by Mark Terry
Hammond: Give us a couple minutes.
“We’ve got plenty to do.”
Feeling some guilt, Derek and Noa left the blast area. Noa called her people and to check on Kadish, who was out of surgery and still unconscious. One of the entire trailers must have been filled with explosives. It had been toward the back, and as a result, Noa and the Americans had been relatively unscathed, with the exception of Slater. She had been stabilized and moved to a hospital.
Several of Brigham’s team were injured, mostly cuts, bruises and burns. One of the men had an arm blown off, was stabilized and moved. Another lost both legs. They didn’t know if he would make it.
The Egyptians had gotten it worse. They had found a dozen dead and were still tracking down another dozen. Body parts were everywhere.
General el-Sisi had taken over direct control of the recovery.
“Everybody check in,” Derek said into his mic. “What’s going on?” He was exhausted, his body ached and his back throbbed and screeched at him every time he moved.
Hammond: Working on it. Jim’s arguing with someone at Meade.
Irina: Hang on, just a second, I think …
Boris was pissed off. The fucker had shot down his drone! Those damned things were expensive.
He tossed the control box into his truck, stomped around to the back and unpacked his second one. He had a fleet, had been training a hand-picked group of FSB agents at the embassy. He had eight in his fleet—seven now, he supposed—and always kept a couple with him.
Within three minutes the second drone was in the air and heading to the stadium. Scanning the video feed, he spotted a couple possibilities several blocks away. The fucker had been in a dark blue Mercedes sedan. He thought it was an E-class, maybe ten years old.
“There!”
On the phone, he shouted into Konstantin’s ear. “I’ve got him!”
Derek and Noa rushed to the ambulance and roared away. In the passenger seat, Derek checked his gun. “How are you on ammo?”
“Top me off,” she said, handing over her gun.
In Noa’s bag were extra cartridges for the handguns and clips for the MP5s. He reloaded, checked them and handed her gun back.
Hammond: I’ve got him up on our commercial satellite, too. He’s on El-Nasr Road heading northwest. Where exactly are you?
“Almost on El-Nasr, about three kilometers back.”
Irina: Boris can’t keep up, but he’ll keep an eye on him as best he can.
Hammond: Once you get closer, Meade is ready.
“Or if he stops,” Derek said. “We’re on it.”
Sholes: What the hell is going on?
Derek told her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Not wasting time and you weren’t around. Deal with it.”
Sholes: You’re a pain in the ass, Stillwater.
Irina: (laughing)
“What do we have on the car?”
Irina: Boris says the car’s coming up on the El Saaqah Street exit … past it.
“What do we know about the area? What’s in that area?”
Sholes: Sun City Mall, bunch of hotels like the Sheraton and the Fairmont Heliopolis. The airport.
Noa glanced at him. “The mall?”
Frowning, Derek said, “Anything else? Anything military related?”
Sholes: Military Academy Stadium. And the Military Academy.
Derek and Noa shared a look. Derek shook his head. “Stay on him. But that’s a real possibility.”
It wasn’t hard to miss the Sun City Mall. It was a huge complex with circular viewing decks, all done up in vibrant blue and glowing reds, a giant gold circle with gold SUNCITY in English marking one wing.
“Please tell me he’s not going to the mall,” Derek said.
Irina: The Egyptian Military Academy. Pretty sure.
“Well start looking around for trucks, because Nazif loves truck bombs.”
Hammond: We’re on it. Meade is ready when you are.
Glancing sideways at Noa, Derek said, “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Taking out the scavenged phone, he hit the Redial button, expecting that Nazif, who was so savvy in so many ways, would have tossed his old phone by now. To his surprise, Nazif answered. “Allo?”
“You missed me again, asshole.”
Silence.
“Still there, buddy?” Derek asked.
“I am on my way to kill your boss.”
“Glad to know he’s still alive.”
In Derek’s other ear, as Nazif talked:
Hammond: Meade says he’s very close to the Military Academy, on Salah Salem Street in front of the Sheraton Heliopolis.
Irina: Boris confirms.
Noa steered the ambulance in that direction. They were only about a kilometer away. Derek could see the hotel, and not far from there, the Military Academy Stadium, not as large as the International Stadium, but plenty big.
Sholes: We’re on our way. El-Sisi is sending teams as well.
Derek forced his attention back on Nazif.
Nazif said, “He won’t be for long. And I’m not waiting for you, Stillwater. I’m done. I’ve accomplished most of what I’ve wanted to accomplish this day. Just rest assured that as long as I’m alive you will always be looking over your shoulder.
Derek swayed as Noa veered onto Salah Salem Street.
Hammond: Meade says he’s pulling into the grounds of the Military Academy.
Sholes: I’ve been there. Plenty of vehicles and barracks. Lots of Quonset huts and open training grounds and buildings.
Irina: South entrance. Entering now.
“You do understand,” Derek said, “that if you kill Mandalevo, your brother will be returned to Guantanamo Bay and you’ll never see him again.”
“I’m sorry about that. If you see him, tell him I’m sorry. I did my best.”
“Why don’t you turn yourself in. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to talk to him in Cuba. Maybe even get adjoining cells.”
“I think I am done speaking with you now, Stillwater.” And the phone went dead.
Irina: Just after you go onto the grounds, there’s a large copse of trees. He drove in there. There might be a vehicle in there, but it’s hard to tell.
Noa roared into the compound, passing a large shed-like structure on the right. “There,” Derek said, pointing.
Nazif and Hafaz slipped the Mercedes beneath the cover of the trees. Nearby was parked a military truck exactly like the other two that he had detonated.
Hafaz said, “Just blow it up and get it over with.”
“I want to move it closer to the Academy barracks. Follow me over.”
“It’s dangerous and they’re probably tracking us.”
“Just do it.”
Nazif slid out of the Mercedes and ran over to the cab of the truck, climbing up into the driver’s seat. With a roar the engine fired up and he pulled the truck around, heading it toward the largest concentration of barracks, where hundreds of future Egyptian military officers lived. He had hoped to detonate this truck, along with Secretary of State Mandalevo, at night near the barracks when they would all be sleeping. Now they were scattered around the complex, taking classes, working, some marching in formation. It would have to do.
As they drove from under the trees, Nazif spotted an orange ambulance racing toward them. He instantly thought of the ambulance Stillwater had used at the International Stadium. With rage at his own stupidity, he flung the cell phone out of the cab of the truck, worked the clutch and the gas, shifting up, urging the truck forward with every inch of his will. He would go out a martyr if he had to, but he wouldn’t go out alone.
The military truck belched black smoke. The Mercedes swerved, as if the driver was startled by their appearance. Then the Mercedes pulled away from the truck, spinning sideways in front of their path.
Derek saw the driver raising a machine gun.
Noa spun the wheel, cursing in Hebrew, “Dafuk
barosh! Harah! Harah! Leh lehizdayen!”
I should get a translation later, Derek thought. He raised the MP5 and fired a quick burst toward the Mercedes. “Nazif’s in the truck! We need to—”
“Hatichat hara! I know! But the truck’s not shooting at us!”
Noa spun the wheel, expertly turning the ambulance so Derek would get a better shot.
The driver of the Mercedes fired with one arm. Slugs tore into the ambulance. Something in the engine compartment coughed and smoke billowed from beneath the hood.
“Easy, easy,” Derek said. The Mercedes skidded to a halt. The driver jumped out and crouched behind the engine, AK47 braced against the hood.
“Not much left here, hang on!” She gunned it. Black oily smoke poured from the engine, but the ambulance leapt forward.
“Hang on?” Derek said, as the ambulance roared directly toward the Mercedes.
She swerved left, then right, then right again, and left, right again. They roared past the Mercedes on the driver’s left side. The driver fired off a burst as they passed. At least one round struck the vehicle, punching a hole through the side only inches from Noa’s head.
Derek slammed his fist down on the dashboard. Noa was on the Mercedes’ side of the ambulance. He couldn’t get a shot.
But she was firing her pistol with her left hand, slow, steady, regular shots. Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!
The Mercedes driver fired off another burst, scrambling away. Jaw set, eyes hard, Noa fired. Pow! Pow!
The driver of the Mercedes—Hafaz—went down on his knees.
Noa slammed the ambulance to a halt, taking careful aim. Pow!
Hafaz went down.
Derek leapt out of the ambulance, sprinting for all he was worth toward the Mercedes. One glance told him the shooter was dead.
He kicked him aside and slithered behind the wheel of the Mercedes. The windshield was gone, but the engine still ticked over. Noa jumped into the passenger seat and he slammed the pedal down, steering in an arc to head after Nazif and the truck.
52
Wind blasting into their faces through the open windshield, squinting to see, they were three hundred meters behind the truck. Beside him, Noa reloaded her gun.
“Mandalevo might be in that truck,” he said.
“I know. And it’s probably rigged to explode. Any gunshots, make them count.”
He thought about saying, “This isn’t your fight. Why don’t you stay back,” but now seemed a little late in the game. For better or for worse, they had been partners today and she would have his back and he would have hers.
Slowly they gained on the truck, which was entering rows of barracks. Then the truck stopped.
In seconds they were on top of it. Derek pulled the Mercedes alongside one of the barracks. Seeing no one, they jumped out, taking cover behind one corner of the building.
Dropping low and peeking around the corner, Derek saw the truck, but didn’t see Nazif.
Plonk!
A grenade dropped onto the ground by the car. Derek and Noa dived to the ground. The grenade went off with a roar, tearing the Mercedes to pieces.
Noa pointed around the opposite side. He nodded and pointed toward the truck. The smoke and flames from the burning Mercedes would provide him some cover.
She held up three fingers, counted down.
Noa sprinted around back.
Irina: Boris says he’s around the corner of the building, about thirty yards from you, on the opposite side of the truck.
“Affirmative.” Noa’s words echoed in his ears.
Crouching behind the burning wreckage, Derek considered his best move. Nodding his head, he came out from behind cover and sprinted—if his hobbling, hitching gait could be called a sprint—toward the nearest barracks.
He was looking straight down the wall. Around the corner, Nazif was waiting for him.
Nazif peeked out, saw him, and tossed another grenade directly at him.
Scrambling back, he fell, rolling around the corner. The grenade went off. Windows shattered.
Spinning to his knees, then lumbering to his feet, Derek considered his options.
Gunfire spit the air.
And was suddenly returned. Noa had snuck up on the Egyptian.
Bursting around the corner, Derek rushed down the wall, stumbling over debris and broken ground.
Noa shouted, “He’s running. He’s got a phone in his hand.”
Nazif had detonated the truck at the Ministry of Defense remotely. They had to prevent that from happening here.
Irina: Between the two buildings, turning right, that’s, uh, north.
Noa: I’ll cut him off.
“I’m behind him.”
Sholes: We’re five minutes out. The Egyptians might be closer.
Sirens suddenly split the air. Presumably the Egyptian Military Academy had security forces on their way.
With enormous effort, Derek picked up his pace, back screaming, leg stiff, shoulder aching. Rounding the corner, gun up, he saw Nazif turn, holding up a phone.
“All I have to do is push SEND and Mandalevo’s dead and all of us along with him. Don’t move!” Nazif called.
Noa rounded the corner behind him in a crouch, MP5 raised to her shoulder. She shouted something in Arabic.
“Isn’t this nice,” Nazif said. “The American and the Israeli, bullying the Egyptian.”
“Drop the phone.”
“If I drop it it might go off,” Nazif said. “We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”
“Put it down or we’ll shoot you and we won’t stop until you’re dead,” Derek said.
Reaching into a pocket, Nazif drew out another grenade. Awkwardly, he pulled the pin, dropping it to the ground, holding the grenade in the same hand as his gun, the other holding
the phone.
“Complicates things, doesn’t it?” Nazif said.
Noa took a step forward.
“Eh-eh-eh,” Nazif said. “If I toss this thing at the truck, everyone dies. Why don’t you put the gun down, bitch.”
“Not likely,” Noa said.
Derek edged closer.
Nazif squinted. “Really, Stillwater? You think I won’t do this?”
“You’re going to be surrounded by Egyptian military pretty soon.”
“How do you Americans say it? The more the—”
Noa fired a single shot.
Surprise on his face, Nazif staggered. She’d shot him low, almost in the ass.
As he crumpled to the ground he tossed the grenade at Noa.
Derek sprinted forward, flying, grasping for the phone. His arm struck Nazif’s elbow and the phone went tumbling to
the ground.
Rolling, Derek scrabbled for the phone.
The grenade went off. Derek knew the wounding radius of a typical fragmentation grenade was about fifty feet. He was about twenty-five feet away from the grenade.
Looking over, he saw Nazif crawling toward the phone. He’d taken some shrapnel from the grenade, but seemed intact. The wound from Noa’s gun was the worst thing. Noa was out of sight. Was she hit?
Derek lunged toward the phone.
They both reached it at the same time. Derek gripped Nazif’s wrist, levering him away from the phone.
With his other hand Nazif punched Derek’s bad shoulder. His grip on Nazif loosened and the man twisted away.
Reaching out, Derek swung his arm, sending the phone flying toward the truck, a dozen feet away.
Now Nazif was reaching for his gun.
Derek tackled him. They rolled in the dirt, punching, scratching, gouging.
“Don’t move!” Noa shouted. Blood oozed from a wound in her right thigh and she stood with most of her weight on her left leg.
It didn’t stop either of them. Derek kneed Nazif’s hip. The man screamed and brought an elbow into Derek’s face. Stunned, Derek fell back.
Two military heavy trucks roared around the corner loaded with a dozen armed men. They jumped out, shouting.
A cloud of dust and dirt rose up around them.
Coughing and blinking, Derek lost track of Nazif. He pawed the ground for his MP5, catching it with one arm, swiftly snagging the cell phone.
Turning, he saw Noa standing with her arms in the air, her MP5 at her feet, Egyptian military aiming their guns at them.
“Where’s Nazif?” he shouted. “Where’s Nazif, goddammit?”
Five of the soldiers advanced on him, rifles raised, yelling commands at him in Arabic.
“They’re telling you to put the gun down, Derek,” Noa called.
“Where’s Nazif?”
“They’re trigger-happy, Derek. Drop the gun! They want to shoot somebody!”
Staring around, he saw a figure disappear around the corner of one of the buildings.
Derek pointed. “He’s getting away! That’s—”
One of the soldiers fired a round over his head. Very damned close over his head.
Slowly Derek dropped his MP5 to the ground and raised his hands. He clutched the cell phone in his left hand.
An Egyptian with two stars on his uniform approached him. Derek wasn’t sure, but thought he wore the insignia for a First Lieutenant. In heavily accented English the man said, “Who are you?”
“Dr. Derek Stillwater. United States Department of State. And you just let Hussein Nazif, a known terrorist, get away, dumbass.”
The lieutenant was a tall, muscular man with bronzed skin and a narrow face with a cleft chin. His nose was broad, his eyes dark brown, almost black. “And the woman?”
“Noa Shoshan. She’s with me.”
“She is Israeli.”
“I suggest you make a phone call to General el-Sisi. He knows who I am and he knows why I’m here. Meanwhile, Nazif is getting away.”
“And what is in this truck?” the lieutenant said.
“I’m hoping the U.S. Secretary of State Robert Mandalevo is in there. But Nazif had two trucks just like it filled with explosives. That’s what went off at the mosque and the Ministry of Defense. I’m pretty sure this is rigged with explosives. Do not try to get in there without an explosives team.”
The lieutenant’s face tightened. He turned and consulted with several of his men, who immediately spread out, apparently searching for Nazif. Speaking into a radio, he paced, staring at the truck. Then he turned back to Derek. “I should have the area evacuated, yes?”