For an instant, Cobb was tempted to raise his gun and fire.
But all of that changed when he saw the cargo inside.
Somehow, someway, Jasmine was in there.
Obviously he was thrilled that she wasn’t buried under a million pounds of rubble like he had feared, and yet her appearance was mystifying.
When did they grab her?
Why did they grab her?
And how did they smuggle her out before the blast?
The last time he had seen her was in the depths of the tunnels, more than a block away. She and Sarah were heading off to investigate the Roman temple; now Jasmine was lying on a tilted gurney, as if she were watching TV. Her hands and feet were bound to the railings with plastic straps. Heavy tape covered her mouth. Her unblinking eyes were frozen open, but Cobb couldn’t tell the reason why.
Maybe she was drugged. Maybe she was dead.
Until he knew for sure, he couldn’t risk a shot.
Cobb, McNutt, and their initial target all broke for the ambulance at the same time. The medic in the van kicked the empty gurney into Cobb’s path, slowing him down just enough for the first assassin to get inside. He dove into the rear compartment as the medic slammed the doors shut behind him.
Tires squealed as the ambulance sped off.
Bile burned the back of Cobb’s throat as he sprinted after the vehicle. His frustration had been growing throughout the day, but seeing Jasmine had pushed him over the edge. Though he prided himself on his calm demeanor, rage began to fuel his actions. It was a consuming, blinding hatred of those responsible for the day’s tragedies.
In his mind, justice wasn’t enough.
They needed to be punished.
The layout of Alexandria has changed very little in the last two thousand years. Though much of the city has been destroyed and rebuilt numerous times, the architects retained the original design of north — south and east — west streets whenever possible.
Obviously, the grid has grown over time and the roads have been vastly improved, but the only considerable difference between the ancient and modern layouts was a handful of major thoroughfares that linked Alexandria to the rest of Egypt. Had the explosion taken place in the suburbs, the ambulance would have had an easy escape route. On the outskirts of town, wide surface streets offered quick access to the larger arteries that connected the various districts around the city. Once the ambulance reached the highway, Jasmine and her kidnappers would have disappeared.
But in the city, things were more complicated.
Though contemporary in appearance — McDonald’s and Starbucks sightings were commonplace — the older section of the city was surrounded by the classical, narrow streets of Alexandria’s past. There were no medians or bike lanes. Even the buses were forced to fight their way through traffic, just like everyone else. It was a striking juxtaposition: the progress of modern buildings nestled in an ancient city.
Unlike the tragedy of 9/11 when millions of citizens fled New York and stayed away for days, people in the Middle East were more accustomed to bombings. As crazy as it seemed, the streets were clogged in both directions with a mixture of locals fleeing the scene and people who wanted to see the damage for themselves.
Both groups slowed the bombers’ escape.
Cobb watched as the ambulance’s lights began to flash and its siren began to wail. Normally that would be enough to clear a path through traffic, but not on a day like today. There was simply nowhere for the other cars to go.
When the ambulance ran out of road, it bounced over the curb and sped down the sidewalk. Surprised pedestrians jumped from the path of the careening van before it suddenly veered back onto the asphalt. A moment later it changed direction again — this time disappearing around a street corner to the left.
Despite their anger and their fitness, Cobb and McNutt knew there was no way for them to keep up with a speeding ambulance, not on foot. Their desperate desire to retrieve Jasmine would keep them going until they dropped; but they would drop.
They needed something faster. Something mechanical.
Something that didn’t feel fatigue.
Fortunately, scooters were quite popular in Egypt.
The nimble motorbikes allowed riders to dart in and out of traffic and down narrow alleyways where cars weren’t allowed to travel. What they lacked in top-end speed, they made up for in agility. In the congestion of the older neighborhoods, they were a remarkably efficient means of transportation.
Plus, they were pretty easy to steal.
McNutt eyed the closest rider and braced for impact. This wasn’t the time for negotiations. This was a time for action. McNutt charged toward the rider like a jouster without a horse. Or a lance. At the very last moment, he threw his arms out in front of him and tackled the rider to the ground as his scooter toppled, then slid, to a crashing halt.
McNutt hopped to his feet and reached out his hand.
Lying bruised and battered on the pavement, the dazed rider stared up at McNutt and was ready to curse him out in a dialect that McNutt wouldn’t have understood anyway, but the moment he saw the rage in McNutt’s eyes, he knew any complaints on his part would most likely lead to a severe beating — or worse.
He quickly changed his approach. ‘Take it, my friend. The scooter is yours.’
‘No thanks,’ McNutt said as Cobb lifted the bike from the ground and quickly sped off toward the ambulance. ‘I’ll take the next one.’
34
As luck would have it, a passing rider stopped at the crash site to see if the first biker was injured from his fall. Unbeknownst to him, this random act of kindness might have saved his life. Of course, it probably didn’t seem very fortunate when McNutt pulled out his gun and stole the Vespa in the middle of the street, but at the very least it prevented him from being tackled from his speeding scooter.
‘Sorry,’ McNutt apologized, ‘I need it more than you.’
Then he grabbed the handlebars and sped off toward Cobb.
They followed the path of the ambulance, jumping the curb and speeding down the sidewalk. When they reached the end of the block, they slowed and frantically searched the street for any sign of the ambulance. It should have been easy to track — the ambulance was not only painted in bright orange and green, it also had flashing lights and a blaring siren — yet the vehicle was nowhere in sight.
McNutt’s stomach rolled at the thought of losing Jasmine. Cobb’s blood boiled at the idea of her kidnappers surviving the night without suffering intense pain.
Both developments were simply unacceptable.
Fortunately, their fears were a bit premature.
Cobb spotted the ambulance in front of a large truck. ‘There!’
The ambulance swung wide and swerved through an intersection, running through a red light as the oncoming cars screeched to a halt. From its acceleration, it appeared that the driver had found some room to move.
McNutt gunned the throttle, launching the mini-bike toward the crossing. It was the same approach they had used when tracking their target at the blast site: McNutt would follow the ambulance directly while Cobb looked for a way to get ahead of it. Following McNutt’s lead, Cobb did his part, tearing off in the same direction as the van.
Cobb zipped in and out of his lane, dodging slower cars and oncoming traffic as he tried to keep pace with the ambulance. The unrelenting stream of cars on both sides of the centerline forced him to focus on the road ahead. As the spaces between the vehicles grew tighter, Cobb knew he needed more room to operate.
He found it on the sidewalk.