Part of him debated staying here until nightfall. A six-mile hike in this heat was going to exhaust him. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.
Then Jack thought about Terrell, Phelps and Mrs. King. He put his baseball cap onto his sweaty head and walked into the sunlight.
Sand shifted under his boots. The heat bounced off the ground to bake him. It was like walking in an oven. He yearned for the air-conditioned comfort of the Chief Cherokee. He wanted to close his gritty eyes. Just a few hours of sleep, a cool pool, some watermelon—
Jack pushed the thoughts aside. He needed to plan. He had a gun, his wrist-monitor, a knife, cash, compass, an AT4 and enough food concentrates to last him for days.
What would he do once he reached the oasis? How likely could he rent a car? Stealing one might be dangerous. Possibly, he could pick up a bicycle or motorcycle. Then what would he do? The enemy had stayed a step ahead of him all along the line.
He had to get Carter. If the advisor was compromised… Jack had to get Carter and leave Egypt, maybe get back to Rome. If he did that, though, the antimatter would disappear.
Jack used the sleeve of his shirt, wiping his forehead. He looked up, seeing a vulture soar up there, pacing him. Did the—
Jack shaded his eyes from the sun. Farther away in the distance was a helicopter. Did it belong to the Ninth Border Regiment, to Hammond’s people or to the people using the Iranian—D’erlon Enterprises?
That had to be the answer. Hammond was obviously a front. Okay. What should he do about the helo?
Jack watched it, finally deciding he needed an edge. The only way he could get one was to trick them. That was assuming it belonged to the opposition, which he was going to assume all right.
This would be a long shot.
Jack dropped to his knees. Before he completed the illusion, he took out the last water bottle. He poured the cool liquid over his head and soaked the front of his shirt. Only then did he fall onto the burning sand.
Now came the hard part. Jack waited. Several minutes later, he heard the machine. The heat baked him as the helicopter got louder and louder. Now, it was a roar of sound.
Would they land? Yeah, they had to land. That was the whole point. If he could get a free ride to the oasis—
A cold spot grew in the middle of Jack’s back. He realized the helicopter had sounded the same for the last five seconds. It had to be hovering in place. The iciness in his back became worse. Finally, ever so slowly, Jack raised his head.
He heard the rifle shot and saw the discharge of smoke from the barrel. A second later, sand kicked up in front of his face, particles striking his cheek. The helicopter hovered two hundred feet above him. The shooter leaned out of the bubble canopy with his left foot on the landing frame, aiming down. The vehicle was a small two-seater, the kind crop-dusters used in the States.
The marksman aimed and fired again. Jack was already moving, lunging to the side. The bullet plowed where he’d just been, kicking up sand by his shoulder.
The unreality of the attack might have slowed down another person’s reflexes. Jack Elliot was seldom worried about how things should be. He dealt with the here and now. Did it matter who owned the helo? The shooter up there was trying to kill him. That was enough.
Jack carried a .45 automatic in his shoulder holster. It was possible he could hit something on the helicopter but unlikely.
The shooter turned his head into the bubble canopy, likely telling the pilot to drop a little lower. A helicopter was an uneasy firing platform. Maybe if the man had a fifty-caliber machine gun, he could have hosed enough bullets to hit Jack eventually. Ideally, the shooter should have had a grenade launcher.
As the shooter spoke to the pilot, Jack slid the AT4 from his shoulder. It was a single-shot, disposable rocket launcher firing a HEDP 502.
Jack readied it for firing. A Stinger would have been much better, but Stingers weighed over twice as much as an AT4. The AT4 had already been questionable at fifteen pounds. He’d taken it along as a bunker buster or to blow open a way into a building. Hitting the helicopter up there would be a gamble.
Jack raised the AT4, using the iron sights, aiming practically straight up. The pilot saw him through the bubble.
The two-man machine jerked sharply to the side, no doubt the pilot trying to throw off Jack’s aim. The motion caught the shooter by surprise. It appeared he had taken off his seatbelt earlier, maybe in order to get into a better shooting position. That had been ballsy, but what a good shooter often did.
That was costing the man now, though. The helicopter tipped in the shooter’s direction. The chopper wobbled before beginning to straighten out.
Clearly, the pilot had reacted badly to Jack’s AT4. Jack hesitated firing his weapon. He would only get the one shot and he had to make it count. A miss wouldn’t help him any.
Then, the shooter let go of the rifle, likely as he tried to save his balance. The heavy rifle dropped. A moment later, the shooter’s foot slipped from the landing frame. The man yelled a second before he began to fall from the machine.
Jack watched the man plummet. The former shooter yelled the entire way down, flailing and finally holding his hands palm outward as if he could stave off the coming impact. The man struck the sand with a heavy sound twenty-five feet from Jack. The man bounced up, flopping in the air and hit again. There was no thrashing about, no crying out. The man just lay there with his head tucked awkwardly under his body, the neck obviously broken.
Carefully, Jack set down the activated AT4. Once he let go of it, Elliot sprinted across the sand, reaching the man’s rifle, a bolt action. It still looked good. He picked it up and sighted through the scope.
The helicopter was lifting. It began to juke.
Jack pulled the trigger, sending a slug after the machine. This thing kicked like a son of a bitch. A spark up there in the metal frame told Jack he’d hit something.
The helicopter rotated, juked once more and started back in the direction of the oasis.
Jack knelt on the sand, aiming carefully, firing shot after shot. He was certain he hit the machine several more times.
More smoke began to pour from the helicopter. The machine kept going, though.
Jack lowered the rifle, examining the dead man on the sand. That had to be the whitest man Jack had ever seen.
With a grunt, Jack climbed to his feet. It was time to see if the corpse carried anything that could help him figure out what in the heck was going to happen next.
-40-
TEMPLE OF AMMON
SIWA OASIS
The locked gate blocking Selene from leaving the ancient temple might have worried someone else, but not her. She grabbed the iron bars as high as she could and pressed her feet against them. Then, with a soft grunt, she first grasped one hand higher and then the other. Afterward, she heaved, pulling herself to the top. Carefully, she negotiated the iron points, working herself onto the other side. Finally, she slid down the bars, outside of the gate.
She wanted to sprint away. She didn’t know how long the soldier would remain unconscious or if he would bleed to death. It had taken her far too long to figure out how to move the secret wall, reentering the normal ruin.
Moving slowly, she strained to hear voices, more of the shadowy people. If others had been here, wouldn’t they have coming running after the gunshots? It was hard to know. She peered around a corner, spying a new Volkswagen beetle parked near the scooter. That seemed like the wrong sort of vehicle for the massive soldier. She didn’t see anyone else, nor did she spy another vehicle. The bug had to be his then.
Move, Selene, get the heck out of here. It’s time to leave the oasis, leave Egypt as fast as you can. You have to find Claire. She’ll know what to do.
Selene pushed away from the wall and hurried to the beetle, trying the driver’s side door. It was locked. Racing around to the other side, she found that door was locked as well.
Okay. She couldn’t use the Volkswagen. What about the scoote
r?
She silently berated herself for failing to search the clerk for his keys. Philip wouldn’t have forgotten such a fundamental thing.
Should I have shot the soldier, made sure he was dead?
Selene shuddered, wondering how she could think such bloodthirsty thoughts.
A well of panic began to churn in her stomach. Standing around wasn’t going to help her any. She ran to the scooter, pushing it off the kickstand. Maybe she couldn’t turn it on, but she could use it for a little while. She kept pushing, moving the small machine to the steeply sloped path.
Hopping onto the scooter, Selene steered as it picked up speed. At the bottom of the slope, the speedometer said fifty kilometers per hour. She rode the two-wheeler as it slowed down, willing the scooter to reach the trees. It didn’t, stopping a quarter mile short.
Selene hopped off, letting the scooter drop as she paused, thinking. She picked it up, wheeling it to a ditch, and lying it down in the bottom. Selene hurried along the bottom of the ditch, finally climbing onto the road. It was hot. She lacked water—
Selene heard gears grind. Twisting around, she spied the beetle at the top of the hill. Was the soldier inside? Who else could have made the noise?
Selene sprinted for the grove of palm trees. She didn’t know how reaching them was going to help her, but having any plan was better than having none.
Glancing back, she saw the beetle picking up speed. The soldier had to be inside. She couldn’t see anything distinct past the windshield except for bright red.
I bet that’s blood—his!
That meant the soldier had made it inside the Volkswagen. He would be coming for her, if for no other reason than vengeance.
As Selene ran, a vehicle appeared within the grove, coming up the dirt path. It was a white Toyota pickup.
“Hey!” she shouted, waving her arms.
Selene put on a burst of speed. Behind her, the Volkswagen grinded gears. The soldier must be groggy, having trouble driving. He could still run her down or worse, pull out a rifle and shoot her. She’d gotten lucky with the .38. How good would she do a second time? The soldier wore body armor. She just had a suit jacket.
“Hey!” she yelled, waving her arms harder, hoping the driver was a normal person.
The Toyota took the fork, turning toward her instead of continuing through the grove.
Behind her, the beetle swerved back and forth on the road, kicking up dust and making the tires crunch gravel. Selene turned around in time to see the beetle skid off the road and plow into the ditch. The passenger’s side lifted up so its front and rear tires gained about three feet of separation from the ground.
Come on, flip, Selene thought.
That didn’t happen. Instead, the Volkswagen came down normally, the fall making the car bounce on its springs as it came to a stop. The driver’s side door opened. The soldier with his bloody neck and blood-soaked armor staggered out. He had a small, ugly-looking machine gun in his grip. The soldier pulled back the bolt, letting it snap forward. Unsteadily, he aimed at her.
Terror welled in Selene. This was like a zombie movie. She almost froze in fear. At the last moment, she hit the ground. Bullets struck around her. She moaned, watching him, unable to look away.
The soldier sank to his knees. Thank goodness, the little machine gun slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground a second before he crashed atop it.
Selene exhaled, finding herself shaking. She was still alive. He’d missed. This was a miracle. I have to leave before more show up—she climbed to her feet.
The Toyota pickup braked beside her. At last, she was getting some luck. The Good Samaritan would surely give her a lift back to the hotel. Dusting her clothes, trying to smile but finding that impossible, Selene turned to the Toyota.
The driver’s door opened and the Siwa police captain climbed out. His eyes widened with surprise.
“You,” Captain Nasser said, the man she’d hit earlier in the antique store.
Selene felt surreal, as if she was floating. Her mind moved slowly but surely, seeing what she must do. As casually as possible, she put a hand into her jacket pocket, the one with the .38. Before she could do more, the captain unsnapped his holster and drew his pistol.
He aimed the gun her. “Hands up,” Nasser said. “You’re under arrest for assaulting a Siwa police officer.”
-41-
STORAGE SHED
SIWA OASIS
The beast raised its snout as the door closed. The human had left. The creature heard the lock click. That meant the human would be away for some time. Likely, the man would drink more of the substance that caused a stink to exude from his pores and his breath.
The beast rose from where it had pretended to sleep. Since the intruders in the woods, the masters hadn’t let it roam free, but had put it in a cage.
The dark eyes shined in the shadows of the storage chamber. It had been traveling in the back of a large vehicle in its cage. At the end of the journey, a woman with a machine with two metal prongs had lifted the cage from the truck and deposited it into this stuffy chamber.
Once again, the beast inspected the padlock of its cage. Each time a human had opened its iron-barred quarters, the creature had watched in a fervent manner. It understood that a key opened the padlock and it marveled at the utility of a human hand.
Lifting a front paw, the beast studied it. The paw would never wield a key the way a human could. Perhaps it could grip the end of a key with its teeth. How could it insert the key into the padlock from within the cage, though?
For some time, the beast worried the idea as if it were a mental bone. It could not see an answer. To open the padlock, it would have to be outside the cage. If the beast were outside, opening the padlock would no longer matter.
With an eerie whine, the beast lay down. It would continue to wait for an opportunity to escape. It hated the cage.
The beast closed its eyes. Now that the human was gone, it could sleep. When humans were around, it watched. Oh yes, it studied the two-legs, planning and thinking…always thinking about what it would do once free of the hated confinement.
-42-
TEMPLE OF AMMON
SIWA OASIS
Selene held onto the .38 inside her pocket. It was like an anchor to her sanity. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger to shoot Captain Nasser. She had to do that, right? She had to get out of here while she could. More of these people were going to show up. She knew that now.
“You will put your hands up,” Nasser said in heavily accented English. “Do it this instant or I shall shoot.”
Selene hesitated just a moment longer. Coldblooded murder, especially of a police captain—she released the .38 and raised her hands. What had she been thinking?
“Officer,” she said in a hoarse voice. Selene was surprised she could think at a time like this. “The antique store clerk is dead. The monster—the man lying by the Volkswagen killed him.”
Nasser frowned severely. “Souk is dead?” he asked.
Her mind raced and Selene felt the fear boiling in her, but the world seemed to be moving normally again.
The captain looked to be fifty or so with brown skin like a Pakistani. He was short and slight. It was one of the reasons Selene had believed earlier she’d knocked him out with a single punch. The uniform was pressed and spotless, his tie looked new. His black-polished shoes could have doubled as mirrors.
“Why are you driving around in an unmarked pickup?” Selene asked.
“I will do the questioning,” Nasser said. He appeared quizzical, troubled.
“Are you taking me to jail?” she asked, trying to hurry this up, to get out of here.
Nasser glanced out at the desert, becoming even more thoughtful. “You are trouble,” he said. “Souk is dead and the—” He peered at the Volkswagen before eyeing the fallen soldier.
“Do you know who that is?”
“Proceed,” Nasser told her, motioning toward the man with his gun.
Selene wanted to scream. They had to leave. Instead, she forced herself to act calmly. “What are you asking?” she said.
“Walk ahead of me to him,” Nasser said. “Before I decide what to—let us see if the man is dead or alive.”
Selene couldn’t see any way around this. It seemed wisest to play along for the moment.
I have to figure out the cop’s angle. He might be one of them.
“Why did you fake being unconscious in the antique shop after I hit you—which was a terrible mistake, by the way.”
“You are trouble,” Nasser said, as if speaking to himself.
Selene almost lost her balance sliding down the ditch. It forced her to think about what she was doing physically. A copious amount of blood had pooled around the soldier’s throat. The man must have lost quite a bit already. It was a wonder he was still alive.
“Oh, this is bad,” Nasser said, as he looked at the soldier. “Stand on the other side of him.”
Selene obeyed while keeping her hands in the air.
Nasser knelt on a pristine trouser knee, peering at the soldier’s throat. The police captain sighed as if this was a great inconvenience.
“Did Souk shoot him?” Nasser asked.
Selene nodded.
Nasser looked up into the sky.
“Do you know who he is?” Selene repeated.
As Nasser regarded her, the indecision left his face. “Go to his vehicle. There should be a first aid kit inside. Get it and return here.”
It took Selene an extra second before she nodded. She was going to get a second chance. She still had the gun in her pocket.
“Ah, but before you do that, though,” Nasser said, as if reading her mind, “please be so good as to remove the pistol from your jacket.”
Nasser raised his gun, aiming it at her head.
The strength to resist drained away. Carefully, Selene used her thumb and forefinger to grip the revolver by the barrel. She removed the .38 from her jacket and set the weapon on the ground.
The Alien Prophecy Page 16
