The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (28 page)

And
several died within seconds of the charge, their bodies torn apart by what
Khalil could only imagine to be some type of cannon. He found his feet carrying
him forward, the cry of
God is Great!
on his lips, but as a body skidded
to a halt in front of him, he stopped, then rushed back to the truck, jumping
in the driver’s side as his force of more than three dozen men continued to
dwindle, now less than ten left.

The
engine roared to life as he turned the key. Slamming it into reverse, he popped
the clutch and gave it gas, the truck leaping backward as he tried to flee in
his mad panic. The truck jerked to a halt as it slammed into something, the
engine stalling out with a shake.

He
turned the key, and the engine chugged as it tried to restart. The passenger
side window shattered, and the back of the seat was torn apart, the hole the
bullet left behind massive.

They’re
trying to kill
me!

The gall
of these infidels never ceased to amaze him. Did they give no thought to the
fact he was an Imam, a servant of Allah himself? Did they not know they would
be condemned to an eternity in Hell while he, should he die, would be blessed
for eternity?

The
engine roared to life, and as he slammed it into first, the truck leaping
forward, he was saved from contemplating the answers. He risked turning the
lights on, figuring a hasty, safe exit was better than a slow, blind one, and
within moments was safely out of sight of the battle, his last glance through
the rearview mirror of several of his men turning back to the trucks.

Cowards!
You should be fighting to the death for Allah!

Leather slammed his fist into the ground as the first truck pulled
away. Then he realized this wasn’t a military operation, this was a civilian
defensive one. If the enemy were to flee, that most likely meant they wouldn’t
have to worry about them again. Then his thoughts turned to the news reports.
If these men were part of the worldwide attacks, then they
would
have to
probably deal with them again at some point, whether it was men like him, or
men like those that still remained in the active service.

Either
way there was the chance of more innocent blood shed.

“Take
out their remaining vehicles,” he ordered over the comm. He heard his
second-in-command begin to respond, then the distinct sound of gunfire and
cries of pain. He looked up at the opposite ridge, his view through the hazy
green flying rapidly by when it came upon the second position.

Two men
were standing over his comrades, a third bent over doing something that involved
his arm jerking up and down, then suddenly the man stood up, holding the head
of Sergeant Hewlett high in the air, shouting something at the night sky.

“Sonofabitch!”

He took
aim, eliminating the groin of the man holding the head, the gaping hole certain
to kill him, but low enough to let him die an agonizing death over the coming
minutes. Leather’s partner took out the second target at the same time,
removing his head chest and neck from existence, then Leather took out the
third target as he fled, sending him flying out of sight.

Leather
jumped to his feet.

“Get to
the professors, provide whatever protection you can. I’m going after the first
truck.”

And with
that he sprinted in the direction of the road he knew the vehicle would be
forced to follow in the night, as his comrade rushed in the opposite direction.

Tonight
they all die.

Terrence continued to stumble, his chest aching from the impact of
having been shot by Professor Acton of all people. He thanked God that Leather
had told him to put the body armor on, and though it had stopped the bullet, it
hadn’t prevented it from either bruising or breaking at least one rib.

But he
was alive, and Jenny’s reaction to his apparent death had been spectacularly
romantic, if the bit of it he caught when he awoke was any indication.

He also
knew the professor felt profoundly bad, practically carrying him over his
shoulders, as some other man whom Terrence at first had thought to be one of
the enemy, helped on the other side.

Jenny
was ahead, night vision goggles on, leading the way back to their jeep, while
the gunfire behind them had all but stopped. Which in his mind could mean only
one of three things. One, which he knew he wasn’t lucky enough to be true, was
that the enemy was fleeing, the second was that they were all dead, another
option he considered himself not lucky enough for, or third, they were in
pursuit.

Which
was the most likely.

And the
fact the guards weren’t firing any more had him terrified. Were they dead? Why
weren’t they engaging the enemy anymore?

Maybe
they
are all dead?

A
nervous glance over his shoulder yielded little except the sight of the ex-cop
Reading carrying a cot with his dying friend, Professor Palmer having switched
positions with the young reporter. She was now covering their rear, and he felt
a twinge of guilt for that, since if he didn’t need help, Professor Acton and
this colonel gent could be back there instead, and his mentor and former secret
crush could be up here with him, perhaps not safe, but safer for certain.

Several
shots rang out behind them, and he heard the professor shout, “They’re coming!”
as Acton extricated himself from Terrence, and rushed back to assist his
fiancée.

And
Terrence didn’t blame him a bit, his entire being wishing it was him that were
racing back to be the hero.

Instead,
he focused on the beautiful Jenny in front of him, a consolation prize by no
means, and smiled through the wheezes at how lucky he felt at this very moment.

Imam Khalil cranked the wheel, following the barely there road in
the darkness. To call this anything but a trail would be ridiculous, how it had
ever come to be beyond him, and he cursed then begged forgiveness every time a
wheel perfectly found a hole in the ground that rattled his teeth and strained
his arms as he braced himself from slamming into the steering wheel.

He
rounded another corner and he caught something from the side of his eye as the
beams from the headlights whipped around the corner. It was a man. Khalil
instinctively ducked, flooring the truck, as gunshots tore apart his
windshield, the rush of wind filling the cabin as he picked up speed. He risked
a glance, straightening out the wheel as the truck whined, demanding a shift in
gear, but his position preventing him from doing so.

Instead,
he grabbed the weapon sitting on the passenger seat and raised it just as a
figure jumped on the running board, shoving its own weapon into the cabin.

Khalil
fired, the man flying backward just as he himself fired. Khalil felt a burning
hot pain in his shoulder, the weapon dropping from his hand, coming to rest on
the floor of the passenger side, hopelessly out of reach should he need it
again. With a valiant effort, and a scream of pain and a prayer to Allah, he
shifted from second to third, gaining speed, and minutes later, with no sign of
pursuit, burst out onto the open highway.

Khalil
tore the sleeve of his left arm off with his teeth, then, driving with his
knees, tied a tourniquet over the wound, staunching, at least temporarily, the
bleeding.

Now he
just needed to hang on until he reached a town with people he could trust.

And
Allah willing, I will be alive tomorrow to continue the fight.

“There it is!” yelled Jenny, pointing to the jeep that sat behind a
large rock outcropping. The colonel hauled Terrence to the jeep, placing him in
the passenger seat, then scrambled around to the other side, firing up the
engine, the keys thoughtfully left in the ignition.

Jenny
jumped in the back as the colonel turned the vehicle around, facing it toward
the way Terrence had come earlier, the tracks still visible in the sand. The
makeshift stretcher was placed across the rear doors, covering the back seat,
then Professor Palmer and Reading jumped over the rear, placing their legs on
the rear seats, and holding onto the cot with one hand, the jeep with the
other.

“Let’s
go, let’s go!” yelled Acton, waving at the colonel to get moving.

“What
about the guards?” asked Laura.

“They’ll
have to catch up,” said Acton as he grabbed the windshield and jumped on the
running board, the reporter doing the same on the other side. “They can take
care of themselves. Those guys”—Acton pointed at the men coming into
sight—“aren’t going to wait.”

“Then we
go!” said the colonel as he put the vehicle in gear and the jeep roared
forward. Gunfire from behind rang out, and Acton spun, aiming his weapon one
handed, and fired as they gained speed. Suddenly the colonel slammed on the
brakes, sending Terrence and the others flying forward as one of their guards
came into view. He leapt on the passenger side of the hood, then motioned for
them to continue on.

The
colonel stepped on it, and once again everyone was tossed about, but within
minutes they were out of range of any hostiles, and on their way along a path
Terrence wasn’t sure he’d recognize at any time of day. In fact, after about
fifteen minutes, Terrence was convinced they were lost, and said so.

“No,
this is a back way. It will keep us off the main roads so we avoid any
checkpoints.”

“Why the
hell would we want to
avoid
the authorities? Don’t we want to go
to
them?” exploded Reading. “We’ve got a wounded man here, we need help!”

The
colonel frowned in the moonlight, then nodded. “You are of course correct. I
will take us to the main road, and from there, you will continue on
yourselves.”

“What
about you?” asked Terrence, uncertain why he should concern himself with this
man’s wellbeing.

“I will
be fine. My brothers will find me very quickly.”

“So
there are others?” asked Acton, still kneeling on the runner, his weapon slung
over his shoulder, his head mostly behind the windshield.

The
colonel nodded.

“Many
others. What you saw today was a small group meant to scare some children and
their teachers into leaving. Not engage an armed force.”

“What
are your intentions, now that we’re gone?” asked Acton, the concern for their
find evident in his voice.

How
can you think about that now?

Terrence
couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They had barely escaped with their lives,
half the world was on fire from madmen, and the professor was worried about the
tomb of someone dead two thousand years previous.

But
before the colonel could answer, the engine began to sputter and their speed
quickly reduced, and less than a minute later, they rolled to a halt.

Out of
gas.

In the
middle of the Nubian Desert.

We’re
screwed.

Leather pushed himself up off the ground as the lorry roared around
the corner and out of sight. He began to run after it but immediately stopped,
his ribs roaring in protest.

Lucky
damned shot!

But
lucky or not, he was now officially compromised. He checked his vest and found
his shirt torn open where the bullet had entered, then a gouge in the chest
plate but no bullet, it apparently ricocheting off and back out his shirt, his
last second twist when he saw the barrel of the gun probably saving his arse
from meeting his maker.

He took
several tentative breaths, then started to walk back toward where the
rendezvous would be taking place, and after a minute, broke out into a gentle
jog, each step painful, but bearable.

Nothing
broken, just bruised.

Nothing
a few days on the beach in Spain wouldn’t cure.

Then
again, with the amount of sun and heat he’d experienced on this job, perhaps
someplace cold and wet would be better.

England.
Home.

He
smiled when he realized how much he missed the weather everyone loved to
complain about. It had only been a couple of months since he’d been home, but
he really did miss it. He wasn’t married, no kids, but he did have family he
was close to, friends he missed.

And
football.

He
missed football. It wasn’t the same kicking a ball around on the desert sand
for a few minutes. He needed an open field, grass, greenery, and a score of his
mates to play with to really open up the lungs and enjoy it.

He
winced, and his hand darted to his ribcage, pressing tenderly.

Football
will have to wait.

It took
almost ten minutes before he reached the rendezvous point, and as he expected,
they were already gone.

Good.
That’s what they should have done!

At least
he didn’t have to worry about them. Roger was a good man, and the fact he
wasn’t milling about indicated he had made it in time. He would take care of
them, getting them to safety.

Now as
for himself…

He spun
around, pulling his knife from his belt as a foot scraped on the rock behind
him. The man, covered in blood, was complaining in Arabic about the
impossibility of finding the tomb in the dark, which clinched the friend or foe
question for Leather. The next moment the knife was buried in the man’s chest.
Leather rushed forward, dipping down to pull the knife from the still gasping
man’s ribs, then with a swift upward motion, begun before the man’s partner
came into sight, he shoved the dripping blade into the second man’s stomach,
shoving up hard, then twisting, the man’s only response a muffled, gurgling cry
as his innards ran down Leather’s hand, half buried in the man’s stomach.

Which
was when the other two men with them reacted.

Leather
yanked his hand out of the second man’s stomach and held him by the back of the
collar as the others opened fire, Leather’s meat shield blocking the shots as
he ducked behind the twice dead man.