“Great,” Nate muttered to himself.
The first rule of a knife fight was simple: you were going to get cut. Without a knife of his own things were going to get sporty very quickly, and Nate cursed himself for leaving his Yarborough behind in the hotel room. Quickly assessing the situation, he decided that his best course of action was full offense. In a lightning-fast motion he jumped forward, curled his right hand into the shape of a cup, and brought it down on his opponent’s face with full force. It produced the intended effect and the man was sufficiently stunned.
Taking advantage of the opportunity he had just created, Nate lunged and grabbed the wrist of the man’s hand that held the knife. He yanked it forward and then brought his opposite hand down in a hammer fist right on the radius bone of the forearm, putting all hisweight behind it. The man yelped in pain and instantly dropped the knife, staggering backward and falling to the ground while holding his now broken arm in the opposite hand.
Nate kicked the knife away and spun around, searching for the second assailant. He found him as he was mid-tackle. Nate sprawled, keeping his legs out of reach, before clasping his hands around the man’s neck, locking him in a Muay Thai clinch. What happened next was brutal and unavoidable as Nate rammed his knee into his attacker’s face, which was being held down by his clinch. Unlike at the pub in London, he hit him more times than was necessary, and the man crumpled to the ground in an unconscious, bloody mess. This was not a bar fight.
Pivoting again to face the conscious man, he found him slowly climbing to his feet. He waited, and once the jihadi was fully erect Nate let loose with a right hook, his fist catching the man on the chin and instantly turning out his lights. He collapsed to the pavement, unconscious.
With adrenaline still flowing through him, Nate turned to Anastasia, who was still lying on the ground clutching her throat and staring up at him in bewilderment. He offered her his hand, but she made no motion to grab it. Not wanting to waste time, he leaned down, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled the dazed woman to her feet.
She tried to speak but couldn’t. Instead, her eyes darted behind him and grew wide. Nate turned and saw a stranger who looked as if he was a companion of the two that Nate had just put in the dirt. Nate readied himself for another bout but stopped in his tracks. The man pointed a small Makarov pistol at them and smiled. Instinctively, Nate grabbed Anastasia and turned to block her with his body. He expected to feel the familiar searing pain of a bullet entering his flesh, but there was nothing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nate noticed the newcomer turn his head rapidly to the left before a blur flew out from a side alley and hitthe man with tremendous force. From a full sprint, Tim had launched himself like a missile, his body going completely horizontal before knocking the armed attacker clear off his feet. The man went flying to the ground with a thud with Tim landing on top of him, crushing the smaller man’s frame with his weight. For good measure Tim threw several punches to the face, rendering his prey instantly unconscious. The gun scattered across the stone roadway and Tim hopped up to retrieve it, shoving it into his waistband.
“You guys okay?” he asked, his face flushed from the effort.
“Yeah,” Nate said, “thanks for the assist.” He turned to the woman he was holding in his arms, whose body he was supporting from collapsing onto the ground. “We need to get out of here. It’s not safe.” Anastasia struggled weakly and he shook her gently.
“Let’s go!” Tim shouted. Nate could hear over the conference call that Wally and Shane were scrapping with some attackers of their own.
“Anastasia,” Nate said. “I know about your father. You’re in danger. We have to go! Now!” Anastasia said nothing. Her eyes were slits, and she appeared unfocused.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
Anastasia didn’t reply. She simply gave in to the darkness and slipped into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Novikov watched the events unfold from his viewpoint at a tea shop farther down the row with a seething anger. This was why he hated working with amateurs. The outcomes could be unpredictable, although in this case it was hardly their fault. This was twice now that he had seen Wilde in action, and his training and experience were evident. The man was a killer. It was unfortunate, but not insurmountable. More deeply troubling was that Wilde had managed to put together a whole team of similar individuals.
The SAS veteran, Walton, had been an obstacle. But now there were two additional men who had joined him. While he didn’t have their backgrounds, the former Spetsnaz soldier could assume they were from the special operations world as well, particularly given the display put on by the redheaded savage who had shown up in the nick of time, and the overall demeanor of the big man with the misshapen nose and cauliflower ears. Wilde now had a whole team of operators with him, which made things considerably more difficult.
Novikov had watched as they fought off the assassins he hired, andreceived notification that two more of the Muslim Brotherhood members had been taken out as well during Wilde’s exit from the area. Fortunately, Novikov had stayed in the shadows. He was dealing with a different kind of threat now and needed more information. He watched them leave the market and tailed them back to their hotel. Now he would watch them like a hawk to see what their next move would be.
He had wondered if Wilde was using the cover of being a graduate student for some other purpose, though his sources checked out that he was enrolled at Harvard University. These seemed like extraordinary lengths to go to for graduate research, let alone for other men to join in on the insanity. He had seen Wilde’s file and he wasn’t rich. He couldn’t afford to pay these men. None of it made sense, unless there was something more to it. Unless they had ulterior motives. Then again, none of it needed to make sense. As long as Novikov’s employers were paying him, he would see the operation through, even though it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Perhaps it was time to bring in additional help. Wilde may have had some loyal friends, but Novikov had a long list of acquaintances, and the means to pay them for their assistance. He had spent two decades in the army working with some very rough individuals, and many of them were now available for hire. He decided that if Wilde and his friends made a move for the Empty Quarter, then he would start making calls. He would use an overabundance of caution, not willing to underestimate his target for a third time. The open desert, where there were no laws, no contingencies, and no bystanders to fret over, would be Wilde’s tomb.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Anastasia came to in a daze. It was dark, and at first that was all that registered. She must have been dreaming because she felt strange, as if she had just had an out-of-body experience. Briefly, she wondered where she was and then realized that it must be her cousin’s apartment. She began to recall that she had come home to Egypt to look for her father. A German man had wanted to meet her at the souk. She had been apprehensive but had agreed. Her cousin had dropped her off, and then…
The souk!The memories came flooding back to her.The market. She was attacked. She swallowed hard and felt intense pain in her throat. She suddenly recalled the bearded man with cruel eyes that seemed to smile as he choked her. His partner had simply watched with satisfaction. Anastasia shuddered. They had tried to kill her.
But then… then there had been someone else. She vaguely recalled another man who had seemed out of place. Tall, strong, and fast. He appeared out of nowhere and began fighting off the men who attacked her. He had helped her up and then wanted her to come with him. And then she remembered nothing.
Panic set in, and she realized with a pit in her stomach that she had no idea where she was or who had taken her. She quickly sat up and pain instantly shot up her neck, through her head, and into her temples, causing her to gasp. She laid back down for a few moments, caught her breath, and then raised herself up slowly. First to her elbows, then to a sitting position. Her head still hurt, though not as badly.
Where was she?The room was dark, but there was light shining through a window. Anastasia stood up on shaky legs and walked over to the window. Outside she was greeted by a view of the pyramids. She was still in Cairo.
Gathering her courage, she crept over to the door and opened it a crack. It made a louder sound than she was hoping for, and she paused to see if anyone had noticed. Outside she could see several men sitting in a living room area talking, though she could not make out any of them clearly.
“You can come out,” one of the men called to her in English. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
A chill ran through her, but she gathered her courage, pulled the door open, and stepped out into the bright room, blinking several times as the harsh sunlight poured through the windows. One of the men stood and walked over to her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her. His accent was British.
