Justin slammed his fist into the center of the steering wheel, the blaring horn covering the barrage of expletives pouring forth his mouth. “First she told the Mossad about our meeting with the Sheikh, but hid that from us, putting us into harm’s way. Or worse, she wanted to kill us. When that failed, she dispatches us into this hellhole for nothing, by selling us a straight face lie.”
“I don’t think she wants to kill us. There’s no bad blood running between us. She lied because she felt you would have not taken this assignment.”
Justin looked deeply into her eyes. “I might have, and rightfully so. This is a very low blow, even for Johnson. In-fucking-credible.”
“Have you talked to Anna?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She’s still upset about the cancelled trip. And now I find out it was all for nothing. This is making me livid. Johnson is not getting away with it.”
Carrie looked at the traffic ahead. Nour’s GMC was three vehicles ahead, in the other lane to their left. They were getting closer to an overpass.
“Why the hell are we slowing down?” Justin asked.
Carrie rolled down the window and stuck her head outside, as the car came to a complete stop.
“There’s some kind of road construction ahead, just as we begin to climb up the ramp. This lane is cut off about a hundred and fifty feet ahead.”
The cars were chaotically merging into the left lane. The brown truck ahead jerked forward and Justin stepped slowly on the gas pedal. Their Nissan gained about a foot. He peered through the windshield and saw a long line of barrier boards cordoning off a part of their lane. The brown truck moved again and, without signaling, forced his way into the other lane. Justin waited until there was a gap in the traffic, signaled and drove in front of a blue van. They were now almost ten vehicles behind Nour’s GMC.
“I don’t see any cranes or dump trucks anywhere,” Carrie observed.
“No construction workers either.” Justin checked both his right side and the rear-view mirror, as they crawled up the ramp, along barrier boards and pylons.
A rattling motorcycle caught his attention, as it zigzagged through the cars behind them. Then, it sped up to their right, using the ramp’s shoulder. The motorcycle’s passenger was holding a Kalashnikov.
“It’s an ambush,” Justin shouted, his foot instinctively pressing on the gas pedal. The Nissan came dangerously close to the van.
The motorcycle cut through a gap between the pylons and drove into the cordoned off lane, gaining quickly on them.
“It’s getting closer,” Carrie said.
Justin pulled out his Glock and handed it to Carrie. “Shoot the bastards.”
Carrie cocked the gun and turned around.
“Hang onto something.” Justin ploughed through the traffic barriers.
Debris went flying over the car. Pylons and wooden fragments were thrown at other vehicles and the chasing motorcycle. Justin slammed his foot on the gas and the Nissan drifted around the curb. The bike swerved around the scattering debris. Its passenger aimed his stretched hand toward them.
“Incoming fire.” Carrie dropped against her seat.
Justin veered to the left and then to the right, as bullets riddled the car. Fragments of broken glass showered his head and neck. A bullet grazed the edge of his left shoulder. He swore then clenched his teeth. He glanced at Carrie, wondering why she was not returning fire, just as she began shooting through the shattered windows. “There you go, blast them!”
Carrie kept firing, but their car was still being hammered by automatic gun fire. The vroom of the motorcycle grew louder and the incoming barrage intensified. The car sank, its tires exploding with a loud bang. The wheels scraped the asphalt and Justin struggled to keep the swerving car under control.
“Carrie,” he cried, while the car banged against the metal rail of the climbing ramp, “take them out.”
Carrie shuffled to the back seat and the Glock was heard again. Two quick bursts and a long barrage. Justin heard a great explosion coming from somewhere underneath and saw huge flames leaping at the overpass. Another explosion erupted from the highway below. Black and gray smoke clouded the sun, mushrooming over the scene.
“Justin, you can stop now.”
He listened to her and pulled to the side. The engine puffed as he turned off the car.
“You OK?” Justin asked
Carrie was panting heavily, crouched on the back seat. The Glock lay next to her.
“Uh, uh, yes, I’m fine.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He helped her climb out of the car. Carrie handed him back the Glock. She ran her hands through her hair, staring in disbelief at their car and at the cloud of smoke.
“Did any bullet get you?” she asked after a long moment, stepping closer to Justin, searching his face and his arms.
“A bullet clipped my shoulder.”
She helped him clear some glass fragments off his body. Then, she inspected his shoulder wound. Justin’s shirt and skin were ripped open. The bullet had made an inch-long superficial cut, and some blood had trickled down Justin’s chest.
“We’ll get you cleaned up soon.”
“Yeah, it’s nothing.”
They looked at the scene underneath their feet. The twisted wreck of the motorcycle had landed on a gray sedan. A plume of smoke was soaring upwards from the burning rubble. Another car was turned upside down. The hood of another truck was badly damaged at the driver’s side. The traffic had pretty much stopped, with the occasional car pushing its way around the burning barricade. A couple of dozen people were walking around, yelling and screaming, staring and pointing at the top of the overpass. Justin saw Nour and Abdul standing next to their car on the other side of the overpass and began waving to get their attention.
“Hey, Justin, look at this.” Carrie pointed to her left, about twenty yards away, at a man lying on his back.
“Was he one of the bike guys?” Justin asked, as they ran toward the man.
Carrie nodded. “I guess he jumped off in time.”
They saw a Kalashnikov a few steps away from the man.
“He’s still alive.” Carrie leaned over him.
The man’s face and ears were severely bruised. He was bleeding from a large bullet wound on his right side.
“You know, you should have worn a helmet,” Carrie said.
“And a vest.” Justin knelt next to the man. “Who sent you?” he asked in Arabic.
The man spat out a bloody cough. As he tried to talk, a wheezing rasp came out of his mouth. His eyes flickered irregularly, like broken windshield wipers. The dim light left in them was going to fade out very soon.
“Who sent you to kill us?” Justin asked again, this time in Arabic and in English. He wiped a trickle of blood oozing from the man’s left eyebrow, which had made its way down to his thick, black beard.
“Go… go to hell,” the man groaned in English.
“You first, you prick,” Carrie spat out.
“We’ll take you to a hospital right away, and you’ll make it,” Justin said, his mouth very close to the man’s ear. “Tell us, who wants us dead?”
“The… the Alliance,” the man let out a faint whisper, almost too quiet. In truth, Justin read the man’s bleeding lips rather than heard his words.
“Why? Why the Alliance?”
The man’s eyes grew dimmer, and he jerked his head to the left. Justin gently lifted the man’s head with his cupped hands.
“Don’t die. Don’t you die. Why did you try to kill us?”
“You… you can’t…”
The man’s breathing became shallow.
“We can’t what? Go on.”
“You can’t save…”
“Who? Who can’t we save? Who?”
“No one… no one can save the… akh,” the man hacked out his reply along with his last breath.