African Ice (30 page)

Kerrigan exploded. “You lost them? Where are you?”

“Just down the street from the media covering the shootout. Beside the old wall.”

“I'm coming,” came the terse reply across the phone line. “Keep your cell on and call in with your location as you move. And Liam . . .” O'Donnell didn't respond for a few seconds and Kerrigan finished the sentence. “Find them.”

O'Donnell hit the end button. His mind was already on the task of deciding which way his prey would have moved. “Okay, McNeil's got a shooter on the wall, and he ducks into the building. Team one pulls up, empties the car, and one guy takes a slug in the back. Two follow McNeil into the building. Eventually, he comes out the side door. Why?”

He turned the ignition off and got out of the van. He stood on the side of the road for a few minutes, judging the angles, trying to reenact what had happened. “They've got radios,” he said suddenly. Now everything made sense.

“McNeil calls to his sniper that he's coming out the side door. The shooter targets it and takes out the second figure that exits. McNeil hears the shot, turns and fires. Three men down.” He snapped his fingers as the sequence became clearer and clearer. “That leaves McNeil at the building and his sniper in the tower. He returns to his vehicle, turns around and picks up his sniper right here.” He turned to look at the gate. “That puts him almost where I'm standing. Now where would I go?”

He immediately ruled out returning on the road they had taken to get to the old wall. And turning around and driving by the dead bodies was completely out of the question. That left the cemetery. He pointed to the north, at the gate into the graveyard. He knew for sure McNeil would have taken that way out. Now he just had to find them. He jumped back into the van and crossed the road, slowing as he entered the cemetery. And he
would
find them; it was just a matter of time.

Kerrigan had driven less than a block after terminating his call with O'Donnell when an idea hit him. He called the police emergency line from his cell phone, finding an operator who spoke broken English. He informed her that he had seen a vehicle leaving the area near the old wall only moments after the shootings. He described the Jeep Wagoneer to her exactly as Liam had to him, then hung up. The two-way radio sat next to him on the seat and he switched the frequency over to the police band. It was partially obscured by static, but he could make out individual voices as the police checked in to command central. He stopped his car at a nearby corner and called out to the group of men hanging around the corner.

“Anyone talk English?” he yelled above the din of the traffic. One man stepped forward, eyeing the Mercedes with longing.

“I speak English,” he said, a tinge of a British accent to his voice.

Kerrigan surveyed the man for a moment. Reasonably dressed, with nicer shoes than most. His hair was well groomed and clean, as were his western-style clothes. “I need you to translate,” he said, waving for him to get in the car, holding an American one-hundred-dollar bill in his outstretched hand. The man did so without hesitation. “Listen to what the police are saying and translate it for me. I want to know everything about the shootings at the old wall, and especially if they locate the Jeep they're looking for.”

The Arab nodded and began to interpret. Most of the calls to and from the dispatch were about the shootings, and Kerrigan began to get the story straight. Liam was correct. Two of his men were dead, and one wounded. Nothing about the Jeep, but that would change with time. He continued driving in a northeasterly direction, sure that a police cruiser would spot the Jeep soon, and then the chase would be on.

Samantha watched the tombstones slide past as they cruised through the cemetery at a reasonable speed. She knew Travis wanted as much space as possible between him and the fiasco at the old wall, but speeding through a deathly quiet cemetery was not the way to stay incognito. She had opted for the backseat, and could hear the two men discussing their options as they drove. Travis favored a run straight out the number three highway, past the airport and on to Israel. Alain wanted to head north until they were well out of the city, then cut sharply to the east en route to the border. Travis eventually won out, his logic being that their adversaries would expect them to circumvent the obvious route. Because of this, they would be watching every major road they could, with the exception of the number three. At least, that was the logic. Alain disagreed, but finally caved.

Travis neared the northern edge of the cemetery and turned slowly onto the main east-west road. He accelerated into the traffic and kept at an even fifty miles an hour. It was bordering on noon and the lunch hour brought even more Cairo motorists onto the thoroughfare. They passed a traffic cop parked on the shoulder, who seemed to take a special interest in their vehicle. Travis shrugged it off as paranoia. He concentrated on driving and slowed at the traffic circle that controlled the intersection of Sari-Ramsis and Sari al-Abbasiya and checked his rearview mirror. The police car that had spotted them three or four miles back was only a few cars behind him.

“Shit,” he said quietly, entering the circle. “We've got a cop on our tail.” Samantha started to turn and look, but his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. “Don't look, Sam. The last thing I want them to know is that we're on to them. Check the map, Alain. What's the best option?”

“Go three quarters on the circle, then right into the university. The grounds look pretty extensive. We should be able to get lost in there somewhere.”

“Got it,” Travis responded, seeing the exit sign for Ain Sams University. He took the off-ramp, looking even more serious as the police car followed them off the main road and into the campus. “Alain, there's a map on the side of the road a hundred feet up. Try to get a feel for what options we have as I drive by.” He slowed, but didn't stop as he passed the giant board that showed the layout of the institute.

“Two main roads in and out,” Alain began. “Clusters of buildings to the northeast and northwest. Medical faculty across the road to the south, dorms up past the sciences buildings. I'd say take the next right and head toward the northeast.”

“Holy shit. Your Arabic must be improving. I'm impressed.”

“Don't be. The sign was in Arabic and English. Take the next turn.”

Samantha sat quietly as Travis wove his way through Cairo's premier campus. Its striking beauty, with trimmed lawns and gurgling fountains, was not lost on her. The campus wasn't crowded; the parking lots only half full. Samantha caught a glimpse of the trailing car as they entered a lot opposite the earth sciences building. Two apprehensive-looking officers sat in the front seat. She snapped around as Travis slid the Wagoneer into a parking spot. He cut the ignition and they exited the truck. He had a jacket over his right arm and Sam knew that one of the submachine guns rested under the coat.

The three Americans walked briskly into the treed gap between the chemistry and physics buildings. The police did not follow, but she knew they would be on their radio. They ducked in behind some potted plants and then through the side door of the chemistry building. The hieroglyphics adorning the exterior walls continued on the interior, interspersed with modern Arabic writing. Travis pointed down a long hallway leading away from the door where they had entered, and they moved swiftly along. They reached the far end of the corridor and he took one last look back before turning the corner into the organic chemistry wing. The hallway remained vacant. The police had not followed them.

“The truck is gone; they'll be watching it,” he said as they continued to move through the secondary ell of the building. “And we've lost everything we left in it. Alain, what have you got for weapons?”

“The Vektor with one clip and my Glock with three extra clips.”

“Pretty well what I've got. Vektor MINI and my Glock, and extra magazines for both,” Travis said. He turned to Samantha. “Got the diamonds?”

“Of course,” she answered, digging down into her bra and slipping out the small suede pouch where she kept the stones. She slipped it back into her shirt. “Now what do we do?”

“I'm not sure. But if it comes down to firing on the Cairo police or giving up, we give up. Understood?” Alain nodded and pushed through the fire door as they neared the end of the wing. They exited the building and looked about. Directly ahead was a grassy area centered with a fountain. Angling off from the water in each direction was another building. The faculty names were noted in Arabic and English. Archeology lay ahead of them, geophysics to the left and geology to the right. Travis pointed at the latter.

“You wouldn't happen to know anyone in there, would you?” he asked Samantha.

“Funny,” she said, then reconsidered. “Actually, who knows? I've been to tons of conventions. Maybe I have met someone that works out of Cairo. Let's take a look—they should have the staff list posted somewhere in the building.”

They moved across the central square briskly, but without running, and entered the geology annex from the south end. Sam found a student who spoke English, asked him a few questions, then returned to where the men watched to see if anyone was on their tail.

“You,” she said, pointing at Travis, “are brilliant. It seems there is a research professor here on a two-year stint from Concordia. Adel Hadr. He's a transplanted Egyptian who's spent the last ten years in the States, but returned on a very generous grant to cover a geological dig near Alexandria. He teaches here in the summers.”

“So the good doctor is in?” Travis asked, and smiled when Samantha nodded. “Then let's find him.”

Kerrigan listened intently as his interpreter spoke. A police cruiser had spotted a car that might be the 1985 Jeep Wagoneer, but the patrolmen were not sure. They were following the vehicle, and it was just entering the university grounds. They reported it moving slowly through the grounds, then parking in lot G. The reply came back from dispatch to wait for a backup car. Things were busy, so it might be a while. The patrolmen watching the Jeep acknowledged, and other calls took over the police band. Kerrigan reached down and switched the frequency so he could communicate with O'Donnell.

“They're at the Ain Sams University. Parking lot G. How far away are you?”

“Nearby.” O'Donnell's voice was quick, excited. “I thought they would head straight out of the city, so we stayed close to the number three highway. We're only a couple of minutes away.”

“There's a patrol car parked in the lot. Take care of the police before you look for Carlson. Disarm or kill the SEALs, but keep the woman alive and call me.”

“Roger that.”

Kerrigan looked across to the man he had picked up as a translator—he looked terrified. Kerrigan slipped his pistol from under his coat and pointed it at the man's head. He looked even more terrified. “You do exactly as I say and you'll be fine,” Kerrigan said as he drove toward the university. “If you don't . . .” He cocked the hammer back on the pistol.

Ahead and to his left, O'Donnell could see the group of high-rise buildings that comprised Cairo's university. He took the off-ramp and entered from the southern reaches of the campus, stopping briefly at an information board to locate parking lot G. He drove slowly through the grounds and pulled up a few spots away from the stationary patrol car. He screwed the silencer onto his pistol, tucked it under his shirt and walked over to the waiting police.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said politely. “Do either of you speak English?”

“I am speaking some,” the driver responded.

“Excellent,” O'Donnell said, withdrawing the silenced gun from his waistband and pointing it into the car. “Give me your guns. Now!” Both police officers, terrified, complied. O'Donnell set the service revolvers on the ground beside the car, unclipped the two-way radio from his belt and called Kerrigan. “The patrol car is secure. What now?”

“Get them to call in to dispatch and tell them it was a false alarm and that they're leaving the campus. And make sure they listen to this.” O'Donnell could hear Kerrigan giving his interpreter instructions on the other end of the radio. Seconds later, a voice came across in Arabic. Then Kerrigan again. “Keep the radio channel open as they call in. My passenger will be listening to ensure that they say what we want them to.”

Liam turned to the driver. “Do you understand? There's a person on this radio who will understand every word you say. If you try to call for help, I'll kill you.” The man swallowed hard and nodded. He took the radio hand piece from its mooring, depressed the send button and spoke rapidly in Arabic. A response came back from dispatch, and he spoke again. Another response and he slipped the hand piece back into its holder.

Kerrigan's voice came across Liam's two-way. “Okay, that situation is defused. Now take care of Carlson. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Roger,” O'Donnell said. He looked at the cowering police. What the hell to do with these guys? They probably had families who would be devastated if they didn't come home from work. Then again, they had seen his face and could identify him. He squeezed the trigger twice, pumping one silent bullet into each cop. He looked around, and satisfied that no one was watching, motioned for his men to join him. They opened the police car's trunk and dumped the bodies in, securely latching it afterward and locking the car doors. It would be some time before they were discovered.

“Each of you is armed and has a radio,” O'Donnell said to the three mercenaries as they moved from the parking lot into the campus. “We'll split into groups of two. Call in immediately if you locate them.”

They split up, with only one thought in mind: Find Samantha Carlson.