Beneath them, the rumbling sound of rushing water rose above the motorcycle’s engine. In the moonlight, Caine could see vast planes of water on either side of the walkway. Huge pumping stations forced water from the Nile into the treatment tanks. Filters removed impurities and made it safe to drink.
Gunfire sparked off the pipes to their left. The final motorcycle roared behind them. Caine shifted and revved the throttle, but there was nowhere to go but straight ahead.
As they neared the end of the walkway, yellow safety tape blocked their way.
“They are expanding the plant,” Nena shouted. “It has been under construction for months.”
Caine’s bike sped forward, tearing through the thin plastic tape as if it were tissue paper. They dropped onto a rough dirt embankment and continued racing into the darkness. To their right, a deep channel had been carved into the earth. It was lit at regular intervals by clusters of halogen work lights.
Another volley of gunfire streaked past them.
“Hold on!” Caine shouted. He darted the bike right and dropped into the channel. He felt a shockwave hit his legs as the bike’s suspension struggled to compensate for the impact.
Dirt and debris fell from the sides of the trench as the bike above continued to fire at them. The falling rocks pelted their faces and Caine tasted blood as a thin sliver struck his cheek.
The channel ended in a large section of pipe buried in the earth. The deafening roar of the Kawasaki’s engine engulfed them as they plunged into the pipe. Behind them, Caine heard the whine of the other bike as it dove into the channel. It sped after them, following them into the pitch-black metal tunnel.
Muzzle flash lit the darkness. Gunshots ricocheted off the curved walls of the pipe. Caine swerved the bike left and right. He rode up the sides of the tunnel like a race car shooting through a banked curve.
Up ahead he saw a circle of light … the tunnel was ending. More halogen lights gleamed in the darkness, their bright glow outlining the far bank of another trench. It cut a horizontal slash in the earth across their path. The ground sloped down, and the opposite bank was lower than the exit of the pipe.
“Nena, your bag … Do you still have it?” Caine shouted.
“Yes, I have it.”
“When I give the word, throw it at him … try to hit his face, if you can.”
“But our supplies—”
“Do as I say or we’re dead!”
He swerved the bike one more time, then straightened out and raced along the center of the pipe. Gunning the throttle, he charged ahead at full speed. The headlamp of the pursuing bike reflected off the curved walls. It was gaining on them.
The exit of the tunnel grew larger as they sped towards it. He could see the far side of the trench clearly now. The lights glinted off long stacks of smaller pipes, and Caine could see piles of earth dredged from the new channel.
“Nena, now!”
He felt her spin around, but he did not take his eyes off the looming exit. He charged towards it at full speed. Behind him, he heard the engine of the pursing bike warble and dip … Her bag had struck the rider, forcing him to slow down.
She turned back around and clutched him tight. The bike shot out of the tunnel like a bullet. The Kawasaki’s engine wailed like a banshee as they flew through the air. Caine looked down and saw the dark gorge of the channel pass beneath them.
A second later, he felt his bones rattle as the bike slammed into the ground on the other side. As Caine struggled to control the motorcycle, a second wail sounded behind them. The other bike shot out of the open mouth of the pipe.
Caine skidded to a stop. The other motorcycle arced into the air, then began to drop. Nena’s last-minute distraction had cost the rider speed and balance … he had not been able to regain control in time. He wasn’t going fast enough to make the jump.
The bike plunged towards the bank of the channel, then dropped out of sight. They heard a loud crash and the screech of crumpled metal. The motorcycle collided into the dirt wall, then tumbled to the floor of the trench.
Caine took a deep breath. His arms and legs were shaking … he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves, or the shocks and impacts of the ride.
Nena’s breathing was shallow and ragged. Her arms were still clamped around his waist in a tight embrace. He could feel her chest heaving, trembling again his back. She stared into the darkness, panting for breath. She did not let go.
Finally, he turned and looked back at her.
“What was that you said about getting drunk?”
She laughed, a quick, sharp exhale. But her eyes were dark and pensive. She did not look up from the black gorge.
“A drink would be good, yes,” she said. “Then, you and I … We need to have a long talk.”
“We’ll talk on the road,” Caine said. “We can’t stay in the city.”
He flipped the ignition switch and the Kawasaki rumbled to life. They sped into the darkness, hurtling across the rough, ancient earth towards the twinkling lights across the river.
Chapter Nineteen
Rebecca turned her head and covered her eyes as the blinding fireball exploded next to them. Agent Zavala screamed. Her walkie tumbled to the floor. The rear window of the SUV shattered as a powerful shockwave rippled through the street. The back wheels of the vehicle flew into the air, then crashed back to the pavement.
Rebecca’s head slammed forward and struck the dashboard. She felt blood drip from her forehead, and her vision went hazy. Amidst the blaring car alarms and sirens, she could hear screaming. Then another sound rose above the panic … a low, mechanical growl, moving closer and closer. A vehicle was approaching the wreckage at speed.
The rear end of a metro DC garbage truck crashed through the wreckage of the semi-trailer. The hulking metal truck slammed into the front of the Marshals’ smoking SUV, the impact shunting it back into the car behind it. Rebecca saw Ted’s head snap back from the collision.
The Marshals in the rear car exited the vehicle and took cover behind the doors. They pumped their Remington shotguns, preparing the weapons to fire. The Marshals in Ted's SUV followed standard procedure and stayed put. They trusted the vehicle’s armored plating to protect them.
A hydraulic whine came from the garbage truck. The rear gate raised up. Rebecca lifted her head. Her vision was still blurry, and her ears were ringing, but she could make out a group of shadowy figures darting out of the truck. The group charged through the billowing smoke. The blurry shapes resolved. They were men, dressed in black tactical gear. They were carrying automatic weapons.
They swarmed towards the damaged SUV. The high-pitched cough of silenced gunfire hissed through the air.
Two of the armored men fired at the downed motorcycle cops. Their bodies jerked on the pavement, then stopped moving.
The rest of the team advanced forward. Another pair stopped alongside the armored SUV. The remaining four fanned out around the back and opened fire on the Marshals at the rear of the convoy.
The Federal Marshals returned fire. Their shotguns seemed to have little effect on their attackers’ body armor. Rebecca watched as puffs of smoke exploded from the barrels of the men’s weapons. One of the attackers staggered backwards. He recovered within seconds and opened fire with his submachine gun.
The compact weapon spat a stream of high-powered automatic fire. A series of holes exploded in the metal door of the rear SUV. The Marshal jerked as the slugs ripped through the door and struck his body. He fired one more wild blast with the Remington, then dropped to the ground.
“Driver, get us the hell out of here!” DuBose shouted. The driver turned the key in the ignition, but the engine sputtered and stalled.
Another Marshal collapsed to the ground. The attacker’s armor-piercing ammunition sliced through the SUV’s doors as if they were tissue paper.
“They’re out-gunned, we have to help them!” Rebecca shouted.
“Director, your safety is—” DuBose began.
; There was another sharp crack. A high-powered rifle shot pierced the driver’s side window of their SUV. The driver’s head snapped sideways, a fine red mist spattering the windshield as he slumped over the wheel.
Rebecca’s face went pale. She swallowed, fighting the bile that was rising in her throat.
“Sniper, driver’s side,” she said. “We’re not safe in here. Help the Marshals, that’s an order!”
She threw open the passenger door and activated her chair lift.
DuBose turned to Agent Zavala as she drew her Glock. “You ready for this?”
Zavala gave him a nervous smile. “I got a choice?”
DuBose kicked open the side door and leapt to the pavement. He charged towards the rear of the Marshals’ truck, a line of gunfire nipping at his heels. The pavement chipped and cracked as the bullets from the attackers traced his path. He dove behind the truck, and the bullets sparked and ricocheted off the side of the bumper, just missing his leg.
He looked back at Zavala. “Move your ass! I’ll cover you!”
She sprinted towards the truck. DuBose popped around the side and sent three bullets into the nearest attacker. The man staggered, but the pistol could not penetrate the thick Kevlar covering his chest.
Zavala made it to the rear of the truck. She huddled behind the cover, along with DuBose and the remaining pair of Marshals.
Another pair of armored men were striding towards the driver’s side of Rebecca’s SUV. As her chair lowered to the pavement, she reached under the seat. She slipped a Glock 26 pistol from a concealed holster under the cushion. Taking a deep breath, she maneuvered her chair to the front of the vehicle. She kept her head and shoulders low, taking cover behind the hood.
Bullets sparked and ricocheted off the sheet metal above her head. She stifled a scream and tightened her grip on the pistol.
There was a lull in the gunfire.
They’re reloading, she thought. Move, now!
A tremor of fear ran through her body. She took a deep breath and the shivering ceased. She popped up and saw the two men in black advancing on her position. She fired, twice. One shot missed, the other thudded into one of the men’s shoulder.
She heard the metallic clank of the other man’s weapon as he reloaded. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slide a long box mag into the top of the squat, short-barreled weapon. He slapped it down and raised the gun towards her.
Rebecca ducked back behind the hood as the weapon chattered once again.
FN P90… she thought. What the hell? Fifty rounds of high-velocity armor-piercing bullets, fully automatic. Whoever these men were, they were well-equipped.
The Federal Marshals were hopelessly outgunned. Backup would be on the way. According to the information Zavala had shared in the hotel room, response time was estimated to be three to five minutes.
Might as well be five hours. They would be lucky if they survived another minute against this kind of firepower.
Rebecca heard the men pivot and fire behind them as DuBose and Zavala lay down covering fire. She rolled around the front of the vehicle. Raising her pistol, she steadied her grip and took aim at the closest attacker. The man was clad in a thick Kevlar vest and a black helmet.
She fired again, striking him in the center of his back. The man dropped to one knee, but the Kevlar absorbed the impact. He staggered back to his feet.
She took a deep breath. Get it together, she ordered herself. Don't panic. Remember your training!
After her attempted kidnaping, Rebecca had forced herself to put in regular hours at the firing range. In her mind, she could hear the voice of her shooting instructor, drilling her in the Mozambique Technique. The shooting pattern was designed to take down armored attackers.
“Two in the chest, one in the head. First you stop ‘em, then you drop ‘em.”
The armored man spun around, raising the short, lethal submachine gun to his shoulder.
Rebecca’s pistol roared again.
BLAM! BLAM!
The two shots struck the man center mass. Even through the heavy Kevlar, the impact was enough to throw off his aim and force him to stumble backwards. The submachine gun fired, sending a trail of sparks across the hood of the SUV. Rebecca didn’t move. She kept her eyes on her target and used the man’s split-second pain and distraction to line up her third shot.
BLAM!
The man’s head snapped back. A stream of crimson exploded though the air, jetting from under the rim of his helmet.
He collapsed to the ground.
As Zavala and DuBose engaged the other man, Rebecca saw movement to her right. Another pair of armored attackers had taken up a position next to Ted’s SUV. The Marshals inside huddled around Ted. So far, the attackers' weapons seemed unable to penetrate the vehicle’s armor plating.
The two armored men stood about ten feet from the passenger side of the vehicle. One of them set up a small tripod. The other removed a thick white canister from a ballistic plastic case.
Rebecca squinted … something about the device looked familiar.
Oh my God!
One of the Marshals rolled down the rear passenger window a couple of inches. He aimed his pistol through the gap.
CRACK!
The men outside the SUV did not even flinch as another high-powered rifle shot rang out. A hole appeared in the glass. The Marshal slumped down. Ted’s terrified face stared back at Rebecca through the rear window.
She ejected the partially used magazine and slammed in a fresh one. She rolled towards the men, firing a pair of double taps into each of them.
The men dropped their equipment and raised their weapons. Rebecca fired again, dropping one with a head shot. The other opened fire, jogging backwards away from her. Rebecca had no cover … Bullets ricocheted off the pavement next to her wheelchair.
She kept firing, but her shots sparked off the man’s helmet.
He stopped shooting for a fraction of a second and adjusted his aim.
The chatter of high-velocity bullets tore through the air. Rebecca winced but then gasped as she saw the attacker jerk and stagger backwards. A collage of holes ripped through the man’s armor. He fell to the ground. Rebecca turned around and saw Agent Zavala standing behind her. She had scooped up one of the fallen attacker’s weapons. The armor-piercing bullets had penetrated the man’s Kevlar vest with ease.
Rebecca heard muffled shouting from inside the car. She turned and saw Ted holding up his cell phone. He pressed it up to the cracked glass window and stared at her. She rolled closer to the window, ignoring the danger of the unseen sniper.
She squinted as she noticed movement on the other side of the glass. Another pair of men. Another white canister.
“EFP!” she shouted. “Zavala, get—”
The explosion shook the SUV. As Rebecca raised her arm to cover her face, she saw the interior of the truck balloon outwards. She caught a brief image of Ted’s body hurtling towards the window. Then he vanished in a cloud of smoke and dust.
In a fraction of a second, the explosion tore through the side of the truck. The force impacted against the rear passenger door. The sheet of metal was ripped from the vehicle’s frame and exploded outwards.
The heavy metal door shot straight towards Rebecca. It slammed into her chair, throwing her backwards and knocking her to the pavement.
As her head struck the ground, Rebecca felt her consciousness slipping away, all her senses reducing to a single point of light. Somewhere in the cold, white vista surrounding her, she could perceive Ted staring at her from the back of the truck … She remembered his blue eyes, calm and bright in that brief second before oblivion.
His quivering lips had mouthed words to her, behind the shattered glass window. Before the explosion obscured him in darkness.
“I’m sorry …”
The white space receded, and the black rushed towards her, like the tide on a moonlit night.
Chapter Twenty
Caine and Nena drove south on the
Jabal Awliya Expressway, one of the few major roads that led into South Sudan. Nena’s truck was a Mobius II. Made in Kenya, it was a rugged, boxy tank of a vehicle. Nena’s model looked like it had been driven hard. Its tubular steel frame was dented, and the front right fender had been torn clean off. A thick crust of dried mud and caked sand obscured whatever color paint had once decorated the exterior.
But the engine chugged at a steady pace, and Nena swore by the truck’s reliability. The air conditioning managed to keep the cabin somewhat comfortable as they bounced along the road that led south from Khartoum. Their route ran parallel to the White Nile, although Caine could see no trace of the river in the distance. It was a couple miles away, to the west of the long, narrow stretch of pavement. Instead, the view outside the windshield was nothing but flat brush and desert, lit by the pale silver glow of the moon and stars above.
Caine winced as the vehicle bounced over a patch of cracked, broken pavement. The road conditions were harsh, and his side ached where the thug’s knife had cut him. He reached through the tear in his shirt and touched the bandage Nena had applied before they left the city. It was still dry … she had managed to stop the flow of blood from the wound.
“You’ll still need stitches.” Nena’s voice was low and groggy.
Earlier, as they left the lights of Khartoum behind, Caine had watched her slump against the passenger window. He was familiar with the after-effects of violence. The adrenaline rush of fear had ebbed from her body as he drove into the warm, black night. She had passed out within minutes.
Now, she was awake. Caine handed her a bottle of water as she sat up in the passenger seat and adjusted her hijab.
“I’ve had worse. It can wait until we cross the border.”
“We’ve only been driving a few hours. We have many more to go. You need stitches. Doctor’s orders.”
He could feel her eyes peering at him, even in the darkness of the truck’s cabin.
“Who are you?” she finally asked. “How did you know my name?”
Caine winced again as he slipped his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through the pictures until he found one of Josh Galloway. He handed her the phone.
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