by Elise Noble
“I’ve got a gun with me. Right now, I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing.”
If one of al-Busari’s pet cops found it, they’d try to cart me off in handcuffs. “Try” being the operative word, because having the gun also meant I could shoot my way out of there. The biggest problem was the number of civilians around. The Egyptian police carried rifles, and I was willing to bet they weren’t very good at aiming them.
Yes, I could easily drop the gun into the sea along with the rest of our gear, but then I wouldn’t have it to shoot Gunther with. And going through the checkpoint would cause a delay. Perhaps not for me because I’d changed my appearance and had a fake passport to match, but for Black. That was the problem with looking like a living fucking god—he stuck out like a sore thumb, and new documents wouldn’t help much.
“I can take a detour,” he said, reading my mind. “Climb through the mountains. You need to get to Gunther’s place and find Zena.”
“Swimming would be faster if you went underwater past the checkpoint.”
“True.”
“Or maybe we should both swim? This line’s taking forever, and how far is Assalah? A mile? A mile and a half?”
A twenty-minute swim for Black, and probably twenty-five for me in calm water. Today, it was choppy, but the south-easterly wind was with us and we’d be staying near the shore, away from the worst of the currents. Dammit, we were so close I could practically taste blood. The land curved, meaning we could see the Assalah shoreline across the bay from where we stood—houses, tiny dots of people moving about, and a few white boats bobbing up and down in the high tide.
What other options did we have? We could call Khaled, but he didn’t have a car, and by the time he commandeered one, Gunther would’ve had time to reach Cairo.
“Let’s do it,” Black said.
I took a deep breath. This was all or nothing because when we came ashore in Assalah, dripping wet and barefoot with weapons strapped to our belts, there was no going back. The police would hunt us down. The only question was whether we could find Zena before we got slung in jail.
Black stripped down to his shorts while I thanked my lucky stars I’d worn a bikini as underwear today. I strapped on my thigh holster and checked my gun. Racked a round into the chamber. Dropped the magazine, filled the empty slot, then slammed it home again while Black swapped out our covert comms gear for something sturdier, a pair of custom-designed long-range waterproof headsets that would allow us to talk not only to each other, but to the team back in Richmond too.
“Nate?” Black said.
“What’s up?”
Nate’s voice came through loud and clear. The three of us would have each other’s backs through anything, but Nate made no secret of the fact he thought I was a bad influence on his closest friend.
“We’re about to swim a mile through the Gulf of Aqaba, then take on a serial killer while evading seventy-five percent of the Dahab Police Department. Mind being our backup?”
“Was this Emmy’s idea?”
“Possibly, but only because she thought of it first.”
Nate muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Fuck me,” then cleared his throat. “What do you need?”
“Real-time information—Mack’s already looking for the address we want. And possibly bail money at some point in the future.”
“Man, I’m not giving you bail money. I’ll come over and break you out myself.” See? He had our backs. “Okay, I’ve got you on GPS. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” we both said in unison.
And then everything changed.
Black and I both stared at my phone as it rang on the dash. Zena calling. I dove for it and answered.
“Zena?”
“Emmy?”
She was whispering. That wasn’t a good sign.
“I’m here. Where are you?”
“I’m not sure.” Even at a murmur, her voice trembled in fear. “Aurelie didn’t message to say she’d fed Patch like she promised, and when I rang her, she didn’t answer, so I came to feed Patch myself and now I’m stuck.”
“Stuck where?”
“In, like, a shed.”
“Where?”
“Along that path by the sea. Patch ran into this shack thing, and then I saw some men who worked for Grandpa coming towards us, so I followed her and hid inside. But then she started digging, and there’s a freaking body in here!”
There weren’t enough expletives in the world for this day. Motherfucking shitnuggets. Trust Zena to adopt a stray who was also a wannabe cadaver dog. Had the mutt been watching CSI with Khaled?
“Leave. Just open the door and run.”
“I can’t! The people who live in the house came back, and they keep walking across the yard carrying stuff. I think they’re loading a car. There’s a woman, and she’s the nurse who stitched my forehead.” Zena’s words came out garbled, panicky, and I couldn’t blame her.
“Keep away from the windows.”
“And one of them’s smoking right outside. I can smell it.”
Black grabbed his camera and got out, using the zoom lens to scan the shoreline.
“Okay, stay where you are. We’re on our way, but we’re gonna have to swim.”
“Swim?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got smoke,” Black murmured through the open window. “There they are. Surprise, surprise—it’s Gunther. Plus the sister and another white male.”
“We know where you are,” I told Zena. “We’re coming to get you.”
“It’s not only a car they’re loading,” Black said. “It’s a boat. A small walkaround, twenty-five feet or so, and I don’t like the look of those two outboards. Suspect three’s just carried a suitcase on board. He’s Gunther’s brother-in-law, I presume.”
They were making a run for it, which was both a curse and a blessing. At least if they left, Zena would be safe. We’d just have to catch them afterwards, and if they were heading for Israel or Saudi Arabia, that could be a tricky task. Saudi was closed off and challenging to move around in, whereas Israel had some of the best-trained forces in the world. I’d dated an Israeli guy once, and in between screwing him and eating in fancy restaurants and posing in the buff while he painted me, I’d learned more ways to torture a man than I’d ever thought possible. No, I didn’t want to go to either of those countries if there was a way to avoid it.
A dog barked in the background, and Zena’s terrified voice whispered, “Oh no.”
More barking followed by a yelp, the thud of a door, and Black’s all too audible, “Fuck,” told me everything I needed to know. Zena had been caught.
CHAPTER 38 - BLACK
IN THE GRAND scheme of things, a mile wasn’t far, but stuck on the other side of the bay, watching helplessly as Stefan Fleischmann marched Zena over the reef and onto the boat with what looked like a knife digging into her back, that mile might as well have been an ocean. In front of Emmy and Black, the traffic inched forward at last, but it was too little, too late. Even if they reached the front of the line and drove through the roadblock in a hail of bullets, they wouldn’t make it.
Black had to hand it to Gunther and co. They’d picked the perfect location for their killing spree, and even their getaway seemed well-planned. That type of boat had a top speed of forty-five knots or so, fast but with a shallow enough draft to float right over the reef at high tide so they could load their unwilling cargo right outside the back gate. They’d still have to die, obviously, but there was a certain admiration there.
While Black watched the scene in the distance, Emmy was scheming. He recognised that furrow in her brow, and her devious mind was the reason she’d managed to head up Blackwood’s Special Projects team for over a decade without dying in the process.
“Nate, are there any satellites over the Gulf of Aqaba that can track a small boat and find out where it goes?” Black asked. “Best guess is that it’s heading for Israel or
KSA.”
Security wasn’t so tight along the Saudi coastline since there was a far greater distance for the authorities to patrol, but Black recalled the Star of David he’d seen Gunther wearing when they first met. The family might have more contacts in Israel.
“I’ll check.”
Emmy climbed onto the hood, scanning the vehicles around them. What the hell was she doing? Looking for a motorbike? Because he’d already done that and come up empty.
“Nate, go through my contacts. There’s a cop called Khaled. Tell him you know me, and explain the situation. Get him to go to Gunther Krause’s home in Assalah and secure it as a crime scene. And we need the jet ready at Sharm el-Sheikh airport.”
Emmy leapt down. “Bring your wallet, and grab an air cylinder off that truck in front.”
What? Black hesitated for a second, but only a second. He knew better than to question his wife. There were times in life you just had to do what you were told, and this was one of them. He’d get his own back in the bedroom later, assuming they survived that long.
But he was curious about what the hell she was doing. He grabbed a cylinder, ignoring the shouts of the Frenchmen who owned it, and jogged after her.
She stopped beside a truck three vehicles behind theirs.
“Hi.” Her smile was more cunning than friendly. “We need to borrow some of your stuff.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just strode to the back of the pickup and began unloading. Black realised what she was up to, and he would have kissed her if they weren’t so short of time.
“Hey, what are you doing?” the guy in the passenger seat yelled. “You can’t take that.” He leapt out, a big man, only two or three inches shorter than Black, but when he saw the gun strapped to Emmy’s leg, he threw his hands up and backed away. Smart move. “On second thoughts, take whatever you want.”
Black zeroed the camera in on the boat once more. It was moving slowly away from the shore, but he only saw three figures on board—Stefan, Magdalena, and Zena. Where was Gunther? He caught sight of him walking back into the villa. Why wasn’t he going with them?
“Nate, when you speak to Khaled, get him to put out an APB—or whatever the fuck they call it in Egypt—on Gunther Krause. He’s stayed behind. Consider him dangerous.”
“Got it.”
Black used the air cylinder to inflate the kite sails Emmy had dragged from the truck. With a foot pump, it took a couple of minutes, but thanks to the magic of compressed air, they were rigid in seconds. The driver of the truck had climbed out too by then, and Emmy reached for Black’s wallet.
“Here’s three thousand bucks and our car keys. Buy yourself some new equipment, and I’d be grateful if you could drop our truck back at the Black Diamond Hotel.”
The smaller man stared at the money in his hands. “Are we being Punk’d?”
“No, honey. Tell the hotel staff Emmy sent you, and they’ll give you lunch.”
Black strapped on the harness, tightening it because the owner clearly didn’t go to the gym. A small crowd gathered as they connected the kite bars and lines, but nobody followed them as they grabbed their borrowed boards and ran for the sea. A quick glance towards Assalah showed Stefan’s boat going east rather than north, which meant they were heading for Saudi Arabia and not Israel.
Emmy’s idea was genius, but they also had the weather on their side. The wind blew towards Saudi’s Hijaz Mountains, hazy on the other side of the gulf, and farther out to sea, the swell grew higher. The boat might have a top speed of forty-five knots on paper, but it would have to ride the waves while Emmy and Black could skip between them.
With seventeen miles between them and Saudi Arabia, they’d catch their target.
“Nate, we’re riding kiteboards after the boat,” Black said. “Call Bob and get him to follow us in the Blue Tang. Tell him Zena’s on board.”
“For a moment, I thought you said you were chasing a boat on a kiteboard.”
“It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”
“Was that Emmy’s idea as well?”
“Most definitely.”
Shouts came from behind them, and Black glanced over his shoulder long enough to see half a dozen white-clad idiots waving at them from the roadblock. He turned and waved back. Sayonara, assholes.
Emmy cleared the chop with Black right behind her, and they settled in for the ride. The boat started off as a speck, but it grew bigger, not smaller, as the minutes passed. He didn’t want to catch up too fast. Somewhere right in the middle of the gulf would be ideal, out of sight of prying eyes from both sides.
Nate’s voice came through his earpiece again, breaking up slightly as Black dodged a wave.
“Khaled’s somewhat hesitant.”
“He still has issues with authority.”
“Doesn’t respect it?”
“No, scared of disobeying. Tell him to make a damn decision—does he prefer bureaucracy or justice?”
“Got that. Bob’s on his way to the jetty, and Mack’s on hand to direct him.” Coffee cups clinked. “Thanks, Sloane. Anywhere there’s fine.”
Did Black wish he was in Virginia sipping Colombian roast from a china cup? No, he didn’t. Chasing criminals across the sea was far more entertaining, and judging by Emmy’s grin, she was enjoying herself too.
“Are you having fun yet?” she shouted.
“Now, this is a vacation.”
Black saw the moment Stefan and Magdalena realised they had company. Magdalena’s mouth dropped open, and she whacked her husband on the arm so he turned too. Zena tried to get up from her seat, but Magdalena shoved her back down and yelled at her.
“What the hell is she doing?” Emmy shouted.
“Beats me.”
Magdalena was struggling with the suitcase Black had seen them carrying earlier, trying to hoist it into her arms. Was she planning to lighten the load? Because one suitcase wouldn’t make much difference, even if it did look heavy. What the fuck was in it?
He cut his eyes sideways to Emmy, but she shook her head. She didn’t know either.
Magdalena finally heaved the suitcase onto the side of the boat, where it teetered for a moment before toppling overboard.
“There’s someone in it!” Zena yelled, only to be silenced by a backhand from Stefan.
What the fuck?
Emmy and Black didn’t have to discuss it. Each knew the role they’d play. Black was stronger in the water, so he ditched his kite, kicked his board away, took a breath, and dove after the sinking suitcase.
Emmy? She jumped a wave and carried on to the target.
CHAPTER 39 - EMMY
WELL, AT LEAST we knew how the sick fuckers had transported their victims. Suitcases? In Dahab, those wouldn’t warrant a second glance.
Stefan jammed the throttle open, and the boat slammed bow-first into a wave. Nice driving. The jolt unbalanced Magdalena, who pitched forward onto a seat before righting herself and staggering to the stern.
“Come any closer and we’ll kill the girl,” she yelled, kneeling on the seat and spreading her arms as if that would ward me off. “I’m serious.”
So was I. I pulled up alongside the stern, jinked sideways, used the kite to jump out of the water, raised my legs, and hit Magdalena square in the chest with the kiteboard. She made a satisfying splash as she landed in the sea.
One down, one to go.
I left Magdalena choking on salty water and quickly released myself from the kite and board. Then I grabbed my gun. Even so, in the few seconds that took me, Stefan had hauled Zena in front of him as a shield, the point of his knife pressed against her carotid artery.
“Drop the gun or she dies!”
Oh, so unoriginal. And also unrealistic.
But I couldn’t shoot him, not with the boat bouncing over waves and swinging from side to side as it carried on sans pilot. And to give Stefan his credit, he’d got Zena positioned quite well. I only had the smallest slivers of bad guy to aim for.
Zena
was pale, her eyes wide, and a yelp escaped her lips as Stefan pressed the blade in harder. A thin trail of crimson ran down her neck.
“You can’t win!” Stefan yelled. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”
Wanna bet?
I fired three rounds into each outboard, and as they sputtered and died, I emptied the rest of the magazine into the bottom of the boat. Nine neat little holes, now with water bubbling through. This time, it was Stefan’s eyes that went wide.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
Instead of answering straight away, I dropped the mag out of my Glock, kicked it out of the way, and took a seat.
“Maybe now we can talk about this like adults.”
Or not. Stefan acted more akin to a petulant toddler as he shoved Zena to the side and came at me with the knife, roaring like a wounded bear.
He died mid-cry, crumpling into an untidy heap with a small black hole in his forehead.
“You forgot the round in the chamber, asshole.”
Zena began screaming, but at that moment, with the danger neutralised, I was more concerned with checking on Black. Stopping the boat and killing Stefan hadn’t taken more than a minute, but he was already a couple of hundred yards back. And he wasn’t alone. Thank fuck for that.
Who was the woman with him? She turned for a second, flailing her arms, and I caught a glimpse of her face. Aurelie. Aurelie?
“He’s dead,” Zena rasped behind me, her face ashen.
“It’s okay, honey. It was the best thing for him. Did he hurt you?”
Her hand went to her neck, but the trickle of blood had slowed. The knife hadn’t nicked anything vital.
“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. But the boat’s sinking, so we have to get out of here.”
“Bob’s on his way,” Nate said in my ear. He tended to keep quiet and let me get on with my job, but he’d been doing his own in the background. “The Blue Tang’s just left the jetty. Nice work, by the way.”
“Ta. How’s the girl with Black?”
“Shaken but unharmed.”
A noise from the port side of the boat attracted my attention, and I glanced across to see Magdalena splashing past, heading for Saudi Arabia. Since she still had ten kilometres to go, I figured dealing with her could wait. Zena was more important.