by Tom Hunter
“More importantly, with the lack of recognition of the study of psychic powers as a legitimate science, both Algeria and the United States are among a handful of more enlightened regimes that want to keep their knowledge to themselves to give themselves an advantage against their opponents. While the rest of the world believes psychics to be nothing but frauds, they can take advantage of their abilities to further their own ends.”
“I see.” Pin nodded slowly as he considered what Gord had just told him. “Well, I’m glad that you’ve managed to make some progress. What you’ve just said will go some way to placating the Bruard. While they’ve been happy with the relics I’ve had shipped over to Korea, there have been some questions concerning my methodology, and by mine, I really mean yours.”
He fixed Gord with a penetrating glare. “While you were off researching Fatima, were you aware that a severed hand has been discovered?”
“Missing body parts turn up all the time,” Gord shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to anyone careless enough to misplace a limb.”
“But do those body parts get attributed to Ministry officials?” asked Pin. “More specifically, this particular hand has been attributed to Director Haisam, rendering my disguise permanently useless. I’m not severing my hand just for the sake of verisimilitude. Moreover, the international community is looking to assign blame for his death, and the last thing we need is attention focused on us. Yet another way in which your lackluster attention to detail has failed me.”
Gord straightened his posture defiantly, although the nervous twitch in his eye belied his feigned confidence in the face of Pin’s notoriously short fuse.
“Fortunately for you, a small terrorist cell has taken responsibility for the murder of the Minister,” Pin continued. “As long as they continue to take credit for your work, they’ll buy us some time and leeway, but if you don’t start cleaning up after yourself more efficiently, you’ll find yourself being replaced. Is it really so hard to make a body disappear?”
“Do you think you’re going to get into trouble over the death of the Minister?” Gord kept his tone light, despite the fact that his heart was pounding.
Pin turned his attention back to his beloved gun, delicately running a finger down the barrel. “Not right now,” he replied. “Our Glorious Leader’s attention is firmly trained on the Mongolian front, having secured Mongolian backing to help China retake the land that is rightfully theirs in exchange for extra troops to man their own borders. The Bruard is making great strides in re-establishing ourselves on the world stage, what with the conquest of South Korea and the region between North Korea and Mongolia. Our plans for outward expansion are progressing exactly on schedule, which means that, right now, our Glorious Leader is less concerned with maverick agents such as you and I, allowing us a certain degree of freedom. That will not be the case forever. I am under no illusion that if we do not achieve measurable results soon, we will be joining our former comrades in being… ‘expelled’ from the Empire.”
The usually stoic Gord gulped at the use of the standard euphemism for the types of barbaric execution the Bruard was infamous for, the fate granted to all those condemned to expulsion.
“I think we should travel to Annaba ourselves,” he suggested. “You know, investigate things on the ground floor. This is too serious a task to trust to a third party.”
Pin put his gun down as he considered the idea. “I definitely think that some form of investigation is required to determine whether Fatima is still in Algeria or has moved on to pastures new. That’s the trouble with dealing with a psychic–there’s always the chance that she’ll remain one step ahead of us. However, I’m unwilling to leave the sanctuary of my home, at least not just yet. I’d prefer it if things cooled down a little before we do anything that might draw attention to my efforts while the outcome is uncertain. I think we should retain the services of an independent investigator to track down Fatima on our behalf. That will also cloud the waters as far as her powers are concerned: if the mercenary is kept unaware of who his true master really is, then Fatima will not be able to see that the Bruard is stalking her. Talented as she may be, she is still limited to seeing only that which she chooses to observe. Let the detective find her first, and then we’ll make our move.”
Having made up his mind, Pin nodded and started polishing his handgun again. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do. I hereby authorize you to move out to Annaba as my representative, where you can hire someone who will be able to locate Fatima for us. You are to keep me informed as to your progress, and reach out to me as soon as you learn more about her current whereabouts. Do not use your severely deficient initiative. Simply report on your observations, and let me make all the decisions on the best way forward.”
“Yes, sir.” Gord bowed and hurried away, Pin not bothering to watch him go.
Holding up his gun in front of his face, he slowly twisted it from side to side, watching the sunlight reflecting from the gleaming metal barrel. “I refuse to let anything or anyone stand in my way,” he murmured to the weapon, speaking to it as if it were a lover. “No one is going to cost me my life.”
Nineteen
“Get! In! You! Stupid! Piece! Of! Kit!”
Josh banged at a stubborn nut with his wrench, done trying to force it into place, as the skimmer lay immobile on the desert sand.
He stood up, narrowly missing banging his head on the open hood.
“You know, you’d think that, given the fact that we’re supposed to be saving the world, the Order would give us something that wasn’t the junkiest piece of equipment ever to fly across the desert,” he snapped, throwing the wrench to one side.
“I thought you said she handled like a dream?” Akhenaton reminded him.
“That was before I realized that it was going to break down every five minutes,” Josh countered. “We’d be better off walking at this rate. We’ve wasted a lot of time trying to keep this pile of crap going. That’s the third time that fuel pump has blown. I’ve never spent so long under the hood of a jet-powered skimmer. It’s like your engineers spent all their time looking after the jet engine and forgot that the ancillary parts need just as much maintenance. What were your people thinking by giving us such an unreliable vehicle?”
“I think you’ll find that that was the best skimmer available,” Akhenaton told him. “In case you didn’t notice, we don’t exactly have access to regular repair shops. We have to buy our own spare parts, or even make them in some instances. After a while, you get used to the fact that the odd breakdown is going to happen.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve been through more than a few ‘odd breakdowns’ so far,” Josh pointed out. “And I know that your friends were generous with the amount of supplies they gave us, but now I’m realizing why. At this rate, we’re going to get through all our water before we reach the dig site. That’s assuming we don’t have to pour most of it into the skimmer’s radiator to stop it overheating.”
“At least it gives us a chance to get out of those seats,” said Shafira coming over to stand next to Josh, gazing at the engine as if she had a vague idea about how it worked. She stretched one of her arms overhead, bending her neck from side to side. Her long hair flowed as she tried to work out all the kinks from her body. “I had no idea how uncomfortable they were going to be after a few hours, let alone a few days. I know that they’re designed to seat as many people as possible, but I’ve been feeling really cramped. I don’t know how you guys are coping.”
“Do we have far left to go?” called out Waleed from where he was lying on the sand, in the shadow of the skimmer. “This journey is taking forever, and the longer you all spend standing around talking and wasting time, the longer it’s going to be before we’re back in civilization.”
“It’ll be another day or so before we reach the dig site,” Josh told him. “Of course, we could cut that time in half if one of you could be bothered to learn how to drive the skimmer and take over the wheel while I’m resting. I
might be the only one of us with the training to man this vehicle, but I’m not Superman. I need sleep just as much as the rest of you, unless you fancy crashing into the side of a sand dune. And the more you pressure me to floor it, the more you make me want to slow down, just to prove a point, so keep whining Waleed. Please. Because nothing’s more motivating than listening to a no-talent lowlife complain about how rough he’s had it.”
“Hey!” Shafira put a hand on Josh’s arm to calm him down. “There’s no need to get worked up. Nobody’s complaining about your driving. Waleed was just making conversation, even if he could have been a little more diplomatic about it.”
“Exactement,” Basile agreed. “Exactly. We’re all getting a little stir crazy being stranded out here with nothing to do while you’re repairing the skimmer. Short of playing kid’s games like I Spy or looking for nonexistent clouds that look like puppies, I think we’ve exhausted all our potential conversations until we’re back on the road.”
“Maybe I Spy would be better than stressing Josh out by asking him every five minutes how much further we have to go,” Shafira pointed out. “I mean, talk about acting like children…”
“Yeah, you should stop that, Waleed,” Samuel said. “Asking how much longer we have to wait is usually Shafira’s job.”
Shafira opened her mouth to protest, but when she noticed the twinkle in Samuel’s eye, she started laughing instead. Her laughter opened the floodgates and soon the whole party was cracking up, the weak joke giving everyone the excuse they needed to release the tension that had been building.
Basile wiped away tears of laughter from his eyes, shaking his head at the ludicrous nature of laughing so hard at something that really wasn’t that funny. “Is there any water left in that canteen?” he asked, gesturing towards Samuel. “I’m parched.”
Samuel shook the canteen in his hand. “This one’s nearly out,” he replied. “I’ll get you a fresh one.” He strode over to the supplies crate and reached in for a new canteen.
PEE-OW!
A bullet ricocheted off the side of the skimmer, forcing Samuel to duck down instinctively, the rest of the team scrambling for shelter behind the vehicle.
“Holy crap!” Josh risked peeking over the side of the skimmer to see who was attacking them. “Do you know who’s firing at us?”
“Why are you looking at me?” protested Waleed as everyone looked at him in expectation. Curious, he popped his head above the skimmer door. “Ya Ibn el Sharmouta!” he exclaimed. “Son of a bitch! It’s a gang of Bedouin raiders. We must have strayed into their territory. I didn’t think we’d gone out of our way that much, but then I have heard rumor that they’re expanding their reach. Josh, any chance of you getting us back on the move? If I’m right, they’ll be armed with assault weapons and rifles and they won’t hesitate to slaughter all of us for what meager supplies we have left. If we don’t get out of here, we’re doomed.”
“On it. Get into the skimmer and I’ll finish up.” Josh nodded briskly, going back under the hood to do battle, with renewed vigor. The rest of the team piled into their seats, trying to stay as low as possible.
Josh slammed the hood shut, deftly running round to throw himself into the driver’s seat. Pressing the button to start the engines, he let out a small whoop when they burst into life immediately.
“Hold tight!” he ordered, as the jets fired up, lifting them off the ground.
Another gunshot split the air and Basile cried out in pain.
“Merde!” he swore. “My arm!”
Waleed cringed away as Basile clasped his arm, blood gushing between his fingers.
“Get us out of here, Josh!” yelled Samuel as more gunshots followed.
Twenty
Josh slammed the accelerator to the floor, and the skimmer lurched forward.
“So long, suckers!” crowed Waleed, making a rude gesture at the pursuing raiders, whose only response was to fire at him. He giggled as he ducked down, knocking into Basile who cried out in agony as his gunshot wound felt as though it had burst into flames.
“Keep going, Josh,” urged Samuel. “The skimmer should be able to outrun their bikes on the dunes. From what I can see, they’re only using dirt bikes, great for riding across the sand but not so brilliant for speed. We’ll lose them if we can keep this up.”
“Yeah. Operative word being ‘if,” said Josh through gritted teeth, fighting to keep the skimmer under control as he pushed it to its limit. An alarming squeal came from one of the left engines as they began to lose speed.
“Josh?” asked Shafira anxiously. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure. Here–hold this.” Josh indicated to Samuel to take the wheel as he pressed the button to open the hood of the skimmer, which was still moving at a considerable speed.
“What the hell-?”
“Unless you want to stop completely and let the raiders catch up, you’re going to have to take over,” instructed Josh, giving Samuel no choice but to slide over into the driver’s seat, as the pilot stood up to launch himself over the windshield. “Keep the gas pedal down and don’t worry about any of the other controls–for now, we’re just going in a straight line and you’ll be all right for a few minutes while I fix whatever it is that’s slowing us down. Shafira–grab hold of my ankles so I don’t fall out.”
“Got it.” Shafira glanced nervously over her shoulder at the raiders, as she leaned around Samuel to catch hold of Josh.
“Dammit!” A muffled curse came from underneath the hood, as Josh examined the fuel line. “We’ve got a leak. I can patch it up, but I don’t know if it’s going to hold, especially at this speed. We’re going to have to slow down for a bit while I fix it and hope it holds until after we’ve shaken off the raiders.”
“But if we slow down, the raiders will catch us,” wailed Waleed as Josh clambered back into the driver’s seat, craning his neck to see round the hood as he took over the steering. “We can’t stop now. They’re already gaining on us.”
“Are you certain the High Marshal didn’t give us any guns of our own?” asked Basile. “We could sure use one right now.”
“My Order is very strict about not dealing with guns,” Akhenaton replied. “But if we’re lucky, we might have a crossbow or two in one of the crates.”
“Which one?” asked Waleed, risking a quick glimpse back at the supplies.
“I don’t know,” snapped Akhenaton. “I didn’t pack them. You’ll just have to go through each one until you find a weapon.”
“Not me,” refused Waleed as another bullet blew a hole in the headrest to his seat, narrowly missing his ear. “I’m staying out of the line of fire. I wanted to get away from trouble, remember? You guys just keep dragging me back in. I’m innocent in all this.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake. Samuel–grab Josh for a second.”
The skimmer lurched to one side as Samuel took one hand off the steering wheel to keep hold of Josh, while Shafira scrambled into the backseat. Staying low, she reached out to a crate lashed to the back of the vehicle and pried it open.
“Nothing useful there,” she muttered, undoing the ropes that secured the crate.
“What are you doing?” cried Waleed as Shafira stood up in the seat and hurled the crate in the direction of one of the raiders, forcing him to swerve to miss the debris scattered across its path as it exploded into a thousand pieces. Its front wheel hit the jagged edge of the smashed crate, ripping it to shreds. The bike wobbled, its rider desperately trying to keep it under control, but the bike slid out from him, throwing the rider off and into the sand.
“Come on!” she urged. “Help me free some more crates.”
“Don’t do anything crazy,” warned Waleed as Akhenaton clambered into the back seat to help Shafira fight off the raiders.
“If you’re not going to help, then shut up and go hide in the middle seats like the coward you are,” snarled Akhenaton. “You could at least help Samuel by holding onto Josh.” Cowed, Waleed did as
he was told, moving into the middle to give Shafira and Akhenaton more space.
Basile moved to follow him. “Mon dieu!” he cried, wincing in pain, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he writhed in his seat, desperately trying to do something, anything, to stop the blazing agony from the gunshot wound overwhelming him.
“Josh! How’s it looking?” Shafira called back. “We’re going slower and slower!”
“Samuel’s trying to find me a patch repair,” Josh yelled in reply, back in the driver’s seat for the moment as Samuel scrabbled around in the tools stored in the compartment on his side of the dash. “Until he gives me something I can use to stop the leak, you’re reliant on my driving skills and prayers to whatever gods you believe in to keep us going. If any of you have any bright ideas to get those raiders off our tail, I suggest you speak up now, because if Samuel doesn’t find those tools soon, we’re going to be grounded.”
“How’s this?” Samuel passed over a small bag, holding it open so Josh could examine the contents without having to take his hands off the wheel.
“That’ll do,” the pilot nodded. “Samuel–do you think you can take over steering this thing again? Waleed, make yourself useful and hold onto me so I don’t fall.”
Samuel slid into the driver’s seat as Waleed reached out halfheartedly to grab Josh’s ankles, grumbling with every movement as he did his best to stay low. Josh snaked forward, trying to get into position to patch up the leak.
“Aargh!” Josh slipped to the side, and almost fell off the skimmer as he scalded himself on a patch of hot oil that had leaked from the engine. It was only Samuel’s quick reactions in leaning out and catching the back of Josh’s pants to pull him back on board that saved him.
“If Josh falls out because you can’t be bothered to do your job properly, I’m going to throw you out to the raiders myself,” Samuel snarled at Waleed, who obediently used both hands to hold firmly onto Josh.
