African Ice

by Jeff Buick

  They split up, with only one thought in mind: Find Samantha Carlson.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Dr. Adel Hadr was between classes, marking assignments, wondering how some of his first-year students had graduated from Cairo’s public school programs. He hated working with freshmen. Most of them were spoiled rich kids who didn’t know what they wanted to do with their lives. And so they wasted part of his as he graded the slop they slapped together and handed in. A sharp knock split the silence in his cramped office and he peered up over his reading glasses at the door.

  “Enter,” he said in Arabic.

  Samantha Carlson poked her head into Hadr’s office. She recognized the middle-aged man immediately; he hadn’t changed much since his stint at Concordia. Thick-framed glasses sat on the tip of his ample nose, and his intelligent eyes looked into hers. The professor’s hairline had receded slightly and a few extra wrinkles crowded together at the edge of his eyes. He broke into a wide grin, revealing uneven but very white teeth. Hadr stood, set the reading glasses on his desk and held out his arms.

  “Samantha Carlson,” he said warmly. “My God, what are you doing in Cairo?”

  “Well, that’s a bit of a story,” she said, moving across the small room and embracing the man. “We’re in a little bit of a pickle here, Adel.”

  “I see,” he said, his face turning serious. He motioned to Travis and she watched as the men shook hands. “We need to get out of Cairo as quickly as possible. And quietly.”

  “So this isn’t a social call,” he said, pushing a stack of papers back and sitting on the edge of his desk. “I’ll do what I can. What do you need?”

  “A vehicle that’s reliable enough to get us to the Israeli border. Some food and water would be appreciated.”

  “The only car I have is my Chevy Malibu. I had to get the local Chevrolet dealership to order it specially. It took six months for it to arrive.”

  “We only need it to get across the border. We’ll leave it at Magen, which is about ten miles into Israel, and pick up an Israeli vehicle.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading.

  Adel Hadr peered into her eyes, seeing the sincerity. He smiled and nodded. “It’s like my first-born, Samantha. I love that car. Please try to leave it in one piece.”

  She grinned. “I’ll try, Adel.”

  “Here,” he said, grabbing his jacket and pulling keys from a breast pocket. “I’ll walk down with you to where it’s parked.”

  Travis intervened. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Professor. I suspect we may have some company.”

  “It could be dangerous?”

  “Very.”

  “I rather like danger,” he said, turning to Sam. “Remember when we were excavating on the edge of that cemetery and the police threatened to shut us down?”

  “Not the same thing, Doc,” he said, taking the keys from the man’s hand. “These are guys with guns, and they’ll kill you if you get in their way.”

  The professor paled, then regained his composure and addressed Sam. “The car’s in lot E, stall 36. It’s at the north end of the building and over one lot. There’s a case of bottled water in the trunk. Always a good thing to carry when you live surrounded by desert. And Samantha,” he hesitated, “please don’t get hurt.”

  Samantha took Hadr’s hands and squeezed. “I’ll be okay. Travis is quite good at watching over me,” she said. “Take care, Adel. I’ll see you soon.”

  They left the second floor office and rejoined Alain where he stood watch at the end of the hallway. They took the stairs to the first floor, and Travis cautiously opened the fire door and peered into the main foyer of the geology annex. He clicked the door shut and backed away from it. “Two guys,” he whispered to Sam and Alain, “moving this way, and I don’t think they’re students.”

  They moved quickly into an intersecting hallway, and Alain pried open the first door they came to. He waved them in, and Travis and Samantha followed him into a deserted classroom. A blackboard ran almost the full width of the room, and forty to fifty desks sat in seven neatly arranged rows. A long counter ran across the back of the room, close to where they were standing. Rock fragments were scattered across the laminate top, leftovers from a geology lab. Sam was the last to enter and shut the door behind her. Travis was already across the room working on opening a window. He spent a few seconds on it, then turned and shook his head.

  “It’s bolted,” he said quietly. “We’ll have to break a window to get out this way.”

  “The door,” Sam said, pointing to a door at the front of the classroom, tucked into the corner next to the blackboard. “It’s either that or back into the hallway.”

  Travis moved quickly to the door. He tried the handle with no success, then withdrew a thin piece of metal from his belt and slipped it into the keyhole, working on the lock’s tumblers. A few moments later the handle turned and he opened the door. They ducked into the room and he relocked the door from the inside. They were in an office, used by the professor who taught in the classroom they had just exited. It was dimly lit by one small window mostly blocked by piles of books. A cluttered desk sat amidst the piles of papers and research tomes that littered the room. There was an additional door on the opposite side of the room, and Alain stepped over the papers to try the handle. It opened to his touch, revealing a set of stairs descending into a darkened basement. Alain didn’t hesitate. He started down, the others following closely.

  The stairwell was dark, lit only by the ambient light that filtered down from the office. Fifteen concrete stairs took them to the basement level and another door. This one was steel, and secured with a dead bolt and a handle lock. Alain moved aside, giving Travis access to the locks. The dead bolt was top of the line and required a few minutes to pick, but Travis finally felt the tumblers click into place. He worked on the door handle lock for less than ten seconds, then swung the door open. He entered the pitch-black room, his hand sweeping across the adjacent wall searching for a light switch. His fingers found one and he clicked it, flooding the room with light. All three stared in disbelief.

  Ahead of them was a cavernous underground chamber filled with shelves and boxes. Ancient Egyptian artifacts lined the walls, casting eerie shadows against the drab concrete. Dusty tomes of Egyptian history were stacked carefully on the shelves, each one numbered sequentially. Eight ornately carved limestone sarcophagi sat upright in the center of the room, all properly supported to keep from tipping. The sight was spectacular. They closed and locked the door behind them, then crept forward and moved quietly through the myriad of archeological pieces.

  “This is incredible,” Alain said softly. “This room has more stuff in it than most museums.”

  “The museum exhibits probably come from this room,”

  Samantha said. “But why the hell is this room attached to the geology building? This isn’t geology, it’s Egyptology.”

  “This room probably runs underground and attaches to the archeology building. It would also give us a way out.”

  Samantha nodded vigorously. “That makes sense. When we entered the sciences complex, geophysics was to the left of the central park, geology to the right, and archeology directly ahead. That would put the archeology annex to our left, as we’re directly below geology right now.” She pointed to the far corner. “Let’s try it and see if we can find another door.”

  Samantha swung around and headed for the distant corner, her shoulder brushing the edge of the closest sarcophagus as she moved past. She felt a distinct pain in her arm and glanced down, wincing from the sudden unexpected agony. A tiny speck of red showed on her shirt, then spread as the blood poured from the wound. She touched it, unable to comprehend how such a light brush had caused so much damage. A now familiar sound reached her as she stood transfixed—the pufft of a bullet being fired from a silenced gun. Travis and Alain caught the same noise and all three dropped to the ground, scrambling for cover. Samantha leapt in behind one of the vertical mummies and huddled clos
e to the floor. She looked over at Travis. He was staring at her arm. She made a quick thumbs-up gesture and he nodded.

  She was shot, but how badly she didn’t know. She tried to pull her shirtsleeve up to assess the damage, but she couldn’t get it past her elbow. The stain was still spreading, wet and sticky. She leaned against the cold stone sarcophagus and forced herself to breathe deeply as she watched Travis and Alain peering cautiously around the edges of their cover. Both men were concentrating on the entrance they had used to gain access to the basement. The gunman must have followed them from the classroom on the upper level. More sounds of silenced guns and chips of limestone flew across the room as bullets chewed into the sarcophagus.

  Travis opened the radio frequency to Alain and spoke softly to his partner, only a few yards distant. “I’ve seen two flashes,” he whispered. Alain concurred by nodding and holding up two fingers. “Eleven o’clock and two o’clock. I’ll give them a quick headshot, you take the guy at eleven. Okay?” He watched as Alain nodded again, and steeled himself against the sarcophagus he was crouched behind. Travis motioned with his fingers, counting down from three. On one he flashed his hand out from behind the left side of the mummy, then on zero he stuck his head around the right side for a brief moment. He pulled back to safety as two bullets flew past the stone edge. The sharp report of an un-silenced pistol split the room, the sound almost deafening. Travis looked over to Alain, who made a thumbs-up sign. He had a hit—one shooter down, one to go.

  “Switch to the Vektor,” Travis mouthed quietly to Alain. “He’s behind those shelves at two o’clock. Ready?” Again, Alain nodded, sliding the machine gun from across his back and hooking the strap around his right elbow, pulling it tight and sighting. “Three, two, one.” On the one count, Travis stepped from behind the sarcophagus and began pumping round after round from his Glock into the shelving units. A split second later the Vector MINI opened up, shredding everything on the shelves and cutting through the concealed mercenary at chest height. He was dead standing up. Alain eased off the trigger and they heard the sound of a limp body hitting the floor. Travis raced across the floor, pistol outstretched, then relaxed. The Vektor had sliced the man almost in two. He quickly checked the first victim Alain had taken down. Blood trickled from a solitary wound in the center of his forehead. Travis moved back to where Samantha had sat motionless throughout the ordeal.

  “We’d better move,” he said, grabbing her good arm and lifting her from the floor. She winced in pain at the movement. He carefully slipped her shirt down over her shoulder and wiped a bit of blood away from her wound. It was starting to congeal and they could both see the inch-long gash the bullet had left as it cut through her flesh. All layers of skin had been sheared off, exposing the underlying muscle. She grimaced as Travis wet his sleeve with saliva and cleaned the surrounding area. He scanned the cut intently, then glanced up at her and grinned.

  “No muscle damage,” he said lightly. “It’s going to sting like a son of a bitch, but it just took the skin off. You are one lucky lady.”

  He kept hold of her arm as they wove their way through the relics that cluttered the underground chamber. They reached the far end of the room, under the archeology annex, and Travis and Alain searched for a stairwell. They found a heavy steel door tucked in behind a stack of sandstone tablets covered with hand-carved inscriptions. They were on the inner side of the security door and no key was required to open it. Travis simply turned the dead-bolt latch, unlocked the door handle and slowly swung open the door. It creaked under the heavy weight and lack of recent use. He peered into the darkened stairwell until his eyes adjusted to the light. The stairs were empty and he motioned for Alain and Samantha to follow him up. The staircase truncated in a small vestibule, with doors leading into the archeology building or to the outdoors. They chose the latter and exited into the sunlight, immediately beside a huge map of the campus. It showed where they were in relation to lot E. Travis stared in amazement.

  “Check this out,” he said. “Parking lot E, this way. What are the chances? Maybe our luck is changing.” He headed for the lot and Adel Hadr’s prized Chevy, with Alain and Samantha in tow.

  O’Donnell heard the muffled sound of gunfire. He stopped, almost in the entrance to the math sciences building, and listened. He heard nothing for a moment, then the sound of another volley of pistol shots followed by the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire drifted across the campus. It was impossible to tell where the gunfire originated. He clicked on the send button and asked for his teams to report in. Only one did. He had assigned the missing twosome to the geology ell. He called back to the remaining team and had them head for the main doors. Then he stopped in his tracks. Two hundred yards from where he stood, he saw three figures exit a side door of the archeology complex and turn north, moving quickly across the grass. He opened up the radio channel again, this time instructing his men to bypass geology and head northeast.

  “There are three of them,” he told the men as they jogged. “Both men are carrying automatic weapons. Could be Vektors. Fire at will, but don’t kill the woman.”

  “I hear you,” the staccato reply came back, the man’s voice clipped from jogging.

  Liam waited until the three figures disappeared behind a small knoll, then started out at a brisk run. He sprinted across the center courtyard that separated the numerous science buildings, and reached the near edge of the archeology annex without being spotted. Carlson and the two ex-SEALs were moving quickly toward one of the far parking lots. They were either intent on stealing a vehicle or they’d managed to get their hands on some keys. He suspected the latter. The last thing he needed right now was for them to pile into a car and take off, leaving him in a cloud of smoke with his vehicle on the far side of the campus. He began moving again, trying to stay inconspicuous. He had narrowed their lead on him to less than one hundred yards when his two-way crackled and came to life. It was Kerrigan.

  “I’m inside the campus. Where the hell are you?”

  “Just north of the archeology building,” he responded, slowing and ducking behind cover. He motioned for the man accompanying him to get undercover. “McNeil and one other SEAL have Carlson with them and they’re heading for a parking lot. It looks from here to be E.”

  A few moments of silence overtook the radio as Kerrigan got his bearings. “Got it. I’ll circle around from the east and come in the entrance to lot E. There’s only one, so if that’s what they’re heading for, we should be able to trap them. Give me about two minutes.”

  “Sounds good,” O’Donnell said.

  He linked up with his remaining team via the radio. “Did you guys catch that?” An affirmative answer came back. “Okay, don’t let them see you. We’ve got them cornered. Continue to the northeast on foot, and Kerrigan will block the east entrance with his vehicle. We’re coming up from behind, to the south of them. Keep low and out of sight.”

  Travis spotted the professor’s car first. He pointed to it and they angled across the lot, checking around for signs of hostiles. Nothing. About halfway to the parked vehicle, he noticed two students walking toward them. Both the young man and woman looked nervous and stole an occasional glance behind them. They walked quicker than the average young couple moving between classes. They had seen something that had spooked them. Men with guns? Travis motioned to Alain to split off to the right and hug the bushes surrounding car lot E. He grabbed Sam by the elbow and steered her between two rows of parked cars. Moments later gunfire erupted, shattering the midday calm of the campus. They ducked behind a late-model Mercedes as its windshield exploded. Bullets ripped into the driver’s side of the car, tearing through the corrugated side panels and shredding the leather interior. Samantha hugged Travis as they felt the slugs thud into the door they were leaning against. The safety panels in the passenger door were too much for the bullets to penetrate, and they could hear the mutilated chunks of lead dropping harmlessly onto the rocker panels. Samantha was terrified.

&nbs
p; He slipped the Panther from his belt and called Alain. “What have you got? We’re totally blind over here.”

  “I’m not in a good position,” came the breathless reply. “There are two on the other side of Hadr’s car, and at least one behind me. I’m caught between them.”

  Alain’s voice crackled, then went quiet as more automatic gunfire cut through the air. Travis pushed Samantha hard against the sandy grit that covered the asphalt and motioned for her to stay put. He duck-waddled his way to the rear of the Mercedes and peeked out, looking forward toward the shooters who crouched near Hadr’s Chevrolet. A blond head popped up over an adjacent car; then the man’s shoulders and a submachine gun appeared. It spit fire briefly, then the shooter quickly retreated to safety. Travis flipped a toggle on the Vektor, switching it from automatic to single-shot status. He looped the strap tightly around his right elbow and tucked the gun butt into his shoulder. He steeled himself, then slid cautiously around the rear fender until he had a sight on the shooter’s location. He counted silently to himself, second by dangerous second. At six, the head appeared again in exactly the same spot, a fatal mistake. Travis gently squeezed the trigger, sending one bullet to its target. The man jerked violently and fell behind the car. Travis slipped back to safety as a barrage of bullets tore into the already chewed-up Mercedes. He looked to Samantha. She hadn’t moved, and he held a cautionary finger up to her.

  “One down, two or three to go. We just may make it out of this.” He depressed the send button and called over to Alain. “You okay over there?”

  “Damn, Travis,” the reply came back. “I’m hit, buddy.” Silence engulfed the radio and then the university grounds as the shooting stopped for a moment. Travis reacted to the news with tempered anger. He flipped the toggle on the Vektor, putting it back to automatic status. He lay prone on the ground next to Samantha, his eyes searching the far end of the parking lot. Through the tangle of parked cars, he saw what he needed—feet. Some fifty yards distant, the second gunman was concealed behind an older model Volvo. But beneath the vehicle were his feet. Travis took careful aim, the Vektor resting on the asphalt, then fired. The stream of bullets ripped through the man’s legs, shattering the bones and destroying the muscle. He fell to the ground screaming. Travis pulled the trigger again and this time the deadly stream of lead cut into the man’s torso, killing him. He sat up from his prone position and leaned against the Mercedes while he expelled the empty magazine and snapped in a new one.