“Achmed.” Linko spoke over the headset receiver that connected him by cell phone to the chase team.
“Yes.”
“You see the SUVs?”
“Yes.”
Linko reached the ground and raced to the car he had parked across the street in the alley there. “Find the one with the missing passenger side mirror. That is the one that we want.”
“All right.”
“Which way are they headed?”
“South. They had to escape the traffic jam.”
“They will probably turn back toward the highway to Kabul. Stay with them.”
“I will.”
Linko flung himself into his vehicle and started the engine. As he roared out into the street, he ran over two young men passing by on bicycles, leaving them bleeding and broken on the pavement behind him.
39
Lourds sat quiet and tense in his seat as the SUV sped through the crowded streets. The driver applied his horn liberally, causing slower traffic to pull over. Occasionally, when there was room enough and no one was in the oncoming lane, he wound through traffic, following the lead of the other two vehicles.
Calmly, as if carved from stone, Captain Fitrat sat in the other seat. He watched the traffic intensely. “Keep your eyes on the side streets as well. Look at the intersections. See if you notice any speeding cars matching our direction. We are moving very fast. They will have to reveal themselves if they are there. They cannot hide.”
“I suppose you do this kind of thing all the time.”
Fitrat ran his hands over his rifle without looking. He had already changed the partially spent magazine for a fresh one. “Many times.”
“No wonder you enjoy cooking.”
“Cooking is relaxing. This…not so much.” He turned briefly and looked at Lourds. “But it is exciting.”
“I’m not sure that’s the word I would use, Captain.”
Fitrat grinned. “I think it is, Professor. After all, you could end this at any time. Simply leave the scrolls and walk away, and your part in this would be over.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Exactly, Professor.”
“Whoever did this killed my friend. I can’t just walk away.” Lourds looked at Fitrat and nodded at the assault rifle in his lap. “You have your tools. I have mine. When I decipher this final scroll, everything these people have been working for — whatever it is — will be beyond their reach.”
“Good.” Fitrat nodded approvingly. “I am glad Layla chose you to be her friend. She needs a strong man in her life. With all the work she does, I did not ever think she would allow herself the distraction of someone in her life.”
“I’m very fortunate.”
“I have learned that is a very good thing to remember when you’re dealing with any woman.”
Linko sped through the city with both hands on the wheel. An Uzi machine pistol rested between his thighs. He stared hard at the streets, picking his openings carefully then blazing through. Bicyclists didn’t count. Those he didn’t avoid. He went straight at them, giving the hapless riders the choice of getting out of the way or getting run over. Most chose to move, but Linko had left a lot of ruined bicycles, and more than a few dead and dying people, in his wake.
Achmed spoke in Linko’s ear over the headset. “I can see our target.”
“Where is he?”
“Over on the next street.”
Linko pinned the accelerator to the floor and sped through the next intersection, momentarily crossing bumpers with a delivery van, then dodging past a car just emerging from an alley.
Once on the next street, he reached for the tablet PC on the passenger seat. All of the pursuit vehicles he’d hired were equipped with trackers. The GPS software kept him up to date on where everyone was.
Achmed’s car was designated 3. It was currently three blocks ahead of him. The SUVs were staying on a straight course.
Linko looked up just in time to drive up onto the sidewalk, avoiding a collision with a car that was stopped ahead of him with mechanical problems. With a curse, he yanked the wheel hard left. The sedan skidded for a moment, then he muscled his way back onto the street by shoving over another decrepit sedan that promptly went out of control and plowed into a storefront.
“I am almost there. Everyone converge on Achmed. We will get ahead of the convoy and cut them off. We need to take out the lead vehicle.” Most of the mercenaries working with him already knew that. Their experience was why he had hired them in the first place.
He flew through the next intersection and spotted Achmed’s sedan ahead of him. At the same time, though, he spotted the first of the Afghan National Army attack helicopters swooping in from the west, from out of the afternoon sun. Two others followed.
“Achmed.” Linko stepped on the brakes, knowing the pilots would be looking for vehicles driving much too fast for the circumstances, because that’s what he would have ordered. He and his men had just gone from pursuers to the pursued.
Before Achmed could respond, the lead helicopter opened fire with a heavy-caliber machine gun. The bullets punched through metal and glass, causing Achmed’s sedan to shiver and shake under the impacts, and Linko knew every man in the vehicle was dead.
Freed from the hand of the driver, the car careened out of control, hit the corner of a building, then flipped several times before ending upside down and spinning like a turtle in the middle of the street.
Cursing, Linko watched another helicopter coming straight for him. A line of bullets dug craters in the old street as they zipped toward his vehicle. Hand over hand, Linko pulled the steering wheel hard right. The tires flirted with losing traction but somehow held on enough to help him guide the car into the nearest alley. Bullets thumped into the rear of Linko’s vehicle, and he hoped the gas tank wouldn’t explode.
The helicopter blurred by overhead, but he knew it would be back for him. The men aboard it had his scent now, and they wouldn’t be satisfied till they had him.
He brought the car to a halt in the alley and discovered it was too narrow for him to open the door. He was lucky to have gotten inside such a tight fit.
Desperate, he grabbed the tablet PC from where it had fallen in the floorboard and stuffed it into the carryall he’d brought his weapons in. He picked up the Uzi and fired several rounds through the windshield, shattering it. Kicking out the glass, he scrambled outside onto the hood.
The helicopter rotor wash sounded almost overhead. Linko jumped from the car and ran toward the end of the alley. When the chopper floated into view, he was still ten meters from the corner. He lifted the Uzi and fired on the fly, trusting instinct and experience to at least aid his aim.
His good luck continued though. One or more of the bullets struck the door gunner, and he slumped in his safety harness. The helicopter pilot, concerned for his teammate, pulled up again.
By that time, Linko rounded the corner and found himself standing in front of a small shop. He ran inside, brandishing the machine pistol and making threats. The restaurant patrons flooded out onto the street.
In the back of the shop, heart still beating wildly, Linko replaced the empty Uzi magazine with another, then dropped the weapon into the carryall. He found the bathroom, took off his jacket, reversed it from black to gray, and turned on the tap water. He cupped water in his hand, then splashed it into his face and used it to slick his hair back. When he looked into the age-spotted mirror again, he no longer looked wild-eyed and frantic.
He dumped the earpiece and the cell phone he’d been using to communicate with Achmed and his cohorts into the trash, picked up his carryall, and headed back out of the shop.