by Matt Rogers
There was no point trying to ambush the rest of the security. It was a pointless and unnecessary battle which he had every chance of losing. There was a certain extremist who hopefully wasn’t splattered all over the pavement that he needed to check up on.
He ignored the bank of elevators. Either they would take too long, or they would be shut down in the aftermath of a brutal shootout in a civilian hotel. He sprinted for the stairwell, out of breath but without a chance of slowing down. He took the stairs four or five at a time, throwing personal safety out the window. The echo proved nerve-wracking. Every footfall made him think someone was chasing him, or members of Nasser’s security had become wise to his location.
He burst out into the lobby less than a minute later. Its occupants were in the process of being evacuated, and he assumed the entire hotel would follow suit. Police would arrive any second. Guests ran for the exits, some crying, everyone’s faces drained of colour.
King hustled through the crowd and jogged out into the street.
He spotted his target immediately. A dozen feet down the sidewalk, he saw Nasser. There was another man with him, clad in the same cheap suit as his co-workers. One of his security detail. The guy had an arm looped around Nasser’s back. He helped his employer along the street, who could barely walk. King saw the loping gait and the drooping head and knew that the fall through the awnings had knocked him senseless.
It was a miracle the guy had survived in the first place.
Nasser was incapacitated, barely able to drag himself along the sidewalk, even with the help of his man. King looked past them to a blacked-out sedan parked against the kerb, headlights on, engine running. The pair were headed directly for it.
King powered through the crowd leaving the hotel and made for the duo. Neither of them had a clue he was coming. The commotion of the lobby evacuation drowned out all noise. They didn’t notice anything until he was right on top of them. He seized the security man by his suit jacket and shoved him double-handed away from Nasser.
The man stumbled and tripped over his own feet, carried by King’s momentum. He sprawled across the concrete. King planted a shoe on his back, pinning him awkwardly to the floor. He reached down and ripped the man’s pistol out of its holster. He tossed that underhanded into the passenger seat of the waiting sedan. Then he grabbed Nasser by the throat and forced him down into the rear seats.
Nasser fell across the leather, omitting a soft cry of distress. King slammed the door shut and skirted round to the driver’s door. He ducked into the car, snatched up the Sig-Sauer and fired a warning shot out the open passenger window, deterring the security from making any kind of move to snatch Nasser back.
Nearby civilians screamed, frightened by the gunshot so close to their vicinity. King dropped the pistol into the footwell and floored the sedan away from the hotel.
In the back seat, Nasser groaned. ‘What … the fuck…’
King smirked. ‘That changed pretty quick, didn’t it?’
‘My men will hunt you down.’
‘I don’t think so. That’s twice you and your men didn’t shoot me on the spot. I won’t give them the third opportunity.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘You wanted answers from me.’
‘Yes…’
‘Now I want answers from you. And — unlike you — I know exactly how to get them.’
‘It’s too late to stop me,’ Nasser whispered, his voice croaky, slipping in and out of semi-consciousness. ‘Everything’s already been set in motion. You’re wasting your time.’
‘No harm in trying,’ King said.
He turned out of the street and left the hotel behind, pressing on toward the Marriott.
CHAPTER 21
Laying low was crucial.
King knew the chaos he’d been involved in across Gezira Island would have consequences. Police presence in the state would be heightened the next day, without a doubt. There were dead bodies across the district — and he hadn’t even been in Egypt for a full twenty-four hours yet.
Nasser made no attempt to put up a fight. King was no doctor, but he knew a broken man when he saw one. He hadn’t a clue as to the severity of the man’s fall, or what in particular had done the most damage. But Nasser didn’t make a noise on the drive to the Marriott, opting instead to sprawl out across the back seat and wince sporadically, cradling his right arm with every bump the sedan went over.
For precautionary measures, King scooped up the Sig-Sauer, flicked the safety back on and placed it squarely between his legs. Although he didn’t think Nasser had the capacity to make a lunge for the weapon, he had to plan for the worst.
He pulled into the Marriott’s courtyard ten minutes after leaving Nasser’s hotel. By now, the night had turned fully dark. It was late. Despite the intensity of the last few hours, King felt his eyes grow heavy and a wave of tiredness wash over him. He had exerted more energy than he thought possible in the escape from the Opera House. At least three separate times he thought the end was near, and that he wouldn’t live to see another day. No matter how many times he found himself in life-or-death situations, it never grew easier. In fact, they seemed to sap more and more energy from his bones with each occurrence.
Before the valet hurried up to the sedan as it pulled up to the lobby’s entrance, King shot a glance back at Nasser. There were no visible wounds on his skin — no blood, no gore. He was dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and corded pants — both of which covered any kind of flesh wound he might have suffered during the fall.
It would be easier to disguise his condition that way…
Nasser was barely conscious, but King leant over all the same. ‘Listen. If you say a word, I’ll blow your brains out. I mean it.’
The man stared at King with glassy eyes, acknowledging the request with a smirk.
The valet opened the driver’s door, greeting King with a wide smile. ‘Hello, sir.’
‘Evening,’ King said, then motioned to the back and raised his eyebrows, as if he were about to divluge confidential information. ‘My friend here has had far too much to drink.’
The valet glanced into the back and nodded understandably. ‘I see.’
‘I’m sure you can imagine that his wife won’t be too pleased at his condition,’ King said. ‘She’s waiting in the lobby…’
The valet nodded again. ‘I understand, sir.’
King lowered his tone. ‘Their marriage is on the rocks. I know he’s made a mistake, but he’s still a close friend. I need to get him into bed. Could I possibly ride with you while you park and take the stairs up?’
A third nod. ‘Of course.’
King exchanged positions with the man, subtly tucking the P228 into his waistband and skirting around the front of the car. He checked to see whether the encounter had drawn the attention of anyone nearby, and was pleased to find no-one in the area. He slipped into the passenger’s seat and the valet drove the sedan down a side lane and into an underground parking garage.
He parked between two luxury wagons and King slid over a few hundred Egyptian Pounds in cash. The man took the bills and shoved them into his pocket. ‘I hope your friend feels better in the morning. The stairs are just behind us.’
‘Thank you,’ King said.
They both got out in unison and the valet hurried back up the ramp they had descended, making for the lobby again. King was left alone in the half-full garage. He opened the rear door for Nasser — who had stayed co-operatively silent during the short trip — and hauled the man off the leather.
Nasser groaned as King pulled him to his feet and looped an arm around his back, just as the security detail had done before.
‘Where are we?’ he mumbled.
‘Somewhere your friends won’t find you,’ King said.
Worry creased Nasser’s face, but then his eyes drooped and he fell unconscious in a split second, succumbing to the pain shooting through his body. King wondered how many bones the guy had broken in the
fall. He would find the answers later.
He dropped down and let Nasser fall over his shoulder, picking him up in a fireman’s carry. The man wasn’t too heavy, and he was used to lifting a hell of a lot more in the gym. He made quickly for the unmarked wooden door leading to what he assumed was another concrete stairwell.
The sixteenth floor, he remembered. He scowled at what lay ahead. If only Nasser had stayed conscious until they were safely in the suite.
On the journey up through the bowels of the Marriott, King felt the adrenalin start to fade. In the quiet of the deserted stairwell, with each heavy footfall echoing off the white concrete walls, he started to feel pain in areas that had previously been masked by the heat of battle. Every step sent a bolt of fire through his left elbow, which he must have smashed against the hotel’s exterior during his wild leap out the window. On top of that, his lower back ached and a searing headache had flared behind his temple, pounding into his skull with every step.
By the time he reached the sixteenth floor and burst out into another empty corridor, his dress shirt — already caked with dirt and blood and laced with holes — had soaked through with sweat. The trek had been gruelling, with Nasser’s weight causing him to expend a hell of a lot more effort than an ordinary climb.
So much for the money you dropped on this suit, he thought. No amount of dry cleaning would be able to fix what he’d done to the material.
He fished the keycard out of his back pocket and unlocked the door to his suite. It spilled open and he carried Nasser through. Now the lethargy hit a new level. With a quiet private space in front of him and no-one in the immediate vicinity who wanted him dead — besides the crippled man on his shoulder — he felt the urge to rest overpowering his other senses.
King slammed the door and hobbled over to the bathroom. He dumped Nasser inside the spacious room, letting his back slump against the tiled wall, and shut the door on him. It had a lever handle which twisted down to open, meaning that the door could be jammed. King snatched up one of the wooden chairs by the enormous oak desk in the corner and jammed it at a forty-five degree angle underneath the handle. If Nasser tried to open the door from the other side, he would find himself unable to.
Satisfied with his progress, King crossed to the four-poster bed and kicked off his shoes. He didn’t bother shedding the suit. It would take too much work, and the perfectly-fitting material was comfortable enough. He splayed out on top of the bedsheets and fell into a deep and restful slumber.
Six hours later, as the dawn light spilled in through the massive windows, King woke naturally. His body hurt much less than the previous night, as the bumps and bruises had settled into dull aches — which he could effortlessly deal with. Broken bones and stab wounds requiring stitches and bullet holes in his flesh were his utmost concern. So far, he had avoided all major injury.
He ordered room service from the concierge downstairs over the phone and answered the door ten minutes later to a beaming hotel employee carrying two trays full to the brim with food. King realised he hadn’t eaten since he’d landed in Cairo — the last meal had been on the plane. He gratefully accepted the food and wolfed down three plates worth of traditional dishes. He didn’t know exactly what each meal was, but they were filled with fava beans and eggs and tomatoes and ghee.
Despite his hunger, the food upset his stomach. He found it churning as he dwelled over what he had learned the night before.
Lopez and Price were alive…
More than that, they had attempted to kidnap him — and killed an innocent civilian in the process. Looking over their case files, he should have known that they had the capacity to do so. It took a very rare type of individual to carry out the missions that Black Force operatives were tasked with and keep a decent moral compass along the way. Slater had seemed to manage, and so had he. But he had simply assumed that Lopez and Price were straight-shooters, when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
You should have known.
What surprised him the most was that Nasser seemed to have no ties to the two operatives. Ordinarily, King would have suspected a defection — usually for monetary advantage. He’d seen it all before.
But what the hell were the two men up to if they had simply fallen off the grid of their own accord?
He decided it was time to get some answers.
He crossed to the bathroom and kicked the chair away, making enough noise to wake Nasser if he had been asleep. He wrenched the door open and came across the man sitting upright against the wall, legs crossed, staring up at King with the same wide expressionless eyes. Nasser seemed to have his wits about him. The groggy stupor had vanished.
Wordlessly, King dragged him out of the bathroom and sat him down in the same chair that he’d used to block the door. He lifted the Sig-Sauer off the bedside table and slipped a finger into the trigger guard.
‘Oh, how things change,’ he muttered, remembering the exact opposite situation that had unfolded last night. ‘Morning, sunshine.’
Nasser stared at him. ‘I already told you. You won’t stop me. Everything’s already in place. I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve with this.’
‘You’re in a lot of pain?’ King queried.
‘Yes. That does not matter.’
‘You’re about to be in a whole lot more if you don’t tell me what you’re doing.’
‘I don’t care. You think that bothers me?’
King covered the distance between them and squatted by the frail man. ‘I think it will. I don’t know if your resolve has been truly tested before. I’d like to find out.’
‘You going to torture me?’
‘If I have to. I assume whatever you’re planning is going to hurt a lot of people. And I can’t let it go ahead.’
‘You don’t have a say in the matter,’ Nasser said, and spat blood on the floor beside King. ‘But I’ll tell you anyway. Because you’re powerless to stop it.’
King said nothing, tapping the barrel of the Sig-Sauer against his knee, waiting for a response. Nasser gave none.
He was going to need provocation…
King pressed the barrel into Nasser’s left kneecap and leant an ounce of pressure on the trigger. He knew another few ounces and the gun would fire, ruining the man’s chances of ever walking again. ‘What’s Walcott funding you for?’
‘An attack.’
‘Why?’
‘Money.’
‘There’s got to be more to it than that.’
Nasser looked at him. ‘A lot of money. Enough to fund whatever I want to achieve for the rest of my life. Enough to do Allah’s work for decades.’
‘Where?’
Nasser paused, as if considering the consequences of what he was about to say. Then he shrugged. ‘Giza. The pyramids. It’s a tourist hotspot. Most amount of collateral damage. It will have great impact on the market.’
‘The market?’ King said. ‘As in, shares?’
Nasser nodded. ‘I do not know specifics. That is where my financier comes in. He has stock futures. All kinds of bets against the Egyptian Exchange. He has hedged much of his fortune on the outcome — and what effects it will have on this city. The tourism industry … that sort of thing. It does not concern me. But he has promised me payment if I follow through with my end of the deal.’
‘And when is this supposed to happen?’
‘Tomorrow. All the measures have been put into place. Three hundred pounds of Semtex, spread across the site. A painstaking process. But now, it is irreversible. We will succeed.’
For a long, drawn-out moment, neither man spoke. King studied the expression on Nasser’s face. It was smug, like he knew something King didn’t. An uneasy feeling plagued King. He didn’t like the ease with which he had extracted the information.
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ King said, pressing the gun barrel harder into Nasser’s leg. ‘I can get the pyramid complex put on lockdown within hours. I have contacts. Surely you know this.’
Nasser smiled. ‘Because I cannot talk about my life’s work often. I enjoy the opportunities to do so when they present themselves.’
King shrugged. ‘That wasn’t a good opportunity, my friend.’
‘I think it was.’
‘Why is that?’
Nasser leant forward in the chair, slowly, so that King knew not to shoot. He leaned over the side and pointed into the bathroom. ‘See that window?’
King followed the man’s gesture and recognised the thin rectangular window set into one of the tiled walls, facing out over the front of the Marriott Hotel complex. ‘What about it?’
‘It gives me a good view of the entrance to this place.’
‘So?’
‘I saw something. Ten minutes before you pulled me out of the room.’
King’s heart rate shot through the roof. Sweat dotted his brow. He knew that whatever Nasser had seen had instilled such confidence in the man that he felt free to share his darkest secrets with an enemy. An enemy who he thought would be dead soon…
‘Two men,’ Nasser said, smirking. ‘They had the same gait as the two that kidnapped you in my hotel. They looked very angry. And they were armed.’
Lopez and Price…
‘Coming into the hotel?’ King questioned, his hands turning clammy.
Nasser nodded. ‘Given that you escaped them before, I don’t think they will be too hospitable. So that is why I tell you what I did. Because you will not make it out of this place alive, my friend.’
With a resounding crash, King heard the sound of a lock snapping and the front door to the suite crashed open.
CHAPTER 22
Time seemed to slow down.
King heard the commotion by the entrance a moment before they broke in. Before Nasser had finished his spiel, he charged directly at the door. When the lock broke off its chain and the wooden door swung into the room at a lightning pace, King sucked in a huge breath of air and threw his bulk into the door, sending it flying back in the other direction.
