Agent of Peril

by Don Pendleton

  “Alex…I don’t know,” she began.

  “Nobody will ever find out,” he answered her, role-playing, then brushed her hair out of her eyes. Her skin tingled with electricity.

  She bit her lower lip, wavering. “Don’t do that.”

  Kalid recoiled from her, surprised by her statement.

  “I’m sorry…” he said.

  “You don’t know how crazy that makes me feel,” she whispered. Kalid gawked for a moment, and she put her hand on his chest, leaning close so he had to stoop to hear her barely breathed words. “I know we set up like we were having an affair…”

  She let her phrase trail off and her lips brushed his neck below his ear. His hands gripped her arms tightly, and she wondered if he was going to throw her off him. Instead, his grip relaxed and his own breath was brushing down her neck.

  “Are we acting?” he asked.

  Geren looked up at him, stunned. “I’m not.”

  She was surprised at her own admission, as if she suddenly started speaking in ancient Sumerian or Martian. The words were cut off from her own brain, and she shrunk away for a moment.

  Kalid’s eyes softened and he let her go. “Neither am I…but I’m not pushing myself on you.”

  She bit her lower lip again. “Okay.”

  She took his hand, backing up and leading him farther into the room. Her heart hammered, the room was swimming, but her grasp on his hand was the only thing keeping her anchored in reality right then. She could see his arousal and looked out the window. She wanted to close the shades, but she didn’t dare let go. If she did now, she’d never recover her will to go through with whatever charade they had set up. They’d have to get to work instead of continuing on with this madness.

  Kalid orbited her, still keeping his hand in hers, and drew the curtains shut, lowering the room into darkness.

  “Are you really attracted to me?” Kalid asked.

  “Uh-huh.” She stretched up and kissed him full on the lips for the first time, tasting him. There was a moment when his whole frame stiffened, trying to resist giving in to hormones, and then he pressed harder against her, meeting her kiss with his own, tongue slipping to entwine with hers.

  The pair found the bed in the darkness and worked together until they had drained every ounce of fear and anxiety.

  ALEX KALID COULDN’T believe himself as he lay naked against Tera Geren’s curled figure. They were here to work, to be seeking out an Egyptian conspirator, not soaking the bed sheets with their sweat and other bodily fluids. He reached out, stroking her hair, and then ran his hand down her arm, feeling her smooth, flawless skin.

  She shifted and buried her face in his bare chest, her fingers reaching around his back and tugging him tighter. He could stay that way all day, and taking a quick glance at the glowing red numbers of the clock, he realized that they had been together for five hours. He’d drifted off an hour ago and was just coming back around again. The crimson glare of the LED numbers stared at him like the angry eyes of a demon.

  He was shirking his duty, betraying his loyalty.

  Geren sensed the shift in him. “You’re awake already?” she asked.

  Kalid nodded, a futile gesture in the darkness. So he gave a grunt of an affirmative.

  “Is it time to go to work?” she continued to inquire.

  “Just about,” he whispered.

  “Oh,” she answered. She rolled off the bed and was moving to pick up her clothes quickly.

  “Tera…”

  “I understand,” she answered. “There’s still daylight left. We could get some leads tracked down.”

  Kalid was out of bed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, even though he was barely visible in the shadows. Geren clicked on the bathroom light and was bathed, harsh white light splaying off her skin, making her look like porcelain. He stepped back as she hugged her clothes to her chest.

  “I wasn’t kicking you out of bed…”

  “No. I was. I felt stupid for hopping into bed with you like a silly schoolgirl.”

  Kalid nutted up the courage to step forward and wrap his arms around her, her jeans and jacket wadded between them, as if acting like a barrier to further arousal.

  “I’m supposed to be a professional. And not a professional who spends most of her work in bed, dammit.”

  “That wasn’t work. That was something we both needed.” Kalid shook his head. “God, I don’t know how the hell to say this.”

  Geren rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. “We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Okay?”

  Kalid nodded and slowly broke the embrace.

  Geren closed the bathroom door, giving herself a modicum of privacy as Kalid turned, scratching the back of his neck. He flicked on the lamp and began looking for his clothes when he looked at himself in the mirror over the dresser.

  All he could see was an accusing face, wondering why the hell he tortured a good woman’s feelings by giving in to his carnal desires. She was a co-worker, she was a partner and she was someone he might care about.

  Kalid lowered his head, breaking eye contact with the inquisitor in the mirror, pulling on his boxers and then his cargo pants. Working alongside “Colonel Brandon Stone” or “Striker” or whoever he really was was a dangerous job, and Kalid knew it.

  Both he and Rust were showing signs of their recent near-death incident in Beirut. Kalid’s ears still rang intermittently from such close proximity to a stun grenade going off in the room he was in. Kalid put on his khaki bush shirt. His biceps were tight against the sleeves and made him feel physically strong, even if the disappointed glare of his own reflected eyes told him that inside, he didn’t have the strength to take another step.

  “Where’s my shoes?” he asked himself, breaking away from the mirror once more as he heard a knock at the door.

  Kalid slipped into his loafers, forgetting about his socks. He checked the peephole and saw Anwar’s face filling the fish-eye view.

  “Been wondering where we were?” Kalid asked, opening the door.

  There were three men standing there. Anwar’s shirt was drenched with blood.

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” the Egyptian croaked.

  GEREN FINISHED cleaning her face. Being jarred back to reality was unsettling, but somehow she managed to get her feet back underneath her.

  She understood the urgency to get back to work. Alex probably felt like a naughty child, sneaking off to play doctor when they were told to do their homework. A bit of resentment filled her at the thought of the world demanding their attention when she had entered a wonderful fantasy only moments before. Geren finally stuffed that feeling back into its Pandora’s box, wrestling it shut.

  This was not a job for hopeless romantics. Even if she couldn’t be a cold-blooded killing machine like Stone, she still had to keep her wayward thoughts in line. A moment’s inattention could spell death for herself or her partners.

  There was a knock that resounded even in the closed bathroom. She wondered if that was Anwar, then heard Alex’s voice outside. She went to open the bathroom door. Anwar’s voice croaked unhealthily on the other side of the thin balsa wood door.

  Hearing Alex curse, Geren stepped to the clothing rack, quietly slipping the travel iron off its mounting. Whoever was on the other side of the door was watching Alex like a hawk. They probably knew he was a full-blown physical threat, even if he was unarmed. Geren didn’t doubt that.

  “Where is she?” a voice shouted.

  “Man, are you her husband or something?”

  Alex was still trying to keep up appearances, even if they had Anwar.

  There was a meaty impact. Alex had to have been hit. She winced at the thought of his being hurt, sympathetic pain stinging her as she clenched her only weapon tighter.

  “Check the bathroom,” the voice ordered. Geren’s stomach turned. So much for hiding out. She knew sooner or later she’d have to act.

  The doorknob turned and Geren slid behind the door, not wanting to give her oppone
nt too much opportunity. The door opened inward, a pistol-filled hand leading the way.

  Geren swung down with the iron, using the weight of her weapon to multiply the wrist-crushing force of the attack. The pistol suddenly flew from numbed fingers and a cry of pain started from the lips of the gunman. That cry was instantly cut off as Geren swung upward, bringing the iron hard into the hollow of the man’s jaw. The point of the travel-iron’s boat shape plunged into soft flesh and the man staggered backward, gagging. He collapsed, hitting a lamp and smashing it to pieces.

  Kalid and Anwar both moved as one, lunging at the other gunman. Geren caught a glimpse of Kalid, his shirt smeared with blood from a cut on his cheek, then turned and scooped up the intruder’s pistol. It was a single action Helwan pistol, and she checked to make sure the safety was off.

  The gun was on Safe, hammer at full-stand, and she realized why. These guys didn’t want to attract the attention of the soldiers at the front of the hotel with any gunplay. Geren swung into the hotel room and saw Anwar peeling the gun out of the grip of the other intruder as Kalid hammered mercilessly on his head.

  “We’ve got guns,” she said, holding her aim on the man she had ambushed with the iron. He was holding his throat, looking none too healthy. She kept her distance, not wanting to get into a wrestling match. Sure the gun was on Safe, but if it got out of her control, this guy knew how to use the gun and get off at least one shot.

  Gunfire would attract unwanted attention.

  “On the ground, facedown, hands laced behind your head,” Geren ordered.

  “If you shoot…” the Egyptian said.

  “I’ll ram the muzzle of this right into your belly. All the noise and all the muzzle-flash will go right into your soft flesh, creating a destroyed area the size of a honeydew melon,” Geren growled.

  The Egyptian saw her face and knew she wasn’t bluffing. All Geren knew was that there was a freight-train-sized rush of blood roaring past her ears, making things almost impossible to make out. She was succumbing to tunnel vision, and she had to break that.

  Geren noticed the door to the hallway was open, and she closed it quickly, pressing her back to the hard wood.

  “Alex?”

  “This guy isn’t going anywhere,” he answered. He stuffed the other Helwan into his waistband, then looked over at Anwar.

  “I’ll live,” Anwar said.

  “Where’s the blood coming from?”

  “It came from a couple of slices on my chest, but mostly they kept punching me in the face and a lot poured down from my nose and mouth,” Anwar answered. “They cleaned off my face to stick in front of your peephole.”

  “They knew where we checked in?” Kalid asked.

  “They were waiting for me in my room and jumped me like Geren jumped that one fool,” Anwar answered.

  “How screwed are we?” Geren asked.

  Anwar peeled off his bloody shirt, wincing. “These won’t be the only guys.”

  Geren realized that her bloodied companions were going to need clothes.

  “Strip!” she ordered her prisoner.

  “And if I don’t?” the intruder asked.

  Kalid grabbed the belt of the other intruder and held it between his hands like a garrote. “I’ll pop your fucking head off. You won’t be able to scream. And you’ll die quietly.”

  Geren was amazed at the dark rage simmering on lips that minutes ago had lovingly caressed her.

  The Egyptian began rapidly pulling out of his shirt.

  “Got your tape?” Kalid asked.

  Geren nodded.

  “We’ll cover up Anwar’s cuts,” Kalid told her. “Go get it. I’ve got this creep.”

  Geren had turned to her backpack when she heard a strangled gargle. She froze but didn’t look back, even when she heard the sound of heels thumping and digging into the carpet. Pulling out a roll of white medical tape and a small box of gauze, she finally turned.

  Kalid was garroting their attacker anyway with the appropriated belt. The man’s face was purple. A savage twist was accompanied by the sound of nuts cracking, and the digging heels stopped moving.

  Geren waved Kalid and Anwar into the bathroom. “I’ll watch the door. Clean your wounds first before anything else happens.”

  Kalid paused, looking at her, dark soulful eyes searching hers.

  He was looking for forgiveness for the stone killer he’d turned into.

  Geren pulled her gun, but cupped his untorn cheek. “Clean your cut, all right?”

  He nodded and kissed her forehead.

  “Hurry up. These guys aren’t going to be alone.”

  13

  The Executioner was on a quick flight out of Lebanon to Cairo. It was before noon when he got on the plane. He’d had plenty of time to wash off the stench of blood and smoke from his body, slipping into jeans, combat boots and a black knit shirt. Using a Peugeot that wasn’t particularly splattered with gore and with a minimum of bullet holes, he’d sped back to the safehouse, abandoning the tough little Volkswagen, its engine and tires savaged beyond all possible use.

  Rust had used his embassy ties to get them onto the flight. Inside a diplomatic pouch were Bolan’s Desert Eagle, Beretta, knife and spare magazines.

  Instinct told Bolan that the world didn’t revolve around his actions, and as he catnapped in the jet, flashes of injured and killed allies across the years popped through his mind. He tried to fight his dreams, but only ended up popping his eyes open, mouth dry, and a tinge of sweat just under his hairline.

  “Are we there yet?” Bolan murmured.

  “You kids ask that question one more time, and I’m turning this car right around,” Rust answered.

  Bolan managed a tired smile, reaching for a bottle of water. “You missed your calling as a stand-up comedian.”

  “The Improv’s loss is Langley’s gain,” Rust answered. “You doing okay?”

  “I’ll live,” Bolan said. “What’s our ETA?”

  “Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be at Cairo International. Depending on how paranoid our enemy is, we’ll have an hour of fooling around with customs over our diplomatic pouch while our embassy in Egypt is consulted,” Rust explained.

  “Two hours to catch up with Alex and company.”

  “More or less,” Rust replied. “Why?”

  “My gut tells me our friend is going to be expecting us.”

  Rust grumbled.

  “I want you to head to our alternate.”

  “Sure, the one-star hotel off the tourist map?” Rust asked. “And while I’m endangering my life in squalid conditions…”

  “I’ll be endangering my life looking up our advance party.”

  “You think it’ll be that serious?” Rust asked.

  Bolan stared out the window. “I’ve never had things go one hundred percent smoothly before. It’s too late to start now.”

  TERA GEREN STEPPED into the lobby, her heart a trip-hammer. Tucked under her loose denim jacket was the flat frame of the 9 mm Helwan pistol, her backpack slung over her shoulder, dangling like a purse. If the Egyptian soldiers out front were going to stop her, she promised herself to be cold and calm.

  Getting caught with an unlicensed firearm would only be the start of her troubles.

  No, Geren thought. The start of her troubles was when she was assigned to keep an eye on Faswad and figure out what he was shipping from his farm-machinery plant. Things just went tits up from there and never recovered.

  Geren walked past the table of Egyptian soldiers, getting a couple catcalls from a few of the more bored and lascivious men. She didn’t mind and considered adding an extra shimmy to her walk, shaking her butt before realizing that it was half covered by her jacket. She looked down at her waistband. The jacket had shifted and panic filled her mind as she wondered if any of the soldiers had noticed the gun.

  No shouts of rage or commands to stop greeted her ears, so her panic subsided.

  Her butt had been a perfect distraction.

&n
bsp; She gave thanks for sexism and continued strolling down the road before stopping and leaning against a wall, breathing deeply.

  A figure walked with purpose up the road. It was Anwar. She gave her lower lip a short chewing. She wished it was Alex. It was a silly thing, but the longer he was out of her sight, the more she worried about him.

  What if he was stopped? What if the backup team for their kidnappers got him?

  “Are you okay?” Anwar inquired, stopping beside her.

  “Ask me in a day or two,” Geren answered. “What’s keeping Alex?”

  “He’s just hanging back, giving space between our leaving,” Anwar told her. “We’re on schedule.”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” Geren said, not sounding entirely convinced.

  Anwar smiled, and Geren’s tension cracked some.

  “Let’s move down a couple more buildings. There’s a fruit stand there, and we can act like shoppers,” Anwar suggested.

  “Good idea,” Geren said, looking back over her shoulder.

  Kalid stepped out onto the sidewalk and kept moving, not betraying the fact that he saw Geren and Anwar ahead of him. He was in full professional mode, and that meant he sensed something coming. Something wicked and deadly.

  The gun in Geren’s waistband suddenly felt heavier. They didn’t have the firepower for any kind of violent engagement. Soldiers along the hotel row wouldn’t care who was on whose side, either. The easiest targets always got hit first when a firefight came around. On foot, and unarmored, without much in the way of cover, Geren defined herself as an easy target.

  “Anwar,” she said, still watching Kalid catching up.

  Something popped to her side. It was a sickening pop, wet and thick, and it took Geren a moment to realize exactly what that sound was. With sickening dread she turned to Anwar, who was holding his stomach.

  Anwar looked at her and said, “Run.”

  Geren froze for a moment, then saw Anwar’s hand drop from his stomach, blood burbling outward. A silenced rifle bullet, the analytical part of her mind deduced. Quick. Deadly. Efficient.