Desert Fallout

“I’ll double-check,” Bolan said. “Look for supplies just in case we do have to go. We leave as soon as the sun sets, regardless of how we have to leave.”

“One more thing, Cooper. While the one helicopter was hosing down the area around our cave, the other one fired rockets into the opening of the tomb that Metit’s people had discovered,” Kamau added.

“Totally caved in?” Bolan asked.

“There’s no way the two of us could dig into there to see what’s left,” Kamau replied.

Bolan frowned. “Meanwhile, if they did need more of their ricin, they could bring in digging equipment by helicopter.”

“And enough men to make the job worthwhile,” Kamau said. “That is if they’d left anything behind.”

“It’s unlikely they could have taken all that’d been stored in there,” Bolan replied.

“Very,” Metit spoke up, her voice brittle. “We found an entire cavern lined with pots like the ones they removed, loaded with an unusual-looking form of castor bean. We had only just begun to catalog the contents when the terrorists attacked. Ricin?”

“Yes,” Bolan answered.

“That’s a deadly poison, isn’t it?” Metit asked numbly.

“It can be, but it takes a lot of processing,” Bolan explained. “Even the best military minds of the twentieth century couldn’t weaponize it.”

Metit’s brow wrinkled. “The ancient Egyptians had over a thousand years to think of something. And there are indications that they did use poisons as defenses of their tombs.”

“That kind of chemistry would have been lost to antiquity,” Kamau interjected.

“Maybe,” Bolan said, cutting off the conversation. “Kamau, we don’t have time to talk now. We’ll discuss this later.”

Kamau noted that the American’s attention was focused on the sky where the helicopters had originally approached from. The implication of his urgency was unmistakable. As soon as the transport helicopter had returned to base with its precious payload, the escort craft would race back to the camp and scour the desert in order to hunt down the lone stranger who had somehow stumbled onto their operation.

Three humans, hiking in the desert at night, would be like beacons to eyes in the sky equipped with night-vision goggles. That, plus the firepower mounted on the small, swift gunships, would outmatch even a warrior of Bolan’s skill.

Kamau realized that he’d have to work quickly in gathering gear while Cooper sought to salvage whatever transportation that they could find. Flight across the desert would have to be taken as fast as conceivably possible.

“Rashida, what kind of transportation did you have?” Bolan asked her.

“We had two large military surplus trucks to haul gear out here and whatever we found back to the university,” she answered. “The rest of us traveled by SUV.”

“All one style?” Bolan asked as Kamau busied himself searching through the camp for leftover water. Hydration was just as important as speed of escape. In the desert, especially with the kind of stress Metit had endured, the human body couldn’t maintain its performance without a fresh drink every few hours. Food wouldn’t be an issue for over a week, and Bolan and Kamau didn’t intend to take that long to get back to Alexandria.

While Kamau filled canteens for the upcoming journey, Bolan had Metit lead him toward the SUVs and the truck. The vehicles had been stored at the bottom of a cliff, but the stench of burning fuel and metal assaulted Bolan’s nostrils. The commandos had crippled the vehicles at the back of the canyon, saving their ammunition. A two-and-a-half-ton truck blocked most of the passage, nearly impossible to squeeze past. The other vehicles were in running condition, but nearly three tons of slag formed an impassable dam for them to pass. Bolan sighed and looked through the pouches in his gear.

He had several grenades, but they wouldn’t be enough to move the deuce and a half. It would take at least twenty-five pounds of C-4 to shove the truck, or at least break it down into small enough pieces to drive around. Just to be certain, Bolan examined the other two-and-a-half-ton, grimacing as his flashlight revealed damage to the truck’s electrical system. It wouldn’t start, and it was the only thing strong enough to plow past the wrecked hulk blocking their swift exit.

Kamau came down to join them, laden with three rucksacks. “We’ve got five gallons of potable water.”

Bolan nodded. “We don’t have a way out of this canyon with this junk blocking the way.”

“How about we drive over it?” Metit asked. “We’ve got wood and planks back at the camp. Just make an improvised ramp.”

Bolan and Kamau shared a grin at the simplicity of the woman’s suggestion. “We don’t have time to tell you that you’re brilliant, Rashida. Just know that you are.”

The two big men ran back to the camp after they made certain that there was at least one well-fueled vehicle that could start. Secure in the knowledge that they had a working set of replacement wheels, Bolan and his partner checked the two trucks. They managed to find four sturdy planks of wood used as loading and unloading ramps for the transports. Kamau tested one of them with his weight, knowing that if it flexed under only three hundred pounds of human, it’d be useless for the Peugeot jeep they’d chosen as their escape vehicle.

“Did it bend?” Kamau asked.

“Just a shade,” Bolan said. “But we can brace it if we move quickly. We’ll also lash two of the planks together for one wheel.”

“Good idea,” Kamau replied. “How long do you think we have before the helicopters return?”

Bolan frowned. “Judging by the rigor of the victims, the commandos struck about three hours before the other craft showed up, but we could simply be dealing with perhaps a two-hour lead time so that they could do their job.”

“They may have been dropped off by the same helicopters. Call it twenty minutes to a staging area?” Kamau asked.

“Most likely,” Bolan said. He tipped over a drum, then placed one plank atop it. Kamau immediately set to work wrapping cable around it and a second plank sandwiched to it. Bolan walked up the ramp, feeling how solid it was beneath his feet. “Looks solid enough.”

“A forty-minute round trip, and we’ve burned about twelve minutes so far,” Kamau replied. “Give us another eight to work up the next ramp?”

“Add in refueling time,” Bolan said. “No way the escort birds are going out on a sortie to gun us down without enough fuel for a wide-ranging patrol. We may have more than a half hour to get moving.”

“And out of range, but this isn’t a paved road,” Kamau mentioned.

Bolan and Kamau planted a second drum, taking two minutes to brace it in place with dirt before they struggled their other ramp into position. “Whatever the case, we’ll have wheels. I’ll drive.”

“You’ll drive, but what could I shoot at a helicopter on our tail?” Kamau asked.

“If it gets to shooting, we’re as good as dead, but I’ve got the captured Steyr and you have your AK,” Bolan offered. “It’ll be nothing compared to the range of the helicopters’ guns, so we need to get far away.”

“So you drive like a madman,” Kamau returned.

Bolan frowned. The Somali didn’t seem convinced. He didn’t want to risk Metit’s life, even if he were callous enough to be cavalier with Kamau’s safety. “Think these will last for three SUVs over them?”

“What are you thinking?” Kamau asked.

“The aircraft will be flying the same route back to this camp, so they’ll be coming from the north,” Bolan explained. “You get a head start, and I’ll lag behind, playing lame duck.”

“You’ll be bait,” Kamau stated.

“You need to get Rashida to safety. I’ll meet with you in Alexandria.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Metit asked, walking up on their conversation.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Bolan told her.

“I don’t like it either, but I’m not going to change his mind,” Kamau told the woman. “We don’t have time to debate this.”

Metit looked to Bolan, then threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. “Be careful.”

“You too, kiddo,” Bolan answered. “Godspeed, Kamau.”

He turned to prepare his SUV for the coming trial.

CHAPTER SIX

Isu Nahyan flew his helicopter nap of the earth as he raced back toward the archaeological camp. The Hughes 500 zipped over the darkening terrain at over 120 mph, but he felt as if he were racing behind the curve. His initial run on the perimeter of the camp had found the vehicle of the lone opponent who had harried his allies. It was amazing that a single man had been able to match the skills of over a dozen trained commandos and take down five of them without sustaining an injury.

Nahyan had taken some pleasure in turning the Mercedes SUV into a pile of bullet-riddled trash in the desert at the behest of his ground-pounding allies. The team leader, Brahim Khaldun, rode in the chopper with him now, and it had been a rare instance when Nahyan had seen the man disconcerted. Khaldun had boarded Nahyan’s chopper for the return to the camp, and the soldier’s face was a grim mask.

It had been at Khaldun’s suggestion that there be four gunships sent after the lone enemy. Nahyan thought it might be overkill, but the man had disappeared, evading the choppers easily.

“Is he really that good?” Nahyan asked.

Khaldun turned to look at the pilot, as if roused from a trance. “You know the caliber of my men. He killed several of them. On his own, outnumbered and surrounded.”

“So this isn’t overkill,” Nahyan said.

“There is no such thing as overkill. There is only reloading when your weapon is empty,” Khaldun returned grimly. “We will rain hell upon him.”

Nahyan chewed his lower lip, then glanced to the commando. “He couldn’t come up with something that could take on our gunships, could he?”

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