"No, that isn't true." The youth's protest was overemphatic; maybe he was trying to convince himself as much as the man who had come to retrieve him. "Hassan's been great to me. He's given me anything I've asked for. I'm going to have my own computer lab soon."
Yeah, thought Bolan, after a lot of blood has been spilled on the streets of Khurabi.
"Didn't your parents look after you?"
"Huh, the only talks I had with my father were about grades, and how I had to do better each time. He'd pull out a checkbook to reward me for my marks. And Mom... well, I never could talk to her. She never understood any of the things that I was involved in. Hassan's different he's really interested in what I can do..."
As the boy talked on, defending Zayoud, Bolan realized what he was up against: the sheikh had offered Kevin the one thing he had never received from his parents or his classmates a seemingly unequivocal and, so far at least, undemanding friendship.
What young hacker could resist the lure of his own computer setup, no expenses spared? What other kid could play around with an Arabian stallion or a trained hawk? What teenager wouldn't love to be treated like a young prince?
Bolan suddenly doubted that Kevin even knew the truth about what had happened on that fateful, fatal morning in Florida. According to the police report, the boy had been bundled into the getaway car before the escorting officers were massacred. What other lies had Zayoud told him? Further discussion was academic. The numerals on Bolan's watch flickered past 09.26. They were fifty yards from the open gate. Bolan had to make his play, now!
He did not get the chance.
The next move was made for him.
"Scarr!" Ruark bellowed from the steps. Billy Joe Hooker was standing next to him, still pointing toward Bolan. "Hey, you, Brendan Scarr! Isn't that what you call yourself?" Several rifles were turned in their direction.
Zayoud was fondling his hawk. He spun, startled by Ruark's challenge, and raised his free hand to stop any hasty action.
"I don't believe you, Brendan Scarr." Ruark spit out the name with a sarcastic flourish. "I say you're a liar. I heard Scarr got hisself killed somewhere in Africa. But maybe you know more about that."
Than Bolan held his hand firm on Kevin's shoulder. He was in a double bind. There was no way he would ever use a kid as hostage for his own safety, but he did not want Kevin running blindly into a cross fire. The commotion in the courtyard had caught the attention of the sentries strung out along the parapets. Bolan, the boy and the horse now stood at the focal point of more than forty guns.
Zayoud issued a harsh command to his feathered prize. The gyrfalcon swooped forward as the sheikh commanded, "Kill!" The bird was halfway across the open space, streaking toward Bolan's face, when the big man reluctantly squeezed the trigger. He fired a short burst from the hip.
One hundred thousand dollars worth of rare bird was instantly shredded into a bloody, bedraggled ball of feathers and raw meat.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" screamed Zayoud, waving his arms at his men, pirouetting to ensure every soldier had heard his orders. "You might hit the horse!"
Kevin's mouth dropped open-gaping in surprise. And Bolan knew the youth felt betrayed.
He stood there, still shaken to the core, when Bolan seized the reins from his hand and vaulted onto the stallion's back. Bolan reached down, grabbed Kevin by his shirt and hauled the youngster up in front of him. He would gladly have shot Zayoud then and there, but the sheikh was still restraining his men from killing them. Zayoud himself would buy them the next few seconds they needed... He nudged the horse, giving the sturdy Malik his head to race for the gateway.
"Stop them!" sputtered Zayoud in frustrated rage. "But no harm must come to my horse!"
The guards at the gateway did not know what they could do, but they were sure their lives would be forfeited if the stallion was injured. Again, Bolan fired the Uzi from his hip. The man struggling to close the huge wooden doorway collapsed with a bullet in his chest. Another sentry stepped forward, waving in a wild attempt to turn the stallion. Bolan, keeping a tight hold on Kevin, simply rode the man down, sending him spinning in the dust.
Malik's hooves clattered on the cobblestones under the archway. The courtyard erupted into a frenzy behind them.
"Chase them!" yelled the rebel sheikh. The mercs, thinking faster than Zayoud's men, raced for the vehicles.
Bolan checked the great horse lightly, but the surefooted stallion took the tight L-turn in stride. Kevin patted his neck, urging him faster down the sloping track.
The sentries in the tower above the camp decided to risk firing into the ground ahead of the galloping Malik in an attempt to scare the beast into throwing his riders.
They got off one ragged volley before the bomb beneath the stairs exploded. The upper chamber blew apart.
Chunks of granite were hurled through the roof. A cloud of smoke and dust shot into the air. And the topmost floor collapsed into the gaping hole where the steps had been men, guns, splintered woodwork and shattered stones all went rattling down into the ruined tower.
Bolan was still uncertain whether Kevin was with him now by choice or simply because the abruptly shifting circumstances had left him no option. Kevin was probably too confused to know his own mind. All that mattered was that at this moment he had a tight hold on the youngster as they charged down the track.
The booming explosion within the tower was still ringing in their ears. Bits and pieces of brickwork rained down onto the trail behind them. The falling debris included the rag-doll body of one of the sentries.
Billy Joe Hooker, mad at having accepted the socalled Scarr at face value, was racing forward in the lead Jeep. When the lookout's body flopped on the roadway, the merc bumped right over top of it.
Bolan twisted to snatch a quick look back. They were being chased by slightly more overwhelming odds than he'd counted on every truck, Jeep and even the armored cars were roaring through the main gates.
Stinging clouds of grit and gravel were thrown in the air by the wild group in pursuit of the magnificent steed.
A bullet zipped narrowly past Bolan's head. Malik was only so much horse meat to the angry mercs. They had no real idea of the prestigious bond between Sheikh Zayoud and his most highly prized stallion. They couldn't have cared less; they were in a mood to kill! The fleeing twosome had a fair lead, but this would evaporate when they stopped to transfer to the Hog. Ruark's gang would be on top of them in no time.
The horse thundered down onto the flat. It was all they could do to hang on. Bolan raced for the dip between the nearest dunes ahead. The strangely eroded rocks were less than six hundred yards beyond.
"Hold tight, Chip!" encouraged Bolan as another string of bullets spouted in the dirt.
Bill Keegan had got their range. The second burst would have struck home if the Arab next to him had not knocked the muzzle skyward, pleading for the stallion's safety. Keegan cuffed the man aside, cursing at his interference, and called for the driver to speed up. The chase vehicles had cleared the constricting ramp. The leaders were fanning out in line abreast, the drivers jockeying to see who would be first to catch up with the runaways.
The Jeep at the far left suddenly vanished in a shattering fireball, spitting out blazing tracers of burning wreckage. Three mercenaries were dead before their bodies hit the ground. An Arab was thrown clear from the back, stumbled upright on the sand and was mowed down by the truck behind.
Bolan and the boy were both spotted with flecks of sweat from the straining horse.
"Run, Malik, run!" The racing stallion found an extra ounce of effort. Kevin had become a better friend to the courageous animal than Zayoud could ever have guessed.