African Ice (33 page)

“I think I'll take those as well,” he said, holding out his free hand. “Now!”

Samantha began to reach for the diamonds, then stopped. “Let him go; then I'll give you these—and the location.” She moved closer to him, almost daring him to go for the stones.

“Oh, you'll give me both, you stunned bitch. As for letting this fellow go, I don't think so. He's too dangerous to have milling about.”

She was within arm's length of Kerrigan, her blouse still unbuttoned and the pouch visible. The first sounds of police sirens cut through the stifling Cairo heat. Time was waning. It was Kerrigan who made the first move. Simultaneously, he squeezed the trigger and grabbed for the diamonds. Travis was ready. He threw himself against the wall as Kerrigan's finger tightened on the trigger. The bullet blew by his neck with millimeters to spare, hot air actually singing the tiny hairs on his nape. Travis crashed into the wall, his shoulder hitting the button for the steel door. It started to close, the two halves rising from the floor and dropping from the ceiling.

Samantha lost the diamonds. Kerrigan's grab for the pouch was more accurate than his shot at Travis's head. His finger caught the clasp on her bra and ripped it off along with the diamonds. He fell back for a second, slightly off balance. Travis made one vain attempt at leveling Kerrigan before the man could take aim with the pistol. Travis lunged out from the wall, spinning as he moved, his right leg kicking up and out. His foot hit Kerrigan directly in the chest, driving the man back toward the closing doors. Kerrigan stumbled, hit the bottom part of the door as it rose, then fell backwards through the narrow horizontal crack. A second later, the two halves of the door slammed together, Kerrigan on one side, he and Samantha on the other. The sounds of the police sirens were louder, closing by the second.

“Let's go,” Travis yelled, grabbing her and jumping from the elevated loading dock to the ground. They landed in a run, heading straight for Adel Hadr's Chevrolet. They covered the distance with no sign of the police. He gunned the ignition and headed for the exit, still blocked by Kerrigan's Mercedes. He veered off at the last possible second, aiming for a small gap in the trees that bordered the exit. The Chevy hit the curb hard, sending it airborne for twenty feet and heading directly at the trees. The car hit the soft earth, sending dirt and sand flying and causing him to momentarily lose control of his steering. For a second the car careened sideways toward a sixty-foot tree, Travis fighting for control. He floored the gas pedal, sending torque to the rear wheels and driving the car forward even faster. The force of the power to the wheels straightened the car at the last possible second, propelling it between two trees. Both side mirrors were ripped off as the Malibu scraped its way through the narrow gap. Then they were free.

The car crashed onto the access road to the main highway. Travis spun the wheel hard left to counteract the skid, then straightened it out as the car came under control. He slowed to a reasonable speed and moved into the proper lane. A moment later, the first of many police cars came racing past them, heading for lot E. He stayed at the posted speed limit, entered the freeway traffic and took a deep breath. His shoulder hurt from crashing into the wall, but it was better than taking a bullet in the skull.

“How about we get out of Cairo now?” Samantha said, her head resting against the side window. “This city is dangerous.”

He drove with the traffic, no faster, no slower, and stopped at the outskirts of the city for gas. They dusted themselves off as best as possible and bought food at the convenience store attached to the service station. He also picked up a small shovel. They paid for the gas with the last of their money and left Cairo, heading into the desert. Two hours out, Travis pulled onto a seldom-used side road and drove a few miles off the highway. He stopped at a low point in the desert, where it was impossible for passing vehicles to see them. He opened the trunk and dragged out Alain's body. Samantha watched as he dug a grave, his muscular body methodical and rhythmic. Twenty minutes later he stepped from the shallow grave and rolled Alain in. He covered his friend with sand, then knelt on the ground, staring at the individual grains of sand. Samantha joined him.

“I knew him for a long time,” Travis said as she knelt beside him. “We went through a lot together. In my business, it takes a lot before you really trust someone.”

She didn't respond, just touched his elbow. They knelt in silence at the graveside for a few minutes. He finally stood up and helped her to her feet. They didn't speak as they headed back to the highway that led to Israel and the end of the nightmare that Cairo had become. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a necessary one. Mile after mile of sand passed by, each dune melding into the next, desolate and devoid of life. Such a wonderful climate, yet the land was totally useless without water. The sun alone was not enough. Perhaps she had been the sun all these years, standing alone in her victories, not knowing she needed another person to take away the desolation of her successful life. She needed water, and without it her life would always mirror the vast wasteland that surrounded her. And for the first time in her life, she knew exactly who that water was. She eventually stretched out on the front seat and drifted off, her head resting on Travis's thigh. It was comfortable, reassuring.

Patrick Kerrigan slammed his suitcase shut and answered the knocking at his hotel door. It was the bellboy for his luggage. He waved at the suitcases and followed the boy out into the corridor. They took the elevator to the main floor and he checked out as they loaded his bags into the waiting limo. He had to get out of Cairo before they tied the Mercedes at the university back to him. The Mercedes with a body in the front seat, a single bullet through its head.

The Cairo police were on a rampage. Two of their officers had been found dead, stuffed into the trunk of their squad car, and they wanted answers. They wanted someone other than the dead bodies littering the campus to be held accountable. And the only person left who fit that description was Patrick Kerrigan. His options were simple. Leave Cairo within the next hour or rot in an Egyptian jail. The limo driver nodded when he told him there was an extra one hundred dollars if they could make his plane. Despite the traffic, the driver made exceptional time, depositing Kerrigan by the front doors twenty minutes before his flight was scheduled to depart. The driver smiled at the tip and Kerrigan made a mad dash for the airline counter. Six people were in line and he offered each one twenty dollars to let him crash the line. Six takers. He gave the ticket rep the confirmation number he had received over the Internet only thirty minutes prior, and she handed him a boarding pass. She checked the luggage with an urgent sticker attached to it and he headed for boarding gate thirty-two. A metal detector surrounded by police stood between him and the gate. He approached it, his boarding pass in his right hand.

“Mister,” the official paused as he read the name on the pass, “Kerrigan.” The entire bevy of guards had their eyes pasted on him. “You are picking a very interesting time to leave Cairo.”

“Interesting?” Kerrigan asked. “Why interesting?”

“We've had a very nasty disturbance at the university today,” the man replied, looking intently at the passport Kerrigan had handed him along with the boarding pass. “A foreigner was spotted leaving the area just after the trouble. You fit the description.”

“Sorry, gentlemen. I've been at my hotel all morning, but I never turned the television on. Must have missed all the action.”

“I see. What sort of business brought you to Cairo, Mr. Kerrigan?”

He did not like the way this was going. It was time to take a risk, one that could go either way. “My business is somewhat confidential,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed. The guard just stared at him, waiting. “I sell ladies' lingerie. To the women of Cairo who wish to be more western. It's not a job that I would want other men to know about.” He motioned to the group of police and soldiers that hovered nearby.

The man stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “Ladies' underwear.” Kerrigan nodded. The man turned to the group and spoke in rapid Arabic. They all began to laugh. The guard held up the boarding pass and passport and Kerrigan took them back. “I hope you sold lots of panties, Mr. Kerrigan.”

Kerrigan was pressed to catch the flight. He walked at a brick pace until he was out of sight of the police, then broke into a fast jog. He made the gate just as they were closing the door. The ticket agent ripped his boarding pass in half and ushered him onto the ramp. Ten minutes later, the plane was pushed back from the terminal and taxiing onto the runway. He breathed deeply as the pilot hit the throttle and the engines roared to life. They bounced down the runway; then came the smooth sensation of becoming airborne. He relaxed fully into the business-class seat and accepted a drink from the flight attendant.

Christ, that had been close.

Close all around, he thought. Egypt was one country he would never visit again. He had miraculously escaped a horrific life in a Cairo jail, but he had also lost Samantha Carlson. And with her, he had lost the location of the diamonds. He sipped his drink, his thankfulness for evading capture in Cairo slowly turning to rage. Samantha Carlson. She had gone up against him and she had won. McNeil and his small band of mercenaries had managed to wipe out Mugumba's troops and kill Liam O'Donnell and his entire team. He cursed himself for failing to pull the trigger when he'd had McNeil in his sights. That was stupid. He had used the man for bait while trying to extract the location from Carlson, but it had backfired. If he had shot the man, she probably would have caved. The long quest would have finally been over. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and he had screwed up. He mulled over his options as the plane clipped through the high-altitude clouds en route to London.

Garret Shaw, his ace in the hole. Shaw had never failed him. Where O'Donnell was professional and efficient, Shaw was lethal. There was no hesitation, never a mistake. Once his Washington connections ferreted out Carlson, and they would, Garret would get the assignment. With or without Travis McNeil, she was dead. Tortured first to reveal the formation, then killed without remorse.

He felt a warm glow creep down his spine, and it wasn't from the free alcohol.

The peninsula that cradled the sleepy town of Lindos jutted into the Mediterranean Sea, a tiny appendage on the island of Rhodes. Sandy beaches rimmed the scrub-covered rocky hillside that rose from the sea. Whitewashed houses encircled the hill about halfway up, a band of white against the paramilitary browns and greens that dominated the landscape. The aging acropolis shared the hilltop with the Castle of the Knights, a monolithic medieval structure capped with turrets. An ancient defense to repel ancient intruders, stark against the deep blue of the Greek sky. The sky mirrored the era when the castle was necessary, a defense against marauding hordes, but modern times had overtaken Greece. Now tourists littered the beaches and shallow waters of the leeward coves, their bronze bodies glistening in the afternoon heat.

Samantha stepped onto the balcony of her room at the Lindos Mare, a four-star resort that peered down on Vlicha Bay. She watched a hotel employee, dressed in crisp white linen, serve drinks to the well-heeled guests reclined on chaise lounges at the pool. He smiled each time he delivered a libation, his white teeth in contrast to the darkness of his tanned skin. And then he smiled again as his clients tipped him generously, especially the women. A noise in the room behind her caused her to turn. Travis swept aside the frail curtain covering the patio doors and walked onto the balcony. He looked rested.

They had left Adel Hadr's car on a quiet residential street in Mage after crossing the border from Egypt into Israel. The Israeli border guards were suspicious, but their American passports eventually allowed them access to the Jewish state. They were broke, but not without resources. Samantha had slipped one diamond into her pants pocket when they first arrived in Cairo, and that forethought had paid dividends—fifty thousand dividends. And at that price they had demanded American dollars in cash. The diamond merchant couldn't capitulate quickly enough, understanding the incredible value he held in his hand. They took the money and kept moving.

Israel was too hot for them. Security was heightened by a recent rash of Palestinian uprisings, and soldiers were everywhere, constantly checking personal papers and, in their case, passports. It was just a matter of time before they were detained for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Travis found a small charter airline that would fly them from Tel-Aviv to Nicosia. Once on Cyprus they purchased new clothes and baggage, two wedding rings, and then chartered another flight to Rhodes, the jewel of Greece. Just another husband and wife enjoying a late-spring vacation on the Mediterranean. They checked into a suite at the Lindos Mare and immediately slept, Travis on the pullout and Samantha in the king-size bed. Morning brought a clear blue sky and both of them felt rested and safe.

“It's beautiful,” she said as he padded across the balcony in his bare feet. “So calm and peaceful.”

“The travel brochures say that Lindos is the best Greece has to offer. Sun, sand, and a castle.” He looked across the bay at the heavily fortified Castle of the Knights. “I don't imagine it was always so peaceful here.”

“No, I'm sure not,” she said quietly.

Travis pulled a cigarette package from his loose-fitting shirt and struck a match. He lit the smoke and puffed deeply. He leaned against the rounded edges of the balcony and looked to her. A slight breeze stirred the air on the patio, lifting her hair back from her face for a moment. He caught her profile and tried to memorize it, every detail of her intricately carved features. Every strand of hair as it hung suspended against the forces of gravity. Then the air swirled about, changing direction, and her hair fell back against the edge of her cheeks. A solitary strand touched her face and she gently brushed it away. Even the motion of her hand seemed ethereal. “So what do we do now, Dr. Carlson?” he asked, forcing himself to concentrate on their situation and not just on the beautiful woman who stood so close to him.