In the pandemonium of pursuit, it never occurred to any of them that the assassin was also listening.
Kismet was gradually roused from his stunned condition by the incessant hammering of his feet against the deck of the bridge. The memory of the electrical shock was already fading. The discharge had done no permanent damage. A lingering numbness in his extremities was all that remained. In every other way however, his situation continued to be dire.
Cautiously twisting his torso, he brought his left hand around, gripping the corner of the banner in order to relieve the cutting pressure under his right arm. There was no choice now but to trust the flag to bear his weight. Nevertheless, gaining a more dependable perch remained imperative.
With deliberate slowness, he raised his right leg, hooking his heel under the bungee cord that secured the lower right corner of the banner. The rubber band provided a surprisingly stable foothold, allowing him to wrestle his arm free. After flexing his fingers for a moment to restore circulation, he reached back to his waist pack, fumbling until his fingers closed around the carved wooden grip of his kukri.
Kismet drew the heavy blade from its sheath and in a single practiced motion brought it around in an overhand chopping motion. The curved edge of the knife struck true but the blade rebounded from the aluminum shell, nearly twisting out of his fatigued grip. Disheartened by the failure, he braced himself against the anticipated recoil and tried again.
His attack against the vehicle’s metal skin failed to do more than make a few dents, but the incessant hammering alerted the occupants of the vehicle to their unexpected passenger. Kismet, lost in a single-minded effort to chop out a secure handhold, was oblivious to the shouted offers of assistance, originating from the open turret atop the Humvee. When the sergeant’s voice finally broke through, he could only stare dumbly at the outstretched hand.
“Take it!”
Methodically sheathing his knife, Kismet leaned in close and reached up. Surrendering himself to the other man’s grip, he allowed the soldier to draw him up onto the flat roof. Only there did he take note of the pursuit. From this vantage, he could make out the other vehicles in the convoy as they raced single file across the bridge. The Humvee piloted by Aziz’s killer had a lead of only a few seconds, but it was enough. As he watched, the vehicle shot past the end of the span and down the rampart. A few moments later, it made a hard right turn on the banked exit onto a divided highway. The driver made no effort to slow down for the turn, allowing the wheels to drift across the outside lane until they rebounded from the concrete abutment. The large tires left a streak of black, but were otherwise undamaged as the Humvee bounced back into the left-hand lane. The heavy suspension shuddered violently but the driver never lost control.
“You okay?” the sergeant shouted in his ear.
Kismet nodded, gripping the edge of the turret with both hands to show that he was secure.
“Better get inside. This is going to be one rough ride.” With that, the sergeant ducked down into the vehicle, settling into the front passenger seat. Kismet waited until he was clear, then heaved himself headfirst through the opening.
Despite the noise of the diesel engine, he thought that it seemed much quieter in the Humvee’s interior, at least until Buttrick addressed him.
“Kismet!” The urgency of the crisis had evidently superceded their first name basis. “What the fuck is going on?”
He fought to catch his breath. “We were interviewing one of the curators. I guess somebody didn’t want him talking to us.”
“Shit. Who is this guy? Local?”
“I don’t think so.” He mentally reviewed what he did know about the escaping killer. The initial crime had borne the earmarks of a professional hit, but what he had witnessed thereafter suggested the kind of training available only in the world of international espionage. Kismet had one more salient bit of information regarding the assassin, but decided to play his cards close to the vest and refrained from supplementing his claim of ignorance.
“Well whoever he is, he can sure drive. The American people paid good money for that vehicle. I’d hate to have to destroy it, but this guy isn’t giving me much choice.”
“You would also be destroying our only chance to get some answers.” He could sense the colonel’s disapproval in the silence that followed. “I guess if that’s what it takes.”
The Humvee left the bridge, following in the trail blazed by the other three. Kismet gripped the seat in order to keep from being tossed around the interior as the vehicle went off-road. The other two pursuing vehicles were visible, but he could not discern the one that led the chase. Buttrick’s co-pilot maintained communication with the other soldiers in the command, verifying that the quarry was still in sight, and took updates from the other forces moving in to close the trap.
The driver of the captured Humvee did not relent, red-lining the transport’s engine and refusing to yield to pedestrians or other vehicles. In order to prevent the gap between them from widening, Buttrick and the other drivers were forced to implement a similar strategy.
At a major interchange near Tala’a Square, a car driven by a local civilian screeched to a stop, narrowly missing the stolen Humvee as it plowed through heedless of other traffic. The irate driver blasted an angry, sustained note with his horn before applying the accelerator. The soldier in the leading pursuit vehicle — designation D-44—intently focused on his prey, reacted too late. The front end of his Humvee crushed the fender panels of the smaller car and the heavy truck tires rolled up onto its hood, snapping the chassis and demolishing the engine block. The military vehicle scraped over the wreckage, wreaking further ruin on the already devastated vehicle, then bounced down once more onto the pavement. The encounter had lasted only a heartbeat, but it was a moment added to the assassin’s lead.
Other cars, speeding into the intersection from each direction, scattered to avoid becoming caught in a pile-up. Several of these took to the sidewalk in a last-ditch effort to avoid a collision with the wrecked car or the rest of the convoy as it charged past the scene of ruin. Buttrick clenched his teeth in a fierce grimace as he glanced down at the shattered civilian vehicle, but he said nothing.
The chase continued along a main boulevard, known locally as Hayfa Street, heading north and west. To their left, the Tigris followed a meandering path, weaving into view before turning away at a right angle. With the river effectively blocking one avenue of escape, it seemed inevitable that they would eventually trap the fleeing assassin. Buttrick began directing his reinforcements to close in ahead of them and stage a roadblock at the foot of the Al Azamiyah Bridge. On the straight thoroughfare, Kismet had an unobstructed view of the entire progression. Their prey dodged in and out of the moderately heavy civilian traffic, as did the other two vehicles. With nearly half a kilometer between Buttrick’s vehicle and the assassin’s, it was difficult for Kismet to differentiate the almost identical vehicles. Unable to add anything to the pursuit, he resigned himself to the role of spectator.