by Andy Remic
‘What do you mean?’ Carter felt a craving for a cigarette. He wanted to feel the nicotine buzz in his veins to help ease the pain from his bandaged arm, his battered bruised body, the stapled bullet wound. He was still carrying the flattened slice of metal in his back and he could feel it pressing against the slope of his ribs. The powerful painkillers seemed to be ignoring his agony.
‘I run several missions in Egypt, in Cairo, Alexandria, Beni Suef, Sohag, Luxor, even over in Port Said at the Suez Canal and as far west as Al-Tor at foot of Mount Sinai. I speak good Arabic, make good Spiral agent in these parts and look damn fine in galabiyyas robes and, hell, even enjoy smog that pass for air in Cairo. I can dance with tahtib, even do a bit of Sufi dancing and only thing I not like here is damn food, just not never as good as egg and chips back in Yorkshire, bloody funny bits of meat in rolls with God only know what stinking fiddly herbs all black and shrivelled. I know rules of Islam so not make fool of self, and can blend in on streets and can pass as construction worker or bawwab without problem. In all this time, for the years I work here and after you finish your run of three missions, they put up wanted posters - everywhere. And not just outside police stations, but lining roads, up on big mad billboards usually used to advertise movies. They wanted you dead, Carter. Very dead.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Well, I reckon it must be bad.’
‘It was bad,’ said Carter softly, remembering Kade with the long blackened knife and the soft flesh that had parted with such ease ...
‘Well, I know they had your face plastered on bill-boards for what seem fucking years. And you look no different - just little bit older and more careworn. I think lot of people remember you. We definitely have to stay covert when we go down there on streets and in desert.’
‘Yes.’
Mongrel stared over Carter’s shoulder, at the ECube. ‘Where it taking us?’
‘We’ll cut across Cairo, then head south and east down over the Eastern Desert. Looks to me like we’re heading just west of Hurghada, near the Red Sea Mountains.’
‘Hmm. I’ve not been there.’
‘Well, you can add it to your list of interesting places visited in the name of demolition, can’t you?’
‘I thinking Carter not in good mood.’
‘Well, you be fucking right. I’ve been shot, come off my bike at eighty per and played “Grate my fucking skin with a gravel road” - a wonderfully fun little game. I’ve been pounded to fuck by God only knows how many Nex and by Jam, my oldest and best friend who just so happens to have become a mutated monstrosity. And then I had to shoot a woman in the throat, which isn’t exactly something that makes me sleep easily at night. You could say I’m a bit fucking tetchy.’
‘Mongrel take your point.’
Engines humming, they reached the outskirts of Cairo and within minutes had passed the shanty towns and city buildings - indicated by a proliferation of lights. The Nile snaked through the centre of downtown Cairo; they passed the glittering mosaic that was Tahrir Square and the bright pointing finger of Cairo Tower and flew on past the lights of the Arab League Building, the Cairo Opera House and Gazira Island where Cairo’s money people resided. The Nile was split by lights cutting over the Sixth of October Bridge, and Carter reined in the Comanche. They hovered near Tahrir Square, gazing out over the visual confusion of advertisements for Coca-Cola, Sushi Burgers and AOL that adorned most buildings higher than a single storey and sent a million wavering colours cascading across the night-ebony waters of the Nile.
‘Bad memories?’
Carter nodded. ‘It was being bombed last time I was here. They have rebuilt well.’
‘The Egyptians are a resilient people.’
‘You have to be these days. Jesus, I could do with a cigarette.’
‘Let’s go there and get this done, then,’ growled Mongrel, and Carter eased the Comanche forward. They spun darkly over the bustle of lights and the bumper-to-bumper traffic that filled the roads, pumping out yet more black pollution into the already toxic air. Even from their height they could hear shouts and the general rumble of the traffic, the sounds of a city crammed with people to the point of meltdown.
Carter gradually increased their speed, and the Comanche lifted gently, banked and left Cairo behind. They followed the winding course of the Nile for a while and then cut out over the desert towards Gebel al-Galala al-Qibliya.
‘Long time since I been on the plateau,’ Mongrel muttered.
Carter said nothing; his eyes were dark, haunted with memories ...
Memories of Kade.
The Eastern Desert was far from being a flat and feature-less plain. As dawn broke, its pale tendrils spearing the horizon with a gentle glow and a promise of intense baking oven-heat to come, Mongrel yawned, rubbing at his eyes.
The desert world was a nightmare of sand-baked valleys, hills, mountains, troughs and massive boulders. Huge sheer scree slopes battled with high walls of mountainous rock and gentle undulations of rock and sand.
‘Beautiful,’ said Mongrel.
‘Not when you’re being marched out to be shot.’
‘It’s better to die in beautiful surroundings,’ chided Mongrel, smiling. ‘Better than dying in a sewer in Soho with all the other fucking rats.’
‘Better not to die at all.’
Carter kept the Comanche low and as the sun crept up the sky they cruised across the gradually rising plateau, which sloped upwards from the Nile towards the distant jagged volcanic mountains lining the Red Sea. As they approached, Carter spun the Comanche around and they settled easily into a small basin lying deep with windswept sand. The rock bowl lay scattered with massive oral boulders, each larger than a house and seemingly tossed casually across the basin floor. A few sprinkled date palms, acacias and jacarandas sat half within the shade of several boulders, indicating a water source of some kind.
Carter brought the Comanche down beside a sprawling jacaranda that was not yet in flower, its branches spider-webbing out to the green baked leaves at their tips. The rotors buffeted the tree, and as Carter shut down the engines, so the swirls of rotor-swept sand slowly died with them, settling. Carter leapt out under the baking sun and looked up at the clear deep blue of the sky.
‘Fuck, it’s hot,’ breathed Mongrel, jumping down beside him. ‘How far we got to walk?’
‘Two or three klicks. Maybe a little more, depending on the terrain. I didn’t want to get too close - we don’t know what sort of air support they have. Back in Slovenia they had some serious weaponry but it was all linked close to the quarry. It seems they could have a similar set-up here.’
Mongrel leant his back against the trunk of the tree, and took a long swig from his canteen. ‘You think Jam will still be here? After all, we’ve had to detour and delay thanks to The Priest, that moaning bastard ...’
‘The TrackingDisc led us here, and the bugged helicopter hasn’t moved. There’s always the possibility they’ve travelled onwards, using a different vehicle -’ Carter smiled grimly ‘- and if that’s the case, then we’re probably fucked.’
‘Let’s get moving then,’ grunted the large squaddie, pushing himself away from the tree. ‘Longer we stand talking, more chance they have of escape.’
The two men quickly sorted their equipment, travelling with light rucksacks, black shamags wound around their heads to protect them against the relentless sun.
Walking across the basin floor, they climbed the gentle rocky slope leading up and out to the rising plateau of rock and sand, and then started the short trek in silence, eyes alert and M24 carbines slung across their backs.
It was only when he started walking that Carter realised how weary he was; exhausted, in fact. And now they were heading into the lion’s den - heading towards the enemy with no back-up and no prospect of calling any. Spiral had forbidden Carter to travel to Egypt but though it hurt him deeply to do it, if this was what it took to save Natasha’s life the insubordination came easily.
I wonder if this was how Durell felt?
How Feuchter felt?
To bite the hand that feeds ...
The sun pushed slowly on up the sky.
Carter and Mongrel moved steadily on, using the new ECubes to navigate and hoping that this new model was as secure against Nex digital infiltration as The Priest had promised. Wading through hot sand that came up to their ankles, they climbed ever upwards, tabbing between walls and gulleys of red rock, sometimes dropping into a narrow wadi and negotiating their way forward towards—
The rock basin, and the town that lay within.
Carter and Mongrel knelt beside a large jagged outcropping of rock, which overhung the steep drop ahead of them.
The basin spread out and was filled wall to wall with a town built from stone and mud bricks. Carter rested back on his haunches and Mongrel dropped to his belly as they sweated heavily under the burning sun, gazing down on the activity below.
The basin was perhaps a kilometre and a half square, three sides bordered with steep jagged volcanic walls rising to a high peak over to the north-east. At the head of the basin there was a temple of some kind, a large imposing building built from the red rock of the mountains and faced with marble, the upper layers of which had been stripped off. Ancient carvings, wind-worn and smooth, sat along a balcony above thick circular pillars, and sand swirled around the steps that led down to a main street, which in turn sliced through the heart of the town.
‘Looks like the town built up around the temple,’ said Carter, soothing his parched throat with a gulp of water.
‘Yeah. And look.’ Mongrel pointed. Beside the temple, in a narrow fenced-in and sand-swept yard sat five black helicopters, squat and gleaming and shaded by the high rock walls.
‘Nex,’ said Carter softly, indicating with his canteen.
They moved in patrols through the main street and the narrow side-streets of the town. They moved in twos and threes, dressed in black, heads shrouded in black shamags and carrying machine rifles of various types. They moved easily among the populace of the town who seemed to ignore the Nex, almost accepting them as their own.
‘What is this place?’ asked Mongrel.
‘Durell’s secret hideaway? Who fucking knows? But our tagged helicopter is in that compound and I would bet that Jam and Durell are inside that temple: with the machine.’
‘What’s your plan?’
Carter rubbed at his stubble. ‘I’ll be honest, Mongrel -I’m tired of fighting, and I’m in no fit state to be taking on people like Jam. All I want to do is get the fucking machine and get back to Natasha ...’
‘What about if we disable Jam? Knock him unconscious and take him with us?’
Carter looked into Mongrel’s eyes and saw the pain there. He wanted to say, Don’t be insane - Jam has been changed into a Nex, he’s fucking dead ... he’s the enemy ... he will try his utmost to kill us, to burn us.
But he could not bring himself to speak the words.
‘What we need to do,’ said Carter carefully, ‘is move in - covert infiltration: steal the Avelach and then get the fuck out, using one of their helicopters. If an opportunity arises then we can take Jam with us.’
Mongrel shook his head. ‘No, that not good enough. And we also have problem with Durell and the earthquakes. He ripping the world apart, Carter. We got to stop him.’
Carter pursed his lips.
‘You shot that fucker once, through the heart,’ said Kade softly. His voice whispered through Carter and he felt himself shiver despite the heat of the desert.
‘I thought you’d disappeared - gone off somewhere to shoot more women in the face, you fucking coward.’
‘Tut tut, Carter. You can’t use me to do your dirty work and then criticise me when it’s over. That just isn’t sportsmanlike. She would have shot Mongrel in the back of the head - you know it, he knows it, and I fucking know it. And anyway, Carter - shooting pretty blonde bitches is as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. ‘
‘What do you want now?’
‘I want nothing more than to offer good advice.‘
‘Such as?’
‘Kill Durell. Then kill Jam. Then kill all the Nex in the whole town. ‘
‘Wonderful,’ muttered Carter sourly. Then he realised that Mongrel was looking at him, head tilted to one side, face a frown within the folds of the black shamag.
‘You OK, Carter?’
‘Yeah, yeah. What do you have in mind?’
‘Well, when we find Avelach I’m thinking we find Durell. Let’s take fucker out, then steal machine and drag Jam out to helicopter. I’m sure two men like us can pull quite simple suicide mission.’
Carter shook his head. ‘We do this one step at a time. Carefully. No fucking mad dashes, nothing without us agreeing. Yeah? Or we’ll both end up as minced dog meat.’
Mongrel stared down at the town. Watched the patrols of Nex, amidst the barking of the occasionally excited dogs that ran through the streets. He knew from experience that dogs made covert travel at night quite impossible.
‘I think first we got to get to temple.’
Carter grinned. ‘I’ve got an idea about that.’
With sunset came a respite from the heat. Carter and Mongrel watched the glowing orb sinking slowly over the shimmering horizon, over the distant desert plateau which dropped off in kilometre-long strides towards the far distant Nile.
Carter focused his actions to stop himself fidgeting with frustration. All he could think about was more waiting, more hanging around while Natasha lay dying on a cold hospital slab. He cleaned and oiled both his Browning HiPower and his M24 carbine, checking and reloading their magazines, oiling the moving parts of the weapons. Back in Crete when the Nex killer had been about to shoot him in the face and its gun had suffered a stoppage, he had been made aware once again just how vulnerable life could be - hanging by a thread, awaiting a cruel twist of fate that would swing the pendulum of favour from one combatant to another. The Nex was dead, slowly decomposing next to the body of Mila the sniper. And why? Because his submachine gun had been dirty, or lacked oil, or the bullet had been poorly manufactured.
Mongrel, after quenching his thirst and chewing on dried beef to satisfy his huge deep-bellied hunger, finally followed Carter’s lead and oiled his own weapons. As the sun set and the blue faded from the sky, allowing darkness to cast a veil over the town, the two men found that they were finally ready.
Carter watched a small sand-coloured scorpion scuttle in front of him and pause, seeming to turn and look at him. He aimed his Browning casually - and watched the scorpion scuttle away, its sting held high and proud.
‘You little fucker. No compassion in your insect brain, is there?’
Dogs barked in the distance, and Carter and Mongrel shouldered their packs. Clutching their guns in their hands, they moved off slowly against the now dark skyline.
Their boots trod softly against the rock and sand, along the ridge that dropped towards the main gap leading to the village. Halting some distance away, they saw several Nex standing idly by the roadside. The two Spiral men crept down through the steep rocks until they reached, panting and with sweat-stinging eyes, a narrow back street. It was unlit and had an unpleasant aroma of something rotting.
‘What now?’
Carter gestured, and they moved forward. For six hours he had been watching the Nex patrols and planning a way across the town towards the temple. He had the route imprinted on his cortex.
They halted, carbines at the ready.
As they waited, three Nex drifted past, boots silent on the sand-scattered street, heads scanning left and right. Deep in the shadows Carter and Mongrel held their breath - and once the Nex had passed they moved from one backstreet to the next, hugging the shadows and treading carefully, their eyes alert.
A dog barked, the noise echoing across the town. Another mutt took up the call, and for a few minutes about twenty of the beasts decided to make a nuisance of themselves, their
echoing barks reverberating through the town and out into the desert.
‘I understand why they fucking eat ‘em now,’ muttered Mongrel, who had made no pretence of liking Egyptian food, and referred to most foreign dishes placed in front of him as a mishmash of either shredded dog, donkey or camel.
They crept along through the shadows, halting often, listening to the local denizens chattering in Arabic. Small groups of men wearing galabiyyas robes in varying colours and styles sat outside some of the houses at small wooden tables, sometimes smoking strong Egyptian tobacco through bubbling hookahs and drinking tiny cups of thick black treacle-like coffee. They kept their voices low. There seemed to be an undercurrent of fear pervading the air.
Finally, Carter called a halt and dropped his pack to the ground. He handed his M24 carbine to Mongrel and rolled his neck as if readying for action.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Wait here.’
‘You said no single-handed heroics! We need know what both up to!’
‘I’m buying us our passage into the temple - unseen.’
Mongrel frowned, then watched Carter draw a long black steel blade from a boot-sheath. Mongrel licked his lips, tasting dried sweat-salt caught in the stubble around his mouth, and watched Carter move towards the end of the narrow darkened backstreet.
Carter crouched between an overflowing bin stinking of old vegetables and a square cardboard box reeking of rancid, pungent dog piss. He waited, eyes almost closed, counting ... and then sensed rather than heard the footsteps of the two Nex guards ...
He uncoiled from his hiding place like a striking cobra, creeping forward without a sound to plunge the long dagger through the eye and into the brain of the lead Nex. Blood gushed, drenching his fist, as his left boot kicked up and out, cannoning into the second Nex’s throat. Carter whirled, pulling out the knife in the same movement and, spinning low, brought the blade up, ramming it into the second Nex’s heart. It fell forward against him, and Carter withdrew the blade, supporting the Nex as blood poured out onto the sand and their stares met for a long horrible moment. Carter waited impatiently until it died in his arms.