Another footrace, only this time Corbett had the upper hand. No traffic. No parked cars. He quickly closed the distance between them. Just ahead, Jarral raced around the corner, the building momentarily blocking Corbett’s view. Redoubling his effort, he rounded the corner only to be jumped from behind by two men – a large balding man with a beard and a dark-skinned Moroccan. Stopping a short way up the alley, Jarral turned back to watch.
The fight was short and brutal. The bigger man, Amal, came at him with a knife, superficially slashing Corbett’s right forearm drawing blood just below the elbow. As Corbett spun away, the man came at him again. Sidestepping the blade, he caught the man with a fist to the larynx, dropping him to his knees, gasping for air. Then catching the man’s knife-hand, he drove the blade into his sternum allowing the man’s own weight to drive the knife deep into his heart as he struck the cobblestones. With the big man dead at his feet, Corbett turned on the Moroccan. Halfway up the alley, Jarral still stood watching, hesitating as several villagers came out to see what was causing the commotion.
Reacting to Amal’s death, the Moroccan picked up a three-foot length of pipe from where it stood propped against the side of a building and came at him. Deflecting the blow, Corbett quickly disarmed him, then used the pipe to break the Moroccan’s forearm with a single blow. The man howled, clutching his right arm. Pivoting, Corbett caught him with the pipe full in the face, felling him like cut timber. But as he turned, prepared to face Jarral, he found the man had already fled, swallowed up by the gathering crowd. With two bodies lying dead in the street, Corbett knew he could not wait for the authorities. Shouldering his way through the growing clutch of villagers, he started to jog back the way he had come.
*****
By the time he reached the Land Rover, he found both Gorka and Ella waiting. Several large cardboard boxes of groceries and supplies sat on the ground behind the tailgate waiting to be loaded for the trip back. As Corbett approached, the old man was methodically devouring a small paper dish of hot peppers wrapped with anchovies that he ate with his fingers. Reaching the car, Corbett could see a sense of relief wash over Ella’s face.
“All set,” the old man said, eating and talking at the same time. “You want I drive…?”
Ella glanced at Corbett with a helpless look and attempted to imperceptibly shake her head.
“It’s all right. I think I can manage to get us back,” he said with a reassuring glance at the girl. “Any luck finding workers?”
“No problema.” The old man answered. “Arrange for four men… as many days as we need starting first thing tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go.” Unlocking the Land Rover, he helped Gorka load the boxes in back then climbed behind the wheel. At the same time, Ella opened the passenger door and got into the front seat. Still eating, Gorka got in back.
Corbett slipped the key into the ignition. The Rover roared to life. Pulling a tight U-turn, they were headed back toward the camp as Ella noticed the cut on his arm.
“You’re bleeding…” she said, staring at his arm.
“Just a scratch,” he said, ignoring his bruised ribs and the contusion on his left arm where he had deflected the pipe. “Caught it on a fence near the clinic. Nothing serious,” he lied. He momentarily fantasized about a hot bath and a deep massage then put them out of his mind.
“You’ll find a first aid kit in the glove box,” he said. “There should be some alcohol and bandages.”
Opening the glove box, she located the kit and began to tend to the gash in his forearm as he continued to drive. Ignoring the bite of the disinfectant, he attempted to focus on the road ahead as she worked quickly and efficiently cleaning and binding his wound.
“Impressive,” he said flexing his right hand. “Good as new.”
“Nothing to it,” she smiled. “Maybe you should be more careful.”
“Yes, mother,” he replied only to immediately regret the slightly sarcastic tone of his words. “Sorry,” he added. “What I really meant to say was thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said dryly, forcing a smile while inwardly cringing at the thought. Mother…? Really? Was that what she sounded like? Well, next time, he could damn well take care of himself. The last thing she wanted to be was anyone’s mother.
The road climbed into the mountains. They drove in silence for several miles.
“Sorry about what happened back there. At the clinic, I mean. Walking in on you like that,” Ella said awkwardly at last. “I didn’t realize…” She hesitated, uncertain how to finish the sentence.
Corbett said nothing. In the backseat, Gorka released a long slow belch then closed his eyes. Soon he softly began to snore.
“We knew each other at Oxford,” he said at last. “Her brother and I were friends.”
“Really?” she said, making an effort to keep from sounding overly interested. “Small world.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Smaller than you think.” The memory of Jon Alesander’s face momentarily flooded his mind. Ella said nothing.
As the silence between them lengthened once more, Corbett found himself thinking of Amaia. Accepting the unreliability of memory, he allowed his mind to retrace the history of their affair as he drove. To love Amaia was to hate her in equal measure. They had driven each other crazy. Despite being acutely aware of what they were doing to each other, he had been unable to stop himself. She had clearly been an addiction he had never been able to kick.
What had started as an infatuation at Oxford continued after she had taken a medical residency at University College Hospital, London. He would study all week then inevitably bum a ride or borrow a car to go down to see her on weekends. Fridays had been the cruelest. After weekdays spent fantasizing about the smell of her hair, the touch of her skin, the curve of her breasts – their weekends would almost immediately run right off the rails. Raw, uninhibited, sexually charged moments would abruptly disintegrate into acrimonious recriminations over some insignificant detail of their lives. The color of her scarf. The choice of a dessert. A disagreement over some fictional character’s motivation in a stage play she’d taken him to. By Saturday night they would no longer be speaking. Sunday would begin with rapprochement and end in savage lovemaking. A week later, the cycle would start again.
It was an unhealthy and destructive pattern that was doomed from the beginning. And, if he were being brutally honest with himself, he had been as guilty as she had. Seen in that light, introducing her to Tariq was possibly the sanest thing he had ever done. So why couldn’t he simply put it behind him?
Without warning, in the distance ahead, the sound of police sirens could be heard coming fast. Seconds later, a pair of green and white Nissan Patrol GRs bearing Guardia Civil markings flew by, their blue lights strobing.
“Police…?” Ella said.
“Must be trouble in town,” Corbett offered without elaborating. “Good we got of there early.” The memory of the fight near the clinic and the two men he had had to kill brought him back to the present. Fortunately for him, given the Basque hatred of Spanish police, he knew the villagers would have little to say about what had happened today. As for the one who got away, the same one who had tried to steal his laptop at the airport, he would have to let Reed know.
He reflexively touched the bandage on his right forearm.
“How’s it feel?” she asked.
“What…?”
“The cut.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Whatever you say. Of course, you’d know more about that than I would.”
“About what”
“Job prospects for one-armed archeologists,” she said with a disarming smile.
Glancing at her, he shook his head and almost laughed. “Are you being sarcastic…?” he asked with a smile.
“Me…?” she answered, feigning innocence. “What would ever make you think something like that?” She watched his face, pleased that she had managed to jar him out of his darker mood.
“You should laugh more often,” she said.
“I’ll work on it,” he replied. He studied her out of the corner of his eye. There was something about her. He wondered again if she was flirting with him. Or was he over-reading it? The truth was, he felt attracted to her despite himself. But considering their working relationship, it would be up to him to keep things under control. In fact, it might be better for both of them if he just shut things down right now. Unfortunately, some things were easier said than done.
Glancing sideways, she caught him looking at her and smiled.
“Much further?” she asked.
“The turn-off’s just ahead,” he answered as the abandoned farmhouse came into view. “Be there in no time.”
As he turned off the main road and started up the dirt and gravel path toward the site, Corbett thought he saw something or someone move within the old farmhouse. Just for an instant. But when he turned his head for a closer look, there was nothing. Only the sound of the wind through the rafters and the stirring of the branches of the birch trees.
FIFTEEN
A s the abandoned farmhouse disappeared in the rearview mirror, Corbett continued up the steep incline leading to the base camp in silence. Sensing his need to be alone with his thoughts, Ella had turned herself away and, closing her eyes, pretended to doze off. This, in turn, provided Corbett a chance to go over in his mind what had occurred in the village that morning in greater detail. Before contacting Reed, he would need to place the events into some sort of context. But what, he wondered, were they really up against?
The attack in the street had been totally unexpected. From the look of them, neither of the men he had killed that morning was from the village. Rather than Basque, they had appeared to be decidedly Middle Eastern, like the one who got away. Assuming these were mujahedeen meant they were no doubt connected to ISIS. And if that were true, their real mission must be to kill Tariq and prevent him from reaching Iraq and his father’s side.
How many of them were there? Counting the two from the airport plus the one whom he had caught breaking into his room at the hotel made three. Add to that the two whom he had just confronted in the streets of Xeria brought the total to five. No doubt there were others as well. A dozen? Maybe more. Without question, this put added pressure on the entire operation. He would contact Reed as soon as they got back and let him know. Speed, now more than ever, would be paramount… that is, presuming his Wi-Fi connection was finally operational.
Cursing the unpredictability of modern technology, he turned his thoughts to the laptop secured beneath the false bottom of his suitcase. If indeed, they were dealing with an ISIS sleeper cell, judging by their actions, these men clearly believed the information contained on Corbett’s computer must be worth dying for. At the same time, Corbett was forced to concede that, in fact, he himself had now placed Tariq’s life directly in the crosshairs. Thus, the moral obligation to safely exfiltrate him fell squarely on him.
Lost in his own thoughts, Corbett almost failed to hear the Rover’s transmission begin to labor as they approached the camp. Reacting, he quickly double-clutched and dropped it into four-wheel drive. Then stepping on the accelerator, he forced it up the final hundred meters of rough terrain, jostling Gorka and Ella from their sleep.
As the Rover cleared the rise, Corbett drove it into the base camp. To one side, Hector and three men stood in the back of a two-and-a-half ton attempting to manhandle the larger of the two generators. Standing nearby, one of the gray uniformed security men watched idly making no effort to help.
Pulling in and parking beside the cook tent, Corbett watched as the men wrestled the generator into position on the lift gate. Stepping to the hydraulic control panel, Hector lowered the generator to ground level.
Giving orders in Spanish, Hector directed the men as they positioned the generator, then began connecting the various electrical cables that would provide power to the camp. As the lights in the kitchen tent and dining area flickered then abruptly came on, everyone, men and women alike, spontaneously began to applaud.
Climbing out from behind the wheel of the Land Rover, Corbett moved to Hector’s side as Gorka began mustering able bodies to help unload the food and supplies, so he could finally start cooking.
Hector grinned. “You came back just in time, Boss. A couple of minutes earlier and you could have had a hernia with the rest of us.”
Corbett tried to suppress a smile. “Just good timing. What about the winch? Were you able to set it up?”
Hector shook his head. “It’s not so good, I think. Got a broken gearbox. I contacted the university. They’re sending replacement parts. Hopefully they will have them here by sometime tomorrow or the next day.”
“Tomorrow or the next…?”
“It is the best we could do,” Sebastian said, joining the conversation.
“Not good enough,” Corbett replied walking around to rear of the two-and-a-half-ton as the others followed. The smaller of the two generators still stood in the back of the truck beside a cramped metal cage that would serve as a four-person elevator. All were secured in place by a pair of turnbuckles. Totally useless without a working winch capable of lowering the basket into the cave and retrieving it.
“You have another idea…?” Sebastian asked as Corbett studied the equipment with a frown.
“Just one,” Corbett nodded with a frown. “Instead of waiting, we check out the cave the old fashioned way.”
“Which way is that?” Sebastian asked.
“Rappelling. Ever done it?’
The older man shook his head and smiled. “Only when I was young and crazy. I leave that to you.”
Corbett looked at Hector. “The rappelling gear? Did we bring it?”
“Absolutely, Boss.”
“As soon as Gorka’s ready, get something to eat. Then round up our interns and meet me at the equipment tent. I want to rappel down and have a look this afternoon.”
With a nod, Hector headed for the cook tent while Corbett returned to his own.
*****
Making his way back along a series of back roads, it had taken Jarral several hours to return to the deserted farmhouse. Seeing the red Peugeot pulling in behind one of the decaying outbuildings beyond sight of the road, Buttar moved to meet the car only to discover Jarral climbing out alone. They spoke in Urdu out of earshot of the others.
“Where are the others?” Buttar asked.
“The others are dead.”
“Dead? But how…?”
“The American...” he replied, his eyes flashing in anger. “There can be no question. He is not who he appears.”
“And Tariq?”
“He did not show himself. But he cannot be far away. Once the American leads us to him, we will kill them both, praise be to Allah. Go tell the others. Now I must pray.”
Watching Buttar move off, Jarral closed his eyes and prepared himself. The unexpected encounter in the village with the American had caused him to miss fajr, the morning prayer. Turning, he faced the sun as it climbed in the eastern sky. Then bringing himself fully to attention, he assumed the position known as Qiyaam and began: “Allahu Akbar…”
*****
Entering his tent, Corbett immediately broke out his computer and attempted to get off a quick email to Reed explaining the encounter in town and the escalating threat presented by the ISIS cell. But while Corbett managed to get a signal and log onto the Internet, it crashed before he could hit SEND. Frustrated, he tried again but came up with the same result. Cursing the surrounding mountains, he stowed the computer once more. Hopefully, he’d have better luck after dark.
Quickly changing into a yellow nylon jumpsuit, he pulled a pair of anti-slip soles over his waterproof cross-trainers. Then picking up his Cordex gloves and high-impact safety helmet, he was heading back out when he ran into Karim, Roberto and Ella.
“Everybody have something to eat?” he asked.
“Hector said you wanted to see us,” Ro
berto said with a nod, then noticed Corbett’s climbing gear. “What’s up?”
“Winch is still busted. It won’t be repaired until tomorrow at the earliest. I want to rappel down and have a look at our cave. Who’s game?”
From the expression on her face, Ella was intrigued. But having made the mistake once, she decided not to appear overly eager and said nothing.
“Just say the word,” Roberto grinned.
“How about you?” Corbett said looking at Karim, who shrugged and shook his head. “Not if I can help it. I’ll wait for the winch. Besides, I want to finish calibrating the Laser Scanner this afternoon.”
“Ella…?” Corbett asked.
“Absolutely,” she smiled. “Count me in.”
“Good. Meet me up at the mouth of the cave in twenty minutes. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
SIXTEEN
C arrying the aluminum chest containing the rappelling gear between them, Corbett and Hector lugged the equipment up the steep incline leading to the cave’s opening. Reaching the entrance, while waiting for Roberto and Ella to don their gear and join them, Hector set to work hammering a pair of heavy-duty anchor bolts into the granite overhang at the mouth of the cave while Corbett secured the maillons and rap rings on the rappelling harness. To one side, Hector had already laid out a number of coiled climbing ropes of various lengths.
By the time Roberto and Ella arrived, Corbett had donned his helmet and gloves, and was standing just inside the entrance holding a red highway flare. Stepping up beside him, Roberto peered down into the abyss.
“Any idea how far to the cavern floor?” he asked as Ella joined them.
“Good question,” Corbett said. “One way to find out.”
With the flare in his left hand, he grasped the plastic striker cap with his right and pulled it free. Then with a vigorous rub, he used the coarse surface of the cap to ignite the flare, holding it away from his body. Instantly, the end of the flare erupted in molten red light. Tossing it out into the blackness, they watched as it spiraled down into the cavernous opening, striking the rock floor below in little more than a second and a half.
The Exfiltrator Page 12
