Then when the automatic weapons that had been firing back at them stopped, he climbed up on the running board, and saw several dark figures disappearing into the night.
“They’re getting away!” he screamed, rage pushing aside the fear once again. “After them!”
His men hesitated at first, but one brave soul had courage enough to shout “Allahu Akbar!” and the rest joined in, reminded of the glorious orgy of lust that awaited them in paradise should they die today.
And several died within seconds of the charge, their bodies torn apart by what Khalil could only imagine to be some type of cannon. He found his feet carrying him forward, the cry of God is Great! on his lips, but as a body skidded to a halt in front of him, he stopped, then rushed back to the truck, jumping in the driver’s side as his force of more than three dozen men continued to dwindle, now less than ten left.
The engine roared to life as he turned the key. Slamming it into reverse, he popped the clutch and gave it gas, the truck leaping backward as he tried to flee in his mad panic. The truck jerked to a halt as it slammed into something, the engine stalling out with a shake.
He turned the key, and the engine chugged as it tried to restart. The passenger side window shattered, and the back of the seat was torn apart, the hole the bullet left behind massive.
They’re trying to kill me!
The gall of these infidels never ceased to amaze him. Did they give no thought to the fact he was an Imam, a servant of Allah himself? Did they not know they would be condemned to an eternity in Hell while he, should he die, would be blessed for eternity?
The engine roared to life, and as he slammed it into first, the truck leaping forward, he was saved from contemplating the answers. He risked turning the lights on, figuring a hasty, safe exit was better than a slow, blind one, and within moments was safely out of sight of the battle, his last glance through the rearview mirror of several of his men turning back to the trucks.
Cowards! You should be fighting to the death for Allah!
Leather slammed his fist into the ground as the first truck pulled away. Then he realized this wasn’t a military operation, this was a civilian defensive one. If the enemy were to flee, that most likely meant they wouldn’t have to worry about them again. Then his thoughts turned to the news reports. If these men were part of the worldwide attacks, then they would have to probably deal with them again at some point, whether it was men like him, or men like those that still remained in the active service.
Either way there was the chance of more innocent blood shed.
“Take out their remaining vehicles,” he ordered over the comm. He heard his second-in-command begin to respond, then the distinct sound of gunfire and cries of pain. He looked up at the opposite ridge, his view through the hazy green flying rapidly by when it came upon the second position.
Two men were standing over his comrades, a third bent over doing something that involved his arm jerking up and down, then suddenly the man stood up, holding the head of Sergeant Hewlett high in the air, shouting something at the night sky.
“Sonofabitch!”
He took aim, eliminating the groin of the man holding the head, the gaping hole certain to kill him, but low enough to let him die an agonizing death over the coming minutes. Leather’s partner took out the second target at the same time, removing his head chest and neck from existence, then Leather took out the third target as he fled, sending him flying out of sight.
Leather jumped to his feet.
“Get to the professors, provide whatever protection you can. I’m going after the first truck.”
And with that he sprinted in the direction of the road he knew the vehicle would be forced to follow in the night, as his comrade rushed in the opposite direction.
Tonight they all die.
Terrence continued to stumble, his chest aching from the impact of having been shot by Professor Acton of all people. He thanked God that Leather had told him to put the body armor on, and though it had stopped the bullet, it hadn’t prevented it from either bruising or breaking at least one rib.
But he was alive, and Jenny’s reaction to his apparent death had been spectacularly romantic, if the bit of it he caught when he awoke was any indication.
He also knew the professor felt profoundly bad, practically carrying him over his shoulders, as some other man whom Terrence at first had thought to be one of the enemy, helped on the other side.
Jenny was ahead, night vision goggles on, leading the way back to their jeep, while the gunfire behind them had all but stopped. Which in his mind could mean only one of three things. One, which he knew he wasn’t lucky enough to be true, was that the enemy was fleeing, the second was that they were all dead, another option he considered himself not lucky enough for, or third, they were in pursuit.
Which was the most likely.
And the fact the guards weren’t firing any more had him terrified. Were they dead? Why weren’t they engaging the enemy anymore?
Maybe they are all dead?
A nervous glance over his shoulder yielded little except the sight of the ex-cop Reading carrying a cot with his dying friend, Professor Palmer having switched positions with the young reporter. She was now covering their rear, and he felt a twinge of guilt for that, since if he didn’t need help, Professor Acton and this colonel gent could be back there instead, and his mentor and former secret crush could be up here with him, perhaps not safe, but safer for certain.
Several shots rang out behind them, and he heard the professor shout, “They’re coming!” as Acton extricated himself from Terrence, and rushed back to assist his fiancée.
And Terrence didn’t blame him a bit, his entire being wishing it was him that were racing back to be the hero.
Instead, he focused on the beautiful Jenny in front of him, a consolation prize by no means, and smiled through the wheezes at how lucky he felt at this very moment.
Imam Khalil cranked the wheel, following the barely there road in the darkness. To call this anything but a trail would be ridiculous, how it had ever come to be beyond him, and he cursed then begged forgiveness every time a wheel perfectly found a hole in the ground that rattled his teeth and strained his arms as he braced himself from slamming into the steering wheel.
He rounded another corner and he caught something from the side of his eye as the beams from the headlights whipped around the corner. It was a man. Khalil instinctively ducked, flooring the truck, as gunshots tore apart his windshield, the rush of wind filling the cabin as he picked up speed. He risked a glance, straightening out the wheel as the truck whined, demanding a shift in gear, but his position preventing him from doing so.
Instead, he grabbed the weapon sitting on the passenger seat and raised it just as a figure jumped on the running board, shoving its own weapon into the cabin.
Khalil fired, the man flying backward just as he himself fired. Khalil felt a burning hot pain in his shoulder, the weapon dropping from his hand, coming to rest on the floor of the passenger side, hopelessly out of reach should he need it again. With a valiant effort, and a scream of pain and a prayer to Allah, he shifted from second to third, gaining speed, and minutes later, with no sign of pursuit, burst out onto the open highway.
Khalil tore the sleeve of his left arm off with his teeth, then, driving with his knees, tied a tourniquet over the wound, staunching, at least temporarily, the bleeding.
Now he just needed to hang on until he reached a town with people he could trust.
And Allah willing, I will be alive tomorrow to continue the fight.
“There it is!” yelled Jenny, pointing to the jeep that sat behind a large rock outcropping. The colonel hauled Terrence to the jeep, placing him in the passenger seat, then scrambled around to the other side, firing up the engine, the keys thoughtfully left in the ignition.
Jenny jumped in the back as the colonel turned the vehicle around, facing it toward the way Terrence had come earlier, the tracks still visible in the sand. The make
shift stretcher was placed across the rear doors, covering the back seat, then Professor Palmer and Reading jumped over the rear, placing their legs on the rear seats, and holding onto the cot with one hand, the jeep with the other.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” yelled Acton, waving at the colonel to get moving.
“What about the guards?” asked Laura.
“They’ll have to catch up,” said Acton as he grabbed the windshield and jumped on the running board, the reporter doing the same on the other side. “They can take care of themselves. Those guys”—Acton pointed at the men coming into sight—“aren’t going to wait.”
“Then we go!” said the colonel as he put the vehicle in gear and the jeep roared forward. Gunfire from behind rang out, and Acton spun, aiming his weapon one handed, and fired as they gained speed. Suddenly the colonel slammed on the brakes, sending Terrence and the others flying forward as one of their guards came into view. He leapt on the passenger side of the hood, then motioned for them to continue on.
The colonel stepped on it, and once again everyone was tossed about, but within minutes they were out of range of any hostiles, and on their way along a path Terrence wasn’t sure he’d recognize at any time of day. In fact, after about fifteen minutes, Terrence was convinced they were lost, and said so.
“No, this is a back way. It will keep us off the main roads so we avoid any checkpoints.”
“Why the hell would we want to avoid the authorities? Don’t we want to go to them?” exploded Reading. “We’ve got a wounded man here, we need help!”
The colonel frowned in the moonlight, then nodded. “You are of course correct. I will take us to the main road, and from there, you will continue on yourselves.”
“What about you?” asked Terrence, uncertain why he should concern himself with this man’s wellbeing.
“I will be fine. My brothers will find me very quickly.”
“So there are others?” asked Acton, still kneeling on the runner, his weapon slung over his shoulder, his head mostly behind the windshield.
The colonel nodded.
“Many others. What you saw today was a small group meant to scare some children and their teachers into leaving. Not engage an armed force.”
“What are your intentions, now that we’re gone?” asked Acton, the concern for their find evident in his voice.
How can you think about that now?
Terrence couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They had barely escaped with their lives, half the world was on fire from madmen, and the professor was worried about the tomb of someone dead two thousand years previous.
But before the colonel could answer, the engine began to sputter and their speed quickly reduced, and less than a minute later, they rolled to a halt.
Out of gas.
In the middle of the Nubian Desert.
We’re screwed.
Leather pushed himself up off the ground as the lorry roared around the corner and out of sight. He began to run after it but immediately stopped, his ribs roaring in protest.
Lucky damned shot!
But lucky or not, he was now officially compromised. He checked his vest and found his shirt torn open where the bullet had entered, then a gouge in the chest plate but no bullet, it apparently ricocheting off and back out his shirt, his last second twist when he saw the barrel of the gun probably saving his arse from meeting his maker.
He took several tentative breaths, then started to walk back toward where the rendezvous would be taking place, and after a minute, broke out into a gentle jog, each step painful, but bearable.
Nothing broken, just bruised.
Nothing a few days on the beach in Spain wouldn’t cure.
Then again, with the amount of sun and heat he’d experienced on this job, perhaps someplace cold and wet would be better.
England. Home.
He smiled when he realized how much he missed the weather everyone loved to complain about. It had only been a couple of months since he’d been home, but he really did miss it. He wasn’t married, no kids, but he did have family he was close to, friends he missed.
And football.
He missed football. It wasn’t the same kicking a ball around on the desert sand for a few minutes. He needed an open field, grass, greenery, and a score of his mates to play with to really open up the lungs and enjoy it.
He winced, and his hand darted to his ribcage, pressing tenderly.
Football will have to wait.
It took almost ten minutes before he reached the rendezvous point, and as he expected, they were already gone.
Good. That’s what they should have done!
At least he didn’t have to worry about them. Roger was a good man, and the fact he wasn’t milling about indicated he had made it in time. He would take care of them, getting them to safety.
Now as for himself…
He spun around, pulling his knife from his belt as a foot scraped on the rock behind him. The man, covered in blood, was complaining in Arabic about the impossibility of finding the tomb in the dark, which clinched the friend or foe question for Leather. The next moment the knife was buried in the man’s chest. Leather rushed forward, dipping down to pull the knife from the still gasping man’s ribs, then with a swift upward motion, begun before the man’s partner came into sight, he shoved the dripping blade into the second man’s stomach, shoving up hard, then twisting, the man’s only response a muffled, gurgling cry as his innards ran down Leather’s hand, half buried in the man’s stomach.
Which was when the other two men with them reacted.
Leather yanked his hand out of the second man’s stomach and held him by the back of the collar as the others opened fire, Leather’s meat shield blocking the shots as he ducked behind the twice dead man.
When both stopped to reload, foolishly finishing their clips at the same time, Leather exploded from behind the bloody stump of a corpse, and to the surprise of the closest man, buried his knife in the man’s neck, then drawing his sidearm, put two bullets in the final man’s chest, then one in his head just in case he was wearing body armor.
Leather continued forward, around the large rock that had concealed his would be attackers, but found no one else. He dropped to his knees and quickly used the sand to wash his hands of the blood and innards, then flipped his night vision goggles down, scanning the area for any heat signatures or movement.
Nothing.
He crawled to the edge of the ridge and looked down at the camp below. There were several dim green forms, most likely dying or recently dead men, their body heat quickly dissipating into the cool night air, and three bright figures, wandering around the area where the professor had set up his decoy find.
Brilliant move, Professor!
He pushed himself to his feet and jogged to the far ridge where his two dead comrades would be, keeping low the entire time, behind dunes and ridges when possible. In the darkness of the night, he almost tripped over their bodies. Two of their killers were dead, and looking to the left he could see the third man about ten feet away, having rolled down the dune.
He knelt down, prying the sniper rifle from his dead mate, trying not to look at the bloody stump where his head once was, the uncivilized bastards beheading him for no other reason than to show they were as primitive as he thought they were.
And now it was time for pay back.
He set up the weapon, reloaded, and adjusted his sights to target the three remaining men on the opposite ridge, but not before scanning the area behind him once again for any surprise guests.
Nothing.
He took aim at the first target, the one closest to cover, and aiming for his head, the more difficult and selfish shot, he fired, immediately chambering another round and acquiring the second target who stood frozen, wondering apparently what to do.
Let me help you with that decision.
Leather fired, removing the man’s head.
Stay put!
The third man ran toward the truck
s as Leather reloaded. Now that his target was moving, he checked the urge to remove his head, instead aiming lower and fired, removing a significant portion of the man’s left shoulder. He dropped, writhing on the ground. Leather reloaded, then put the man out of his misery, despite part of him wishing unending pain on one of those responsible for the death of his mates.
He scanned the camp and surrounding area again and found no one remaining. Rising, he strode into the dig site, then into the central tent, dropping on the nearest cot.
And fell asleep.
Nubian Desert, Egypt, Approaching the University College London Dig Site
90 minutes later
“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the pilot over the comm. “It looks like a warzone down there!”
Dawson stood up and made his way forward, pushing his head into the cockpit. Before he could ask what the pilot was so excited over, he saw for himself and gasped, the beam from the searchlight darting from body to body, nobody moving.
“Is anybody alive down there?” he asked, his chest tightening as he thought of all those kids they were there to rescue.
“Nothing’s moving. Infrared shows only one possible live target in the central tent, but it’s not moving either. The rest are all long dead or recently dead.”
“Drop us on the north ridge, right there,” said Dawson, pointing to a level area about half a mile from the center of the camp. “Do a perimeter sweep and report back if you find anything.”
“Roger that,” said the pilot, lowering the chopper as Dawson returned to the rear.
“Suit up, boys, we’re going in. Looks like we might have one target in the central tent, the rest are dead. There might be others in the vicinity, so keep your eyes open. Spock, Atlas, Stucco, you’re with me at the tent, rest of you fan out, secure the perimeter.”
The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 21