by Jeff Buick
“Two down,” he whispered to Samantha. “Stay here. I’m going to try to get across to Alain. Don’t move.” His tone was firm and she nodded, quite intent on not moving. Travis steadied himself against the rear bumper for a moment, then took off at a full run, weaving back and forth as he closed the distance to his partner. About halfway across, bullets started flying. Car windshields shattered and tires flattened as the spray from the automatic weapons tried to cut him down. He kept low and dove behind a vehicle just as the shooters caught pace with him. Bullets punched jagged holes in the trunk, puncturing the gas tank. Fuel poured onto the ground and he knew he had scant seconds before the shooter noticed the leak and fired again, this time to ignite the car. He jackknifed his taut body back onto his feet and again hit the pavement at a dead run. He was twenty feet away when the car exploded, showering everything within a fifty-foot radius with chunks of burning debris. The force of the blast threw him violently to the ground and he slid along the pavement for another fifteen feet before smashing into a parked van. He rolled under it as pieces of fiery metal rained down. He looked out from under the van and found a target. One of the shooters was visible. He wrestled the Vektor from under his body, took aim and fired. Nothing happened. The gun was jammed. He swore under his breath and slipped his Glock from his belt, chambering a round. His target picked up on his movements and swung his gun around. Too late. The Glock A-17 coughed twice and the man collapsed, clutching at his throat. Travis pumped one more bullet into the form as it fell. That was three—he was positive there was one more.
He moved slightly to his left and brought Alain’s position back into view. His partner was down, but from the heaving of his chest, Travis could see he was still alive. Travis surveyed the scene, trying to locate his final adversary. The parking lot was a disaster. The car that had exploded was still burning and at least two bodies were visible. The time he had to finish this off, get Alain, and escape before the police arrived in droves was fast approaching zero. From the first shot, less than ninety seconds had passed, but it had been a very violent and noisy ninety seconds. He tensed as his peripheral vision picked up a figure moving quickly toward Alain’s position. Seconds later the unthinkable happened. The fourth man, still moving at top speed, whisked by Alain, pumping two bullets into the ex-SEAL. The wounded man convulsed for a moment, then went limp.
“You fucker!” Travis screamed, leaping from behind the van and emptying the remaining fourteen bullets at the killer. “You son-of-a-bitch piece of shit!” He ducked once the Glock started to click as the hammer hit an empty chamber. Again, a torrent of bullets strafed the van, rocking it back and forth. He squeezed out the clip and slapped in a new one. Shit. Seventeen shots. One full clip on the Glock was all he had. And the Vektor was jammed. If he didn’t take out this guy before he emptied his gun, he was dead. He knew by this time that these guys were pros. It had come down to a final twosome, and neither man would quit until one of them was dead.
He looked over at Samantha, still visible to him from the angle he held. He gave her the thumbs up. She looked more terrified than he had ever seen anyone look. He turned his attention back to his final opponent, hidden from sight now behind a small foreign car. Travis estimated the distance to be about sixty yards. Certainly within the range of the Glock—if he could get a clean shot. His eyes again drifted back to the woman crouching behind the vehicle. This time he locked eyes with her. He felt a new resolve creep through his very being, empowering him to do whatever was necessary to keep this woman alive.
Sixty yards, mostly open ground with a few cars sporadically parked between them. The archeology annex loomed large to his left, and he turned his Glock on the building and sighted on a third floor window. He pulled the trigger and the window shattered. He leaped from behind the van and started running toward the car. The distraction worked, and for a split second the man turned and sighted on the window, thinking a sniper had taken position above him. By the time he realized Travis’s slug had smashed the window, it was too late. He tried to spin around and aim, but already his body was being slammed again and again with hot lead. Travis pumped round after round into the falling figure as he raced across the hot asphalt. By the time he covered the sixty yards, Liam O’Donnell lay dying in an expanding pool of blood. Travis kicked the mercenary’s gun from his hand and stood over the prone figure.
“You bastard,” he spat at the man. “You killed my friend.”
“Don’t be so pissed off,” O’Donnell managed to gasp. “You’ve got your revenge.” His eyes and mouth remained open, but his life was over.
Travis jogged over to Alain’s body and tried for a pulse. Nothing. He hoisted the corpse onto his shoulder and started for Hadr’s car. Samantha joined him, jogging alongside. They reached the Chevy, a Malibu Classic, and he struggled with the keys for a few seconds before opening the trunk and dumping Alain’s body in. He slammed the lid and jumped in the driver’s seat. Samantha waited for a second as he leaned over and lifted the button to unlock the door, then slid in beside him. Travis slipped the car into gear and pulled forward, angling toward the exit, some fifty yards away. The opening from lot E onto the main road was bordered on both sides by leafy trees, blocking out any view of the traffic outside the lot. Just as the Malibu reached the entrance, a Mercedes cut in from the main road, sliding sideways as the driver brought the car to a quick stop. The vehicle covered both lanes, effectively blocking the Malibu from exiting. Travis started to swear at the driver, then stopped.
Staring back at them from the driver’s seat of the Mercedes was Patrick Kerrigan.
TWENTY-FIVE
Travis locked eyes with Kerrigan for less than a second before slamming the Malibu into reverse and flooring it. The car careened backwards through the lot, smashing into a curb and bouncing up onto the grass. He grabbed Samantha and dragged her out, ducking as Kerrigan unloaded a fifteen-shot magazine in their direction. He kept Samantha ahead of him, shielding her with his body as they ran at breakneck speed through the campus. An unattractive building, squat and drab amidst the fine Egyptian architecture, was the closest structure and Travis shouted to Samantha to head for it. A small sign, UNIVERSITY MAINTENANCE, was posted on the side. They reached the outer doors with Kerrigan only a few yards behind. The doors were locked and Travis jumped onto an adjacent loading dock, hoisting Samantha up behind him. A large metal door blocked their way into the building. He hit a green button on the wall close to the door and it began to open, the top half sliding into the ceiling and the bottom half into a slit in the concrete floor.
“Don’t even think about it.” The voice was Kerrigan’s, and it came from ground level. They slowly turned to face the man. His arm was outstretched, a pistol pointed directly at Travis. Kerrigan kept the gun centered on Travis’s chest as he skirted the edge of the loading dock and climbed the stairs at the far end. He reached the concrete platform and walked to within a few feet of them. “Throw the gun on the ground and kick it over here,” Kerrigan said, motioning to the gun Travis had tucked in his belt.
“It’s empty,” he replied, his hand moving for the gun.
“I didn’t ask if it was empty. I simply told you to drop it and kick it over to me.” His voice was vile, full of contempt. “And if you so much as twitch while it’s in your hand, I’ll kill you. I’m quite aware of your skill level with weapons.”
Travis gingerly removed the Glock from his waistband with two fingers and dropped it in front of him. He kicked it the short distance between the two men and it stopped against Kerrigan’s right foot. Kerrigan bent down and picked it up, keeping Travis in his sights. He snapped the clip out and took a quick glance inside. He raised an eyebrow. It was empty.
“Why didn’t you do what I hired you to do?” he asked Samantha. “Just find the diamonds and tell me where they are. Simple. But no, you had to keep the location secret.”
“I don’t trust you,” she answered. “I don’t think you have an honest bone in your body. Giving you access
to that diamond formation is dangerous.”
“What you think doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you tell me exactly how to find the formation.”
“Fuck you, Kerrigan.”
Kerrigan cocked the hammer on the pistol and raised it to target McNeil’s head. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, you little bitch. I’ll kill him now. And you’ll have his blood on your hands for the rest of your life.”
Samantha was trembling. She knew Kerrigan would kill Travis just to make his point, and that was not an option. Yet neither was giving the fox the key to the chicken coop. “I brought some with me,” she said quietly, undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse and reaching inside. She withdrew the small suede pouch from her bra, opened the drawstring and let the stones fall into her left hand. She held them up for him to see. “I picked these up in less than two hours.”
Kerrigan studied the stones from a distance. Putting them under a microscope wasn’t necessary for him to realize the value of what she held in her hand. The size and shape of the stones spoke for themselves. They were priceless. The gun wavered slightly as his pulse picked up. He watched as Samantha replaced the stones in the pouch and slid it back into her bra.
“I think I’ll take those as well,” he said, holding out his free hand. “Now!”
Samantha began to reach for the diamonds, then stopped. “Let him go; then I’ll give you these—and the location.” She moved closer to him, almost daring him to go for the stones.
“Oh, you’ll give me both, you stunned bitch. As for letting this fellow go, I don’t think so. He’s too dangerous to have milling about.”
She was within arm’s length of Kerrigan, her blouse still unbuttoned and the pouch visible. The first sounds of police sirens cut through the stifling Cairo heat. Time was waning. It was Kerrigan who made the first move. Simultaneously, he squeezed the trigger and grabbed for the diamonds. Travis was ready. He threw himself against the wall as Kerrigan’s finger tightened on the trigger. The bullet blew by his neck with millimeters to spare, hot air actually singing the tiny hairs on his nape. Travis crashed into the wall, his shoulder hitting the button for the steel door. It started to close, the two halves rising from the floor and dropping from the ceiling.
Samantha lost the diamonds. Kerrigan’s grab for the pouch was more accurate than his shot at Travis’s head. His finger caught the clasp on her bra and ripped it off along with the diamonds. He fell back for a second, slightly off balance. Travis made one vain attempt at leveling Kerrigan before the man could take aim with the pistol. Travis lunged out from the wall, spinning as he moved, his right leg kicking up and out. His foot hit Kerrigan directly in the chest, driving the man back toward the closing doors. Kerrigan stumbled, hit the bottom part of the door as it rose, then fell backwards through the narrow horizontal crack. A second later, the two halves of the door slammed together, Kerrigan on one side, he and Samantha on the other. The sounds of the police sirens were louder, closing by the second.
“Let’s go,” Travis yelled, grabbing her and jumping from the elevated loading dock to the ground. They landed in a run, heading straight for Adel Hadr’s Chevrolet. They covered the distance with no sign of the police. He gunned the ignition and headed for the exit, still blocked by Kerrigan’s Mercedes. He veered off at the last possible second, aiming for a small gap in the trees that bordered the exit. The Chevy hit the curb hard, sending it airborne for twenty feet and heading directly at the trees. The car hit the soft earth, sending dirt and sand flying and causing him to momentarily lose control of his steering. For a second the car careened sideways toward a sixty-foot tree, Travis fighting for control. He floored the gas pedal, sending torque to the rear wheels and driving the car forward even faster. The force of the power to the wheels straightened the car at the last possible second, propelling it between two trees. Both side mirrors were ripped off as the Malibu scraped its way through the narrow gap. Then they were free.
The car crashed onto the access road to the main highway. Travis spun the wheel hard left to counteract the skid, then straightened it out as the car came under control. He slowed to a reasonable speed and moved into the proper lane. A moment later, the first of many police cars came racing past them, heading for lot E. He stayed at the posted speed limit, entered the freeway traffic and took a deep breath. His shoulder hurt from crashing into the wall, but it was better than taking a bullet in the skull.
“How about we get out of Cairo now?” Samantha said, her head resting against the side window. “This city is dangerous.”
He drove with the traffic, no faster, no slower, and stopped at the outskirts of the city for gas. They dusted themselves off as best as possible and bought food at the convenience store attached to the service station. He also picked up a small shovel. They paid for the gas with the last of their money and left Cairo, heading into the desert. Two hours out, Travis pulled onto a seldom-used side road and drove a few miles off the highway. He stopped at a low point in the desert, where it was impossible for passing vehicles to see them. He opened the trunk and dragged out Alain’s body. Samantha watched as he dug a grave, his muscular body methodical and rhythmic. Twenty minutes later he stepped from the shallow grave and rolled Alain in. He covered his friend with sand, then knelt on the ground, staring at the individual grains of sand. Samantha joined him.
“I knew him for a long time,” Travis said as she knelt beside him. “We went through a lot together. In my business, it takes a lot before you really trust someone.”
She didn’t respond, just touched his elbow. They knelt in silence at the graveside for a few minutes. He finally stood up and helped her to her feet. They didn’t speak as they headed back to the highway that led to Israel and the end of the nightmare that Cairo had become. It wasn’t an awkward silence, just a necessary one. Mile after mile of sand passed by, each dune melding into the next, desolate and devoid of life. Such a wonderful climate, yet the land was totally useless without water. The sun alone was not enough. Perhaps she had been the sun all these years, standing alone in her victories, not knowing she needed another person to take away the desolation of her successful life. She needed water, and without it her life would always mirror the vast wasteland that surrounded her. And for the first time in her life, she knew exactly who that water was. She eventually stretched out on the front seat and drifted off, her head resting on Travis’s thigh. It was comfortable, reassuring.
Patrick Kerrigan slammed his suitcase shut and answered the knocking at his hotel door. It was the bellboy for his luggage. He waved at the suitcases and followed the boy out into the corridor. They took the elevator to the main floor and he checked out as they loaded his bags into the waiting limo. He had to get out of Cairo before they tied the Mercedes at the university back to him. The Mercedes with a body in the front seat, a single bullet through its head.
The Cairo police were on a rampage. Two of their officers had been found dead, stuffed into the trunk of their squad car, and they wanted answers. They wanted someone other than the dead bodies littering the campus to be held accountable. And the only person left who fit that description was Patrick Kerrigan. His options were simple. Leave Cairo within the next hour or rot in an Egyptian jail. The limo driver nodded when he told him there was an extra one hundred dollars if they could make his plane. Despite the traffic, the driver made exceptional time, depositing Kerrigan by the front doors twenty minutes before his flight was scheduled to depart. The driver smiled at the tip and Kerrigan made a mad dash for the airline counter. Six people were in line and he offered each one twenty dollars to let him crash the line. Six takers. He gave the ticket rep the confirmation number he had received over the Internet only thirty minutes prior, and she handed him a boarding pass. She checked the luggage with an urgent sticker attached to it and he headed for boarding gate thirty-two. A metal detector surrounded by police stood between him and the gate. He approached it, his boarding pass in his right hand.
“Mister,” the official paused as
he read the name on the pass, “Kerrigan.” The entire bevy of guards had their eyes pasted on him. “You are picking a very interesting time to leave Cairo.”
“Interesting?” Kerrigan asked. “Why interesting?”
“We’ve had a very nasty disturbance at the university today,” the man replied, looking intently at the passport Kerrigan had handed him along with the boarding pass. “A foreigner was spotted leaving the area just after the trouble. You fit the description.”
“Sorry, gentlemen. I’ve been at my hotel all morning, but I never turned the television on. Must have missed all the action.”
“I see. What sort of business brought you to Cairo, Mr. Kerrigan?”
He did not like the way this was going. It was time to take a risk, one that could go either way. “My business is somewhat confidential,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed. The guard just stared at him, waiting. “I sell ladies’ lingerie. To the women of Cairo who wish to be more western. It’s not a job that I would want other men to know about.” He motioned to the group of police and soldiers that hovered nearby.
The man stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “Ladies’ underwear.” Kerrigan nodded. The man turned to the group and spoke in rapid Arabic. They all began to laugh. The guard held up the boarding pass and passport and Kerrigan took them back. “I hope you sold lots of panties, Mr. Kerrigan.”