“Let’s hurry,” Carrie said.
She began to walk, but Sameer locked his arms around her waist.
“Don’t leave me,” he mumbled with a quiet sob.
Carrie crouched down so she could be at Sameer’s eye level. “I will not leave you. Uncle Abdul will find you a safe place, a home, where you can stay until I come back. I will come back to get you. OK?”
Sameer nodded.
“Those houses,” Justin said, looking at a few men running toward them from that direction. The airplane crash and the explosion had aroused their curiosity. “Let’s take Sameer there and borrow a car, so we can get to the motorcade.”
Abdul nodded.
“Still wanna do this?” Carrie touched Justin’s arm.
He held her eyes for a second, before answering, “Of course, I want too. We’ve come so far; we can’t stop now. The Prime Minister is not perfect, but the devil we know is better than the devils we don’t.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Justin drove over the rough ground and cut through a patch of scraggly shrubs. The borrowed BMW, a model of the 90s, bounced over a shallow irrigation ditch and landed with a loud bang on the Airport Highway. It fishtailed as Justin jacked the steering wheel.
“We need to get their attention,” Abdul shouted from the back seat. “Before the Prime Minister arrives at the airport and before you kill us all.”
“I’m sure they’ve seen the plane crash,” Justin replied, “or the smoke from the explosion. If not, they’ll see us coming.”
Abdul said, “I know they’ll see us. I just hope they don’t shoot on sight.”
“Well, here’s where we need our man in the mukhabarat.” Justin stepped on the accelerator.
“Wow.” Carrie’s hands gripped Zakir’s laptop. She was in the passenger’s seat, going through his files, looking for any specifics about the assassination. “Almost flew out of my hands.”
“Sorry. Anything useful yet?”
“No. Lots of names and faces but no details. Not yet.”
Justin swerved around a couple of cars and stared in the distance. The last police truck of the Prime Minister’s convoy came into view, about five hundred yards away. Earlier, he had counted about thirty vehicles, including the Prime Minister’s white stretch Mercedes limousine.
“All right, Abdul,” Justin said, “we need the chief of security. Get someone to radio him.”
“I know, I know,” Abdul replied, his voice shaky and tense.
He wiped large drops of sweat from his brows and his eyes. Then, he ran his hands through his hair. At least my face will not scare them into shooting me. He pulled out a white handkerchief from one of his shirt pockets. The flag of surrender.
Justin kept getting closer to the last vehicle in the convoy, as they were going through a straight section of the Airport Highway. Large arable fields stretched on both sides. Occasional one-story houses dotted the landscape.
“Now! Go, go, go,” Justin said, when they were about fifty yards away.
Abdul sighed and stuck his head and his upper body through BMW’s sunroof.
“Hey, guards, guards, hey, hey, guards,” he shouted at the two guards in the back seats of the Toyota truck. He waved his hands, the right one holding the white handkerchief. “Guards, guards. Listen up.”
The noise of the truck’s engine drowned out his shouts.
Justin waited until Abdul paused to catch his breath and punched the car’s horn. Three quick, short honks, followed by a long blare.
His alarm drew the guards’ attention. The one on the right stuck his head out of the back window. The second guard pointed his AK-47 rifle at the BMW.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” Abdul shouted, “I got to tell you something. Something important. I got a message.”
The second guard fired off a warning shot. Abdul flinched and ducked, even though the shot rang out high above his head.
“Don’t shoot, we’re not a threat,” Abdul continued his plea even louder, “I got a message. Listen to me. I need the chief of security.”
The second guard lowered his rifle, leveling it to Abdul’s head.
“No, no, no,” Abdul shouted, closing his eyes, waving his arms even faster. “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.”
Justin readied for a sharp turn, but noticed the first guard elbowing the second. He was saying something to him, which made the second guard lower his weapon.
“I think we got through to them,” Justin said. The first guard was shouting at them and gesturing for the BMW to drive to the left of the Toyota.
“I would still be careful.” Carrie set aside the laptop and reached for the mini-Uzi by her feet.
“Abdul, you’ve got to convince them,” Justin said. “We’ve got only one chance.”
Abdul replied with a cold sigh. Justin drove parallel to the police truck. Carrie hid her gun under the laptop and looked at the Toyota.
“I know you,” the first guard said, “you’re with the Counter Terrorism Branch. What do you want?”
“The Prime Minister’s in danger. His life is in great danger,” Abdul spat out his words as fast as he could, before the AK-47 was pointed at him again. “Someone’s trying to kill him. Take me to the chief of security.”
“Who’s trying to kill the Prime Minister?”
“A Saudi prince.”
“What? Who?” the guard asked over the loud noise of the truck’s engine.
“A Saudi prince seeking revenge. The convoy will fall into an ambush.”
“No, I can’t believe this.”
“Trust me, neither could I, at first. But we’ve got proof. Let me talk to—”
“When is this ambush happening?” the guard interrupted Abdul.
“Hmm… I’m not quite sure,” Abdul said, “we… eh… we don’t know that.”
The guard groaned. “So, what am I to say to the chief?”
This is not good, this is not good. Justin shook his head, glancing ahead at the motorcade making a wide turn, as it reached the entrance to the airport complex. He had a clear view of the Prime Minister’s stretch limousine.
“Shit, shit, shit, it’s a landmine, it’s a fucking landmine,” Carrie shouted. She tapped the laptop screen, staring at the assassination plan she had just found. “Abdul there’s a landmine right by the—”
Her words were interrupted by a loud explosion. The ground shook as if an earthquake ripped through its surface. The top layer of the highway was peeled back, throwing large chunks of concrete against the convoy’s vehicles. Thick palm trees along the side of the road were blown away like matchsticks. Two trucks burst into huge fireballs. The Prime Minister’s limousine flipped over to its passenger’s side. The shockwave rippled through the convoy, smashing windows of other vehicles. A second later, the front of the convoy was swallowed up in dark gray smoke.
“Go, go, go, quick, quick,” Abdul shouted at the guards. “We’ve got to help the Prime Minister.”
The guards talked to the driver and the Toyota swerved hard to the right. It drove into the highway shoulder, the driver and the guards shouting at the people in the other cars. Justin followed right behind. Other vehicles rushed toward the Prime Minister’s limousine. Many guards, men and women, in police and military uniforms, poured out of the cars. Justin had to slam on his brakes more than once, to avoid crushing into people scurrying in front of his car.
Just as they were entering the smoke cloud, Justin saw one of the police officers collapse to the ground. At first, Justin thought it was from smoke inhalation. Then, he saw the arm of a man in a military uniform explode with a blood gush.