The Jerusalem Creed: A Sean Wyatt Thriller (15 page)

Sean caught a glimpse of something move suddenly in the driver’s side rearview. A silver sedan dove into the other lane, passing the car Sean had just blown by a minute before. His eyes shifted back and forth from the road ahead to the car behind them. He didn’t want to alarm Tommy for no reason, but when he saw the man pop out of the passenger window, aiming a submachine gun at them, Sean figured it was time.

“Get your gun ready,” he ordered without explanation.

Tommy looked at him, puzzled. “What?”

Sean’s eyes flicked to the mirror. Tommy followed his gaze, and as soon as he saw what his friend was looking at, he sagged a little in the seat.

“We have company.”

Yogyakarta

Sean stomped on the gas, getting all he could out of the weak four-cylinder engine. The motor resisted but eventually picked up speed as Sean deftly ducked the car in and out of the ever-increasing traffic heading into the city.

“If we go back into the city, they’ll catch up to us, and we’ll have nowhere to run,” Tommy warned. He’d retrieved the gun from his holster and held it ready by the window.

“Yep. I’m aware of that.” Sean jerked the wheel to the left, narrowly missing the back bumper of a delivery van. He hammered down on the gas, speeding the car directly at a flatbed truck in the other lane. “This is gonna be close,” he almost yelled.

Tommy gripped the handle over the window until his knuckles went white. His entire face cinched into a grimace as if that would help the car somehow magically go faster.

At the last second, Sean pulled the wheel back toward the right lane. The flatbed rumbled by, its blaring horn accompanied by a loud, vibrating swoosh. They only missed the truck by a few inches.

The road ahead was mostly clear, but Sean knew that would change as soon as they reached the outskirts of the city. He glanced into the mirror again and saw the silver car zip easily around the delivery truck and fall in line behind them once more. The other vehicle was much faster and this time closed the gap between the two cars in mere seconds.

The man on the passenger side leaned out of the window again, brandishing his weapon. He opened fire, sending a barrage of bullets at the two Americans. The rear window cracked into spider webs as three rounds pierced the glass and went through the front windshield. Sean instinctively yanked the wheel to the left and back to the right in an attempt to throw off the shooter’s aim, but that tactic would only be effective for a short time.

Tommy hit the button on the door and rolled down his window. He hung carefully out the side and fired off four shots before ducking back in and taking cover. The counterattack caused the other car’s driver to weave out of the way, but he quickly resumed course, tucking in close behind. Sean looked back and saw the gunman leaning out the window again. Tommy was about to do the same, but Sean stopped him.

“Just hold on for a sec,” he warned.

“What are you…”

Sean slammed his foot on the brake and pressed his head against the headrest, anticipating what was to come.

The car behind them couldn’t react fast enough and plowed into the rear bumper. The gunman was hanging too far out the window, and the force of the jolt sent him flying out of the vehicle. His luck was beyond bad, and momentum carried his body through the air until his head struck a road sign. He fell to the ground, unmoving, and the chase went on.

Sean hit the gas again. Up ahead, he saw another sign pointing to the right. The road headed north and would take them around the city and back into the countryside. At least that’s what he figured. Better to guess and be wrong than keep pressing on and know what would happen.

He barely padded the brakes and swung the car around the sharp turn and onto the new road. The tail end skidded, fishtailing into the other lane across the white paint marking the intersection. Sean stepped on the accelerator again, correcting the slide just before striking a motorcycle sitting at the stoplight. The rider’s wide eyes were a cocktail of fear and disbelief under his clear visor, certain this moment would be his last.

Sean stole another look back and saw the silver sedan easily make the turn and fall in line close behind once more. This time, two men in the backseat popped their heads out but weren’t going to make the same mistake the previous gunman made. They were more careful and only partially leaned out the window. The attackers’ sedan closed the distance between the cars again. The men in the backseat fired their handguns, sending a hail of reckless hot metal at the Americans. Most of the bullets sailed by. A few thumped into the trunk.

Tommy poked his gun out the window again and launched a counter volley of five shots. All but one of the bullets missed as the silver sedan weaved and snaked clear. The lone shot that was on target merely struck a headlight. Tommy checked his magazine, taking a quick inventory of what he had left. “Three more shots,” he informed Sean. “Got any other tricks up your sleeve?”

“Maybe,” Sean said, jerking the wheel to the side to make them as difficult a target as possible.

The one-lane road opened up into two lanes in both directions and stretched out toward the mountains a few miles away. Sean reached down to his ankle and drew his weapon. He gripped it tight, holding it next to his leg. The car suddenly lurched violently forward, accompanied by a loud bang.

The silver sedan slowed down for a few seconds after ramming the rear of the Americans’ car. They didn’t wait to make their next move, though, and veered into the other lane to pull alongside.

Sean turned the wheel hard to the left, cutting off the maneuver. The sedan shifted lanes and accelerated again. The man in the backseat on the driver’s side aimed his weapon again, but Tommy fired first, sending two of his three remaining rounds into the car’s door. Aware of the danger, the driver hit the brakes immediately and resumed the chase just behind the Americans. He ducked back to the other side, putting two wheels on the shoulder, and inched closer to the back quarter panel.

It was a move Sean had seen before. Police were trained, in a chase situation, to ease up behind the car they were pursuing and turn into the back end just behind the rear wheel. The force would send the runaway car into a nearly inescapable spin and bring it to a stop. The silver sedan appeared poised to try just such a maneuver.

As the other driver got ready to strike, Sean slammed on the brakes again and yanked his steering wheel to the left. The other car was bigger, and his little compact rental vehicle shuddered on impact, but the maneuver did enough to wedge the sedan against the guardrail, sending a shower of sparks trailing behind it from the doors grinding on the metal.

The man in the back passenger seat had fallen over from the impact but had quickly regained his balance. He popped up and took aim to end the chase with a bullet to Sean’s temple, but the American was faster. With one hand on the wheel and the other clutching his pistol, he flashed the gun out and extended it through the window. His trigger finger snapped like lightning, sending one hollow point after another through the open window of the sedan. One struck the gunman in the chest, sending him falling over backward; two other rounds found their mark in the driver’s shoulder and the side of his head. Crimson splashed on the window with the latter, and the enemy vehicle instantly slowed. Sean mashed the gas pedal again and pulled away. He watched in the rear mirror as the last man alive in the backseat panicked, trying to reach over the seat to control the wheel. The sedan pulled hard to the right; its tires caught the rough asphalt, and physics took over. The vehicle flipped up into the air, dramatically at first, like a ballerina spinning in space. The next second, it crashed to the ground on its tires then rolled bottom over top for another thirty feet until it finished its deadly dance, coming to a stop on its roof.

Sean didn’t let up. He kept the pedal to the floor and only glanced back in the rearview mirror at the smoking wreckage. Cars on the other side of the road were starting to slow down to get a better view of what happened. A few people got out and ran across the median to get a closer look or perhaps be a good Samaritan and lend a hand. Sean knew they needed to put distance between themselves and anyone else who might be following them. They’d only seen one car, but there could have been more reinforcements close behind. Sean and Tommy did not intend to stick around to find out.

Ahead, the thick, lush forests stretched into shadowy mountains. They were mere molehills compared to the mountains they would see in Bhutan. Sean stole another look back in the mirror just before their little car disappeared around a bend in the road.

Tommy looked back between the seats. There were still a few clear spots in the cracked rear window, but for the most part, it was completely destroyed. It was a miracle that any glass was still intact. He turned his focus to Sean, whose eyes were fixed on the road. “What about our stuff back in the hotel?”

Sean’s answer was quick. “Call the front desk. Have them ship it back to Atlanta. They can take it out of the company credit card.”

“Your company?” Tommy flashed a narrow grin with his eyes.

“Yours,” Sean corrected, returning the wry smile with one of his own.

“That was a risky move you made. What if you’d missed or if they’d shot first?”

Sean didn’t answer immediately. He steered the car around the curves leading up the mountain pass and slowed his speed a little, satisfied there were no other cars in pursuit.

“You weigh the risks and determine which has the best likely outcome. We couldn’t outrun them in this car. And we certainly didn’t have more weapons or ammunition. It was the only way we had a chance of getting away alive.”

“And you just always do this, what, automatically?”

It was the first time Tommy had pushed the conversation before, in spite of them being friends for decades.

“Pretty much.”

Tommy turned around and faced forward, easing back in his seat. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. When he’d finally relaxed somewhat, he said, “Well, I apologize.”

Sean’s face became puzzled, and he looked over at his friend. “For what?”

“For always saying you were just lucky. I guess you really are that good.”

“Better lucky than good.”

Tommy smirked. “Like I always say, why not have both?”

Yogyakarta

Up ahead, the roads on the outskirts of the city were clogged with thousands of motorcycles, mopeds, compact cars, delivery vans, and rickshaws. Sharouf hadn’t stuck around to watch the emergency crews arrive on the scene. He was certain they were working hard to clear the road of the wreckage by now. Both lanes would likely have been closed until the bodies were removed from the vehicle. Then a further delay until a tow truck could pull the sedan to the road’s shoulder. Based on what he’d seen immediately following the incident, the first responders surely would have had to cut the bodies out of the sedan’s twisted remains.

Memories of the event ripped through Sharouf’s mind. The man in the backseat with him had been the first one to take a bullet. Exiting from the back of his guard’s head, the round had flown precariously close, narrowly missing Sharouf’s face and striking the window behind him. Blood and tissue had sprayed across Sharouf, and the body toppling backward had thrown him off balance.

He never saw the driver take the fatal bullet that caused him to lose control of the vehicle.

Sharouf hadn’t been in a car accident before, but he wasn’t afraid during the event. When the vehicle started flipping, he found himself suspended in midair several times, his body striking the seat, the corpse of his assistant, and then the roof, over and over again. He’d balled up in a fetal position to protect his head when the driver’s side backseat door flew open and he was miraculously deposited on the asphalt.

The second he felt the warm pavement against his skin, he looked up to see the car tumble to a standstill on its roof. A quick glance back revealed smoke, debris, and a few cars in the distance that were already beginning to slow, having seen the incident with a front row seat.

The top of Sharouf’s skull started pounding. It must have struck several surfaces during the wreck. He winced and noticed his arm was also aching. He shook off the pain and forced himself to stand. The act was clumsy at first, like a newborn colt trying to get onto its hooves for the first time, but he was able to regain his balance after applying some focus.

Staggering toward the vehicle, Sharouf clutched his arm as he walked through the thin river of coolant, transmission fluid, and gasoline that leaked from the car and ran to the shoulder. He struggled around to the other side of the smoking vehicle and took a quick inventory.

The driver had a hole in the side of his head, and his neck was bent at an awkward angle. He didn’t need to check the guy in the back. Sharouf already knew he was dead. Some of the man’s blood still stuck to Sharouf’s face. He took the bottom part of his shirt to remove what little he could of the thickening crimson liquid.

He stole a quick look to the right and saw a lone car, a five-door, rusted-out blue hatchback slowing down on the other side of the road. The driver stopped the vehicle and opened his door. He was a short, middle-aged man wearing a tan-colored windbreaker and generic blue jeans. He was clearly a local, and his lips spat out a flurry of words that Sharouf didn’t understand.

The stranger crossed the median, still babbling loudly. It looked like he was coming to help. Sharouf looked back down to the ground and saw his pistol lying on the car’s ceiling, next to his driver’s foot.
Miracle number two
. He reached down and picked up the pistol, though the motion sent a fresh pain signal through his body. As the man approached, Sharouf stayed hunched over, half feigning misery until the good Samaritan was out of view from the approaching vehicles.

Satisfied the yammering man was out of sight, Sharouf aimed his weapon at him and motioned for his jacket. The stranger resisted at first, shaking his head and taking a step back. Sharouf insisted, jamming the barrel into the man’s ribs.

“I need that,” he said in heavily accented English.

Fear swept over the stranger’s face, and he quickly obeyed, sliding the jacket off his body and handing it to the gunman.

Sharouf kept the weapon trained as he slipped into the snug windbreaker. The man was almost half his size, but he only needed the covering for a minute. As soon as he was gone, he could take it off.

He motioned for the man to sit down on the ground, which he did immediately. Sharouf briefly considered shooting him, but he could see the stranger was too afraid to do anything.

“You stay,” Sharouf ordered. “Follow, and die. Understand?”

The man nodded, though the confusion mingling with fear in his eyes caused Sharouf to wonder. Still, he doubted the stranger would be any trouble.

He tucked the gun into his belt and started for the hatchback. As he approached, Sharouf could hear the dashboard dinging, signaling that the key was still inside. Off to his right, another few cars approached, only a half kilometer away. He waded through the grass in the median and back onto the asphalt before giving a tertiary check back at the wreckage to make sure the good Samaritan had stayed put. He could see the man’s legs and feet sticking out from behind the trunk, telling him that the guy was still where he was supposed to be.

Sharouf hopped into the car and turned the key. The rickety engine coughed to life. He shifted it into gear and drove away, heading back toward the city.

Ten minutes later, Sharouf was sitting in traffic on the outskirts of Yogyakarta. He’d put the window down and attempted to look casual, donning a pair of cheap sunglasses the driver had left in the passenger seat. Seven minutes ago, two ambulances, a fire truck, and three police cars sped by on the other side of the road, heading to the scene. Back in the big city, it would be easy enough for him to ditch the vehicle and disappear. It was a routine Sharouf had gone through several times. He knew how to drop off the radar. Getting back to Dubai would be tricky, but he could manage. The bigger problem in his mind at the moment was the fact that he’d allowed Wyatt and his friend to escape.

After ten minutes of sitting in stop-and-go traffic, Sharouf reached a stoplight. His intentions were to turn right and head downtown, but as he pondered how to tell Mamoud what happened, another thought occurred to him.

When he and his men finally breached the iron door in the central stupa at Borobudur, they found it empty, save for the toppled statue of Buddha, some candles and urns, and a hole in the floor. He’d run around to the back wall to see how the Americans had been able to disappear and found the escape tunnel. In his rush to capture the two men, he’d sent two of his men down after them but hadn’t paid much attention to the stone drawer that they’d left behind. Now, sitting at the red light, his memory recalled seeing something carved into the bottom of the drawer.

The light turned green, and he hesitated. The car behind him, a red compact two-door, started honking, urging him to hurry through the intersection.

Sharouf took a deep breath. There was still a chance to save the mission — and perhaps his life. While he’d been loyal to Mamoud for several years, his boss had no tolerance for failure. Sharouf feared no one, but he knew what could happen if he let down the wealthy young Arab.

The decision made, he pounded the gas and shot through the intersection just as the light turned red. Instead of turning right, though, he yanked the wheel to the left and headed back toward Borobudur.

If the Americans had found something there, they would have it with them, and there’d be no chance of recovering it. If, however, the stupa had been empty and only served to provide another clue, it could be that whatever was inscribed on that drawer could give him a hint as to their next destination.

He guided the car into the single lane and said a silent prayer to Allah that he still had time.