Infidels (28 page)

“It’ll
be close.”

“We’ll
wait as long as we can,” said Acton. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,
Professor, no matter what happens.”

“Just
get here. Safe.”

Dawson
ended the call as he turned a corner, slamming his brakes on, a crowd of people
at the other end blocking the road, their hands filled with whatever makeshift
weapon they could find.

“They
look white.”

Dawson
nodded. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Do we
risk it?”

“This is
the quickest way to the airport.” He edged ahead, his window down, as several
people approached, two of them senior citizens. “Do you speak English?”

“Who are
you?” asked the oldest, a man who looked like he had seen some action in his
younger days, but had long since put that behind him.

“We’re
Americans. We’re trying to get to Orly Airport.”

“Americains!”
shouted the man to the crowd who cheered. He turned back to Dawson. “You
shouldn’t be on the streets. You could get hurt.”

“I know.
But we have a plane waiting.”

The man
frowned, shaking his head. “They’ve cut off all access to Charles de Gaul, and
according to our sources they’re now marching on Orly and the train stations.
They’ve started lying on the railroad tracks and roadways out of the city.
Basically they’re trying to cut off all means of escape while they kill us.”
The man slammed his fist on the hood of the SUV, causing Maggie to yelp. The
man immediately looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle, I didn’t mean to
frighten you.” He pulled out a small notepad from his pocket and quickly began
writing. “You have a map?”

Dawson
nodded. “GPS.”

“Good.”
The man tore off the piece of paper, handing it to Dawson. “Ignore that
computer and follow these directions. They will take you around the Muslim
areas. But I fear once you reach the airport, there will be no avoiding them.”

Dawson
stuck his hand out the window and shook the man’s hand. “Merci, monsieur.”

The man nodded,
his lips pressed tightly together. “Good luck, my friends.”

The
crowd parted and Dawson moved slowly through, Niner already entering the new directions
into the GPS. “This is going to take a lot longer.”

“Maybe,”
said Dawson as he pressed the accelerator, the crowd cleared. “But it gives us
a chance to arrive alive.”

Rue Oberkampf, Paris, France

Sarah O’Conner gripped the railing in front of her seat with both
hands, her knuckles white, her face almost as pale. Behind her were twenty high
school students, inner-city kids from New York City, selected to participate in
a once-in-a-lifetime trip, all expenses paid through a charity set up by
several church groups back home.

This
year Paris had been chosen.

The bus
driver, a Parisian named Henri, slowly guided them through the streets, the
children glued to the windows, too many of them thinking what they were seeing
was cool, or describing how they’d be kicking ass if anybody dared attack their
neighborhood.

They’re
all so naïve!

The bus
came to a halt, Henri immediately putting it in reverse, panic on his face.
Sarah looked down the street they had just turned onto and gasped, her bladder
almost releasing. Several dozen youths, not much older than those sitting
behind her, were charging toward them, bats and blades raised over their heads,
hatred in their eyes.

“Get us
out of here!” she cried, her partner on the trip, Lowell Madely, rushing from
the back of the bus.

“What is
it?”

“L-look!”
She pointed at the crowd charging them as the bus reversed, the loud beeping
sound like a beacon to the entire area.

“Yeah!
Put it up! They won’t dare mess with Americans!”

Sarah
looked back and her jaw dropped in horror as she spotted two of her precious
idiots holding up a large American flag in the window.

“Put
that down, now!” she screamed. The startled kids’ heads whipped toward her,
shocked. “Now!”

One kid
dropped the flag, the other still holding his end up. “No! They won’t touch us,
we’re American!”

“You little
twit! They’re killing Americans all over the world! We’re who they want to
kill! If you took your noses out of your phones for once in your life and
actually read the news you’d realize what’s going on! Now put that flag down
now!”

The flag
dropped as something hit the windshield, shattering it. The driver shifted out
of reverse, the bus lurching forward, but it was too late. Dozens surrounded
them, pounding on the bus, the windows shattering, several forcing their hands
through the doors, trying to pull them open.

Somebody
screamed behind her.

And then
they all screamed.

The
sound of twenty panicked, terrified kids behind her fueled her own fear as she
looked at a white-faced Lowell beside her. “What do we do?”

“Drive
through them!” he shouted at Henri who had stopped. “They’re going to kill us!
Drive through them!”

Something
hit the windshield, glass shattering, a liquid spreading across the front of
the bus immediately igniting.

The
panic reached a new pitch.

The
hammering on the windows continued, the bus rocking now as smoke began to fill
the cabin.

“Please!
Stop! We never did anything to hurt you! Why are you doing this?” shrieked a
girl from the back.

Sarah
couldn’t force any words out, her mind shutting down, preparing herself for the
inevitable slaughter she had seen played out on the television.

Why
would they have sent us this way?

It was
the police that had sent them in this direction. They were supposed to be
evacuated at Charles de Gaulle airport, but instead they had been sent into the
belly of the beast, Lucifer himself sending his hordes to punish them for not
being Muslim.

We
all believe in the same God. Why do you hate us so much?

“Look!”

She
looked to where Henri was pointing, he having abandoned his seat, the flames
bringing an end to their escape. Dozens of men and women were streaming out of
a nearby building causing Sarah to cry out in horror as even more were added to
the fray, more Muslims coming to kill them, their traditional North African
garb and dark black skin setting her into an uncontrollable panic, her entire
body beginning to shake as repeated, short screams erupted from within.

“Sarah, they’re
fighting them!”

She
opened her eyes, jammed shut just moments before, her mouth agape at what was
happening. The men streaming out of the nearby building were attacking those
surrounding the bus, wielding bats and other objects as they beat back their
attackers.

A path
was cleared to the rear door of the bus, several women, their heads covered in
scarves, hammered on the glass, shouting something in French.

“They
want us to open the door!” translated Henri.

“No!
They’ll kill us!” shrieked one of the girls cowering in the back.

“Do it!”
ordered Lowell. “They’re trying to help!”

The bus
driver pressed a button and the doors hissed open.

Sarah
rushed toward the door as several of the women came aboard, shouting in French,
urging everyone to come outside. Angry shouts and cries of pain from their men
competed with the panicked sobs of the students.

“Listen
everyone, we need to get off now!” she said, trying to calm herself.

“You’re
American?” asked one of the women.

Sarah
was terrified to answer, her head bob a betrayal of what she knew was the right
answer in a situation like this.

“You
must come, now, before they return in greater numbers!”

Sarah
nodded, grabbing one of the girls and hauling her from her seat, pushing her
toward the Muslim woman who handed the struggling girl to another woman behind
her. Lowell and the bus driver did the same, physically hauling the panicked
children toward the door.

Every
fiber of Sarah’s being told her not to trust these people, but they had no
choice. They were dead if they stayed, and perhaps they’d be dead wherever they
were going, maybe this was some sort of trap, but the expression on the woman
told her it wasn’t.

She was
a mother.

A woman.

Surely a
woman couldn’t be involved in such evil, such violence?

She
glanced out the window and saw her children running toward the building their
rescuers had come from, each escorted by a woman, disappearing inside. She
pointed. “Look! They’re going inside! They’re safe! Now let’s go!”

The
knowledge that those who had been dragged off were safe seemed to be all the
impetus the remaining kids needed, all bolting for the door, screaming the
entire way, their terror filled eyes, their tear streaked cheeks, breaking her
heart.

No
child should ever have to experience a horror like this.

“Let’s
go!” said Lowell, grabbing her by the arm, Henri directly behind them. She
stepped off the bus then ran, not looking back, terrified what she might see
could reignite her mental shutdown.

She was
through the doors, followed by dozens of men and women, then immediately
surrounded by the panicked children, hugging her and sobbing as they were
slowly ushered deeper into wherever they were. Pounding was heard on the other
side of the doors, but they held, the men bracing themselves against the thick,
heavy wood.

“Drink,”
said one of the women, handing her a glass of water, others being given to the
children, each handed an orange as they were guided to rows of chairs.

“Thank
you,” she said, her voice hoarse. She took a sip, then drank deeply. “Thank you
for saving us.”

“Come,
please.”

She and
Lowell were led to a man who looked barely older than the children under her
care, but he had a bearing that suggested wisdom and serenity. “Welcome to the Sacred
Mosque of Paris. I am Imam Achmed. Are you okay?”

She
wasn’t sure what to say, stunned at the revelation. “We’re in a mosque?”

The man
smiled and nodded. “Yes. You are surprised?”

Sarah
looked at Lowell, who seemed equally shocked. “Frankly, yes.” She shook her
hand in front of her. “Please, don’t get me wrong, we’re grateful, but…” She
stopped before she said anything that might offend these people that had saved
them from certain death.

“But you
expected that all Muslims were out killing the Christians?”

The wry
grin on the man’s face set her at ease slightly. She nodded. “I’m sorry, but
yes.”

He
squared his shoulders, sucking in a deep breath as his expression changed.

Oh my
God, he’s going to kill us!

He
jabbed a finger at the door. “
That
is
not
Islam.
That
is
an abomination. What those people are doing in the name of my religion”—he held
out his arms, encompassing those around him—“
our
religion, is pure evil.
Too many of those who claim to preach in the name of Islam have been coopted
into a violent interpretation of the Koran.” He put an arm around one of the
men who had helped. “But not all of us. Many of us—most of us—want to live in
peace.” He looked at the children, huddled together, still whimpering with fear
and uncertainty, then at Sarah. “No matter what happens here today, know that
true Muslims are ashamed of what is happening in the name of their religion.
Know that when this is over, people like us will fight to take back our
religion from those who have steered us from the true path laid out by the
Prophet, peace be upon him, and we will try to make amends for what has
happened here today.”

“Amen to
that,” whispered Lowell.

The Imam
smiled.

“Yes,
Amen to that, my brother.”

Red Sea Coast, Saudi Arabia

323 miles south of Mecca

“Hold up, I see something.”

Red
eased off the gas as they crested a rise in the road, allowing the vehicle to
coast back down, it too easy to spot from a distance if sitting on top of the
small hill. They had made decent time, there few vehicles on the road, the
military apparently having everything locked down, though whose side these
units were on was unknown.

“Looks like
another checkpoint,” said Atlas from his perch out the window, it his turn to
use the scope to view down the road, and the higher the vantage point, the more
likely the lookout was to see something in the distance. “There’s some cover to
the left that should get us past them.”

Red
cranked the wheel, gently pulling off the road and heading back toward the
coast, careful not to kick up too much dust. They were still over three hundred
miles from their destination with less than five hours to get there, and with
these constant roadblocks he had zero confidence they were going to make it.

“Choppers!”

Red hit
the gas, the truck surging toward a gap between two outcroppings, using the
emergency brake to bring them to a stop, the brake lights still dim.

“Everyone
down!”

Atlas
climbed back in, dropping his large frame as low as he could, Red ducking over
him as Spock and Jimmy hid under a tarp in the rear bed of the truck, lying on
either side of their precious cargo. He left the engine idling just in case he
had to gun it out of there, but there was no outrunning a chopper, no matter
how skilled he was at driving.

“I get
the distinct impression someone’s looking for us,” said Atlas as the thumping
of the helicopter propellers got louder.

“And knows
what route we’re taking,” agreed Red.

Which
meant either they had been betrayed by someone on the Saudi side, their
communications with the Colonel were somehow monitored, or this was just a
regular patrol.