Vengeance: A Derek Stillwater Novel (Derek Stillwater Thrillers Book 8) (17 page)

“No one’s here,” Derek said
into his microphone.

“That’s not true,” a familiar voice said.

Derek slowly approached the laptop computer. On the screen Sheikh Nazif appeared.

Nazif said, “So, Dr. Derek Stillwater. You survived my trap. Too bad.”

Derek said, “So you know my name.”

“I do.”

“Did your buddy Yusuf Effat tell you?”

“I have my ways.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to die.”

“Well, sorry, you’re going to have to work harder.”

“Perhaps I will just ask that you turn yourself over to me in exchange for Mandalevo.”

“I like him fine, but that’s not going to happen. Besides, you have to prove to me that he’s still alive.”

“Who is that with you?”

Noa walked out of the room.

“You don’t need to know.”

“She’s the Israeli.”

In his ear, Irina said, “Keep him talking.”

“I want to speak with Secretary Mandalevo.”

“What happened to your partner, Doctor? Did he survive your trip out of Syria? He was in very bad shape. What is his name?”

Derek said, “I need you to prove that Secretary Mandalevo is alive right now or this conversation is over.”

Suddenly Noa burst back into the room, caught Derek by the shoulder and dragged him toward the door.

“What the—”

On the computer screen Nazif snarled something that sounded like, “
Kanith!
”

They were through the doorway when the room exploded behind them. Derek and Noa flew through the air and slammed into the far wall. Stunned, Derek stumbled to his feet, his ears ringing, the air filled with smoke and dust. Where was Noa?

She lay a few feet from him, sprawled beneath a pile of lath and plaster. Pushing the debris away, he checked her pulse. It was strong. She groaned and turned to him. Blood streamed down her face.

“Let’s go,” he said, helping her to her feet. Pushing their way down the hallway, they stepped out into the white-hot afternoon sunlight as a dozen soldiers in camo and khaki appeared, rifles in hand. They raised their weapons.

Derek raised his arms. Noa followed suit, a little shakily.

One of the soldiers said in English, “Stillwater and Shoshan?”

“Yes.”

“It’s our people,” he said. “Relax.”

“You’re late,” Derek said. Turning to Noa he took a look at her face. “You okay?”

She said, “You?”

“I’ve been better. What made you come get me?”

“I checked the other rooms. There was Semtex planted in the corners adjacent to the room we were in. They had radio receivers on them.”

In his ear, Johnston: I’ve got satellite imagery that’s recent. I’ve got four possible vehicle locations.

“Bring them up,” Derek said.

“What?” asked the soldier.

Irina: Derek, are those Egyptian military?

“I don’t know. Why?”

The soldier said, “Who are you talking to?”

Derek tapped his ear. “I’ve got a team. Who are you people?”

The soldier who seemed in charge said, “Colonel Nate Brigham, Mobile Security Deployments.” He pointed at four of the others in military camo, three men, one woman. “They’re my team. These others—” He pointed at the remaining three, “are Egyptian Army.” Something in Brigham’s expression made Derek wonder if he either didn’t like these people or didn’t believe they were Egyptian Army.

Irina: Do not say anything.

Johnston: What’s the problem?

Irina: Don’t trust the Egyptians. Konstantin thinks they’re Mukhabarat, but he’s running a check right now. It’s complicated.

Sholes: I want a sit-rep on this. What’s going on?

Derek looked at Noa. “Everybody route through Irina. She’s the only voice I want to hear right now.”

Brigham said, “You wired up?”

“Yes. Give me two minutes.”

“Sure.” Brigham was average height, but had very broad shoulders and big hands. There was something about his intensity that seemed bear-like. He spoke in a clipped way that seemed almost British, but clearly wasn’t.

The Egyptian who seemed in charge said in accented English, “What is the meaning of this? Who are these people?”

Brigham said, “Major, these two are part of our team, directly under RSO Sholes.”

The Major was thin, short, with swarthy features, black eyes and black hair. A vicious scar ran from his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. If Brigham was a bear, this guy was a hawk.

“What happened?”

Derek looked at Noa. She started talking. To the Major’s credit, he was listening to her, despite her being Israeli and a woman. When she was finished, he said, “So it was a trap.”

“Apparently,” Derek said. “But I’m not sure what to do next.”

Irina: Back to the charity.

Johnston: Sholes, got a line on this Major?

Derek said, “Too much chatter.”

Noa said to the Major, “We just came from
Al-Muhammadiya
. We’re pretty confident the head of it, Yusuf Effat, is involved with this. We also think he informed Nazif we were on our way.”

One of Brigham’s people came forward with a first aid kit. She was African-American, her face round, her gaze serious. “Let me take a look at those cuts. You’ve got a lot of blood, but hopefully it’s just a cut.”

Noa nodded and sat down on the ground. The medic, whose tag said Corbett, D., started cleaning Noa’s face. Corbett look at Derek. “You look a little light on your feet, too, Doctor. Can you hear out of your right ear? It’s bleeding.”

“Not much,” he said, and gratefully sank to the ground.

The major’s name was Gamal Ezz. He asked questions about the location of the charity. When they provided the information, he sent two of his people to head there. “Arrest Effat if he’s there. Take him to headquarters. We will get to the bottom of this.”

Derek wondered if they’d ever see Effat alive again. If
anyone
would see him alive again. Corbett finished cleaning up Noa. She had two lacerations on her forehead that the medic closed with a butterfly bandage, and one on the back of her scalp that Corbett thought might require stitches, but for now she bandaged. Taking a look at Derek, Corbett said, “What’s with the arm?”

“I’ve had a bad month.”

“Or a bad life,” she said. She aimed a small flashlight into his eyes. He flinched away. She shook her head. “Some of that building land on your head?”

“Yes.”

“Concussion wave knock you around?”

“Yes.”

“I recommend you and Ms. Shoshan get off the battlefield and get some medical care. We can take it from here.”

“My recommendation as well,” Major Ezz said. “Since this is not your jurisdiction.”

“Fine,” Derek said, looking at Noa. “We’ll head on back to the embassy.”

He helped her to her feet. Ezz and Brigham seemed skeptical, but let them leave. They walked slowly through the labyrinth of alleys to their waiting pickup truck. Derek said, “Any idea what to do next?”

Irina: Are you rid of the Egyptians?

“Yes.”

Irina: Good. I think Effat called someone in Morsi’s government. I’m still tracking it down, but my trace went to the GIS.

“The what?”

Noa said, “Headquarters of the General Intelligence Services. The Mukhabarat.”

Mandalevo was pushed along, a
canvas bag over his head. He stumbled, hands tied behind his back. Two sets of hands caught him, kept him moving. His head ached, a vicious pain stabbed at his eye socket where those bastards had carved
out his eyeball.

He was forced into a hard chair. His ankles were tied to the chair and a rope went around his chest. The bag came off and he blinked in the light. Another bare room, a scuffed wood floor, a shuttered window, a bare overhead bulb.

Nazif and his people were setting up a camera on a tripod.

“What is it exactly that you want?” he said, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.

Nazif walked over and looked down at him. “I want the life of Dr. Derek Stillwater. He eluded me twice just now, him and that Zionist bitch. But I will get him. And then I will trade you for my brother.”

“In Guantanamo,” Mandalevo said.

“Yes. My own intelligence indicates he is still alive.”

Mandalevo did not comment.

“It was a question,” Nazif said.

“I am not up-to-date on all the prisoners at Guantanamo.”

“And yet,” Nazif said, pacing around Mandalevo, forcing him to turn his head to follow, “I believe you know about my brother.”

He again kept quiet. There were four men in the room with him—Nazif and three others. They appeared to all be Egyptian, or at the very least, Middle Eastern.

Nazif pressed a blade to his throat. Mandalevo’s heart hammered in his chest. A metallic taste flooded his mouth. He thought,
I’ll see you soon, Laura
. His wife, who had died of ovarian cancer five years ago.

He thought of his daughters, twins, now grown. Megan, an agent in Hollywood, married with two children. Midge, who worked with the State Department, now stationed in the U.S. after years at the Greek Embassy.
I love you both,
he thought.

Nazif said, “Is my brother alive?”

“Yes.”

“You will arrange for his release.”

Mandalevo found his voice. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”

“You have another eye.”

Mandalevo’s stomach churned. Fear clutched as his guts. To lose an eye was one thing. To lose both …

“It is out of my hands.”

“You will negotiate this. Or I will cut you to pieces.”

Nazif walked over to the camera and computer, tapping keys. “Do you know what to say?”

Mandalevo nodded.

Derek and Noa climbed into
the truck. She looked over at him. “Plan?”

Glancing at his watch, he winced. “Let’s look at Jim’s satellite images. Jim, any analysis?”

Johnston: Not from my end. We need someone familiar from Cairo.

Sholes: Let me see. We’ve got the
NRO
and the
NSA
working on this, too, but you’re half a step ahead.

Johnston: Here you go.

Noa and Derek hunched over the satellite imagery on his tablet. There was an image of the ambush. They studied the second image. “What is this one?”

Johnston: It’s where you just were, before the explosion. Two vans left the area just before you got there. I’m pretty sure the white one is the original. The other looks black.

“So Mandalevo could be in either of them,” Noa said.

“Or neither,” Derek said. “What are the other two images?”

Johnston: Follow-ups on where the two vans may have gone.

Sholes: The black van looks like it’s going to the City of the Dead. The other one is headed over toward the river. That’s a pretty modern area. The City of the Dead … that’s sort of a slum.

Derek looked at Noa. She nodded. “We’re going to head there. Let us know if anything happens.”

Noa drove south. Derek stared out the windows, trying to focus, but his ears were ringing and his head ached. He thought of this lunatic gouging out his friend and employer’s eyeball as some pretext for exacting revenge on Derek. A couple years ago an assassin dubbed the Gecko had kidnapped Lev as a way to control Derek. He had traded himself for Lev.

He didn’t see that as an option here, even if he had been inclined to. But if he had Nazif in range, the man was dead.

Pointing to an enormous domed building, he said, “What is that?”

“The Citadel. It was built originally by Saladin. He was the first sultan of Egypt and Syria, I think, probably a thousand years ago.”

“Huh. I was in Aleppo a few weeks ago. Big freaking citadel in the middle of that city, too.”

“I think Saladin’s son might have lived in the Aleppo citadel at some time. I’m a little fuzzy on all this. I think the citadel in Aleppo is a lot older than the one here in Cairo. Is this really the time for all this sight-seeing?”

“Do you know much about Egypt?”

“Enough to get around reasonably well. And I speak Arabic. I’m more familiar with its relationship with Israel. What do you know about Egypt?”

“Besides the recent Arab Spring? Mostly just pyramids. What do you know about this City of the Dead?”

She was quiet for a moment. There was a lot of people and traffic on the streets, battered cars and trucks, bicycles, pedestrians. “It’s ridiculous.”

“What? What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “It’s huge. Five hundred thousand people live there. It’s four miles long and made up of five huge cemeteries, but they’re not cemeteries like you think of in the United States.” She thought for a moment. “Except maybe in your New Orleans, with mausoleums, perhaps? It was a very old custom in Egypt, where you spent forty days mourning for the dead, so the cemeteries are almost like houses, and people moved into them. But housing is a mess here in Cairo, and poor people have moved into the cemeteries.”

“And we’re supposed to find a white van in the middle of all this?”

She shrugged. “Did we have any other leads?”

Sholes: We’ve got another video.

Noa pulled to a curb and Derek clicked on the tablet.

Mandalevo, again, strapped to a chair. A blood-stained bandage covered part of his face and eye. His complexion looked gray, although Derek knew that could be poor lighting. It could also be shock and stress.

In a slow, even voice, Mandalevo said, “Sheikh Nazif, head of the Nazif Brigade, has two conditions for my release. First, that Dr. Derek Stillwater be turned over to him for justice for the death of his son and others in the brigade. Second, that his brother, Abdul Nazif, currently incarcerated at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, be released and flown to Egypt.”

While he was speaking, Mandalevo seemed to be looking slightly to the right and down of the camera. Derek couldn’t tell if he was reading directions or if that was where Nazif was. He paused, then stared directly at the camera, his one good eye blazing. “Under no circumstances is the U.S. government or Derek Stillwater to meet these demands. None.”

Suddenly a figure appeared and struck Mandalevo with something, the butt of a gun, or a club of some sort. Mandalevo tried to dodge it, but it hit him in the side of the head. A spatter of blood hit the wall behind him. Mandalevo groaned, then snarled, “Is that the best you’ve got, Nazif?”

Nazif—Derek was certain it was him—struck Mandalevo again and again, shrieking incoherently.

And Robert laughed. Tied to the chair as a madman beat him, he laughed. Until he was unconscious, slumped in the chair, face bruised, battered, covered in blood.

Derek’s blood burned in his veins. Adrenaline shot through his body, his hands shaking. He clenched his fists.

Nazif turned to the camera, no mask on his face this time. “Stillwater! Next time he dies. I will send your people a location. And you had better get to work on releasing my brother. You have one hour.”

The screen went blank. Derek said, “Was it live?”

“Yes,” Sholes said. “
NSA
is on it. Where are you?”

“Almost to the City of the Dead. We have no idea what to do here, though. Did the Egyptians pick up Effat?”

Sholes: Cleared out. Brigham reported to me. They showed up, Effat and his entire staff were gone. They’re looking for him.

Noa said, “Can you trust Major Ezz?”

“Yes,” Sholes said. “They’re Egyptian army, not Muk. The Muk is now under Morsi’s control, but there’s a lot of tension between the army and President Morsi. I want the Muk kept out of this if at all possible. They’d find Mandalevo because they’d round up and torture thousands of people to do it, but the whole country would go up in flames. I’m doing my best so far. What are you doing next?”

“Any leads for us?”

Johnston: I’ve got another satellite shot of your area. I don’t know how reliable it is. It’s on its way.

Noa and Derek hunched over the tablet. The satellite image appeared. It had been annotated. A dark van had been circled. Noa traced a route with her finger. “We can get there. Is the van moving or parked?”

Johnston: Moving. It disappeared off the next shot.

“Let’s go,” Derek said.

With Derek providing directions from the tablet, Noa drove. About a quarter mile from their destination they found themselves unable to drive any further toward their target. The City of the Dead was a warren of buildings, mausoleums, monuments, gravestones and shanty-towns. Most of the streets were unpaved. From time to time they saw people, but not often for a part of the city that was supposed to house half a million people. Compared to Cairo proper it was quiet.

“That’s such a damned cliché,” Derek muttered.

Noa looked at him as they climbed out of the truck. “What is?”

“Quiet as a tomb.”

“I guess so.”

Looking around, Derek thought some of the houses and mausoleums looked in beautiful condition with marble fixtures; others were crumbling to dust. Studying the nearest building, he said, “Two entrances.”

“One for men, one for women.”

Looking at the tablet, he gripped his MP5 in his left hand. Noa carried the same weapon, her Beretta on a holster on her belt.

“Ready?”

They walked up the narrow dirt street, kicking up dust as they went. Derek felt eyes on him, but saw no one. They cautiously peered around the corner of a ragged two-story building made of mud bricks that Derek suspected was hundreds of years old. It opened into a sort of plaza that was clearly some sort of cemetery—hell, the whole place was a cemetery. But this courtyard was dotted with crypts, some of the stone boxes that reminded him of the Ark of the Covenant from Indiana Jones, and others were painted green and had miniature towers on top of them, standing six or seven feet tall. On the far side of the courtyard was a three-story house, the third floor open to the air as if the walls had been torn off.

Laundry hung from a clothesline. Birds chirped. Somewhere a generator rumbled. They crept through the cemetery, moving quickly but cautiously from tomb to tomb to provide some small level of protection. Straining his ears, Derek thought he heard voices nearby, but not too close.

Out of the corner of his eye Derek saw movement from the open three-story house. Without hesitation he tackled Noa. They slammed to the hard ground behind a tomb as two shots rang out, one bullet taking a chunk out of a granite tomb and ricocheting with a
zweezh
sound, the other pocking into the dirt only inches from where they lay.

“A damned kill box,” he muttered.

Irina: What’s going on?

“Sniper,” he snapped. “A little busy right now.”

He looked at Noa. “You okay?”

She nodded. In a low voice she said, “This isn’t good, though. We’re pinned down here.”

A bullet chunked off the granite just above their heads. If they stayed put and the sniper or snipers didn’t change location, they’d be fine.

Noa said, “I can provide cover and you can move to a different location.”

“They’re probably expecting that.”

“We can’t really fight back from here. One of us needs a better location.”

He thought about that. Pointing, Derek said, “That wall over there. Or that wall over there.”

Looking behind him, he said, “Or, backwards and out of the alley. A strategic retreat.”

Derek raised the MP5 above his head and fired two quick bursts. “Just letting them know we’re still here.”

Sholes: I’m sending the team there. They’re about ten minutes out.

Noa shook her head. Derek rolled his eyes in agreement. In ten minutes they would either be out of here or dead. Or somebody would be. If the sniper had a pal and knew the area, they were going to get caught in a crossfire.

“I’m not sure we have that much time, but I appreciate it.” He looked at Noa. “I’ll provide cover,” he said. “Which way are you going?”

She pointed to the wall on the right. Between them and the wall was another tomb, one of the tall ones painted green. The tomb was ten yards away, the wall another five yards from that.

“Okay,” he said. “Two quick bursts. Then a long burst. Go on the long.”

She nodded. Rolling over, she moved into an awkward crouch.

“Noa,” he said.

She looked at him.

“Don’t get shot.”

She gave him a thumb’s-up.

Making sure the MP5 was on semi-automatic, he rolled quickly left and fired off a single burst. Rolling back, he raised the gun and fired another.

“Go!”

She sprinted from cover and Derek popped up, aiming at the open building, and fired off a longer burst.

Noa dived behind the other tomb. She gave him a thumb’s-up.

He pointed toward a tomb off to the left. She shook her head vigorously and pointed to herself, indicating she wanted him to run to her location. He shook his head and pointed left again.

She cocked her head, frowning. She nodded, raising her gun and pointing first at herself and then up toward their sniper.

He nodded.

She raised three fingers, shook her head and raised two.

He understood and nodded.

He rolled over. It was awkward as hell doing this with his right arm in a sling, a banged-up shoulder, and holding a machine gun in his left hand.

He nodded at Noa.

She gave a countdown with her fingers. Three. Two.

On one she fired off a short burst.

A second later she rolled to the left and fired a long burst.

Derek exploded out from behind the tomb, sprinting toward the tomb to his left. A bullet spiked into the ground by his feet.

He skidded behind the tomb, slamming into the granite. A blast of pain ripped through his shoulder and chest. “Fuck!” he shouted.

One problem with this arrangement, he quickly realized, was he didn’t have a sightline with Noa.

“Are you okay?” she said in the earpiece.

“Landed a little hard,” he said. “You?”

“So far, so good. Now what?”

Sholes: Team Beta is in the City of the Dead.

Johnston: I’ve sent them the satellite photos. Where exactly is your sniper?

“Well, shit, Jim. If you were here I’d show you.”

Johnston: Focus, please.

Noa: We’re in a cemetery plaza at the base of a Y split. On the right side of the short arm of the Y was where the van was located. Got it?

Johnston: Affirmative.

Noa: At the juncture between the Y split is the building where the sniper is. Third floor, open area. We’re at least fifty meters away.

Johnston: Affirmative. Sending.

Derek quickly took a peek. Up. Down.

A bullet took off a chunk of granite only inches from where his head had been. He leaned back, thinking. Was there really only one person? Where were the others?

If I were them, what would I do?

He rolled so he was on his back, scanning the rooflines.

Two heads appeared above where Noa was hiding. Derek fired off a burst in their direction. “At your nine!” he shouted.

“Behind you,” Noa shouted back, firing off a rattle of automatic weapons fire.

“Stay on them,” he shouted. “I’ve got yours! Eagle One, what’s the ETA?”

Sholes: Three—

He didn’t hear what else she had to say because a head appeared above. He sprayed the roof with bullets.

Simultaneously, he heard Noa firing.

Spinning, Derek saw two men on his side, aiming toward him. Rolling to his feet, he sprinted from his unprotected position, firing over his shoulder.

As he ran, the shooter above Noa popped into view. Skidding feet first, Derek fired the MP5 above, stitching a bloody tattoo across the shooter’s chest.

Derek felt something bite at his leg followed instantly by the sound of the sniper’s shot.

Pain flared in his calf. Rolling, he slithered next to Noa.

“You okay?”

“Maybe. You?”

Her face was bleeding. Studying her, he said, “You hit?”