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.
"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.