Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through the Cradle of Fear

The doorway was just steps away. Gabriel ran through—

—and felt a long narrow blade slide deep into the flesh of his arm.

He jerked free, saw DeGroet outlined by the torchlight from the other room. The sword blade flickered briefly in the darkness like a serpent darting. It caught him across the cheek, opening a gash. He tasted his own blood, running into his mouth.

He remembered Karoly’s warning to Andras earlier, at the airport: Maybe he’ll use you for practice. Cut you to ribbons.

“You’ve interfered with my plans for the last time, Hunt,” DeGroet said, his voice all the more frightening for being quiet and calm. “Now I rid myself of you once and for all.” And he gave a little salute with his sword before lunging in for the kill.

Gabriel whipped the bandolier of rifle bullets over his head and caught the blade with it as DeGroet sent it stabbing toward his chest. Sidestepping, he yanked hard, pulling DeGroet’s sword arm wide. That gave him room to step in and swing a fist into the side of DeGroet’s skull. It wouldn’t have been quite as powerful a blow if Gabriel hadn’t been holding his gun in that hand; but he was, and DeGroet crumpled to the floor at his feet.

He ran. His left arm ached where DeGroet’s blade had penetrated it; his sleeve was slick and heavy with blood. And his cheek felt like it had been split open to the bone. But he couldn’t think about any of that now. Behind him he heard voices shouting in Arabic, English, and Hungarian, angry shouts coming closer as he plunged down the stairs in the darkness. He raced across the long tunnel that would return him to the surface, heavy pounding footsteps clamoring behind him and lighter ones pattering desperately up ahead—Sheba’s. He caught up with her halfway up the staircase and they plunged through the hole in the Sphinx’s paw together.

Dawn was just starting to break over the Nile, the rising sun’s rays streaking the sky a hundred shades of pink and purple and amber. It was a staggering sight and Gabriel would have given anything to be able to take pleasure in it. But he couldn’t. Their pursuers were only steps behind, and the workers out here, though temporarily startled to see them emerge, wouldn’t stay dumbstruck for long.

He grabbed Sheba’s arm and steered her down to where the camels and cars stood side by side. The drivers’ seats of the cars were empty, but so were the ignition slots. One good thing about a camel, he thought, as he slung Sheba up onto the back of a particularly tall and hardy-looking animal and then vaulted up after her: no key required.

He kicked the camel’s sides sharply and they took off into the desert.

“They’re coming,” Sheba said, looking back.

“Of course they are,” Gabriel muttered. “Why wouldn’t they be.”

“They’re getting in the cars!”

“Naturally,” Gabriel said. In the distance he could hear the engines revving. He was holding onto the reins for all he was worth and driving the animal forward at top speed. For the time being their lead was still widening—but that wouldn’t last long.

“What are we going to do?” Sheba said, facing forward again. She was clinging tightly to Gabriel from behind. It was a pleasant sensation, her soft flesh pressing up against his back, but not quite enough to make him forget about the pain in his arm—or about the men coming up behind them.

“Couple of options,” he said as they raced over the hard-packed sand. “We can’t outrun them, and we won’t be able to lose them if we head into Cairo—they’d have the advantage there. But if we can get into an area where this guy can travel but cars can’t…”

“Do you know of one near here?”

“No,” Gabriel said.

“What’s the other option?”

“Get captured,” Gabriel said. “Probably get killed.”

“Oh,” Sheba said.

Gabriel steered them toward a slightly rockier, more mountainous section of the desert in the middle distance. He wasn’t at all confident they could reach it before being overtaken.

A gunshot split the air behind them and a bullet sped by near enough that they could feel the breeze from its passage.

“Take my gun,” Gabriel said, gesturing with his elbow toward his hip. “Have you ever fired a gun before?”

“Yes,” Sheba said, pulling the Colt from its holster. “What? You don’t think kids learn to shoot in Ireland?”

“Not at all,” Gabriel said. “I just didn’t know you had. Glad to hear otherwise.” Another gunshot exploded near them. “You might want to start putting that learning to use now.”

Sheba had already swiveled in place and braced her arm against the camel’s hump, and now she squeezed off a shot that left the windshield of the nearest car behind them shattered. The car wheeled off erratically, its driver losing blood from a wound in his shoulder.

But there were more cars behind that one, more than there were bullets in the gun, and more guns in them, too; and though a racing camel wasn’t the easiest target in the world to hit from a moving car, it wasn’t the smallest target either, and they wouldn’t keep missing forever.

The area of rocky outcroppings was getting closer. It had something of the quality of a canyon, and Gabriel thought it might just be possible to lose the cars in there, if only because it would be too dangerous for them to drive into it, for fear of cracking up against the narrow walls. But first he had to make it there. It was going to be close. He kicked inward with his heels again, demanding of the poor beast every last ounce of energy it had.

They were within yards of the first outcropping when he heard the put-put-put-put of a helicopter’s blades.

His heart fell. No. Not this close —

As he watched, a black Sikorsky chopper rose up from behind the rocks, facing them. Beside the pilot, a man stood halfway out of the cockpit, one leg on the landing skid, a machine gun aimed down at them. And painted on the underside of the copter—it couldn’t be…

“Gabriel, watch out!” Sheba shouted, pointing.

“Hold onto me,” Gabriel said, and urged the animal forward. “Around my neck.”

“What are you going to do?” she said, but she followed his direction, looping her arms around him.

“Just hold on,” he said. “Don’t let go.”

The copter was charging downward toward them at a steep angle. The gunman hadn’t started firing yet, but they saw him take aim. He was almost on top of them.

“Gabriel!” Sheba screamed.

Then the gunman kicked something with one foot, and it fell, unfurling as it came, dangling below the belly of the copter, and Gabriel let go of the camel’s reins to reach up and grab hold as it passed overhead. A rope ladder—and as Gabriel held tight with one good arm and one wounded one to the lowest rung, they were swiftly lifted off the camel’s back, Gabriel clinging to the ladder and Sheba clinging onto him, legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

The gunman overhead cut loose with a flurry of bullets that brought the cars behind them to a screaming halt. A few of the drivers reached out through their open windows and fired up at them, but they were firing blind and the bullets missed by a mile.

The copter sped off, rapidly gaining altitude. Looking up, Gabriel saw the man above them toss his smoking gun into the cockpit and begin hauling the rope ladder back aboard.

Gabriel concentrated on holding onto the ladder until the skid was in reach, then carefully shifted his grip over. The man above him helped Sheba into the cabin, then stuck out a hand to help Gabriel.

“Michael send you?” Gabriel asked. The man nodded. Shouting to be heard over the noise of the chopper’s blades and engine, he said, “Told me to give you a message. Said keep your cell phone charged next time. We had a hell of a time locating you.”