African Ice (32 page)

“I'm inside the campus. Where the hell are you?”

“Just north of the archeology building,” he responded, slowing and ducking behind cover. He motioned for the man accompanying him to get undercover. “McNeil and one other SEAL have Carlson with them and they're heading for a parking lot. It looks from here to be E.”

A few moments of silence overtook the radio as Kerrigan got his bearings. “Got it. I'll circle around from the east and come in the entrance to lot E. There's only one, so if that's what they're heading for, we should be able to trap them. Give me about two minutes.”

“Sounds good,” O'Donnell said.

He linked up with his remaining team via the radio. “Did you guys catch that?” An affirmative answer came back. “Okay, don't let them see you. We've got them cornered. Continue to the northeast on foot, and Kerrigan will block the east entrance with his vehicle. We're coming up from behind, to the south of them. Keep low and out of sight.”

Travis spotted the professor's car first. He pointed to it and they angled across the lot, checking around for signs of hostiles. Nothing. About halfway to the parked vehicle, he noticed two students walking toward them. Both the young man and woman looked nervous and stole an occasional glance behind them. They walked quicker than the average young couple moving between classes. They had seen something that had spooked them. Men with guns? Travis motioned to Alain to split off to the right and hug the bushes surrounding car lot E. He grabbed Sam by the elbow and steered her between two rows of parked cars. Moments later gunfire erupted, shattering the midday calm of the campus. They ducked behind a late-model Mercedes as its windshield exploded. Bullets ripped into the driver's side of the car, tearing through the corrugated side panels and shredding the leather interior. Samantha hugged Travis as they felt the slugs thud into the door they were leaning against. The safety panels in the passenger door were too much for the bullets to penetrate, and they could hear the mutilated chunks of lead dropping harmlessly onto the rocker panels. Samantha was terrified.

He slipped the Panther from his belt and called Alain. “What have you got? We're totally blind over here.”

“I'm not in a good position,” came the breathless reply. “There are two on the other side of Hadr's car, and at least one behind me. I'm caught between them.”

Alain's voice crackled, then went quiet as more automatic gunfire cut through the air. Travis pushed Samantha hard against the sandy grit that covered the asphalt and motioned for her to stay put. He duck-waddled his way to the rear of the Mercedes and peeked out, looking forward toward the shooters who crouched near Hadr's Chevrolet. A blond head popped up over an adjacent car; then the man's shoulders and a submachine gun appeared. It spit fire briefly, then the shooter quickly retreated to safety. Travis flipped a toggle on the Vektor, switching it from automatic to single-shot status. He looped the strap tightly around his right elbow and tucked the gun butt into his shoulder. He steeled himself, then slid cautiously around the rear fender until he had a sight on the shooter's location. He counted silently to himself, second by dangerous second. At six, the head appeared again in exactly the same spot, a fatal mistake. Travis gently squeezed the trigger, sending one bullet to its target. The man jerked violently and fell behind the car. Travis slipped back to safety as a barrage of bullets tore into the already chewed-up Mercedes. He looked to Samantha. She hadn't moved, and he held a cautionary finger up to her.

“One down, two or three to go. We just may make it out of this.” He depressed the send button and called over to Alain. “You okay over there?”

“Damn, Travis,” the reply came back. “I'm hit, buddy.” Silence engulfed the radio and then the university grounds as the shooting stopped for a moment. Travis reacted to the news with tempered anger. He flipped the toggle on the Vektor, putting it back to automatic status. He lay prone on the ground next to Samantha, his eyes searching the far end of the parking lot. Through the tangle of parked cars, he saw what he needed—feet. Some fifty yards distant, the second gunman was concealed behind an older model Volvo. But beneath the vehicle were his feet. Travis took careful aim, the Vektor resting on the asphalt, then fired. The stream of bullets ripped through the man's legs, shattering the bones and destroying the muscle. He fell to the ground screaming. Travis pulled the trigger again and this time the deadly stream of lead cut into the man's torso, killing him. He sat up from his prone position and leaned against the Mercedes while he expelled the empty magazine and snapped in a new one.

“Two down,” he whispered to Samantha. “Stay here. I'm going to try to get across to Alain. Don't move.” His tone was firm and she nodded, quite intent on not moving. Travis steadied himself against the rear bumper for a moment, then took off at a full run, weaving back and forth as he closed the distance to his partner. About halfway across, bullets started flying. Car windshields shattered and tires flattened as the spray from the automatic weapons tried to cut him down. He kept low and dove behind a vehicle just as the shooters caught pace with him. Bullets punched jagged holes in the trunk, puncturing the gas tank. Fuel poured onto the ground and he knew he had scant seconds before the shooter noticed the leak and fired again, this time to ignite the car. He jackknifed his taut body back onto his feet and again hit the pavement at a dead run. He was twenty feet away when the car exploded, showering everything within a fifty-foot radius with chunks of burning debris. The force of the blast threw him violently to the ground and he slid along the pavement for another fifteen feet before smashing into a parked van. He rolled under it as pieces of fiery metal rained down. He looked out from under the van and found a target. One of the shooters was visible. He wrestled the Vektor from under his body, took aim and fired. Nothing happened. The gun was jammed. He swore under his breath and slipped his Glock from his belt, chambering a round. His target picked up on his movements and swung his gun around. Too late. The Glock A-17 coughed twice and the man collapsed, clutching at his throat. Travis pumped one more bullet into the form as it fell. That was three—he was positive there was one more.

He moved slightly to his left and brought Alain's position back into view. His partner was down, but from the heaving of his chest, Travis could see he was still alive. Travis surveyed the scene, trying to locate his final adversary. The parking lot was a disaster. The car that had exploded was still burning and at least two bodies were visible. The time he had to finish this off, get Alain, and escape before the police arrived in droves was fast approaching zero. From the first shot, less than ninety seconds had passed, but it had been a very violent and noisy ninety seconds. He tensed as his peripheral vision picked up a figure moving quickly toward Alain's position. Seconds later the unthinkable happened. The fourth man, still moving at top speed, whisked by Alain, pumping two bullets into the ex-SEAL. The wounded man convulsed for a moment, then went limp.

“You fucker!” Travis screamed, leaping from behind the van and emptying the remaining fourteen bullets at the killer. “You son-of-a-bitch piece of shit!” He ducked once the Glock started to click as the hammer hit an empty chamber. Again, a torrent of bullets strafed the van, rocking it back and forth. He squeezed out the clip and slapped in a new one. Shit. Seventeen shots. One full clip on the Glock was all he had. And the Vektor was jammed. If he didn't take out this guy before he emptied his gun, he was dead. He knew by this time that these guys were pros. It had come down to a final twosome, and neither man would quit until one of them was dead.

He looked over at Samantha, still visible to him from the angle he held. He gave her the thumbs up. She looked more terrified than he had ever seen anyone look. He turned his attention back to his final opponent, hidden from sight now behind a small foreign car. Travis estimated the distance to be about sixty yards. Certainly within the range of the Glock—if he could get a clean shot. His eyes again drifted back to the woman crouching behind the vehicle. This time he locked eyes with her. He felt a new resolve creep through his very being, empowering him to do whatever was necessary to keep this woman alive.

Sixty yards, mostly open ground with a few cars sporadically parked between them. The archeology annex loomed large to his left, and he turned his Glock on the building and sighted on a third floor window. He pulled the trigger and the window shattered. He leaped from behind the van and started running toward the car. The distraction worked, and for a split second the man turned and sighted on the window, thinking a sniper had taken position above him. By the time he realized Travis's slug had smashed the window, it was too late. He tried to spin around and aim, but already his body was being slammed again and again with hot lead. Travis pumped round after round into the falling figure as he raced across the hot asphalt. By the time he covered the sixty yards, Liam O'Donnell lay dying in an expanding pool of blood. Travis kicked the mercenary's gun from his hand and stood over the prone figure.

“You bastard,” he spat at the man. “You killed my friend.”

“Don't be so pissed off,” O'Donnell managed to gasp. “You've got your revenge.” His eyes and mouth remained open, but his life was over.

Travis jogged over to Alain's body and tried for a pulse. Nothing. He hoisted the corpse onto his shoulder and started for Hadr's car. Samantha joined him, jogging alongside. They reached the Chevy, a Malibu Classic, and he struggled with the keys for a few seconds before opening the trunk and dumping Alain's body in. He slammed the lid and jumped in the driver's seat. Samantha waited for a second as he leaned over and lifted the button to unlock the door, then slid in beside him. Travis slipped the car into gear and pulled forward, angling toward the exit, some fifty yards away. The opening from lot E onto the main road was bordered on both sides by leafy trees, blocking out any view of the traffic outside the lot. Just as the Malibu reached the entrance, a Mercedes cut in from the main road, sliding sideways as the driver brought the car to a quick stop. The vehicle covered both lanes, effectively blocking the Malibu from exiting. Travis started to swear at the driver, then stopped.

Staring back at them from the driver's seat of the Mercedes was Patrick Kerrigan.

Travis locked eyes with Kerrigan for less than a second before slamming the Malibu into reverse and flooring it. The car careened backwards through the lot, smashing into a curb and bouncing up onto the grass. He grabbed Samantha and dragged her out, ducking as Kerrigan unloaded a fifteen-shot magazine in their direction. He kept Samantha ahead of him, shielding her with his body as they ran at breakneck speed through the campus. An unattractive building, squat and drab amidst the fine Egyptian architecture, was the closest structure and Travis shouted to Samantha to head for it. A small sign,
UNIVERSITY MAINTENANCE
, was posted on the side. They reached the outer doors with Kerrigan only a few yards behind. The doors were locked and Travis jumped onto an adjacent loading dock, hoisting Samantha up behind him. A large metal door blocked their way into the building. He hit a green button on the wall close to the door and it began to open, the top half sliding into the ceiling and the bottom half into a slit in the concrete floor.

“Don't even think about it.” The voice was Kerrigan's, and it came from ground level. They slowly turned to face the man. His arm was outstretched, a pistol pointed directly at Travis. Kerrigan kept the gun centered on Travis's chest as he skirted the edge of the loading dock and climbed the stairs at the far end. He reached the concrete platform and walked to within a few feet of them. “Throw the gun on the ground and kick it over here,” Kerrigan said, motioning to the gun Travis had tucked in his belt.

“It's empty,” he replied, his hand moving for the gun.

“I didn't ask if it was empty. I simply told you to drop it and kick it over to me.” His voice was vile, full of contempt. “And if you so much as twitch while it's in your hand, I'll kill you. I'm quite aware of your skill level with weapons.”

Travis gingerly removed the Glock from his waistband with two fingers and dropped it in front of him. He kicked it the short distance between the two men and it stopped against Kerrigan's right foot. Kerrigan bent down and picked it up, keeping Travis in his sights. He snapped the clip out and took a quick glance inside. He raised an eyebrow. It was empty.

“Why didn't you do what I hired you to do?” he asked Samantha. “Just find the diamonds and tell me where they are. Simple. But no, you had to keep the location secret.”

“I don't trust you,” she answered. “I don't think you have an honest bone in your body. Giving you access to that diamond formation is dangerous.”

“What you think doesn't matter. What does matter is that you tell me exactly how to find the formation.”

“Fuck you, Kerrigan.”

Kerrigan cocked the hammer on the pistol and raised it to target McNeil's head. “I wouldn't be so cocky, you little bitch. I'll kill him
now
. And you'll have his blood on your hands for the rest of your life.”

Samantha was trembling. She knew Kerrigan would kill Travis just to make his point, and that was not an option. Yet neither was giving the fox the key to the chicken coop. “I brought some with me,” she said quietly, undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse and reaching inside. She withdrew the small suede pouch from her bra, opened the drawstring and let the stones fall into her left hand. She held them up for him to see. “I picked these up in less than two hours.”

Kerrigan studied the stones from a distance. Putting them under a microscope wasn't necessary for him to realize the value of what she held in her hand. The size and shape of the stones spoke for themselves. They were priceless. The gun wavered slightly as his pulse picked up. He watched as Samantha replaced the stones in the pouch and slid it back into her bra.