“She killed him?” Dufort asked from a club chair in the corner of the room.
Cody nodded reluctantly. “Yeah,” he said in a defeated tone.
“She didn’t kill you.”
“She snapped his neck. I was lucky. She kicked a rock or something in the dark. I heard the noise and turned just in time.” He talked about the scenario like he was reliving a bad dream. “She must have known the sound tipped me off. She pulled out her gun just as I turned to fire and planted one in my chest. Good thing I was wearing my vest, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” Dufort said. He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. He brought his hands together and interlocked the fingers in a slow, deliberate kind of way. A pensive scowl crossed his face.
“What about the others?” Cody asked. “What about my brother?”
Dufort continued to stare at the carpet. His mind wandered for a moment, following the brown crisscrossing patterns in the fabric. “They’re all dead,” the Frenchman said after a long pause. “Wyatt and his friends…they killed them all.”
Cody swallowed back a hunk of pain. It fell all the way from his throat to his stomach. A sickening pang fluttered in his chest.
“Are you sure Tim didn’t make it? You probably thought I was dead, too.”
“I’m sure,” Dufort said. “Zoli and I barely made it out ourselves. He’s in his room getting some rest. I waited up here in hopes that you’d somehow make it back.”
Cody barely heard anything his boss said. His thoughts lingered on his younger brother, Tim. He’d brought Tim along with the promise of being set for life once the job was done.
Dufort had been convincing. He’d shown the recruits what he’d been working on and more importantly, what Wyatt and Schultz had already found. The two IAA men brought a huge amount of credibility to Dufort’s story about Zerzura and made getting men to sign on for the job much easier.
Now Cody wasn’t so sure. He’d led his brother to his death. Memories of their childhood flashed through Cody’s mind. They’d grown up in a tough home. Their father was a former military man and raised his boys with a heavy dose of tough love. It was far more tough than love, that was for sure. Cody remembered the beatings, the whippings with a belt, and the unorthodox ways their father would keep his boys in line.
Their mother could do little to stop it. Because she felt so useless, she’d turned to drinking too much on a daily basis. She tried to tell the boys their father was a good man, that he didn’t know any better or that he was raising them the only way he knew how.
Cody knew better. He knew his father was a horrible person. He hit their mother from time to time when she stepped out of line or at least when their father perceived she’d done so. When Cody got to high school, he started growing. Soon, he was bigger than his father.
One night—when the old man was in a drunken rage—Cody finally fought back. He’d had enough. Their father was in the midst of whipping Tim with his belt because the younger brother had brought him the wrong kind of beer out of the fridge. Tim was still too young to defend himself, but Cody wasn’t.
He’d charged his father from behind and tackled him, driving the man forward with more force than he’d thought possible. Cody’s dad was already leaning over. The momentum combined with his position put him squarely in line with the wall just beyond the sofa where Tim was squirming—tears running down his face.
The two guys tumbled toward the wall, and Cody heard a sickening thud as his father’s head struck it hard. The next sound was like a low snap. Cody had his arms wrapped around his father’s strong chest, and he felt the man suddenly get very heavy.
Cody fought to keep him up, but his father dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks. Something was wrong. His dad wasn’t moving. Cody shoved the older man a few times, but he still didn’t budge. Then Cody tilted his head around and looked into his father’s face. The eyes were open, but they didn’t move, didn’t blink. They just stared at nothing.
Cody put the back of his hand in front of his father’s nostrils. Nothing. No sign of life.
“Dad?” Tim said amid a series of sniffles.
Cody swallowed hard. His eyes flashed around the room and blinked rapidly. Panic started to set in with the realization that he’d just killed his own father.
“Dad?” Tim asked again. “Is he okay?”
All Cody could do was shake his head side to side.
Their mother poked her head out of the next room and saw what had happened. She had a cheap martini glass in her hand, filled halfway with a pink alcohol concoction.
“Carl?” she said. “What’s going on?”
“He’s dead,” Cody said. The matter-of-fact way he said it surprised even him. He didn’t feel the slightest tick of remorse. The only emotion he felt was a twinge of fear that he’d be charged with murder. Visions of prison and a life without freedom rushed into his mind.
“Carl?” His mom yelled this time. “Carl?”
The drink in her hand slipped free and crashed to the floor in a million pieces of discounted glassware.
She crossed the floor to her dead husband in less than two seconds. Cody had never seen her move so fast or look so emotional about anything. The lack of emotions he’d felt upon killing his father was replaced by a sense of confusion.
Tim joined her on the floor, shaking the dead man’s body in a desperate, futile attempt to revive him.
Cody didn’t understand. The way he saw it, he’d just done them all a huge favor. No more beatings or drunken rage to deal with. His father didn’t love them. He loathed them, all of them. Yet here his little brother and mother were, doing their best to keep this monster around.
A few years later, Tim had thanked Cody for what he did.
Cody was never charged in his father’s murder. When his mother finally settled down, Cody told her that he was whipping Tim, lost his balance, and fell over.
The coroner’s report revealed no sign of foul play and that the man had broken his neck as a result of the tumble into the wall. The exact words he’d used were “one of those freak accidents you read about now and then.”
Cody felt no guilt over the incident.
Rather than following in his father’s footsteps and enlisting in the military for a sense of purpose or duty, Cody enlisted because he realized he had a gift. He was endowed with the ability to take another human’s life without the slightest sense of remorse. He figured it was a natural fit.
A few years later, Tim joined the army. By the time they’d done their tours in the Middle East, the young men were recruited by a private security firm based out of Virginia.
It was there Dufort had found them.
The Frenchman had spoken to Cody first. It was an easy sell. Two young guys with nothing to lose and the promise of fame and fortune were the perfect combination.
Now that bright future was nothing more than another pile of ashes in the smoldering fire pit of dreams.
All he’d wanted for himself and his brother was a better life. They’d found a beach house in western Senegal where they could retire and live off the grid, unbothered by anyone. They’d laughed about the bar they would open there and how much fun it would be to drink on the beach every day with their customers.
Those dreams were erased, wiped away by Wyatt and his crew. A new fire sparked in Cody’s belly. A flicker flashed in his eye. The flames were fueled by one thought: revenge.
“Where is Wyatt now?” Cody asked.
“Right now?” Dufort shook his head. “I have no idea. But we’ll know soon enough.”
“Good. Because the next time I see Sean Wyatt and his friend, they’re dead men.”
Chapter 17
Cairo
The first thing Sean saw when his heavy eyes opened was a disturbing visual. Tommy’s figure was looming over him like the worst child’s mobile of all time. Sean shuddered and shook his head for a second to clear the image.
“He looks okay,” Tommy said to someone e
lse in the room.
The room. Where am I? What happened?
Sean’s mind was still a little foggy.
“Tommy? Where are we?”
“If I told you, I doubt you’d know.”
Sean pushed himself up a little in the bed and grimaced. “My head hurts.”
“That’s because you had a pretty bad concussion,” a new voice said. The man’s accent was sharp with a heavy Arab accent.
The stranger appeared from the shadows on the right side of the room. The only light came from a single bulb fixed flush against the ceiling. The cracked beige paint on the walls along with the rudimentary lighting told Sean he wasn’t in a hospital, not in a modern country, anyway. At least the bed linens were clean from what he could tell. The bed itself was a creaky old contraption, probably a relic from the 1960s.
“Take these,” the stranger said as he stopped next to the bed and held out two white pills.
Sean frowned, uncertain as to whether or not he should trust the guy. “What are they?”
The man grinned, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth. “Ibuprofen.”
Sean hesitated another second and then scooped the pills out of the guy’s hand. He popped them in his mouth and swallowed before the stranger could offer him a cup of water.
“You should probably take it easy for a while,” he said. “You need to rest.”
“Where am I?” Sean asked.
He pulled back the sheets and found he was in a hospital gown. Then he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and let them dangle for a moment, using his hands to keep his balance.
“My brother-in-law’s place,” Alu said as he stepped deeper into the room so Sean could see him better. “His name is Eslam. He practiced medicine for twelve years before he was banned from the profession.”
“Banned?” Sean asked.
“Yes, but it was a big misunderstanding. He was charged with trying to drug a patient. In the end, all the charges were dropped, but his reputation was ruined.”
“It turns out,” Eslam said, “working in the medical underground pays just as well, if not better sometimes. Plus, no pesky taxes to deal with. All my clients pay cash to keep their identities and conditions kept out of the public eye. Not to mention some are afraid of being caught by the authorities.”
“You mean like us,” Hank said from a seat against the left wall.
“Yes, except I am doing this as a favor. No payment required.” Eslam smiled happily.
“I…I don’t understand. Why would you help us?” Sean asked.
“Because you saved my life,” Alu said, stepping forward. “You will always be taken care of in Cairo should you ever need anything.”
“I appreciate that,” Sean said and let his feet drop to the floor. “Now where are my clothes? We need to get going.”
“Hold on, Mr. Wyatt,” Eslam said, holding out a hand. “You’ve had a very bad concussion. We had to keep you awake several hours for observation. You need rest.”
Sean shook his head. “No, what I need are my clothes. There’s a madman out there looking for the lost city, and we can’t let him find it. If he gets there first….”
“He won’t,” Tommy said. “I still have the case, along with the first medallion. Dufort isn’t going anywhere, not fast at least. And so far he hasn’t traced us to this location, which means it’s possible he lost our trail.”
Sean clenched his jaw. Maybe that’s what it meant. Or more likely, the Frenchman was waiting for them to make their next move. Dufort was deadly—a venomous snake lurking in the shadows, hidden until the opportune moment to strike.
“He’ll be back, Schultzie. You know it as well as I do. We have to get the rest of the stones before he can.” Sean noticed a stack of folded clothes on a rickety chest of drawers on the right. It was what he was wearing the day before. When he stood up, he wobbled and nearly tipped over. The world spun at a dizzying rate. Nausea hit him like a tidal wave. He fought off the gag reflex and stood still for a moment, focusing on the wall in front of him to keep his balance.
Tommy reached out and put his hand on Sean’s shoulder to brace him. “Take it easy, buddy. You heard the doc. You need rest.”
Sean shook it off. “I’m fine. Let’s get moving. Would you all mind giving me some privacy so I can change? And where’s Adriana?”
“She ran out to get us something to eat. She should be back any minute,” Hank explained. “Nice girl, by the way.”
Sean snorted. “Don’t let the pretty package fool you.”
“I kinda got that impression.”
“What about Slater? Where’s he?”
The other men glanced at each other, wondering who should be the bearer of bad news. Tommy volunteered by speaking first. “Slater’s dead, Sean. He died in the crash. There was nothing we could do. I’m sorry.”
The news was heavy, but for some reason Sean wasn’t troubled by it. He’d lost friends in the line of duty before. He’d seen more than his fair share of death, especially for a man his age. While he wasn’t completely numb to it, there was a part of him that knew it was the way Slater would have wanted to go—in the thick of the hunt, chasing down bad guys. During what turned out to be their last conversation, Sean had picked up on that vibe. Slater was the kind of guy who would rather die with his boots on than in a hospital gown somewhere. That last thought brought Sean back to the present.
“Guys,” he said, seeing the others were concerned about leaving him in the room alone, “I’m okay. Could you give me a second to get changed?”
Reluctantly, the others nodded and slowly made their way out. Tommy closed the door behind him, but before shutting it all the way he reminded Sean he’d be just outside if he needed anything.
Sean thanked him and then pushed the door the rest of the way. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a long exhale. A million thoughts ran through his head. Dufort got away again. Slater was dead. Adriana was getting food. He wondered why Hank hadn’t gone out for food. He probably knew the city better than Adriana. Then again, she’d been pretty much everywhere in the world and could find a side street faster than GPS.
He wandered over to his clothes and slipped out of the gown. Someone had washed his stuff. He could tell from the clean scent of detergent. When he was done getting dressed, he sat down on the edge of the bed and rested for moment. The simple act had taken a good deal of energy out of him. He wondered how long the effects of the concussion would last.
It wasn’t the first time Sean experienced such a head injury. He’d had a few concussions in his previous career working for Axis. Then there were one or two from sports in high school and college. Most of them were pretty minor, unnoticeable even. One had been fairly serious and sidelined him from playing soccer for nearly four weeks before he was cleared to come back. By then his season was pretty much over, a fact that had irritated him at the time.
Now Sean thought about how frivolous all that had been. The stakes were much higher than a regional or conference title. This was no game. Dufort was still out there, which meant no one was safe.
A knock came at the door, and he picked his head up too quickly. The room spun again for a second but not as bad as the first time. Progress, he supposed.
“Come on in.”
The door cracked open, and Adriana peeked inside. “You okay? Tommy told me you were awake.”
“Yeah,” he said with a meek grin. “I’m fine.”
She stepped inside and closed the door quietly. “They said you were having some problems with your balance.”
“Just got up too fast. Nothing to worry about.” He noticed the brown paper bag in her hand. “What’s in there?”
She offered a sheepish grin. “Grilled cheese and salt ’n vinegar chips.”
“How’d you get that here in Cairo?”
“You’d be surprised what some of the sandwich shops in this town can do. It’s made with goat cheese. I hope that’s okay.”
“Mmm. That actually
sounds amazing. Or maybe I’m just starving. Either way, thank you.”
Adriana padded across the room and set the bag down on an end table. She sat next to him on the bed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He leaned sideways, put his head on her shoulder, and took a deep breath.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
“Well, you pulled me off a pretty pressing job.”
“Really? Looking for more art?”
“I’m always doing that,” she said with a chuckle. “But no, not this time. You actually caught me during some downtime.”
“Seriously?” he asked, pulling his head away from her and giving her his best surprised face. “The great Adriana Villa was taking it easy for a change?”
She smiled from ear to ear and leaned in to kiss him but halted a few inches from his lips. “I doubt anyone calls me great.”
“I think you’re pretty great.”
“Pretty great?”
“Okay,” he relented. “You’re really great.”
“That’s better.”
She leaned in the last few inches, and their lips locked. After a few seconds, he pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Thanks for coming, especially on such short notice. There are few people in this world I trust as much as you. Even fewer with your…expertise.”
“You mean my ability to take down bad guys with my bare hands?”
“That…and your skills with weapons, you’re kind of the whole package.”
“You need to bump your head more often,” she said, tousling his hair with two fingers. “This is the most I’ve been complimented in a long time.”
His lips parted in a weak smile. “You saved lives back there, mine included. I owe you.”
“You’ll never owe me, Sean. I hope you know that.”
“And you’ll never owe me.”
His eyes diverted away from her and over to the bag on the little table. “I’m really sorry, but would you mind if I go ahead and eat that sandwich you brought? I’m pretty hungry.”
The Sahara Legacy Page 13