The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (30 page)

Otherwise
they were all about to die.

“Professor
Palmer? Professor Acton?”

The
voice sounded familiar, and as the two groups met Acton smiled in relief.

“Sergeant,
thank God it’s you!” he exclaimed as the Delta Force leader extended a hand.

“Professor.
Care for a lift?”

Acton
laughed, then became immediately serious.

“We’ve
got an injured man here. He needs immediate medical care.”

Dawson
motioned to two of his men who rushed by them, then activated his comm.

“Prep
for immediate medical evac. Find the nearest safe harbor, over.”

The
rotors, which had begun to power down, immediately roared back to life as
Chaney was carried toward the chopper under the care of two of the Delta Force
team.

“Everybody
on the chopper!” ordered Dawson.

Acton
turned to make sure no one was left behind, doing a mental tally, when he
noticed the Colonel was missing.

“Where’s
Soliman?” he asked, looking around.

“I don’t
know,” said Laura, stopping beside him. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Well,
hopefully his people find him soon.”

Acton
took one last look, then jumped into the chopper, the door slamming shut behind
him as it lifted off.

He put
his arm around Laura who laid her head on his shoulder, and within minutes they
were both asleep, the exhaustion of the past couple of days finally overcoming
them.

Ahmed Ragheb Street, Garden City, Cairo, Egypt

One block from the British Embassy

Stephen poked his head out from the alleyway, the massive city still
dark and mostly asleep, the only life at this hour seeming to be police and
city workers. They had arrived in the city without incident over an hour ago,
but at the first sign of a police checkpoint, Stephen had jerked the wheel to
the right and down an alleyway, the other vehicle following. After driving for
several minutes, taking random turns, but still following the GPS on his phone
held by Naomi, he had stopped in an alley and shutoff the engine.

“Why did
you do that?” demanded Naomi. “They were police!”

“Remember
what the professors said? Trust the army, not the police.”

Naomi
huffed, but said nothing as Stephen climbed out and was joined by the others.

“What happened?”
asked Joel. “Why are we stopping?”

Stephen
held out his iPhone, showing their location on a map.

“We’re
about a block from the embassy. It should be just around that corner,” he
explained, pointing to the end of the alley. “I suggest we check it out first,
and make sure it’s safe to approach.”

“Why
wouldn’t it be safe?”

“What
are you, daft?” erupted Naomi. “It’s a Western embassy in a Muslim country!
There could be protestors in front for all we know!”

Stephen
held out a hand to calm her down, but secretly appreciated her backing. “I’ll
check it out,” he said, “you all stay here.”

He had
jogged as quietly as he could to the end of the alley and peered around the
corner. Nothing. Not a soul in sight. The bright lights of the gate of the
embassy were tantalizingly close, and he was about to signal to the others to
join him when a police vehicle turned into the alleyway from the opposite end,
and turned on its lights.

“Run!”
he yelled, his friends at first frozen in place, then Naomi grabbed two of them
and pushed, rushing after them. Screams broke out as the vehicle rushed toward
them, then screeched to a halt, the alleyway blocked by the two vehicles Stephen
and his friends had just arrived in.

Stephen
watched in horror as four men jumped out, weapons at the ready. Naomi reached
him first and he pointed toward the gate.

“Go!” he
yelled, and she didn’t hesitate, instead sprinting toward the gate, the rest of
the students following. Gunfire erupted from the alleyway and Stephen ducked
around the side as the slowest of them rounded the corner. They were now in the
street, racing across it, a rag tag group of crying and screaming young adults,
their yells incoherent to anyone. The guards on the other side of the gates
raised their weapons, ordering them to halt, but no one heard.

They
slammed into the bars, shaking them, pleads of “Let us in!” and “We’re
British!” falling on deaf ears as the police raced around the corner, their
weapons in full view.

Stephen
hit the gate, his passport extended and pushed it into view of one of the
guards.

“We’re
British subjects who were victims of a terrorist attack. We require sanctuary!”
he said in his calmest voice. The man activated his radio and a moment later
the gate rolled open, the students rushing forward, the footfalls of the
approaching police echoing through the empty streets.

Stephen
pushed his friends through, waiting until the last one had made it before he
himself stepped through and onto British soil. He felt a hand grab him from
behind and begin to yank him back onto the street.

The
sounds of weapons around him, their safeties being flicked off, filled the air
as the world closed in around him. He stretched his arms out, grabbing onto the
gate on either side as someone continued to drag him back to Egyptian soil.

“Halt!”
yelled a voice. “This is British soil, and we are within our rights to engage
you!”

The grip
loosened, and Stephen yanked himself away as another set of hands pulled on his
shirt, toppling him into the embassy grounds as the gates rumbled closed. He
flipped over and saw the angry glare of the Egyptian police, the weapons of his
countrymen still trained on them until the moment the gate slammed shut.

Heels on
cobblestone clipped through the night as Stephen was helped to his feet. A
woman rushed up to them, her arms extended, touching each of them as she
arrived in their midst.

“I’m
Lois MacLeod. Are you the students from University College London?” she asked
finally, after seemingly confirming they weren’t apparitions.

“Yes,”
replied Stephen. “Have you heard from Professor Palmer? Are they okay?”

She smiled
at him, then cocked her head toward the embassy.

“Why
don’t you come with me, I have a phone call for you.”

They
quickly made their way to the embassy, and it wasn’t until they were inside the
building itself that Stephen began to feel safe. They entered a side office,
everyone crowding inside, and Lois activated the speaker on the desk phone.

“I have
someone who wants to talk to you,” she said.

There
was no reply, and Stephen tentatively leaned forward.

“Hello?”

“Stephen,
is that you?”

Professor
Palmer’s voice was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. There were cries and
cheers from everyone, and the next words were lost to history, but he didn’t
care. He just dropped into the nearest chair, and sobbed in relief, the job he
hadn’t wanted, the job meant for Terrence, now complete.

They
were all safe.

USS James E. Williams, Red Sea

Medical Bay

Reading sat beside his friend and partner. It was hard to think of
Chaney as his former partner at a time like this, despite it being a couple of
years since they had officially worked a case together. But at this moment,
with his friend clinging to life, he had never felt closer, and more desperate,
for anyone to live.

It
reminded him of the Falklands, the Battle of Mount Harriet, and the aftermath
as he and his comrades mourned the death of two of their mates, and prayed for
the recovery of the over two dozen wounded, some severely.

A doctor
entered the room, and Reading looked up, waiting as vitals were checked, and
charts read.

“What’s
the prognosis, Doc?”

“Looks
like he’ll live,” said the greying Lt. Commander. “The question now is whether
or not he’ll come out of this coma. Just give him time. I’ve seen men far worse
than this come out of these things, so there’s lots of reason for optimism.”

Reading
nodded, looking back at his friend, when a Seaman rushed into the room.

“Sir,
you have a phone call.”

Reading
pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Yes,
sir.” The young man grabbed a phone off the wall and hit a few buttons. “You
can take it here, sir.”

Reading
stood up and took the phone.

Who
in the blazes would be calling me here?

“Reading
here.”

“Hugh,
my friend! This is Rahim! Where the bloody hell are you?”

Reading
breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t more bad news, a smile spreading
across his face as the doctor and Seaman left the room.

“I’m on
some American ship in the Red Sea. We were rescued by some—” He stopped himself
before he broadcast the fact US forces had been on Egyptian soil, then realized
it was pointless. The fact the chopper had to be refueled several times on the
mission in mid-air meant clearances had been obtained. “—friends,” he
completed.

“Thank
Allah, my friend. I thought the worst when we arrived. Everyone is dead, it is
quite the horrible scene.”

“Apparently
there are two British citizens amongst the dead,” said Reading, recalling
Leather’s debrief. “Please make certain they are treated with respect, and
returned to the British Embassy as soon as possible.”

“Absolutely,
my friend, we have already found them. Are you okay? You are uninjured?”

“I’m
fine, no need to worry about me.”

“And
your friends?”

Reading
felt a lump form in his throat as he stared across the room at his friend.

“Chaney
took a hit. He’s in a coma. They think he’ll make it.”

“I will
pray for him, my friend.”

“Please
do that.”

“I must
go, my friend, I will contact you when I return to Cairo.”

“Do
that, and thanks for coming for us.”

“Any
time!”

The call
ended, and Reading hung the handset up on the wall, returning to Chaney’s side.

And
prayed harder than he ever had before.

USS James E. Williams, Red Sea

Segregated Common Area

Dawson sat with his squad as they all waited for Red’s team to
arrive, a second chopper having been dispatched to pick them up when they had had
to do the emergency evac of the British cop. Nobody was worried, it was a
routine retrieval, but until every boot that had hit the ground returned, they
waited, saying nothing except watching the newsfeed of what had happened while
they were away.

And it
was disturbing.

The
attacks were over, at least the large scale ones. Search and rescue operations
were still underway in some cases, and the cleanup was beginning in others.
Presidents and Prime Ministers the world over had taken to the air waves to urge
calm, and to promise justice, but the people were furious.

They
knew justice was impossible. The perpetrators were already mostly dead, the
leadership protected behind the walls of silence of Muslim countries secretly
pleased with the actions, though publicly condemning them, while couching
things in terms suggesting the West had asked for it due to its overreaction to
9/11.

And this
time, who would we attack?

There
was no Taliban regime in power, providing training camps and funding to a
specific group. Which was the problem with terrorism. It quite often wasn’t
state sponsored, and if it were, it was difficult to prove. There were no more
easy targets to take out. And this time, the nationalities were mostly Egyptian
as opposed to Saudi, a supposed ally in the Middle East. The US and its allies
could hardly invade Egypt or bomb it in retaliation. All they could do was
demand action by its government, a Muslim Brotherhood government that probably tacitly
supported the terrorist actions.

This was
the new Middle East, applauded at the outset by all, now feared by those who
understood what had truly happened.

The
frustrations of the populations in New York, Los Angeles, Paris, London,
Toronto, Rio and others, was palpable, with random attacks on Muslims, fire
bombings of mosques, and protests in the streets demanding the deportation of
Muslims, reactions far worse than anything seen after 9/11.

Last
time they killed people, turning the Twin Towers into symbols of America’s loss.
This time they killed our symbols, our history, our culture.

And this
time none of the morons claiming it was an inside job had anything to cling to.
Dawson only hoped the protests would calm down, the retaliations stop, and the
discourse begin sooner rather than later. His greatest fear was troops on the
street, and if law and order couldn’t be maintained, martial law could be
declared.

And once
that slippery slope was started upon, Western democracies as we know them may
become a thing of the past, the terrorists winning in the end.

The door
opened and Red stepped in with a grin on his face.

“It’s
about fuckin’ time!” exclaimed Niner, jumping up and giving each man a thumping
hug as they came through the door. Dawson stood and gave his friend a firm
handshake then pushed him onto the other side of the couch he had been
occupying.

“Problems?”

“Nope.
Just had to duck a group of Egyptian police that arrived at some point, but
other than that, nothing.”

Dawson
nodded. “They were apparently friendlies, requested by that Interpol guy,
Reading.”

“See,
you say it right all the time.”

“What’s
that?”

“The
Interpol guy. Every time I read a report I say ‘Reading’, but it’s actually
pronounced ‘Redding’. How the hell do you keep that straight in your head?”