Odai relaxed and looked over his blade. “Yes, it will make quick work of you,” he grinned, “same as the old man.”
It was Zahra’s turn to growl like a feral, bloodthirsty Chupacabra. She rushed the beefy man, and poked and slashed at every part of his body. Every two or three attacks, she made contact. Most of the injuries were superficial at most, but even the smallest of wounds could weaken your opponent if there were enough of them.
It was a classic death by a thousand cuts scenario.
“Bastard!” Zahra shrieked, jamming the spear tip into the meat of Odai’s right pectoral muscle. She smiled like a wild huntress and twisted the blade in deeper. “Oh, look, just like your shish kebab brother.”
This was the first time she had seen a change in emotion on the man’s face. Until now, he had exhibited pure rage — nothing more. He had originally possessed the embodiment of vengeance. Presently, he had an expression of uncertainty plastered across his face.
Zahra savored the moment.
Odai shook off the injuries, charged her position, and hacked and slashed at her uncontrollably. Zahra took the defensive and blocked every swing and stab, but she was quickly running out of real-estate.
The Maasai diorama came up fast behind her, so much so that she didn’t have the wherewithal to roll atop it this time. Odai leaped forward and pinned her lower back against the raised platform, using his prodigious upper body strength against Zahra’s lither frame.
She wasn’t entirely out of options, though. She did what any woman in her situation would do: Zahra kicked her attacker in the testicles as hard as she could.
She imagined every lady’s self-defense instructor clapping enthusiastically.
Odai’s reaction was instantaneous. He clutched his wounded manhood with one hand and backed away, parrying Zahra’s attacks with the other. Her blade sliced Odai’s right wrist, opening a fairly deep cut. The injury made him transfer the weapon to his left, offhand. This was Zahra’s moment. If she could capitalize on it, she might still be able to rescue Grant.
Odai brought the Bowie knife down on Zahra’s head. She just barely got her Maasai spear up in time. The force of Odai’s attack bounced the staff off her forehead, dazing her a bit. Zahra stumbled away.
Her response to the shot to the head saved her life.
As she fell back, Odai’s Bowie knife passed just beneath her chin. If she had been standing still, her throat would have been cut. Zahra gathered herself and went on the defensive, once more. She concentrated her efforts on blocking Odai’s blade and nothing else, zeroing in on it with extra emphasis. Even though her opponent held a serious physical advantage, Zahra was still holding her own. Plus, Odai was tiring. Every successive attack was more sluggish and wilder than the previous.
Odai leaned into the next one, giving Zahra an idea. On his next strike, she would allow Odai to get in close.
The mountain practically leaped out of his shoes, bringing his blade down on…nothing. Zahra ducked under the attack, turning the giant around in the process. Now, his back was to the African exhibit. But that didn’t stop him. He hacked at Zahra’s face again. She quickly transformed into an overtired child and became what every parent’s sore back dreaded: Deadweight. Zahra dropped to the floor and brought up her spear. Instead of using the staff to deflect Odai’s slash, she went on the offensive and thrust the blade of the Maasai spear into the bigger man’s stomach just beneath where his belly button should be.
Ifza’s enforcer dropped his Bowie knife and clutched the mortal wound with both of his hands. He bore holes into Zahra before his legs went out, and he collapsed in on himself. Remembering that Odai wasn’t the only threat in the room, Zahra climbed to her feet, gripping her spear tight. But there was no one there.
“Zahra!”
She looked left and found Grant, Ifza, and the other gunman huddled together behind a pillar. Before she could contemplate why they had gone into hiding, the world in front of her turned into that of pure light. Zahra was tossed backward by an immense heatwave. Her battered and bruised body slammed into, and through, the wax Maasai tribesman.
She lost the spear at the same time she lost consciousness.
Chapter 27
Grant
Grant was rushed outside. He fought against his captors, trying desperately to run back inside the ruined entrance. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.
The British Museum had just been bombed by terrorists.
But Grant couldn’t break free. He shouted Zahra’s name over and over again, praying that she had somehow survived the explosion. And what if Zahra was alive? She’d surely follow Grant and the others outdoors only to be gunned down moments later.
The trio of himself, Ifza, and her man, Tahsin, hurried down the steps as the front entryway continued to fall apart. Fires raged, spreading quickly.
And there was still no sign of Zahra.
No movement at all.
The prospect of her being dead broke something in Grant. Tears fell as he was shoved inside a waiting van. He all but fell into the bench bolted to the inner wall of the driver’s side. Tahsin sat across from Grant, scowling deeply. Ifza slid into the front passenger seat. Without further instruction, the driver floored the pedal, spinning the tires. When they grabbed the road, the vehicle took off like a rocket.
Grant’s face fell into his grimy hands.
It finally hit him. He had just been abducted by a band of murderers.
Ifza spoke softly, conversing with the driver before pulling out a cellphone. Grant had no idea what was being said. He didn’t understand the language being used but recognized it as a form of Arabic. That made him feel even more alone.
His ears perked up. Two words, however, did stand out. He kept his face buried in his hands and listened.
Anubis and Khaliq.
She was either talking to her brother, or about him.
“Mae alsalama,” Ifza said, ending the call.
She got up and switched spots with Tahsin. Ifza sat across from Grant, mimicking her man’s deep scowl. She didn’t speak. It took him a second to realize that she wasn’t actually staring at him. Ifza was staring through him, lost in thought.
“Something on your mind?” Grant asked.
Ifza blinked and straightened her posture, but she didn’t answer him.
Grant sighed. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“I think you already know,” Ifza replied, sitting back against the inside wall of the van. She closed her eyes, ending the discussion.
Right, Grant thought, picturing a landscape of desert and pyramids.
He was going to Egypt.
Chapter 28
Zahra
Zahra felt good. She dreamt of being tucked in for the night as a child on a cold winter night back in Long Island. The layer of blankets and quilts kept her toasty warm. Zahra loved a comfortable blanket. It didn’t matter how hot it was. She had always needed one to fall asleep.
Mmm, she moaned, smiling in her sleep. The warmth was nice, comforting.
Except, she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she wasn’t back in New York with her brother and parents. The last thing she remembered was a flash of light and a shockwave that knocked her off her feet and out of consciousness. The soothing warmness wasn’t coming from her blankets either. It was coming from a fire — and not a crackling fireplace or firepit, but actual fire.
Wake up!
Zahra jerked into an upright position. Her head throbbed, and her vision was severely blurred. She knew she had suffered a head injury. She needed to take it easy before she either passed out or vomited all over herself, and then passed out. The room spun, and the roof swirled with red, orange, and yellow lights.