Young Kaba spent several weeks in mourning before swearing to avenger her parents’ deaths. She first trained herself in the arts of self-defense. When she wanted more, she found a man in the city who was rumored to have knowledge of more advanced training. She spent two years under his tutelage, learning a vast array of fighting and weapons techniques.
When she’d finished her training, Kaba traveled a little, wanting to see the world outside of her homeland. She had wandered into a bar just outside of Istanbul, and bumped into a group of men there. She overheard them discussing something about their next job, and noticed they were dressed like they were either private security, or some kind of terrorists. Since they were white, she figured it wasn’t the latter.
While the men were having their drinks, an assassin leapt out from the shadows behind her, a long blade wielded from his hand. His target was the man nearest her, a guy with short, black hair and streaks of gray through it. The man had his back to her and the assailant. For some reason, she felt the need to assist.
She stepped out with one foot and brought a hand up to knock away the attacker’s hand that carried the knife. Kaba spun around and brought her other elbow into the neck of the assassin, sinking it deep into his throat beneath the scarf that covered his skin. The man gurgled for a few seconds, dropping the blade and clutching at his crushed larynx.
The man with the peppered hair spun around, gun drawn. His two companions slid off of their stools, ready for a fight. Instead, they saw a middle-eastern woman in black pants and a ruffled blouse standing over the would-be attacker.
The group’s leader gave her a grateful glance with an eyebrow raised then nodded his appreciation. She said nothing, and watched as the others grabbed the assassin off of the floor under his arms and drag him out a side door.
“Thanks,” the middle-aged man said before following the others outside.
Kaba didn’t respond, partially because she didn’t speak a lot of English, but also because didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she waited for the door to the bar to close, then left out the same exit, leaving the few remaining patrons and the bartender standing with mouths and eyes wide at what had transpired.
Outside, she trailed the men into a dark alley. She ducked behind a trash bin and peered around the corner. The man she’d struck in the throat was lying motionless on the wet pavement, surrounded by broken glass, and trash. She wondered if he was dead, not because she was concerned. It was more out of curiosity.
The leader of the group stood off to the side as the others searched the pockets of the unconscious man. They found piece of paper, but she couldn’t tell what was on it. One of the men handed the paper to the guy in charge who looked at it with contained curiosity. He stuffed the piece in his back pocket and pulled out his pistol. She stared at him as he attached a long, black tube to the end of the barrel then extended the weapon out towards the man on the ground. He fired two shots into the assassin’s head then ordered the others to dump the body in the trash bin. When he did so, he noticed her watching and grinned. Unsure if she was in trouble, she ducked back for a moment. Her breath came in quick gasps and her heart pounded in her chest as the black boot of the man she’d saved landed just in front of her feet.
“You saved my life back there in the bar.” His voice was gruff, and carried years in its tone. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
His eyebrow was still raised as it had been inside the bar. His mouth parted in a thin crease of a smile, an attempt to put away any thoughts of danger.
“We could use a woman like you,” he went on. “Let me know if you’re interested in some work.
The loud sound of the body hitting the bottom of the trash bin caused her to shudder for a second. Kaba looked up into the man’s eyes. She didn’t know what kind of work he was offering, but she guessed he could show her the kind of world she was looking for. One where she could utilize her uncommon skills in way that could benefit her most.
Kaba joined up with the man she came to know as Don, though she doubted that was his real name. None of the other men in his little group used their Christian names. They were mercenaries, guns for hire. Most of the work they ended up doing was dirty work the western governments of the world didn’t want to do themselves. After a few years, she had gained a reputation in the darker circles of the mercenary world. It was a reputation that had led Alexander Lindsey to hire her on to lead his security team.
Her mind snapped back to the long, desert road ahead. She heard something in her earpiece and touched her hand to it again.
“Handle it,” she ordered in a thick accent.
Lindsey had been staring out at the desert landscape on the way back to Cairo. They were only a few hours away now. But something was wrong. He’d over heard the communication by his driver and leaned up to find out what the problem was.
“What is it?”
The woman glanced back in the rear view mirror, her eyes concealed by wire-framed sunglasses. “Someone is following us,” she answered plainly. “Three tan Range Rovers. They caught up to our last vehicle pretty fast. Looks like they may be a threat.”
“Are they Egyptian government?”
“Don’t think so, Sir. We’ll take care of it.”
Lindsey leaned back in his chair, but said nothing else. He seemed unconcerned, which was a stark contrast to DeGard who appeared very uncomfortable.
“There are people following us?” He asked in his nasally accent.
“Not to worry. My men will take care of it,” Lindsey responded casually.
DeGard shifted in his seat, looked back for a moment, then tightened his seatbelt. He felt in his pocket to make sure the small bag of treasure he’d filled in the Nekhen ruins was secure, just in case.
Lindsey’s black-clad men in the third vehicle of the convoy rolled down the back windows and leaned out on both sides, automatic sub-machine guns aimed at the first of the tan Range Rovers. They didn’t hesitate, opening a barrage of bullets at the trailing vehicle. The Range Rover swerved, trying to dodge the hail of metal coming their way. The evasive maneuvers almost took out one of the other vehicles in their group. A flurry of bullets struck the hood, a few cracked through the windshield. The Rover slowed down to regroup and get out of range for a few seconds. The men in the back and in the passenger’s side mimicked Lindsey’s men and stuck their weapons out of open windows to return fire. The driver stepped on the gas and quickly caught back up to the last vehicle of the convoy.
Their AK-47s fired loudly back at the black SUV. But the recoil and difficulty of shooting from a moving vehicle made accuracy a problem. One or two rounds found their way into the back gate of their target, but did little damage.
“Aim for the tires!” the driver shouted in Arabic as they drew closer.
The words had no sooner come out of the man’s mouth when another volley of bullets came from the barrels of the car in front of them. Three rounds struck him in the chest, causing him to lose control of the truck. As he leaned over the wheel, a thin trail of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, the SUV lurched sharply to the right. Before it could run off the road, it flipped sideways, tumbling down the asphalt in a barrel roll, spilling the occupants in different directions.
The remaining two Range Rovers slowed momentarily to avoid hitting the wreckage then sped back up, returning fire as they neared. They approached side by side, taking up both lanes with no oncoming traffic in site. A bullet caught one of Lindsey’s men in the chest, and he dangled lifelessly out of the window for a moment before gravity pulled him down. The body rolled off the pavement and into the desert sand.