Medusa's Sheik

by Cindy Dees

  “This is insane. I won’t have you exposed to danger like this,” he declared.

  “What? And I’m supposed to sit home twiddling my thumbs while you charge headlong into the jaws of death?”

  “Better me than you,” he replied, supremely frustrated that a bunch of terrorists had forced him and everyone who mattered to him into this mess.

  She replied soothingly, “I have years of the best training on earth for doing exactly this.”

  A metallic voice sounded inside his head, emanating from the tiny transceiver behind his last molars on the right. “Listen to her, Hake. She’s right.” That was Vanessa Blake if he wasn’t mistaken. He swore under his breath. He didn’t like this one bit. It was bad enough that he was probably driving straight into a trap. But to be forced to bring along the woman he loved…he swore again.

  “Do you know how to drive this thing or do you need a crash course?” Casey asked.

  “I spent a summer as a teenager driving delivery trucks for my father. He believed it was important for me to see our business from the ground up.”

  “Smart man,” she commented.

  “Everyone on board?” he murmured into his mouthpiece.

  “We’re ready to roll,” came Vanessa’s response. “And our ten minutes are almost up.”

  Hake shoved the lever behind the steering wheel, throwing the big truck into gear. “How will the terrorists know if I’ve left within their time limit?” he asked to fill the empty space between him and Casey.

  “We think they’re tracking your cell phone signal. Our telemetry shows nobody within the vicinity of the palace who could be doing eyes-on surveillance of you.”

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Head down the road they told you to.”

  He drove in silence. The truck’s headlights lit a swath of tarmac before him, but everything else—the desert, the sky, the night blanketing them—was an enormous black void. It made a man feel incredibly small. The tension within the cab was palpable. Whether its source was the mission or the unresolved questions hanging between Casey and him, he didn’t know. But either way, it was intensely uncomfortable. Finally, he burst out, “Look, if we’re about to die, shouldn’t we clear the air between us?”

  She looked over at him but the scarf covered most of her expression. “I think we’ve pretty much said it all, don’t you?”

  “Not by a long shot,” he burst out.

  In the dim glow of the dashboard lights, she sent him a pleading look and pointed to her mouth and then her ear. He scowled. At this point, he didn’t give a damn if her teammates heard everything the two of them said to each other. He was sick of not knowing where he stood with her.

  She sighed. “Hake, if you truly want to be with me for the long-term, you need to see this side of me. Consider tonight an up-close-and-personal tour of my world. Let’s just wait and see what you think after it’s all over.”

  He considered for a moment. “Fair enough. But in return, I ask that you give my world a try.” He added grimly, “With an open mind.”

  She stared at him for a long time. Finally, she nodded. All right, then. He could live with that. He sat back and concentrated on driving.

  After about a half hour, a flurry of talking erupted inside his skull. Apparently the support team for the Medusas had picked up infrared satellite images of a cluster of people arrayed in what looked like an ambush formation a few miles ahead. Most of the chatter made little sense to him, but Casey went tense.

  He eased off the accelerator.

  “No!” she exclaimed. “Keep going the same speed. The terrorists are tracking us. We can’t signal them that we’ve spotted the trap or they’ll know we’re using sophisticated support.”

  Great. The terrorists were watching him. Her teammates were listening to him. Uncle Sam was looking down on him from space. It could give a guy a complex. The road began to climb and he downshifted to handle the grade. And then a sharp noise sounded from the seat beside him, making him jump violently. His cell phone was ringing.

  “Pick it up,” Casey said tightly.

  He put the device to his ear. “Hello.”

  A male voice directed without preamble, “There’s a bridge ahead. Drive across it and stop on the far side.” The call disconnected before he could say anything.

  “Got that?” Casey bit out.

  “Roger,” Vanessa replied. “We’ll get out on this side of the bridge and make our way across the obstacle on foot.”

  An unidentified male voice—must be one of the H.O.T. Watch people—replied in Hake’s head. “Negative, Viper. The bridge spans a gorge at least five-hundred-feet deep. Recommend you use the bridge to cross.”

  Vanessa spoke rapidly to her team. Apparently, they would decide when they saw the bridge whether to sneak across it topside or climb underneath the thing to cross the gorge. In the meantime, she ordered the Medusas to prepare to exit the truck. He looked at his speedometer in alarm. He was still going nearly thirty miles per hour.

  “They’re going to jump at this speed?” he asked Casey incredulously.

  She replied, “It would help if you slowed down a little. Could you make it look like the truck’s laboring up the slope a bit more?”

  “Done.” He downshifted again and the truck slowed to roughly twenty miles per hour.

  “That’s good,” she commented.

  As they neared the top of a rocky ridge, Vanessa ordered the Medusas to jump. He looked out his rearview mirrors, trying to spot them as they left, but he saw nothing. He listened to a quick check-in as all the Medusas reported in and regrouped to follow the truck to the bridge. He downshifted one more time, bringing his speed down to under fifteen miles per hour. It was the most he could do to buy the women behind him time to catch up.

  The vehicle topped the ridge and Casey gasped. A massive gorge yawned before them. The bridge ahead looked sturdy enough, but the drop on either side of it was impressive.

  Casey radioed, “Plan on going under the bridge. There’s no superstructure at all to provide cover.”

  “Roger,” Vanessa replied. The woman sounded a little out of breath. Must be running up the last bit of the slope behind them.

  “Here goes nothing,” he muttered as he guided the truck out onto the bridge. The tires bumped loudly across the steel joints. And then a funny thing happened. Casey seemed to relax beside him. Cool calm rolled off her.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She merely nodded, scanning ahead of them. And then she murmured. “Rocky ridges at ten and two o’clock, range from the bridge, two hundred yards. Ideal cover for snipers. Open, flat clearing just beyond the bridge. Two SUVs parked. Four hostiles in sight.”

  The truck crossed the final few yards of the bridge. Hake applied the brakes and the vehicle came to a halt. He reached for the door handle.

  “Don’t get out,” Casey breathed. “Force them to make the next move.”

  He nodded and subsided. All of a sudden, a massive flash lit up the night and an enormous impact of noise and concussion rocked the truck. He ducked instinctively, diving across the cab to protect Casey.

  “Report!” she bit out frantically.

  And then it hit him. The terrorists had just blown up the bridge. Were the Medusas already climbing under it when it went? Had all of her teammates died? And just as worrisome, had their support just been blown up? Were he and Casey completely alone with the terrorists?

  Nobody answered her urgent radio call. Casey whispered again, more forcefully, “Report. Is anyone in the clear?”

  Eventually, a voice—blessedly female—replied, “We just missed getting obliterated. Cho spotted the explosives and we backed off the bridge just before it blew. We’re alive. But we’re on the wrong side of the gorge.”

  His stomach fell like a brick. The two of them were alone and without backup. He looked across the cab at her grimly, and she returned the look, fully aware of their predicament.

  Hake’s cell phone ra
ng. Thinking fast, he picked it up and said angrily, “What the hell are you people trying to do? Blow up your equipment before I can deliver it to you?”

  “Get out of the truck. Hands on top of your head,” the voice ordered.

  “They want us outside. Hands on our heads,” he murmured to Casey.

  She replied low and fast, “Hit speed dial number nine, then put the phone in your pocket and don’t disconnect it.”

  “Why?” He turned off the truck’s ignition and reached for the door.

  “I programmed H.O.T. Watch into your phone. They’ll be able to monitor our conversation.”

  Damn, she was good. He did as she’d said and then opened the door. Across the cab, she did the same. He heard a series of ominous metallic clicks that sounded suspiciously like the noise of weapons being brought to bear and readied to fire.

  “Did you have to drag me out here in the middle of nowhere, Hake?” Casey complained loudly. “And what on earth was that— Ohmigod! The bridge is gone!”

  A man’s voice called out, “Who is that? Kill—”

  Hake called back, “I had to bring her along. My mother threw her out of the house. She’s a belly dancer. She’s of no importance.”

  Disgusted swearing met that announcement. He thought he heard a man say he recognized the girl. But Hake couldn’t see a blessed thing. His night vision had been destroyed by that blindingly bright flash of light. He supposed that meant the bad guys couldn’t see much better, though.

  “All right, gentlemen,” he announced. “Let’s finish this thing and get you on your way before the army or someone else spots us.”

  Two men stepped forward, close enough for Hake to see the anger on their faces. “You were not told to bring anyone with you.”

  “I wasn’t told not to,” Hake shot back as a man stepped forward to frisk him. “Besides, your people surely know who she is.”

  The older man of the two looming before him with shotguns in their hands scowled. “You dare to bring that whore to us? How dare you insult us?”

  Casey piped up indignantly as a man rudely ran his hands all over her body beneath her robes. “I’m a dancer, not a whore.”

  The older man’s hand whipped out and he slapped her across the face hard enough to drop her like a stone to the ground. Hake lurched, a snarl building in the back of his throat. But then something strong gripped his ankle and he jumped in surprise. Casey was squeezing his ankle tightly enough to make him grimace. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

  “Gentlemen,” he said smoothly. “We are here to conduct a business transaction. Can we not do this in a civilized manner and then be on our way?”

  The older man, clearly the leader of this bunch, stared at him assessingly. “Show me the machine.”

  “Of course.” Hake led him to the back of the truck. Two of the terrorists jumped up on the flatbed, quickly unhooked the tarp covering the machine, and threw it back.

  “Careful,” Hake barked. “That’s a piece of precision equipment. Watch it!”

  “Show me how it works,” the leader demanded.

  Hake nodded and climbed up onto the truck bed. He risked a glance over at Casey as the leader joined him. She was back on her feet. Two more men had moved out of the shadows and were pointing guns at her. She seemed to be making conversation with them. At any rate, she had the men’s undivided attention.

  Hake turned back to the machine and the now eager man beside him. He gave the fellow a fast tour of how the machine worked. Hake used the most technical language he could muster in hopes that the terrorist wouldn’t understand much of it.

  “At any rate,” Hake finished, “it’s all in the instruction manuals. They’re in the truck. Cassandra, fetch the notebooks!”

  She moved toward the truck and the terrorists let her. Apparently, they thought it perfectly normal to order the woman to do the manual labor. Their mistake. He’d glimpsed the arsenal she’d tucked under the front seat. She emerged from the truck, carrying a tall stack of binders.

  “Where do you want these?” she asked humbly enough of one of the junior terrorists.

  The fellow directed her to one of the SUVs and she dutifully trudged through the sand to the vehicle. She leaned into the passenger’s seat, disappearing from view for a heartbeat too long. Hake suppressed a grin. She’d done something to the vehicle. She exited to the rear, passing behind the first vehicle and brushing past the other SUV. Knowing her, that had also been time enough to do something to the second vehicle. Hake was impressed. Aloud, he said, “My bankers tell me the money transfer is complete. If you’ll tell me where we’re going next, I’ll drive the truck to our destination and load this thing onto your ship.”

  “We will take the machine from here,” the elder terrorist replied sharply.

  Hake shook his head in the negative. “This is a delicate piece of equipment. Load it improperly and you’ll render it inoperative.”

  The terrorist scowled and pulled out a cell phone. He climbed down off the truck and moved away from Hake to make a call. Hake took the opportunity to move back to Casey’s side. He murmured to her in English, “I told him they’ll need me to load the machine onto their ship or they’ll break it. He’s calling his boss.”

  She murmured back, “When it’s time, head for those rocks to the north. Their snipers are on the south ridge.”

  That was all they had time for before the senior terrorist strode toward them. “We will handle the loading. Give me the keys.”

  “A truck was not part of our deal,” Hake replied evenly. “Are you prepared to pay for it or return it when you’re done with it?”

  The terrorist laughed shortly, without humor. “Sure. Whatever.”

  Hake didn’t like the sound of that. These people were planning to kill him sooner rather than later. Had he not known Casey so well, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle tensing of her shoulders. But as it was, he had to consciously stop himself from bracing, too.

  The older man stepped close and held his hand out for the truck keys. The sounds, two of them in quick succession, were no more than a gentle spit. A boy shooting a seed from between his front teeth. The terrorist, no more than arm’s length from Hake, got a surprised look on his face. Stunned, Hake stepped forward fast and wrapped his arms around the man, staggering under his weight but preventing him from collapsing to the ground.

  “Thank you for letting me and my family aid your holy cause,” Hake said loudly enough for the other men to hear.

  The other men started forward, but were confused enough by the abrupt embrace and declaration to hesitate. It was enough for Casey. She spun and fired from beneath her robe, six shockingly fast and deadly accurate spits. All three men dropped without firing a single round. Hake let his man slide to the ground.

  Casey took off running, dodging behind the first SUV. Hake was on her heels. She paused just long enough to point at the ridge behind them. He nodded and they were off and running again, zigzagging low and fast. Casey pulled ahead of him by a few feet and dived over a boulder, disappearing. He mimicked the move, flying over the boulder, slamming into the ground and rolling until he fetched up hard against something warm.

  Something pinged over his head and chips of rock flew past his face.

  Casey swore softly. “I’d hoped to make the ridge before they pinned us down.”

  “Now what?” he murmured.

  Her only answer was a grim glance. “Any chance I can get some backup in the next two minutes?” she asked whoever was listening to the other end of their radios.

  A male voice came back. “Negative. We’ve got satellites on you and an unmanned aerial vehicle is en route. ETA fifteen minutes.”

  “That won’t help us,” she replied tersely.

  Hake glanced behind them. Suddenly, the fifty or so feet of open ground before the first rise of the ridge looked miles wide. He peeked around the end of the boulder, trying to spot whoever was shooting at him. Dust flew up in front of him and he lurched
backward. He didn’t know much about military operations, but even he knew they would have to shoot their way out of this one.

  “Have you got a spare weapon?” he asked quietly.

  She glanced over at him. Silently, she passed him a pair of pistols from under her robes. “I’ve got limited ammo. How are you at crawling on your belly?”

  Hake answered wryly, “I’ve never tried it. But if my life is going to depend on it, I’m pretty darned good at it.”

  The corner of her mouth curved up. “Put on my robe.” She stripped the black garment and passed it to him.

  As he pulled it over his head, the point of the exercise dawned on him. She wanted him to look like her. She expected the snipers to concentrate their fire on him, so she was trying to switch identities with him. He pulled the robe back off. “You wear it.”

  “Don’t argue with me,” she said warningly. “You agreed to follow my orders.”

  “I didn’t agree to let you die for me,” he retorted.

  “Yes, you did. This is my job. Don’t get in my way.”

  He ground out, “You’re also the woman I love. I’m not letting you do this.”

  She glared at him. “We don’t have time for this.” She broke off to peek around her side of the boulder for a moment.

  More rock flew and the male voice came back in his head. “Movement. Four hostiles. Range one-hundred-twenty yards. They’re coming in cautious, staying under cover. One high-powered sniper rig. The other three are using medium-range, vintage rifles.”

  “Roger,” Casey replied. “Best route of retreat?”

  “Heading 0—1—0. But you will cross the hostile field of fire.”

  Hake frowned. That didn’t sound good. Casey gave a quick affirmative, however, and didn’t look fazed. He looked at her questioningly.

  She answered his unspoken question. “Now we wait. We have to pull them in closer.”

  “Excuse me?” Hake retorted.

  “We need a diversion, and I’ve got just the one. But I need the shooters to move toward us.”

  “Fake me being injured,” Hake suggested.

  She looked at him speculatively. “That’s actually a good idea. But we’re only doing it if you wear my robe.”