Beside him, the wounded man coughed and spit up more blood.
“Shit, man—” said Jonah, reaching over to put pressure on the man’s neck. “Glad you’re still breathing.”
“’Tis but a scratch,” said the sniper. “Only a flesh wound.”
“Are you seriously quoting Monty fucking Python?” demanded Jonah. He was far from sold on taking the sniper with him, but the Monty Python quote didn’t make for a bad start. And the man had saved his life, so he owed him. For now. Besides, he didn’t have any better plan. He wrapped his fingers in the tail end of the turban and redoubled the pressure on the wound.
Using his knee to steer, Jonah pulled up the satellite navigation system. Good — only about ten miles to the shoreline. The Raptor could make that in minutes and could handle the rough trail like a Baja trophy truck. He spotted a small nearby town with a big central avenue that stretched out to what looked like a long dock extending far out to sea.
One hand on the sniper’s neck, Jonah thumbed the redial on the sat phone as he kept the accelerator nearly floored.
The line clicked live again, but no voice came from the other side. He checked the rearview mirrors, the Raptor’s massive dust cloud obscuring any vehicles pursuing them. “This is Jonah,” he shouted over the roar of the truck’s engines and desert passing beneath them. “Scorpion, come in.”
“Scorpion here,” came Dr. Nassiri’s voice.
“Change of plans. I need a rendezvous.”
“Where?” To the point — Jonah liked that.
“City called Dishu. At the end of the long dock.”
“Vitaly is checking it on the map,” said Dr. Nassiri. “Okay, we see where you are. We can be there in less than thirty minutes,” said Dr. Nassiri.
“Not fast enough,” replied Jonah. “Need you there in ten or less.”
Three Land Cruisers rippled in the rearview mirror beyond the dust cloud, struggling to keep up with the more powerful Ford. Only silence came from the other end of the phone.
“We can do it,” said Alexis, her voice tinny and distant. “We’ll have to surface, and run the electrics and diesels simultaneously—”
“Great,” said Jonah. “Don’t care how, just do it.”
“Got it,” said Alexis.
“Oh, and keep a decent distance from the end of the dock,” said Jonah.
“Why?” asked Dr. Nassiri.
“Because I’m going to jump a truck off it.” The Raptor bounced over a brutal set of bumps in the trail and the sniper tried to brace himself, momentarily airborne. “And Doc, prepare your surgical gear. I’ve got a man with a neck wound, and I can’t stop the bleeding.”
Fingers still pressed into the man’s spurting neck, Jonah looked in the rearview windshield. The Land Cruisers were losing ground, but not by much.
“Start talking,” ordered Jonah to the wounded man. “Or you’re out the door.”
“We share an enemy,” said the man with a gurgle.
“That don’t make us friends,” retorted Jonah.
In response, the sniper issued a massive, coughing belly laugh that filled the entire cab of the Raptor. Jonah looked down at the flowing pool of blood — if he didn’t get the sniper to Nassiri, like right now, he was going to bleed out in the passenger’s seat.
Jonah whipped the 4x4 onto a rutted two-lane road, the city coming into view just ahead. Within seconds, the speedometer mashed up against the governor-regulated top speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour. With the smoother road, it wouldn’t take long for the Land Cruisers to start gaining ground.
“Where are we going?” gurgled the sniper.
“Making a run for a long dock in Dishu,” said Jonah. “Our ride will meet us there. Maybe even provide some covering fire so we’re not cut to pieces.”
“Dishu?” the sniper croaked, suddenly perking back to life and struggling against Jonah’s grasp.
“Hold… still!” Jonah yelled. The front cab of the truck looked like a triage center in the aftermath of a train wreck.
“Dishu is not a good place,” hissed the sniper. “One of Bettencourt’s men was kidnapped by their mayor.”
“I’m not stopping at City Hall to ask for a kabob stand permit.”
“Bettencorps’ mercenaries retaliated by driving through Dishu and firing on militia buildings and private residences,” continued Dalmar. “Recently. From this truck.”
Shit.
The outer city gates approached at incredible speed. It was too late to turn around. Even from the distance, Jonah could see the city populace scrambling out of the way and mobilizing arms. Cars and delivery trucks of all types fled the main street, trying to escape the incoming convoy.
The Raptor burst into the city at top speed, engine howling, the three pursuers inches from its rear bumper. At first, all was good — a smooth road and no obstructions between them and the long dock out to sea.
Then the trap snapped shut.
Militiamen popped up on the roofline of every building on main street. They opened up with AK-47 fire, clattering against the armored doors and roof like a tornado-fueled hailstorm. The front windshield clouded with bullet-fragments and broken glass. The armor wouldn’t hold forever, bullets would start finding their way through in moments. Jonah took his bloody hand off the sniper’s neck and held them to his ears, eyes half closed, trying to shut out the incredible noise as the pirate slumped in the seat, unconscious.
Jonah caught just a glimpse of the three pursuers behind him. Shot to pieces, tires blown out, the first Toyota wobbled, lost control, and slammed into a pillar on the side of the road, while the second disintegrated in a barrage of small-arms and RPG fire. Unarmored, the vehicles didn’t stand a chance. The third slowed and rolled to gentle stop, the driver and passengers shot dead.
The Raptor took a three-foot drop from the road and onto the dock. Glinting in the sunlight, the Scorpion plowed through the water at flank speed, racing to intercept. Jonah watched as the end of the dock approached with incredible speed until the Raptor soared off the end, arcing in a balletic leap, then dropping nose down, slamming into the whitecaps hard. Water rushed into the cab through twisted metal and bullet holes.
Jonah kicked the door open against the pressure of the rushing water, grabbed the sniper by the collar and pulled, taking one last breath as the Raptor slipped beneath the waves, sinking to the bottom of the bay. The sniper came free of the cab and Jonah kicked twice, propelling both men to the surface. Swimming backwards, the sniper’s head on his chest, he reached the external boarding ladder for the Scorpion’s conning tower as the submarine slowed to a stop, engines in full reverse.
With one final look towards the city of Dishu, Jonah hefted the sniper’s muscled bulk over one shoulder; the Somali’s mass dwarfing his own. He climbed the ladder, one rung at a time, and then passed the man to Dr. Nassiri and Fatima at the top of the boarding ladder. Between the two, they somehow lowered him down into the command compartment, wrestling the sniper’s limp form to the deck. It was an awkward, chaotic affair leaving streaks of blood throughout the interior boarding ladder as the man’s neck bled unstaunched. Jonah dropped down behind them as soon as they’d moved him out of the way.
“Who is that?” Vitaly said, turning to stare as Dr. Nassiri threw open his triage kit and went to work on his unconscious patient.
“The man who used me as bait to draw out Bettencourt and almost got me killed in the process.”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Nassiri said without looking up.
“Will he live?” Vitaly asked.