Will Adams - The Alexander Cipher

"Not friend," mumbled Knox, still hopelessly disoriented. "Driver. Knows nothing about this. Let him go."

"Sure," snorted Nessim.

"I swear," said Knox. "He knows nothing."

"Then it's his unlucky day, isn't it?"

Knox pushed himself up onto an elbow, his scattered senses beginning to return. "Good money, is it?" he asked. "Working for a gangster like al-Assyuti?"

Spots of red flared momentarily on Nessim's cheeks. "You know nothing about my life," he said.

"And you know enough about mine to end it, do you?"

"You brought this on yourself," spat Nessim. "You must have known what would happen."

Rick pushed himself up, successfully this time. "What's going on?" he slurred. "Who are these people?"

"Don't worry about it," said Knox.

"They've got guns," said Rick, sounding fearful and bewildered. "Why have they got guns?"

Knox frowned at his friend. Somehow his tone didn't ring quite true. Maybe it was simply a concussion, but maybe he was trying to lull Nessim and these others into taking him lightly. They'd have no idea of his background, after all. If that was so, then it was down to Knox to buy him some time to go to work. Time and perhaps darkness. The only light in this place was from the various flashlights, after all, and if he could get them all pointed at him…

He glared up at Nessim. "I overheard you tell that girl in Sharm you used to be a paratrooper," he said. "You fucking liar."

"It wasn't a lie."

"Paratroops have honor," sneered Knox. "Men of honor don't sell themselves to rapists and murderers."

Nessim slapped Knox hard across the cheek with the barrel of his gun, sending him sprawling. "Men of honor don't refuse duties just because they dislike them," he said tightly.

"Honor!" snorted Knox, pushing himself back up onto his knees. "You don't know what the word means. You're just a whore, selling yourself for-"

Nessim slapped Knox even harder this time, so that he collapsed, dazed, to the floor, his cheek scraping like stubble on the rough concrete. And it was lying there, in a daze, that he watched Rick blur into action. A single punch sent the first man sprawling. An elbow doubled up the second, Rick wresting his gun from him as he went down, shooting the third through his thigh before turning the gun on Nessim, who was still standing frozen over Knox.

"Drop it!" yelled Rick. "Fucking drop it!" Nessim's gun and flashlight both clattered to the concrete. "On your knees!" he shouted. "All of you. On your fucking knees. Now!" The Egyptians complied, even the wounded man, whimpering piteously with shock, his cream trousers staining red. "Hands behind your fucking heads!" roared Rick, enraged partly by their treatment of Knox, but more by having been made to fear that he was going to die. The Egyptians must have read their fate in his expression, because the color drained from their faces. Nessim alone showed defiance, bracing himself as Rick aimed down at the bridge of his nose. Knox remembered the shame on his cheeks earlier, how he had bridled at the accusation of lacking honor. "No," he said, grabbing Rick's arm just before he could pull the trigger. "We're not like that."

"You may not fucking be," retorted Rick, trying to shake him off, "but I am."

"Please, mate," said Knox.

"And what the fuck do you suggest we do?" yelled Rick. "Let them go, they'll come straight after us. This is self-fucking-defense, mate. Nothing more."

Knox looked again at Nessim. His expression gave nothing away, yet Knox was certain Rick was wrong. Let Nessim go, and his personal code wouldn't allow him to come after them. But as for the others… He stooped to pick up Nessim's handgun, then looked around for inspiration. The outbuilding was small and windowless and built of concrete blocks. Its door was solid steel with strong hinges. He grabbed the tarpaulin from the Jeep, threw it on the floor in front of Nessim, then aimed down at his chest. "Off with your clothes," he ordered. "All of you."

"No," scowled Nessim.

"Do it," said Knox. "If not for yourself, then for your men."

Nessim's jaw tightened, but he looked around at his men and seemed to deflate a little. He began reluctantly to undress, as did his men, throwing their discarded clothes into the tarpaulin. When they were down to their underpants, Knox made a bundle of the tarpaulin and tossed it in the back of the Jeep.

"Can you handle them on your own?" he asked.

Rick snorted. "Weren't you watching?"

Knox drove the Jeep over to the Subaru and Freelander. The Subaru was dead, but the Freelander started up on the third try, its engine clattering with terminal damage. He wrestled it into reverse and bunny-hopped over to the outbuilding. Rick came out backward, swinging the steel door closed with his foot, allowing Knox to drive tight up alongside it and put on the hand brake. Not perfect, maybe, but it should hold them for a few hours, by which time they'd be halfway across Egypt.

They hurried to the Jeep. Rick took the wheel, roaring off unnecessarily fast as if to burn off his residual anger, not once looking Knox's way. As for Knox, he stared out the windshield, badly shaken by the revelation that his friend had been prepared to execute those men. The silence between them grew distinctly uncomfortable, so that Knox began to fear that things between them might never be quite the same.

It was Rick who finally spoke. "I thought you said those guys were serious," he muttered.

"What can I tell you, mate," grinned Knox. "I thought they were."

Gaille and Elena took Aly at his word, arriving at his house at seven sharp to find him already at work outside, his papers pinned down with a pot of Siwan tea and some glasses, as though he'd been expecting them. He greeted them warmly, poured them each a glass, then showed them into his library and left them to it.

Elena started with the aerial photographs; Gaille, with the books. When she pulled down her first volume, it came more easily than the night before, as though the bookshelf was less tightly packed. She looked more closely. Yes. She distinctly remembered a red-leather-bound volume that had left stains on her fingers. She pulled out a modern academic text and checked the bibliography against his shelves. Two of the best-known books on Siwa were missing. Yet this was supposed to be a definitive collection. Then she remembered that strange look on his face the night before, when he was looking through her photographs. "Elena," she murmured hesitantly.

Elena looked up crossly. "Yes?"

"Nothing," said Gaille. "Sorry." Knowing Elena, she would go straight out to confront Aly, and bang would go their cooperation. Instead she made a note of the missing titles. She would call Ibrahim at her first opportunity and ask him to send copies directly to her hotel.

Knox was fast asleep in the passenger seat of the Jeep when Rick shook him awake. "What?" he asked blearily.

"Checkpoint," muttered Rick.

"Damn it," said Knox. Checkpoints were so rare in Alexandria and the Delta that he had stopped worrying about them, but in Middle and Southern Egypt, and in the desert regions, they became commonplace. The Jeep drifted to a halt. Two weary-looking soldiers wearing thick uniforms against the morning chill trudged across. One of them rapped the driver's-side window. "Passports," he said in English when Rick lowered it, evidently figuring them both for foreigners. Knox still had Augustin's papers for Omar Malik, but to use them now would only raise suspicions. He fetched out his American passport and handed it across. The soldier yawned as he took it and Rick's to his cabin to check.

The second soldier, meanwhile, remained standing beside the Jeep. He lit a cigarette, stamped his feet, then glanced in the rear window. Too late, Knox remembered the tarpaulin bundle containing the clothes and other belongings of Nessim and his men, including their handguns.