by Dorian Paul
Her gaze turned inward, as though weighing his answer. He'd best use the time to consider his options and stem the tide of his barely suppressed anger. Varat would never believe she killed Red on her own. And if he acknowledged a role in Red's end, Varat would question why a ruthless arms dealer would flinch at rape. From there things would deteriorate rapidly. His best course was to leave Varat behind and run for his life, Claire Ashe in tow, and hope his enemy assumed he killed Red and took the woman to double-cross him with Zamot.
"We must leave. Immediately," he stressed. "Get out of that dress and put on what you wear to the lab. Sneakers, pants. A jersey if you've got one."
She showed herself willing to take her chances with him by getting up and going to the sink. He chucked Red's body under the bed and cleaned the visible blood pooling near the door. When he straightened he caught a glimpse of her naked back as she cleaned blood and vomit from her neck and arms. Stung by the realization he wished to see more, he trained his eyes on the door.
"We have to go to the lab," she announced on their way out. "I need to take a TB sample."
He bolted her cell's door behind them and started down the hallway.
"This isn't the way to the lab."
"We haven't time for that." He seized her elbow and hustled her inside his own room, where he double-checked the contents of his backpack.
"I need a TB sample for analysis," she insisted.
"We cannot spare the time. You said yourself Black's TB doesn't survive long if it's exposed to air."
"The lab has a container I can use so it'll live for at least a day."
"Too much of a risk. Once we're out of here, I'll alert our people. They'll come and take possession of the TB."
"And if they don't get here in time?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Black could escape with the TB and figure out how to weaponize it. Then what?"
This debate could be endless, and precisely why he preferred to work alone.
She started for the door, forcing him to spring forward and grab her. He spun her about, his face inches from hers. "Bloody hell. This is no game."
Motionless, she avoided his eyes and stared at his hands, gripping her arms. "How will you stop me? Attack me like Red did?"
Furious, he released his hold. "Look, the lab is guarded and locked."
"I know all the guards, and we'll say we're getting Level 4 equipment."
He had to force himself to see through his anger that her plan made a degree of sense. Taking Level 4 paraphernalia might serve to reinforce he was double-crossing Varat.
"The guards are scared of what's in that lab. They won't interfere, and there's a back door that leads to the incinerator."
A back door out of this place persuaded him. "Agreed, but we must be quick about it." Still, he fretted too much time had already run off the clock, minutes ticking by while she dressed, while he assembled his gear. And now they had to hoodwink a guard into letting them inside the lab.
"We're here for Level 4 equipment. Brown's instructions," he told the lab guard who she said was called Gray.
The muzzle of the guard's rifle centered on his chest. "Why tonight?"
"Look Gray, Mr. Brown wants us to travel in the dark, deflect unnecessary attention. Rouse him and check for yourself." He was taking a risk but people feared Brown, and for good reason.
The guard cocked his head and he thought the man's eyes revealed the briefest twitch. He hoped his gamble had the desired effect, unless Claire had been wrong about the guard's name. "Red's going with you," the man stated.
"Right, he's assembling the rest of our equipment."
"Why did he send you here with the woman?"
"I told you. She knows Level 4 equipment, and Red said I should take her out by the same door you use for the trash."
The guard's response was to aim his rifle barrel at David's heart and release the safety. "Why send you with the woman, alone?"
David made a point to chuckle. "Because Red thinks I'm trash too." He was relieved when the guard joined in and lowered his gun to punch in the code. But every second they stayed in the lab increased the chances Gray would expose their presence, so he kept asking Claire, "Ready now?"
And she kept replying, "I have to be careful."
Careful? If she did not hurry, the point was moot. Deadly TB strain or Varat's gun, they'd meet the same end one way or the other. He approached to speed her along, and she closed the door on a stainless steel cabinet, keyed in a series of numbers, and lifted a small metal canister off the counter.
"That's the sample?"
"Yes. We're safe as long as we don't crack the seal."
Her canister was the least of his safety concerns. He turned the handle on the door marked 'Biohazardous Waste' and they picked their way through bags with symbols he refused to dwell on. Even after they exited the compound and slipped into darkness, his mind remained focused on Varat. Although he would like to activate his GPS tracker to broadcast his position and summon Bobby's team, he had to assume Varat had equipment capable of picking up the transmission. So he pulled night vision goggles out of his backpack instead, and started down an animal track alongside a small stream that tumbled down the mountainside.
"Do you want me to put the TB sample in my bag?" he offered.
"No, I'll carry it."
Right. Best to leave the guns in his hands, and the deadly TB in hers.
They moved with rapid caution, and she proved adept at mimicking his footing down barely perceptible paths. She was so close in the darkness the fabric of her shirt sometimes brushed against his back. The moon began to rise, quarter full. A mixed blessing. Easier to see, but easier to be seen. He picked up the pace, anxious to cover as much ground as possible before dawn.
And then she stumbled behind him.
"Is the TB safe?"
She muffled a laugh. "Yes, but wait till Black checks his stash in the morning."
"Meaning?"
"I destroyed everything before I left. Put it in the autoclave and fried it."
He wanted to turn around and thrash her, but it would only waste valuable time so he jacked up the tempo. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You wouldn't have waited. But I had to do it."
"Do what? Wave a red flag in their faces? Direct them to come after us?"
"They would've done that anyway."
"Maybe not. I was betting Brown would think I took you to double-cross him over Zamot. Now he shall come after us with everything he's got."
"And you expected me to read your mind?"
He bit back a curse.
"You just don't get me. I couldn't allow those stocks of TB to exist. What if we hadn't made it out of the compound? What then, Tiger?"
"My name is David," he said quietly, reasserting control over himself. "And look, from this point forward, take my lead and ask questions later. I do this as a profession. If you hope to live to see another day, follow my orders. Understood?"
He did not wait for a reply he didn't expect. Instead, he reached into his backpack and activated his GPS tracker, fuming for not doing so a kilometer outside the compound. If he had, by now Bobby might have had help on the way.
Chapter 7
Varat possessed the finest array of firepower and tracking technology a wealthy arms dealer could buy, but the first weapon he reached for was his grandfather's museum-quality seventeenth century Persian khanjar. He seized the curved dagger and admired its gem-studded pommel. Power and prestige flowed to the man who gripped this handle and the razor-edged blade engraved death on an opponent's heart.
The Tivaz guards, along with everyone else, waited in the courtyard, a line-up complete with every hue save Red.
"Who let Tiger and the woman inside the lab?"
The guilty man stepped forward, and Varat pressed his pistol against Gray's forehead. One shot would disgorge the man's brains and demonstrate the penalty for negligence. He lowered his gun. The trained guards remained stoic, but the scientists squirm
ed.
"Hold out your left hand," he ordered Gray. With a single slash using his prized knife he severed Gray's pinkie, held the trophy aloft, and plucked Gray's ruby ring from his detached knuckle before grinding the finger beneath his boot. "You're spared only because I need you to track Tiger and the woman."
He turned to Dr. Black. "Leave immediately for the safety of the northern caves."
"I can't leave my laboratory."
He yanked the scientist out of earshot. "You will leave. Tivaz is finished."
"My equipment –"
"Remains behind."
"But everything I require is here."
"A lab can be rebuilt. Only you can recreate your TB."
Black didn't hesitate with a response. "You should have killed Tiger. You were foolish to be tempted by Zamot."
Worse than foolish . . . vain. While getting his hands on Zamot would've been a valuable operational back-up, hadn't he been tempted to show Tiger a glimpse of the dazzling plan he'd devised?
Tiger and Varat. Once, long ago, he imagined them an unbeatable team instead of brutal competitors. They shared élan, a proud heritage, and a thirst for danger. They were so much alike that for too long he turned a blind eye to how many of Tiger's deals never materialized, or the arms arrived too late to alter the outcome, or the networks were rolled up a year afterwards. Last year in Kurdistan, after the warring factions abandoned their pursuit of Tiger's team and turned on each other, he had the perfect opportunity to finish the job. But he let Tiger escape. Why? Was his wish to banish loneliness and join with a brother in arms so strong it kept hope alive against all evidence to the contrary?
Only fierce discipline allowed him to dismiss his self-doubts and dwell on his ancestors. He'd never been truly alone. Father and Grandfather walked with him in spirit, more resolute and insightful companions than Tiger could ever be. He'd foiled Tiger in learning who sponsored this operation and its targets. Not once did Tiger suspect much of Varat's own fortune had been expended on this chance to redeem his family's honor. Outside clients were involved, yes, but their goals were secondary to his lofty ambitions.
He shook off his mood and ordered Black out of Tivaz. Then he checked the portable scanner. Still no signal, which meant Tiger was running dark and expected to be chased down. He instructed two men to follow the dirt track because it presented the easiest, most obvious route off the mountain. He doubted Tiger would go that way, so he took the rest of his force to fan out along the steeper unmarked terrain where cairns marked hidden paths.
A half-hour later his scanner signal flashed, as did surprise, when the coordinates revealed were near the dirt road and not on the unmarked paths. He radioed his men. "Ambush them in the valley, but find a way to hold them until I get within range."
His adversary had disappointed him by choosing the easier route. Nonetheless Tiger's past actions in battle elevated him as a worthy opponent. And didn't a female companion hamper him? Varat caressed Grandfather's khanjar, crafted at a time when warriors battled face-to-face. What better first step on his path to redemption than to witness the shock on Tiger's face as his life force gushed out?
Chapter 8
David noted the stream they followed curled to the right, the incline becoming more gradual as a shallow valley opened in front of them. In order to reach the rutted dirt road on the far side, they'd be forced to cross this basin, exposed to Varat and his men if they'd come this way in pursuit.
The briefing profile on Claire Ashe indicated he shouldn't expect her to have firearms training and indeed she did not. But he took his spare pistol, showed her how to hold it with her trigger finger resting on the guard, and handed it over with the safety off. He might be angry that she destroyed Black's TB stocks without telling him, but she deserved the right to defend herself if he were to be killed. Or commit suicide, should that be her choice.
"Wait here. I'll go to the closest cover and signal you to follow. Come to me on the exact route I took. Understand?"
She nodded and he set off in a crouching run to a thicket of bushes that provided a shield. He flicked his wrist, and she hugged the ravine wall precisely as he had. Maybe they'd be lucky.
He crept ahead once more, until the gulch no longer shielded him. His best move now was to spring from the slight arroyo and race for a nearby boulder. If Bobby were behind him, he could count on his friend to cover him.
He leapt up and sprinted. Bullets launched shards of stone directly toward his calves as he dove for the boulder's shelter. Pinned down. Brilliant. But at least he was the gunman's target, a situation he had far more experience with than she. He motioned for her to stay put, and surveyed the terrain. If he wormed his way along the trifling depression behind his boulder, he just might reach higher ground and a clearer shot. Belly-scraping effort edged him forward until an inch further would reveal him to the waiting gunman. A centipede crawled over his hand. He lay still and watched the insect. The longer he made the shooter wait, the more likely the shooter would lose concentration. And then, when he was good and ready, Tiger made a run for it.
"On your left," Claire's voice thundered the instant he took off.
Two guns roared. He spun and fired at a second shooter before rolling back to the refuge of his rock.
Safe . . . but only because neither rifle fired at him. Damn.
The eerie glow of his night goggles disclosed the second gunman sprawling face down in the dirt, lifeless. From the man's shape and size he knew it was not Varat. Next he located Claire, half-slumped against the wall of the ravine. One arm hung limp and useless. Her other hand still clutched his pistol. She tapped the barrel in the crevice between her breasts and then pointed in the remaining gunman's direction.
Good God, she wants to partner? She understood her warning had drawn fire away from him, and was offering to be decoy again. She had no experience in this sort of thing. Still, he knew enough of her to surmise she'd take action once her mind was made up, whether or not he agreed. So he was prepared when she surged, pistol jutting above the rim of her hiding place. When the gunman returned fire, David stepped free of his own cover and squeezed off a shot.
Normally he would confirm his kills, even though both men were down. Neither one was Varat. But the bigger problem was the approaching retort of a semi-automatic weapon. His decision was made for him, propelling him to Claire's safer position in the ravine.
Her eyes found his . . . then wandered. "Stay with me, Claire."
Her wound bled steadily without arterial pulse, but he tied her torn sleeve as a tourniquet below her shoulder just to be safe while sporadic blasts echoed from gunmen descending on foot from the hills above. Only Varat would announce his arrival with such fanfare. Time to exit this hollow and find a redoubt easier to guard.
But she fought him as he supported her drooping body in his arms, and her good arm dug into the pocket of her jersey until she clutched her prize – that blasted TB canister. He snugged her closer to his chest and sprinted toward a rocky outcropping, only to find the recess too narrow to shield one body, let alone two.
The thin whine of an engine rose from the track below. Bloody hell.
"Put me down. Go on your own, Tiger. Don't let them catch you."
He ignored her and scuttled downhill, seeking cover.
She pounded the stainless steel tube against his chest. "Take this. Get it to Don Strong. He'll know what to do."
"Stop thrashing me."
"More is at stake here than my life. Put me down. Now."
He slowed. She was right . . . but could he live with her death as well as Jeremy's on his conscience? No. She'd risked her life for him, and now he'd carry her as Bobby carried him in Kurdistan – even if his action resulted in another mistake in a mission already gone awry.
He dashed toward higher ground. The oncoming auto was winning the race. He set her on the hard-packed earth and crouched in front in firing position. The approaching car squealed to a halt just below the ridge he defended.
&
nbsp; "Don't shoot, Tiger! It's Aziz Bouchta!"
What the bloody hell?
"Get in!"
How could he? This would be his best chance to get Varat while at the same time getting Claire to safety. He wrestled her into the rear seat while Bouchta reversed direction. A bullet bit into the dirt a few yards from his trailing foot. Another ripped metal from the trunk. He was forced to wrench himself inside so the car could speed away from Varat's escalating fire. He slumped over Claire's body aware his chance for revenge was receding. Damn, damn, damn.
When the shooting became more erratic, Bouchta glanced in the backseat. "How bad is she?"
"She needs medical help, but not in full-blown shock yet."
"Medics wait at Agadir Airport. Your people will have a plane to meet us."
"Whatever possessed you to broadcast an invitation to the bloody parade?"
"You activated your GPS, Mr. Tiger, and injuries would not be out of the question."
He exhaled his irritation. "Right. Got a Sat phone, Bouchta?" Of course, the man had everything. He input James' code.
"Here are the coordinates for Varat's facility. Alert Bobby's team."
"They should go in directly?"
"Straight away. Varat's not there, but the lead scientist is. A man called Black. Moroccan, short, twelve stone, crew-cut black and gray hair. Go in with containment gear. The biothreat's real, some sort of super TB bug."
"You unraveled the plot?"
"There were complications."
"Complications?"
"Right." He looked at Claire, dazed and restless, but still clutching her canister of lethal microbes. There would be time enough to explain what happened in the debriefs. "I'll provide details shortly. Cannot speak now," he said and cut the connection.
The Fiat bounced downhill, away from Varat. Later, after the ruts gave way to smooth-packed dirt, Bouchta babbled about everything they passed, from sporadic donkey carts laden with tangled branches to rag tag school children carrying satchels of books. He wished the man would keep quiet, and he stared at Claire. She'd saved his life and most likely believed he saved hers when he stopped Red. The truth was far more complex. He was unable to watch her be raped and his action put her above his mission, the mistake of a rookie. James was right. Time he left the field for good. He was losing his touch. Claire moaned, and he brushed a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead.
