The Last Chamber (10 page)

Egyptian Desert

Kaba steered Alexander Lindsey’s SUV down the highway. She touched a
finger to her ear, checking in on the two vehicles behind her.

She had been born of middle-eastern decent, born and raised in Syria.
But she had left the religion of Islam behind. She had always felt the belief
system to be harsh on women, and longed to be free of it. She was also repulsed
by fundamentalists. Both of her parents had been killed in a terrorist bombing
by a radical Islamic group. They hadn’t been the targets, just innocent
bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it had been the last straw
for her.

Young Kaba spent several weeks in mourning before swearing to avenger
her parents’ deaths. She first trained herself in the arts of self-defense.
When she wanted more, she found a man in the city who was rumored to have
knowledge of more advanced training. She spent two years under his tutelage,
learning a vast array of fighting and weapons techniques.

When she’d finished her training, Kaba traveled a little, wanting to
see the world outside of her homeland. She had wandered into a bar just outside
of Istanbul, and bumped into a group of men there. She overheard them
discussing something about their next job, and noticed they were dressed like
they were either private security, or some kind of terrorists. Since they were
white, she figured it wasn’t the latter.

While the men were having their drinks, an assassin leapt out from the
shadows behind her, a long blade wielded from his hand. His target was the man
nearest her, a guy with short, black hair and streaks of gray through it. The
man had his back to her and the assailant. For some reason, she felt the need
to assist.

She stepped out with one foot and brought a hand up to knock away the
attacker’s hand that carried the knife. Kaba spun around and brought her other
elbow into the neck of the assassin, sinking it deep into his throat beneath
the scarf that covered his skin. The man gurgled for a few seconds, dropping
the blade and clutching at his crushed larynx.

The man with the peppered hair spun around, gun drawn. His two
companions slid off of their stools, ready for a fight. Instead, they saw a middle-eastern
woman in black pants and a ruffled blouse standing over the would-be attacker.

The group’s leader gave her a grateful glance with an eyebrow raised
then nodded his appreciation. She said nothing, and watched as the others
grabbed the assassin off of the floor under his arms and drag him out a side
door.

“Thanks,” the middle-aged man said before following the others
outside.

Kaba didn’t respond, partially because she didn’t speak a lot of
English, but also because didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she waited for
the door to the bar to close, then left out the same exit, leaving the few
remaining patrons and the bartender standing with mouths and eyes wide at what
had transpired.

Outside, she trailed the men into a dark alley. She ducked behind a
trash bin and peered around the corner. The man she’d struck in the throat was
lying motionless on the wet pavement, surrounded by broken glass, and trash.
She wondered if he was dead, not because she was concerned. It was more out of
curiosity.

The leader of the group stood off to the side as the others searched
the pockets of the unconscious man. They found piece of paper, but she couldn’t
tell what was on it. One of the men handed the paper to the guy in charge who
looked at it with contained curiosity. He stuffed the piece in his back pocket
and pulled out his pistol. She stared at him as he attached a long, black tube
to the end of the barrel then extended the weapon out towards the man on the
ground. He fired two shots into the assassin’s head then ordered the others to
dump the body in the trash bin. When he did so, he noticed her watching and
grinned. Unsure if she was in trouble, she ducked back for a moment. Her breath
came in quick gasps and her heart pounded in her chest as the black boot of the
man she’d saved landed just in front of her feet.

“You saved my life back there in the bar.” His voice was gruff, and
carried years in its tone. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

His eyebrow was still raised as it had been inside the bar. His mouth
parted in a thin crease of a smile, an attempt to put away any thoughts of
danger.

“We could use a woman like you,” he went on. “Let me know if you’re
interested in some work.

The loud sound of the body hitting the bottom of the trash bin caused
her to shudder for a second. Kaba looked up into the man’s eyes. She didn’t
know what kind of work he was offering, but she guessed he could show her the
kind of world she was looking for. One where she could utilize her uncommon
skills in way that could benefit her most.

Kaba joined up with the man she came to know as Don, though she
doubted that was his real name. None of the other men in his little group used
their Christian names. They were mercenaries, guns for hire. Most of the work
they ended up doing was dirty work the western governments of the world didn’t
want to do themselves. After a few years, she had gained a reputation in the
darker circles of the mercenary world. It was a reputation that had led
Alexander Lindsey to hire her on to lead his security team.

Her mind snapped back to the long, desert road ahead. She heard
something in her earpiece and touched her hand to it again.

“Handle it,” she ordered in a thick accent.

Lindsey had been staring out at the desert landscape on the way back
to Cairo. They were only a few hours away now. But something was wrong. He’d
over heard the communication by his driver and leaned up to find out what the
problem was.

“What is it?”

The woman glanced back in the rear view mirror, her eyes concealed by
wire-framed sunglasses. “Someone is following us,” she answered plainly. “Three
tan Range Rovers. They caught up to our last vehicle pretty fast. Looks like
they may be a threat.”

“Are they Egyptian government?”

“Don’t think so, Sir. We’ll take care of it.”

Lindsey leaned back in his chair, but said nothing else. He seemed
unconcerned, which was a stark contrast to DeGard who appeared very
uncomfortable.

“There are people following us?” He asked in his nasally accent.

“Not to worry. My men will take care of it,” Lindsey responded
casually.

DeGard shifted in his seat, looked back for a moment, then tightened
his seatbelt. He felt in his pocket to make sure the small bag of treasure he’d
filled in the Nekhen ruins was secure, just in case.

Lindsey’s black-clad men in the third vehicle of the convoy rolled
down the back windows and leaned out on both sides, automatic sub-machine guns
aimed at the first of the tan Range Rovers. They didn’t hesitate, opening a
barrage of bullets at the trailing vehicle. The Range Rover swerved, trying to
dodge the hail of metal coming their way. The evasive maneuvers almost took out
one of the other vehicles in their group. A flurry of bullets struck the hood,
a few cracked through the windshield. The Rover slowed down to regroup and get
out of range for a few seconds. The men in the back and in the passenger’s side
mimicked Lindsey’s men and stuck their weapons out of open windows to return
fire. The driver stepped on the gas and quickly caught back up to the last
vehicle of the convoy.

Their AK-47s fired loudly back at the black SUV. But the recoil and
difficulty of shooting from a moving vehicle made accuracy a problem. One or
two rounds found their way into the back gate of their target, but did little
damage.

“Aim for the tires!” the driver shouted in Arabic as they drew closer.

The words had no sooner come out of the man’s mouth when another
volley of bullets came from the barrels of the car in front of them. Three
rounds struck him in the chest, causing him to lose control of the truck. As he
leaned over the wheel, a thin trail of blood oozing from the corner of his
mouth, the SUV lurched sharply to the right. Before it could run off the road,
it flipped sideways, tumbling down the asphalt in a barrel roll, spilling the
occupants in different directions.

The remaining two Range Rovers slowed momentarily to avoid hitting the
wreckage then sped back up, returning fire as they neared. They approached side
by side, taking up both lanes with no oncoming traffic in site. A bullet caught
one of Lindsey’s men in the chest, and he dangled lifelessly out of the window
for a moment before gravity pulled him down. The body rolled off the pavement
and into the desert sand.

The Rover on the left pulled up alongside the trailing SUV and opened
fire, sending dozens of bullets through the gunman on that side and the back of
the driver’s seat. The SUV suddenly jerked sideways and launched over a nearby
hill, disappearing in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Lindsey’s driver looked back again in the rear view mirror, slightly
more concerned than she had been before. “Take them out,” she commanded in a
stern tone.
 

The men in the left lane were reloading when a new wave of bullets
came from the second vehicle in the convoy. They were forced to slow down for a
moment, keeping at a safe distance until they could return fire. The other
Rover took their place and began to pull alongside the black SUV. Lindsey’s men
poured rounds at the tan vehicle until suddenly, the front right tire burst.
The truck wobbled back and forth for a few seconds, skidding across both lanes,
finally coming to a stop on the side of the road.

The lone remaining Range Rover sped past with men and guns protruding
from both sides. The gun barrels popped rapidly, peppering the back of the target
vehicle with holes. One bullet struck a gunman on the driver’s side in the
neck. The man dropped his weapon and grasped his neck before tumbling out of
the window and onto the road. The brethren’s truck ran over the rolling body,
and kept in pursuit. With no threat on that side of the car, the driver of the
Rover pulled the hood of his vehicle up next to the back of the target. The
other SUV swerved left, trying to keep the attackers at bay, and force them to
approach from the passenger’s side where two gunmen were taking aim. The tan
truck’s driver accommodated and quickly jerked the car back into the right
lane.

The move by Lindsey’s man would have been a good idea, had the driver
been paying more attention to the other lane in front of him. But he was more
occupied with the gunman to the rear, and never saw the big rig speeding his
way. The black SUV crashed into the heavy tractor-trailer truck with a loud
boom, leaving little left of it other than a pile of smoking, twisted metal.

Kaba glanced back at the wreckage and the last remaining Range Rover
approaching quickly.

“You two should get down,” she said, matter-of-factly.

For the first time in the scenario, Lindsey had taken on the same
concerned expression as his French companion. Both men ducked down behind the
leather seats, DeGard covered his ears with his hands.

The tan Rover approached, guns blazing from the passenger’s side. A
blizzard of bullets riddled the back and side of the vehicle, shattering the
window above the crouching Frenchman and pounding the metal door just next to
him.

“Take the wheel,” the driver ordered coolly to the man in the
passenger’s side.

The younger, blonde man in the other seat did as he was told and
gripped the wheel, holding it steady as Kaba pulled a Glock .40 from a shoulder
holster and rolled down her window.

The Range Rover was pulling up alongside them when she whipped the
pistol up with both hands and squeezed off one shot into the head of the driver
in the other truck. The attacker’s vehicle slow immediately and veered off the
road, going airborne over a dune, and flipping violently front over back in the
desert sand.

Kaba re-holstered the weapon and took back the wheel.

“You’re safe now, sir.” She said, keeping her eyes forward. She never
even glanced back and the two men crouched in the rear seat.

DeGard rose up hesitantly, and looked back at the now empty road. A
pillar of smoke wafted up from the accident with the 18-wheeler but was out of
sight sixty seconds later. Lindsey straightened up and pressed down his jacket,
removing the wrinkles.

“Well done,” he applauded his driver, impressed at her composure.
“Well done, indeed. You see, Monsieur DeGard, nothing to worry about.”

The archaeologist looked back again at the empty road then at his
employer. He wanted to say so much, but thought better of it and bit his
tongue. Several men had just lost their lives, some of them Lindsey’s, and the
old man seemed relatively unaffected. Expendable resources. That’s how the man
so many called The Prophet viewed them, and probably him too.

He was beginning to regret signing on for the job. But a quick check
in his jacket pocket reminded him of what awaited if he could see it through.

Egyptian Desert

Will slowed the gray hatchback to a stop. A tan SUV lay on its side, a
tangled mess of twisted metal. Coolant, gasoline, and other fluids had leaked
all over the road. A reddish trail of blood mingled with it. The driver was
dead, his body lying on the shattered window against the ground. There were
three other bodies strewn along the road within a fifty-foot radius of the
wreckage. Will got out of the car and took a closer inspection of the trashed
vehicle.

It was a Range Rover. The occupants were all wearing matching outfits,
scarves, and turbans. There were AK-47s lying around near the wreck, too.
The men were
armed
. Will searched what was left of the vehicle and found a few pistols,
then stuffed them in his pants. They weren’t the quality he’d grown accustomed
to, but a gun was a gun at that point. And he needed one, but he wasn’t about
to carry around one of the AKs. He found them bulky, unreliable, and
inaccurate. Precision, particularly, was something he valued desperately.

Upon closer inspection of the Range Rover, Will noticed something else
that was peculiar: bullet holes. He ran his finger along the metal and into the
indention where the paint flaked off. He looked down on the asphalt and noticed
something metallic shining in the bright sun. He picked up the object and
examined it.
I
recognize this shell.
His eyes gazed north, up the highway. He could see
some smoke on the horizon, bringing a smile to his face. From the looks of it,
The Prophet’s team was holding its own. But he needed to make sure.

Will started to get back in the car then remembered the body still
stuffed in the hatchback. The accident site seemed like a logical place to drop
it off. After all, the mortal wounds left by the rock would seem like a natural
occurrence due to such a violent crash.

He carelessly dumped the body out on the ground then sped off down the
road. Will had only gone about another mile when he saw one of Lindsey’s SUVs
off on the side of the pavement. He pulled over again, this time to see if it
was the car his employer was in. The bodies lying around were hired guns. No
sign of The Prophet.

Will immediately knew what had happened. There had been some kind of a
chase. The men in the tan Range Rover had attacked Lindsey’s convoy.
But why? Who
would have done something like that? Random terrorists?
It was certainly
possible. And with the country’s political state in an upheaval, it could be
highly probable that Lindsey’s caravan had fallen prey to bandits or
terrorists.

Will got back in the car and pushed up the road until he came to an
empty SUV. There was no one around, but he did notice one of the tires was
flat. Probably shot by one of his boss’s mercenaries. He kept moving, only
slowing down slightly as he passed the vacant vehicle. Then, he saw the source
of the smoke that was wafting into the dry, desert air. One of Lindsey’s black
SUVs had been crushed like a can, running directly into an 18-wheeler. The big
rig had been hauling steel I-beams, and when combined with the momentum of the
truck, the SUV hadn’t stood a chance in that game of chicken.

A corpse lay on the road, dead hands still clutching his sub-machine
gun. Both legs stuck out at awkward angles, and a blunt-force head wound oozed
a line of blood down the black road. Another body, nearly bent in half, dangled
out of one of the back passenger windows. The driver and front seat passenger
couldn’t be seen for all the metal, plastic, glass, and wires. Safe to assume
they were dead. No one could have survived that. The driver of the rig had,
apparently, hit the windshield. He was slumped over the wheel underneath
cracked glass and a smeared blood stain.

Still no
sign of The Prophet
.

Will was glad for that, but he tempered his relief. Up ahead, off to
the side of the road was another wrecked vehicle, just over a rocky dune. A man
clad in loose-fitting black clothes was standing nearby and saw the car
approaching.

Must be
one of the men who’d attacked Lindsey’s convoy. Probably a good idea to finish
the job.

The man hobbled out in front of the car hoping Will would slow down
and offer help. Will Hastings did the exact opposite. He stepped on the
accelerator and steered the car right at the injured stranger. The man’s eyes
grew wide as he saw what was happening, and tried to lunge out of the way. Upon
seeing his target’s sudden movement, he made the corresponding steering wheel
adjustment and guided the car right into where they man dived.

The left side of the vehicle rose and dropped two times in quick
succession, like it would have going over a speed bump. Will slowed down
slightly, only to look back in the mirror to make sure the man was dead. The
body lay completely still on its side, so he kept on driving. A few miles
passed with no other signs of battle. Will suspected that meant his employer
had made it through the gauntlet safely.

He remembered the rendezvous point that he and Lindsey had discussed
before departing for Luxor. At the time, Will had thought the idea of a meeting
place in Cairo to be moot. If things had gone according to plan, they would
have met up in Luxor. Now, he was glad they’d made precautions. His phone was
gone, which was a problem. Fortunately, he remembered how to get where he was
going. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, and the car picked up speed,
rolling down the empty highway. He hoped Lindsey would wait for him. One,
because he needed to be paid. And two, it was time for Will to finish off Sean
Wyatt, once and for all.