The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (26 page)

He had
to assume yes.

And the
fact that nobody had yet fired a shot, had him wondering if those who had just
arrived were indeed regular army, or the zealots causing chaos around the
world. If it were regular army, they would probably face arrest for
impersonating military personnel, which would mean there would be no one to
protect the tomb.

He took
up position behind a pile of dirt that had been dug out of the desert floor by
the archeologists during the course of their work, readying his weapon along
with four of his men, all close relatives.

He
glanced back at the rise to the south, and save the footprints he had just
left, visible only from the moonlight, there was no evidence of the tomb. A
glance to the north and the decoy was prominent in its singularity, silhouetted
against the night sky for all to see.

The
question was, if they were all killed, how long would these fanatics continue
to search once they discovered it was indeed a decoy. He kicked himself for not
having had the time to disguise the footprints he and his men had just left,
and made a mental note that should he need to retreat, he would retreat up the
rise to try and provide an alternate explanation for the prints.

He
glanced over at the Westerners’ location and saw the female on a phone, talking
to someone, the other three men now having joined her, and for a moment admired
her bravery. He admired independent women, and was proud that a once secular
Egypt had given many rights to its women. Though by no means perfect, it had
been far better for women in Mubarak’s Egypt than it was in countries like
Saudi Arabia or Yemen.

But now
with the Muslim Brotherhood in charge, things were regressing rapidly. Already
quotas for women representatives in the election had been completely ignored,
their share of the parliament dropping from twelve percent to less than two,
but it was the day to day actions that truly sickened him, with those women who
still tried to assert their independence being harassed on the streets,
sometimes verbally, sometimes physically, and all too often sexually. And it
was coming from not only men of his age, but boys, barely old enough to have
hair on their faces, using the new found acceptance of this behavior to assault
women and girls alike.

His
Egypt now disgusted him, and if it weren’t for his sworn duty to protect the
tomb and lead The Brotherhood, he would take his family to America or Canada,
and leave this place, and the hatred, far behind.

There
were several shots, and they all looked up as flares lit the night sky, then
hit the dirt as dozens of guns opened fire on them to the fanatic screams of
“Allahu Akbar!”.

Allah
protect us from those who would corrupt your teachings.

Imam Khalil tried to remain calm as they rounded the bend, the camp
revealed below them. His eyes immediately took in the sight. A group of men
running from the south down into the camp, disappearing behind a pile of dirt,
another group running from the north and hiding behind something near the
center of the camp.

His eyes
immediately looked to the north and saw something silhouetted against the sky,
and smiled.

That
must be it!

He
stepped out of the truck as his men spread themselves out in front of him, he
remaining with one foot on the running board, his body behind the metal door of
the truck, his shaking hands gripping the frame where the rolled down window
would be.

Flares
fired into the night sky, lit up the landscape, and to the shouts of “Allahu
Akbar” his men opened fire, and he found himself filled with pride and power,
his adrenaline beginning to flow, his flight instinct giving way to his fight
instinct.

As he
surveyed the well-lit scene below, he noticed the hill to the south again.

Why
had they been there?

His mind
raced, and it occurred to him that there might be reinforcements behind that
hill, or something hidden that these infidels didn’t want found. He made a
mental note to check the south of the camp thoroughly once they were
victorious.

Watching
his men pour their fire on the camp, so far completely unopposed, he began to
wonder why he had been scared at all. Perhaps his fears had been unwarranted,
and they were facing cowards who wouldn’t fight back. It would be in typical
apologist Western fashion.

But why
weren’t the army troops firing back? Could they be unarmed? It made no sense.
He tried to remember what Adel had said after his first report. He was sure the
boy had said they were armed.

Of
course they’re armed!

It was
just wishful thinking that they weren’t. But why weren’t they firing back?

Acton sat with his back against the dirt dugout, Laura huddled
beside him, Chaney and Reading next to her, all crouching to avoid being hit,
but so far their defensive position had proven itself. The only problem was
they had no way of knowing what has happening without someone literally
sticking their neck out.

We
have to know.

He
flipped around, and crawled on his knees slightly away from the pile of dirt,
much to the shock and horror of Laura.

“What
are you doing!” she hissed, loud enough for him to hear over the gunshots.

“Checking
to see what’s happening.”

He
looked to his left, and could see no movement, then to his right, more of the
same revealed. He scampered back to the safety of the dirt as a few shots he
was convinced were unaimed tore at the dirt several feet away. He then poked
his head up for a split second, then dropped, repeating it and looking at the
attackers’ position, then again dropping down.

“What
did you see?” asked Reading, apparently not at all upset with his antics.

“Not
much. Our attackers don’t seem to be moving in, but The Brotherhood doesn’t
seem to be fighting back.”

“What do
you mean?” asked Laura, her voice slightly incredulous. “You mean all that
gunfire is from the bad guys?”

Acton
nodded. “Seems so. The Brotherhood doesn’t appear to be firing a shot.”

“Could
they be dead?” wondered Chaney aloud.

“Can’t
see that. It’s too soon.”

“It
doesn’t make sense,” said Acton, “unless they’re trying to get the nutbars to
use up all their ammo.”

“That’s
mighty presumptuous,” replied Reading. “For all we know they could have a truck
full of ammo. However, there is something to be said for keeping your head down
and letting the enemy waste some of it, as long as they’re not advancing, and
not picking you off slowly.”

“I
haven’t heard anybody get hit yet,” said Laura. “At least wounded, I mean. I’m
sure we would have heard something if somebody was wounded.”

“Agreed.
But what do we do?” said Reading. “Do we fight back?”

Acton
shook his head. “No, this isn’t our fight. We were forced into this. We’ll
fight to defend ourselves so we can make our escape, but right now, let’s keep
our heads down, and see what happens.”

The
flares suddenly sputtered out, and the gunfire stopped.

As did
Acton’s heart as he heard the shouts of “Allahu Akbar”, and boots pounding on
the rock and sand.

“Here
they come!”

Colonel Soliman hid behind a pile of stakes with four of The
Brotherhood, all with their heads down, flinching as each bullet hit the wood. He
had half a mind to start digging a hole to hide in, but instead gripped his
weapon tightly, wondering if any of them had any real combat experience. Most
had been in the army at one point or another, something The Brotherhood
encouraged to get some self-defense training, then once out, they would go
about their daily lives. They were shopkeepers, teachers, artisans and public
servants.

The only
difference between these men and any others in Egypt were that they were all
moderates, and they were all descendant from the same line of brothers who had
founded The Brotherhood two thousand years ago with the aim of protecting
Cleopatra’s tomb.

He was
proud of his fellow brothers tonight, resisting the temptation to fire back,
knowing the shots would be wasted. Their orders were to fire once the enemy was
advancing, and to conserve their ammo, for all they had were two clips each for
their Kalashnikovs, and whatever bullets they had in their handguns,
if
they had them.

He
cursed himself for not having arrived better armed, but the reality was they
were supposed to scare a group of kids and teachers into getting on a truck and
leaving, not engage a well-armed group of fanatics.

He
looked up as the flares spurted their last gasp of light, then the area went
dark, his eyes slowly adjusting to the near darkness, moon and starlight, with
a hint of light from the western horizon, all that was left.

And
against that horizon were dozens of men jumping to their feet, storming toward
them, screaming “Allahu Akbar!”

And Soliman
agreed. He just wondered whose side Allah was on today.

Terrence and Jenny were lying on their stomachs, looking down at the
dig site. A steady stream of gunfire was being poured onto the camp from a line
of what appeared to be dozens of individual weapons. Leather and one of his men
were with them, surveying the situation, while the two others had left a few
minutes ago.

“Why
aren’t they fighting back?” asked Jenny, a question that was echoing in his own
mind.

“They’re
not advancing, so let them waste their ammo. I’d estimate each of the
opposition has expended at least three clips so far, and the fact we haven’t
seen anything heavier like grenades or fifty cals tells me they don’t have
them. We’re dealing with a lightly armed unit, most likely not very well
trained.”

“But they’re
fanatics, right? They’ll die before they fail?”

Leather
looked at Terrence.

“So it’s
our job to make sure they not only die, but fail as well.”

“How?”

Leather
pointed behind them.

“Grab a
weapon, and follow me.”

Jenny
scrambled over to a stockpile of weapons that Leather had apparently prepositioned
for this very possibility, and grabbed a Glock and an MP5.

Terrence
gulped. He had been training like the others, in fact, more than the others,
but never in a million years would he have thought he’d actually have to use
the training on real people.

Jenny
looked at him and he quickly scrambled over to save face, selecting the Glock
and MP5 as well, then filling his pockets with clips.

“Body
armor!” hissed Leather, pointing at a pile to the right.

Terrence
tossed a vest to Jenny, then slid his own over his head, quickly securing it in
place. He felt a little better now, but not much. He looked about for a helmet,
but found none. He and Jenny returned to Leather’s position just as the flares
died and shouts of the two words that were meant to provide comfort but now terrified
the world over, “Allahu Akbar!”, echoed across the desert.

“Here
they come!” whispered Jenny, her voice filled with the terror that was gripping
Terrence.

“And
here we go,” said Leather, jumping to his feet and rushing toward the camp with
his comrade.

Terrence
looked at Jenny. She gave him a quick kiss, then jumped to her feet, rushing
after Leather. Terrence looked up at the heavens, said a silent prayer, then chased
after the two, not sure if he felt safer alone on the ridge, or together with
the others.

A huge
hail of gunfire from below settled the question in his mind.

The
ridge, alone.

Imam Khalil watched from his vantage point, behind the door of the
truck, as his men rained lead on the infidels and their defenders. It was a
beautiful sight, the night sky lit by the flares, the muzzle flashes
accentuating the determined faces of his men, the glee in their eyes as they
executed Allah’s will.

He
himself was caught up in the moment, the heroism of his men, the glory of Allah
filling his chest, as they fired round after round at the blasphemers below.

Blasphemers
who weren’t fighting back.

It took
him a minute to realize that they weren’t returning fire, and another minute to
ask himself why, rather than rejoice in their lack of response. But when he did
finally realize he should be asking the question, his mind filled with a rush
of possibilities. They could be dead already. They might be unarmed. They may
have no ammo. They may simply be letting his men waste their ammo.

He
frowned, then the flares sputtered out, and it was too late. His men jumped to
their feet and roared “Allahu Akbar”, charging forward, guns blazing yet again.

And he
stepped out from behind the truck door, gun raised in the air, shouting with
them. “Allahu Akbar!” His chest filled with the fighting spirit, adrenaline
fueling his courage, Allah urging him into the fight. He rushed forward, after
his men, shouting into the night sky, hoping his god was listening.

Then
suddenly all hell broke loose.

The sound of their attackers charging forward was unmistakable, yet
still no one returned fire. And if they didn’t within the next few seconds, the
camp would be overrun and their lives lost.

“To hell
with it!” muttered Acton, jumping up to one knee and aiming his weapon at the
first thing he saw. He squeezed the trigger then relaxed his finger, a short
burst erupting from the end of this MP5, and the target dropping. He shifted
his sight to the right, and repeated the short burst, taking out another.

Movement
beside him then the ear ringing roar of weapons fire told him his friends had
joined in, and as he watched, at least another half dozen of their attackers
dropped.

Colonel Soliman
yelled something to their left, and finally his men jumped up and opened fire,
but it seemed too late, the enemy nearly at their positions. Another half dozen
went down before gunfire was directed at the central position Acton occupied.
They all dropped as sustained fire pounded on their earthen barrier.