One group simply wanted him dead. The other seemed intent on taking him alive to gain control of the incriminating data the man had on him right now.
In either case Sharif Mahoud’s life was threatened. As his family had been threatened.
In the end there would be only one outcome if the opposition, from whichever camp, got close enough to take Mahoud.
It wasn’t an outcome Bolan would tolerate. And as he had taken the job of protecting Mahoud, it was up to him to prevent that happening.
Bolan turned off the main drag and took the SUV on a course along side and back streets. They were moving out of the up market areas, Bolan choosing the tight, narrow places, where old buildings hung over the shadowed routes. He realized that as he moved away from the busy boulevards he was also leaving behind the heavier traffic, and before long the Renault was the only vehicle behind him, staying back, but no longer hiding its presence. Farther back Bolan could also see the two other vehicles. The only saving grace was that the narrowness of the streets prevented the other vehicles from overtaking them.
“What if we hit a dead end, Matt?”
Without a word Bolan swerved sharply, running down a crooked street that wound its way past empty properties. Some were in stages of demolition.
“It may be a silly question,” Mahoud said, “but do you know where we are?”
“No.”
Behind them a large SUV, the last in line of the backup cars, accelerated and bulled its way past the other vehicles. It scraped against brick walls, raising a cloud of dust, then drew level with Bolan’s vehicle, the driver swinging in to smash against Bolan’s vehicle. The soldier retaliated, feeling the impact. A rear door window on the other SUV shattered. The two vehicles ran in tandem for some yards, slamming into each other as each driver tried to push the other off course.
Up ahead Bolan spotted a chain-link fence edging the sidewalk. He let the ride continue, waiting for his moment and fighting the twist of his steering wheel as the other SUV maintained its body slamming. As his vehicle reached the chain-link fence, Bolan hit the gas pedal and edged his vehicle forward, the nose of the SUV clearing the front end of the other vehicle. He slammed hard on the pedal again and wrenched the wheel around, hitting the other SUV on the extreme leading edge of its front wing. The impact was enough to push the SUV off line. The front end rose as the vehicle bounced over the curb, hit the chain fence and burst through. It was only as his front wheels dropped into empty space that the SUV’s driver realized there was a drop on the other side of the fence. The vehicle crashed over the back edge of the sidewalk and hit the rubble below, rocking crazily, finally tilting to one side.
Bolan felt himself thrown forward as the Renault hit the rear of his SUV, Mahoud gasping as his seat belt bit into his ribs. The SUV’s rear window blew in as a burst of gunfire erupted. As the SUV came to a jerking halt, Bolan jammed the gearshift into reverse and floored the gas pedal in the same instant he let out the clutch. The SUV, tires screaming and smoking, leaped backward and collapsed the Renault’s front, riding up over the fender for a few moments, wheels spinning wildly before it fell back to the street.
“Stay down,” Bolan yelled.
The soldier kicked open his door and rolled out onto the street, his Beretta sliding into view from inside his jacket. He moved at a crouch along the length of the SUV, putting a 3-round burst into the Renault’s driver as the guy emerged from the car.
BOOTING OPEN his passenger door, Kerim heard the sound of shots and saw Rashid stumble back, a pained expression on his face as he went to his knees. Fear clawed at Kerim’s stomach. He had never been under fire before, and despite all the training he had received from his instructors the SIG-Sauer P-226 felt heavy and alien in his hand. He wasn’t sure which way to turn, unaware in his agitation how long a time had elapsed since Rashid had been hit.
He caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadow moving on the other side of the Renault and turned, but the shadow had gone. When he looked again he saw the shape of the American leaning in through the driver’s side of the car. The man’s hand rose. Kerim saw a gun but didn’t hear the shots. There was a stunning impact that wrenched his head around. For a moment he experienced the sensation of having been struck by something brutally heavy, and then he was down on the dirty street, his body out of control. He died not even knowing that Bolan’s triple burst had removed half his skull and reduced his brain to bloody fragments.
A HAIL OF SHOTS from the tail car behind the Renault slammed into the bodywork, leaving ragged holes in the pressed steel.
Bolan crouched at the rear corner, watching briefly as he assessed his targets. One of the two occupants of the car had leaned out to fire the SMG he was carrying. Flicking the select lever to single shot, Bolan eased the forward hand grip down, enabling him to steady the Beretta. He was still hidden from sight by the bulk of the Renault, so the other guy had to move, leading with his weapon. As he cleared the edge of his open door, Bolan’s finger stroked the 93-R’s trigger and put a slug directly between the gunner’s eyes. The guy fell back, his finger jerking the trigger to send a burst of 9 mm slugs skyward.
Bolan heard the tail car’s engine roar as the driver jammed down his foot. The car shot away, swerving back and forth as the driver tried to maintain a steady course in reverse. Leaning against the Renault’s trunk Bolan took steady aim and triggered three shots into the windshield on the driver’s side. The car made a half-circle turn before its rear slammed into the front wall of one of the derelict buildings. The door sprang open on impact and the driver slumped from his seat.
On his feet Bolan made his way around to the passenger side of the SUV to check on Mahoud.
“I am all right,” Mahoud said.
Bolan heard a rattle of loose rubble. He turned in time to see a bloody hand reach up to grip the edge of the sidewalk. Then a second hand appeared, clutching a pistol. Bolan crossed and stood waiting. The guy climbing up from the rubble was too busy concentrating on his effort to notice Bolan until he pulled himself into view, his head exposed.
“A wasted effort,” the Executioner said evenly as he launched a full-on kick, the sole of his shoe connecting with the man’s head. A brief cry faded just as quickly as the guy spun backward, his arms thrown wide as he slammed down on the piled rubble. Beyond him Bolan saw the wrecked SUV, a motionless form hanging out of one door.
Returning to his own vehicle, Bolan fired up the engine and engaged the four-wheel drive before boosting the power. The front wheels spun, gripped. Swinging the wheel, Bolan cruised along the street and took the first turn he came to.
“That data of yours had better be dynamite, Reef,” he said.
“It is.” Mahoud held up the slim flash drive he had collected from the security deposit box. “When we return to the hotel, I will show you what I have.”
Bolan took out his cell and called Sharon.
“Ben, we’re on our way back. Stay sharp.”
When the Mossad agent didn’t answer immediately Bolan suspected a problem.
“WHAT HAPPENED, Ben?” Bolan asked.
“The girl has gone. Raika.”
“Kidnapped?”
“No, that’s the mystery. Everything appeared normal until Leila went to check. Raika wasn’t in her room. No signs of a struggle. But there was a note in Raika’s own handwriting. Leila translated. It simply said, ‘I can’t put up with this any longer. I have to leave. Tell Father I ask his forgiveness. Raika.’”
“Does Leila have any idea where she might have gone?”
“No. There was some talk about a possible boyfriend, but Leila had nothing above that.”
“Okay, we’ll talk later. Ben, we had another attempt on Sharif. We’re clear now. It means the hotel has been identified. We need to move. Do it now. Get Leila and Amina out now.”
“I’ll take them to my apartment.” Sharon gave Bolan the address. “Meet us there.”
Bolan told Mahoud what had happened. The man slumped back in his sea
t, shaking his head.
“I have been fearing this,” he said. “Too much. I have put them through too much. Is it any wonder Raika has had enough. This is not a life for a young woman. Raika is bright and smart. She should be making her own way in life, not following me around the world on my quest for peace.” He gave a brittle laugh. “What a joke it is becoming. Here I want to unite troubled factions and all I am doing is putting my own family into dangerous situations. My son has been kidnapped and my daughter has walked away because she can no longer exist as a fugitive. Sharif Mahoud, peacemaker to the world, and his splintered family.”
It took them over thirty minutes to reach Sharon’s third-floor apartment. The Mossad agent let them in, locking the door once they were inside.
Amina ran to her father and hugged him.
“Raika is a silly girl,” she said. “I know she has gone to see her boyfriend. She should be with us. You need us, Daddy.”
Mahoud was almost in tears. He couldn’t even speak. Leila went to him and they moved to a corner of the apartment to talk.
“I feel bad about this, Matt,” Sharon said. “It was my job to keep them close and a slip of a girl fooled me.”
“No one blames you, Ben. I’ve been concerned over Raika’s behavior since Afghanistan. But what can you do apart from shackling them to the bed? Raika’s young. The truth could be simply that she has reached her limit.”
Sharon held out the note he had found. It had been written on a small sheet of hotel stationery. The address of the establishment was printed across the top. Halfway down was Raika’s message. Bolan read the words. He glanced across the room at the Mahoud family—young daughter, the adoring mother and father. Raika’s family. A close unit from what Bolan had seen and heard.
He looked at the neat writing on the note, penned by a steady, unhurried hand. Not hastily scribbled as a last-minute goodbye.
Deliberate.
Thought out.
So why had Raika only asked for her father’s forgiveness?
Not her father and mother?
He folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“We’ve got them spotted.”
Greg Marino picked up the rattle of autofire behind the caller’s words.
“Don’t hurt the kid,” he snapped. “We need him alive. You can take down that fucking agent, but keep Mahoud breathing.”
“How close are you?”
“We’re on our way. Keep me updated.” Marino closed the transmission. “Move out.”
“Where’s Cujo?” Grover asked. “He must be close by now.”
“Benning is no beginner,” Kate said. “Could be he took Cujo down.”
“If he did, he’s got my respect,” Harper said.
“Touchy feely crap,” Marino said. “This bastard has run off with our paycheck. Hartman will go apeshit if he finds out we didn’t get the kid. You understand what’s riding on this deal? We get this right and Hartman gets what he wants, we could all be sitting pretty for the rest of our days. Screw up he’ll send out a cleanup team to hunt us down. That’s how big this is.”
“Message understood, Greg,” Grover said. “Now ease off, buddy, before you explode.”
Marino strode ahead, his eyes on the ground, searching for tracks. He had a natural aptitude for following trails, though even he would have stood aside for Cujo. The Apache could track in the dark with a hood over his head. This time around, though, Cujo was being thrown off by his anger at Benning getting off a shot that had creased him. Cujo was on the trail with pride dictating his actions, and that wasn’t the way to track. It had to be done with total detachment. Marino just hoped the man’s feelings didn’t get in the way.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER Marino’s worst feelings were justified when they came across Cujo’s body. No one said anything initially as they stood around the bloodied corpse. Marino knelt and checked out the man’s vital signs. He shook his head as he stood.
“Christ, look at the state of him,” Harper said. “Looks like someone ran over him with a locomotive.”
“Benning is no desk jockey,” Marino said. He pointed at the bruising on Cujo’s throat. “Hit him so hard he crushed his throat. Cujo choked on his own blood.”
“Why no gun?” Kate asked.
“Benning didn’t want to fire shots that might warn us,” Grover said. “Smart.”
“That means he’s got the SMG he took from Grover,” Marino said, “plus an extra magazine from Cujo.”
“Cujo’s knife has gone,” Kate said.
“No way he’s going to hand over the kid without a fight,” Harper said.
Marino activated his transceiver and spoke to the chopper pilot.
“They’re a half mile east if you found the Indian. We spotted him from the air. Benning and the kid took to the trees up ahead. Not going to be easy to flush them out. Plenty of cover for them and it’ll be dark in a couple of hours.”
“How far is the closest help?”
“Nothing for at least twenty miles. There’s a fire road about twelve miles from where they went into the timber, but hell, they won’t find anything else,” Marino said.
“Stay around as long as you have fuel.”
“Will do. Give me the word and I’ll drop the gear I brought,” the pilot told him.
“Okay. Out.”
“DO YOU THINK they can still see us?” Rafiq asked.
They had been moving for at least forty minutes, weaving in and out of the dense timber. The ground underfoot was covered by a thick layer of fallout from the trees. It provided a more than silent carpet to deaden their passing. Now they were motionless, with the silence of the forest around them, Lyons was able to pick up the sounds of the helicopter. Subdued but still around.
“I don’t know where that chopper flew in from,” Lyons said, “but he has to go back eventually. His fuel isn’t going to last forever, and he needs enough to take him back to base.”
“Great. So all we have to do is run around in circles until his tank dries up,” Rafiq said.
“Something like that. Good thinking, kid.”
“I make a joke and he takes me seriously.”
Lyons glanced at his watch. “Sunset’s in a couple of hours. He isn’t going to be able to track us in the dark. Don’t they teach you anything useful at that college?”
“Bush craft isn’t on the subject list,” Rafiq commented.
“Maybe it should be.”
Looking up through the canopy of green overhead, Lyons tracked the helicopter by its proximity. The sounds of the rotors drifted in and out of earshot. The chopper was trailing them and most likely reporting back to Cujo’s partners. Lyons didn’t expect the helicopter to do much more than that. As long as he and Rafiq stayed deep within the timbered terrain, they were reasonably well protected. By the same token their pursuers were going to catch up with them eventually and being at ground level they would have no problem closing in on Lyons and Rafiq.
“You rested enough?” he asked.
Rafiq grinned. “I thought we stopped so you could catch your breath.”
“You like to run?”
“College long-distance track team.”
Lyons secured his SMG, tapped Rafiq on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go, then, frat boy.”
He headed out, Rafiq falling in easily beside him as they sprinted through the trees. Lyons set a variable course, wanting to make it hard for the helicopter overhead. They covered a long stretch of ground, following the rise and fall of the forested terrain until Lyons spotted a deep ravine that cut through the timber. Brush and timber had grown along the sloping sides, heavy ferns spreading in wide green fronds. Lyons found an easy access to the place where the ravine commenced, and, leading the way, took himself and Rafiq down into the shadowed bottom. At that depth there was no way the spotters in the helicopter could see them through the drop of the ravine and the dense coverage of greenery. He led them into the gloom of the natural crevic
e. It was cooler down there, too. Lyons saw a gleam of water. It was a spring flowing from a rock shelf some feet above their heads. Cool, clear water ran down the rock to a small pool and a runoff.
“Refreshments, too,” Lyons said.
They splashed water on their faces and drank from the spring.
“You managed to keep up,” Lyons said.
“Hey, you didn’t do too bad for an old…older guy.”
Lyons put up a silencing hand, tilting his head to listen to the fading beat of the helicopter.
“It’s moving away,” he said.
“WE LOST THEM,” the pilot called in. “The forest is too dense and we can’t see them.”
“Okay,” Marino said. “Head back and wait for my call.”
“You pick up the stuff we dropped?” the pilot asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good luck.”
“Jesus, he’s sitting up there thinking he’s had a hard day,” Kate said. “All he does is fly around in circles.”
Marino fisted one of the supply packs and threw it to her. Kate caught it and slung it from her shoulder.
“Hey, Sheena, Queen of the Jungle,” Grover called, “you want to carry mine, too? Help develop those girly arms.”
“Come over here, village boy, and I’ll show you girly arms.”
Harper was crouching, peering along the frosted floor.
“Tracks,” he said. “They were here. Prints go that way.”
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Marina snapped. “They still got a good lead on us. It’ll be dark soon.”
As they moved off, Grover said, “We’d better catch them before then. Isn’t going to get any easier.”
“We can still move,” Kate said. “You forgot there are flashlights in the supply packs?”
“How will that help?” Grover asked.
“We’ll be able to see our way.”
Betrayed Page 19
