turrets some seventy feet high. A quarter mile to the west was the Bab el Nasr, or Gate of Victory. It sported a single, intricately carved round pinnacle the same height as its non-identical twin, and was equally as impressive, although much smaller. He stole a quick glance at Samantha as he drove, watching her reaction to the thousand-year-old monuments to man’s abilities. She was impressed, staring at the wall with the true admiration of a history buff.

  “Unbelievable,” she said under her breath.

  “The walls?” Travis asked and she silently nodded. “You can almost visualize the battles that have been fought here over the centuries. Hot oil pouring down on exposed attackers as they crawled up skinny ladders. Rocks, spears and arrows pelting down on them, anything to keep the Mongol hordes from breaching Cairo’s walls.”

  “Very descriptive, Travis,” Samantha said. “But today, it’s just another quiet day in a modern city.”

  He looked grim. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  From the darkness of an alley entrance, Brent Hagan scanned the nearly stationary traffic as it inched past him on the Bab an-Nasr. Beneath his loose-fitting western-style clothes lurked a Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol. The ex-MI-5 operative slid his hand under his vest and felt the reassuring coolness of the aluminum and stainless steel alloys that formed the barrel of the gun. He wrapped his fingers around the back strap handle, cradling the weapon gently. The safety was on, but it took only a split second to release it.

  His radio sputtered briefly as the Cairo traffic began to pick up a touch. He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and clicked the talk button, speaking and listening on hands-free. It was Liam O’Donnell checking in. He reported back that he had seen nothing yet, but was still watching the main street a block from the cybercafé where Carlson’s Internet signal originated. He killed the call and let his eyes roam over the mass of beat-up cars and trucks that typified Cairo traffic. A white Benz caught his eye, the rear windows darkened, but the passenger was an Egyptian woman and the driver in the midst of a heated argument with her. Little chance there would be foreigners huddled in the rear of that car listening to a husband and wife squabble. He rubbed his eyes, the airborne grit irritating his corneas and drying out his eyes almost to the point of pain. He blinked a few times and stared. Two vehicles from the curb and rolling slowly by was a dilapidated Jeep Wagoneer, driven by Travis McNeil. A woman sat next to him, and another man had the window seat. Brent Hagan turned slowly from the street and moved into the shadows of the alley. He was positive neither McNeil nor his passengers had spotted him. He clicked the send button on his radio.

  “It’s me,” O’Donnell’s voice responded to his call.

  “I’ve got them,” Hagan answered. “On the Bab an-Nasr, near the edge of the Khan El Khalili. One block east of the restaurant where she connected to the Internet.”

  “What are they driving?”

  “A Jeep. I’d estimate about 1985, give or take a year or two. It’s white, with wood-grain side panels and red primer showing through on both front fenders. All three of them are in the front. I can’t see anyone, or anything, in the back.”

  “Is there a second vehicle?” O’Donnell asked.

  “No. I looked for one, but I’m pretty sure they’re alone.”

  “Okay. Keep them in sight, but don’t try to take them. Paul and Tony, are you guys online?” The remaining two members of the first team responded that they had been listening in and were up to speed on things. “Brent, watch for Paul and Tony. They’ll be coming up Bab an-Nasr from the south in a Fiat. The second team is here from Belfast as well. I’ll grab them and head over from the hotel. We’ll come in from the north and try to cut them off.”

  “Roger that,” Hagan replied. “They’re heading north right now, but they’re not making much progress. The traffic’s pretty bad. You’ve got time, but I’m not sure how much.”

  “We’ll be there inside half an hour. Tony and Paul should be about five minutes away. Call in if you think they’re going to get too far north for us to cut them off. And don’t lose them.”

  O’Donnell grabbed the phone and dialed the room his men had just checked into. They’d be tired from their flight from Belfast, but he didn’t care—work came first. He instructed them to meet him outside the main lobby in three minutes. He left his room, then reconsidered and went back, putting through a quick call to Patrick Kerrigan. Voice mail picked up and he left a quick message that they were off to meet the Carlson party. He took the elevator to the parking gar
age, and jumped into the rented Mercedes, squealing the tires as he sped out into the bright sunlight. His second team was waiting at the front entrance as he pulled up. They climbed in and O’Donnell opened the frequency to Brent Hagan as he tore down the hotel driveway.

  “I’m with Tony and Paul in the Fiat, and we’ve still got a visual on them,” Hagan answered, “but they’re moving quicker now. The traffic thinned out once they left the Khan El Khalili. What do you want us to do?”

  “We’re just leaving the hotel. How far north will we have to be to get in front of them?”

  “There’s no way you’ll get across in time to cut them off, Liam. They’re moving way too fast for that. They’re almost at the old city wall.”

  “Shit!” O’Donnell said tersely between clenched teeth. He thought for a brief moment, then gave the first team the go-ahead. “Once they hit the wall, take them out. But for Christ’s sake, don’t kill the woman.”

  “Yes, sir.” The radio went silent.

  Alain picked the Fiat out of the traffic as it tailed them toward the wall. He watched the car for a few moments as it jockeyed about the dense traffic, closing the distance without drawing attention. Still, to the trained eye it stood out. Once he was positive, he turned to Travis.

  “We’ve got company. The white Fiat about one hundred fifty feet back. They’ve been moving up on us, trying to stay behind vehicles as they shift lanes. I think there’s three guys in the car.”

  Travis divided his time between driving and watching the car in the side rearview mirror. After a minute or two he nodded. “Yeah, I’d say we’ve got a tail.” He switched lanes, moving closer to the curb. When he spoke, he wasted no words. “As we reach the east edge of the wall, I’ll take a sharp left. We’ll be out of their sight for a minute or so. Get out, take Sam and the sniper rifle with you and head for high ground. I’ll pull in at the second gate, it’s about a quarter mile down. I’ll move to the right, away from the wall and draw them into the open.” He turned to Alain, his eyes riveted on the man. “Get at least one. I can’t handle all three.” Alain simply nodded and grasped Samantha by the elbow. A few seconds later, Travis reached the easternmost edge of the old wall and cranked a quick left. A few cars slammed on their brakes to avoid them and the traffic quickly jammed up behind. The second they cleared the wall and were out of sight, Alain and Sam jumped from the vehicle. Alain leaned into the back and yanked out the Sako and a blanket to cover it. He pointed toward the Bab al Futuh and Sam broke into a quick run for the ancient gate. They reached the massive stone structure and Alain headed up the series of stairs that led to the walkway atop the wall. By the time they reached the top, Travis was nearing the second gate a quarter mile to the west. Except for them, the walkway was deserted. Alain slipped his Glock from his belt and handed it to Samantha.

  “Watch the top of the stairwell we just came up. If a white guy pokes his head through, shoot him. Try not to kill any innocent Arabs.”

  She nodded and watched as he slid the blanket off the sniper rifle and flipped open the tripod. He chambered a round and sighted on Travis as he leapt from the truck. Puffs of sand exploded around Travis as he charged into the nearest building. Seconds later, the Fiat screeched to a halt and three men piled out, heading for the doorway Travis had just entered. The lead man didn’t make it ten feet. Alain’s shot tore through his right lung, spinning him violently and slamming him into the coarse brick building. He slid down the wall to the dusty ground, clutching his chest for a moment before going limp. Alain moved the barrel slightly and sighted on a second target. He squeezed the trigger, then swore in disgust as he watched the bullet dig into the stone as the man disappeared into the building. He grabbed the Panther and held the send button down.

  “Got one,” he whispered. “Two hot on you, already in the building.”

  Travis heard the staccato burst of automatic gunfire as he leapt from the vehicle and ran for the three-story building. Bullets zinged past him as he crossed the threshold into temporary safety. He surveyed his position. A small brass plaque denoted the business that occupied the building as an architectural firm. Stretching directly ahead was a brightly lit hallway. A long glass wall lined with offices and a reception area lay to the left, a textured interior wall to the right, unbroken but for a stairwell leading up and down. He chose the hallway and jogged quietly down its length, adjusting the Vektor MINI so the gun dangled across his chest from the shoulder strap. He heard a vehicle come to a sudden stop outside the front of the building just as he reached the rear entrance. He pushed open the fire door and burst into a heavily foliated atrium. The sharp crack of the sniper rifle touched his ears as he closed the door behind him. Seconds later, his earpiece crackled with static and Alain’s voice. “Got one. Two hot on you, already in the building.” Travis raced around the pond and fountain in the atrium’s center, dove behind a bank of dwarf palms and waited.

  Slowly, the door from the hallway swung open. Travis lowered the Vektor and his finger tightened slightly on the five-pound trigger. He waited. The door swung back and clicked shut. He cursed under his breath. His adversaries knew where he was, but were professional enough to know that if they stepped through the door they were dead. He reevaluated his situation, scanning the atrium and the four walls that contained it. The building he had entered was square, with the entire center of the structure dedicated to the atrium. Four doors, one on each wall, exited the atrium back into the building. Windows from the interior offices looked down on the atrium and a few concerned faces were staring down at him from the third floor. They must have heard the gunfire from the front of the building. He had to act quickly; the police would be arriving, and at this point, he would just as soon take his chances with Kerrigan’s men as spend time in a Cairo jail. Travis chose the exit door to his left, opened it and found himself in a hallway similar to the one leading from the front doors.

  This hall was dimly lit and he hugged its edges as he moved stealthily toward the far door. If he was correct, it should lead out on the side of the building closest to where Alain and Samantha were dug in on the wall. Halfway down the corridor, he realized he’d made a bad decision. He heard the soft click of a pistol’s hammer cocking, and only his lightning-fast reflexes saved him. The bullet slammed into the wall exactly where his head had been only milliseconds before, as he rolled hard across the hall and smashed open an office door with his feet. He continued rolling, his momentum taking him out of the hall and into the room behind the door. It was a dentist’s office, and a stunned patient in the chair, the dentist and his assistant all stared at him as he came crashing through the door. The assistant started screaming as Travis jumped to his feet and ran from the dental room through the reception area and into another hallway that serviced the front of the businesses. He turned left, his legs pumping hard as he made for the exterior door some fifty feet away. He touched the send button on the Panther as he ran.

  “Alain, I’m coming out the side door closest to you. They’re on my ass.” The radio clicked and he knew Porter had received the message and was sighting the gun on the exit door away from the main street. He burst into the sunshine, ducking as he heard gunfire in the confines of the hall behind him. Bullets ricocheted wildly off the door and slammed into a nearby palm. He kept moving, running across the open space between buildings, giving his attackers a target. If they could see his back, they should exit the building to sight on him, and when they did, Alain would be ready.

  Less than ten seconds passed; then the unmistakable crack of the Sako sniper rifle shot across the empty lot. Travis immediately dove to his right, rolled, and swept his submachine gun up and aimed at the door. His finger tightened and bullets spewed from the gun even before he had stopped sliding on the smooth sand. He watched as one of the men took hit after hit from the Vektor, the bullets jerking his body like a life-size rag doll. Travis eased the pressure on the trigger and the gun went quiet. The body he had raked with automatic fire teetered for a second, then crashed f
ace first into the dust, unmoving. Travis waited for a few seconds, then rose, walking hesitantly back toward the building.

  Two bodies lay near the door. The man he had shot was dead before he hit the ground. The second man must have taken a bullet from the Sako. Travis approached warily, unsure of whether Alain’s bullet had killed the man or just disabled him. As he neared, he saw a slight movement. He let the Vektor hang from its shoulder strap and slipped out his pistol. He took off the safety and chambered a round. He extended his hands in front of him, targeting the man’s head. Twenty feet out, he saw a two-way radio lying next to the prone figure. The man’s finger had the send button depressed and he was talking into the mouthpiece as best he could, considering the extent of his injuries. Travis could see both hands, but not a gun. He rushed the last fifteen feet and kicked the radio from the man’s grasp. He stared into the eyes that glared back at him from the ground.

  “Who did you call?” he asked.

  “Go to hell,” the man answered, his breathing labored.

  Travis knew the longer he stayed, the greater the risk he’d be dealing with the Cairo police. He left the man as he lay, injured but not dying. Alain’s shot had crushed the man’s shoulder and clavicle, probably collapsed his lung. Some emergency-room doctor could patch him up, but the man wouldn’t be a threat for some time.

  Travis ran back to his vehicle, slipped into the driver’s seat and slammed the old Jeep into gear. He cut a wide U-turn and clicked on the Panther, telling Alain to get back to ground level. He sped back down the Sari al-galal, the historic old wall looming over the road to the right. In the distance, the sound of sirens cut through the late morning heat. He slid to a stop directly in front of the massive Gate of Conquests just as Alain and Samantha hit ground level running. They jumped into the Jeep and Travis floored it, cutting hard left into the bordering Bab an-Nasr cemetery. He slowed as he entered the graveyard, the vehicle hidden from the main road by the trees and headstones that marked the graves. The sounds of sirens diminished as they drove farther into the burial grounds. After three minutes, he stopped and opened the map.