There was a shouted commotion from atop the southeastern tower. Someone had spotted the guard's body from the parapet. A squad ran down toward the main gate, detailed to check out what had happened to the man. Hassan Zayoud reappeared, disturbed by the sudden confusion. Impatiently he tapped a leather riding crop against his leg, waiting for the report on the sentry.
Bolan heard footsteps close by. Bull Keegan and Billy Joe Hooker, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, paused by the stable wall. They had no idea that the guard's attacker was only a few feet above them listening to every word.
"Probably fell off the wall," commented Keegan, with a derisive snort. "They're all a bunch of jerks. Still, nothing's going to stop Zayoud now. We're parading at 16.30 and going in tonight. By tomorrow afternoon there'll be a new king."
"Yeah," said Billy Joe Hooker, "then I'm going to find me one of those Arab chicks and look at what they've been hiding tinder those veils. If I like what I see, I'm gonna have a little fun with her on the spot."
"And if you don't?"
"I'll tie the veil back on and have her anyway!" said Billy Joe, laughing.
"Uh-oh, here comes Zayoud. Let's get scarce or he'll be ordering the lot of us out on another patrol..."
"Where's Captain Ruark?" snapped the prince.
Captain now, thought Bolan. Ruark never made it past sergeant last he heard.
Keegan doubled away smartly to find the mercenary commander. Billy Joe Hooker sidled off in the other direction to avoid being picked for patrol duty.
There was movement all over the yard. The mechanics were giving each vehicle a final inspection. A bunch of recently arrived mercs were gathered round a blackboard, being tested on the layout of the city and their target assignments. The court falconer was talking quietly to his hooded charges.
Bolan crept down from the loft.
The main gates were being dragged wide open. A convoy of six more trucks, plus two Saracen armored cars, rolled into the fortress. The squad, carrying the ambushed sentry's remains, staggered in behind the new vehicles.
Bolan took advantage of all this activity.
He waited till the passing trucks effectively blocked any view of the stable, then confidently walked out into the morning sunlight. A couple of Arab recruits to Zayoud's cause sat nearby listening to a third soldier lecture them on stripping a Bren. The corporal seemed to be stuck...
"Try the body-locking pin next," suggested Bolan brightly. Within moments the stranger was showing them the finer points of field-stripping the sturdy British weapon just one more merc passing on his trade.
A crowd came spilling out down the steps of the main complex chow time was over. One of Zayoud's shiny-eyed devotees saw the lookout's body and began wailing in grief. The sheikh himself had gone over to inspect the battered corpse and now had some very pointed questions for Ruark. Another Arab trooper came across to join Bolan's informal lecture group. He interrupted them with the news that their comrade certainly had not been shot or stabbed.
The American shrugged and redirected their attention to the light machine gun. "Okay, like I was saying, you've got to watch the gas gauge. That's this knob here..."
Ruark had called a couple of his men over and was grilling them in front of Zayoud. Bolan's hand never strayed more than a few inches from the Uzi, which he had placed on the corner of the groundsheet. He showed no particular interest when Kevin skipped down into the courtyard. The boy waited by Zayoud's elbow until the prince glanced around with an impatient greeting.
Bolan was too far away to hear their brief conversation, but he did see the sheikh wave toward the stable with a distracted gesture of approval. Kevin crossed to the wooden shed almost at a trot, as if he were trying to get there before Zayoud could change his mind. Bolan returned his attention to the trainees.
"Right, now see if you can do it without any help from me. Come on, you can unscrew the barrel faster than that it won't break off in your hand!" He rose from a half-crouching position and by pretending to watch the men working on the gun from a different angle, he moved around for a better view of the yard.
Kevin led the stallion out from the stable. He was a magnificent horse not pure white, after all, but more of a silvery gray with wide nostrils and intelligent eyes. His rippling muscles bespoke the speed and stamina of the finest Arabian stock. The youngster gave just the slightest twitch to encourage the horse to follow him around the perimeter.
The sheikh had left Ruark to interrogate more of his men. "Just walk him for a while," he instructed Kevin. Then Zayoud turned in Bolan's direction. "You come here!"
Bolan was not sure he had been the one Zayoud was addressing. He saw Billy Joe Hooker tapping his chest, an inquiring look on his face.
"Yes, you'll do!" barked the sheikh. "Stay with the boy while he exercises my horse." Then Zayoud stalked back up the slope to see if Ruark was any nearer solving the mystery of the guard's violent demise.
"It's okay, Billy Joe, I'm finished here. I'll look after the boy," Bolan assured him. "You find some place to catch up on your beauty sleep. We're going to need to be rested up before tonight."
"Thanks, Scarr." Hooker gave him a sly grin and wandered off to leave "Brendan Scarr" on kiddie patrol.
Bolan caught up with the teenager.
"Expensivelooking horse, what's he worth? A million for stud?"
"Malik's worth a lot more than that!" scoffed Kevin. He did not seem to be unduly uncomfortable or under great stress. His jeans were freshly laundered, his short-sleeved shirt was neat and he wore a new pair of running shoes. The boy looked healthy and well cared for and not at all like someone being held against his will. Bolan ambled alongside, considering his next move very carefully. Time was running out.
"Are you an American?" asked Kevin out of idle curiosity. It was just something to say, he didn't seem to be especially homesick.
"Yeah... at least, that's what it says on my passport," replied Bolan, still playing the battle-weary merc.
"These guys are from all over the world, quite a few from England."
"Well, we're paid to be here," said Bolan. "But what are you doing so far from home? Shouldn't you be in school someplace?"
Kevin shrugged. It was something he did not want to talk about.
Bolan risked pushing the point. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Why do you ask that?" shot back Kevin.
"Are you?"
"Yes, kind of..." Kevin was looking down at the sand when he said quietly, "So am I... sort of... but that's, well, that's all behind me now."
They had passed the communications center and were halfway along the north wall. No one was in earshot. Bolan made sure of that before he told the boy, "No, Kevin, it isn't all over, but you can face up to it. You can still wipe the slate clean."
The youngster stopped in his tracks at the mention of his name. There was something firm yet truthful in the stranger's tone.
Bolan fished out Mrs. Baker's locket. "Your mother gave me this, Chip."
"My parents sent you to take me back?"
"No, Chip, they didn't. But I have come a long way to ask you to return home."
Kevin shook his head in disbelief. He was very wary now. "Hassan said that someone would try to get through."
Bolan stopped to pet Malik behind the ears. He could only hope their conversation appeared innocent enough to any onlookers. "Do you know what you're involved in here?"
"I know what I got out of..." There was a stubborn streak in Kevin that was starting to spell trouble. Bolan knew how willful a teenager could be it made him think of his younger brother, Johnny.
Kevin remained moodily defiant.
"Look, they were going to stick me in jail."
"This isn't much better than a prison, is it?" Bolan challenged him. It was obvious that Zayoud had played skillfully on the boy's emotions. He had to keep Kevin talking, and yet not say anything that would trigger the boy into shouting an alarm for help. Zayoud was on the opposite side of the yard speaking with his falconer.