Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

Chapter 25

It was after midnight. The streets of Marrakesh were dark and empty, although there were candles flickering in some windows, the illumination of a few modern street lamps, and the light of stars in the moonless sky to make their surroundings visible. As in all cities, a few homeless people were curled up in doorways and alcoves, trying to steal an hour or two of sleep. No one else was on the street at this hour.

From the outside, the building that housed the Alliance of the Pharaohs was darker than most—the windows had been boarded up again, and to a casual observer it would have looked completely deserted. But with his ear pressed to the planks nailed over the doorway, Gabriel could hear sounds of movement inside.

Well, it had been too much to hope that they’d all have been asleep. But at least they probably wouldn’t be going in and out of the building too much at one AM.

He led Sammi into the dormant square, where shuttered stands stood darkly against the blue-black sky, looming like the menhirs in Corsica. They found their way silently to the back entrance of Nizan’s shop. One light was burning inside, and through a half-closed set of blinds they could see Nizan himself, seated at a desk, poring over a ledger.

Gabriel rechecked his Colt unnecessarily; it was fully loaded with six rounds and he had plenty of extras in a pouch on his belt. Sammi was armed as well, having obtained a Browning 9mm semi-automatic from Charlie. It was Foundation property, but the message from Michael seemed to have gotten across. Charlie had given her the gun and two spare magazines and showed her how to load them.

“Stick to the plan,” Gabriel said. “You stay on the ground floor and watch the tunnel entrance. I’ll head upstairs. Lucy’s the first priority. When I’ve got her, I’ll bring her down and you can get her the hell out of there.”

“I wish you’d come with us.”

“If I don’t take care of the Alliance now, we’ll all be watching over our shoulders for them for the rest of our lives. Which may not be very long.”

“I know,” Sammi said. “But I hate leaving you alone in there.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Gabriel said. “The last thing I’ll be is alone.”

The couple crept toward Nizan’s. Keeping their backs to the wall and pistols in hand, they slipped in through the shop’s rear door.

Nizan’s eyes widened when he looked up and saw them. Gabriel’s Colt jabbed into his neck before he could set off any alarm.

“Not a sound,” Gabriel ordered.

Sammi picked up a spool of cord used to tie carpet rolls and swiftly bound Nizan’s wrists and ankles, her knots expert and tight. There’d be no working his way loose from these knots; even a seasoned escape artist would have had difficulty slipping them. Gabriel fashioned a gag out of a small strip of carpet and deposited Nizan on the washroom floor, then pushed two heavy rolls of carpet in front of the door so it couldn’t be opened.

With Nizan secured, they walked to the back room where the trap door was located. Gabriel threw back the carpet and dragged the door open. They went down the steps and into the tunnel, moving quickly. They reached the other building’s basement in less than two minutes. Gabriel cocked his head to listen at the foot of the stairs. There were no sounds from above. He climbed the steps and slowly raised the door an inch or two. A glance told him no one was in the pantry—but now he did hear voices, from the next room over.

Gabriel mouthed the word, “Quiet,” and gestured for Sammi to follow. They climbed out of the tunnel, taking care to make no sound and leaving the trap door open for a quick retreat.

Gabriel peered around a corner into the living room, then jerked back. Kemnebi was standing there, his broad back to Gabriel, lecturing two other Alliance men in Arabic. One of the other men said something back in what sounded to Gabriel like an apologetic tone. Kemnebi responded with no sympathy in his voice at all. Gabriel heard footsteps receding as the men walked out of the room.

He gestured to Sammi to remain by the door, and stepped into the living room.

Where he walked right into Kemnebi.

The other men had gone—but not him.

Kemnebi was startled, but just for a moment. He reacted with lightning speed, seizing Gabriel’s gun hand before he could pull the trigger of his Colt. Gabriel punched him as hard as he could with his other hand, landing a blow to Kemnebi’s solar plexus that would have felled most men. Kemnebi felt it—Gabriel could see it in his reaction—but he shook it off and kept squeezing Gabriel’s hand mercilessly.

Gabriel swung a knee up between Kemnebi’s legs, and that had more of an effect. The big man stumbled a few steps backward and bent over, struggling to catch his breath. Gabriel took the opportunity to deliver a second blow, this one a roundhouse to the side of his head. Kemnebi fell against a table, tipping it over and knocking all its contents to the ground.

Gabriel saw Sammi peer out from the pantry, a look of concern on her face. From upstairs came the sound of running footsteps.

“So much for stealth,” Gabriel said.

Sammi whipped out the Browning and took a bead on Kemnebi’s head. “Don’t move.”

“I’m going upstairs,” Gabriel said. “Can you handle him?”

“Yes,” she said, and pulled the trigger. A spray of blood stained the wall. Kemnebi slumped to the ground, dead.

“Jesus,” Gabriel said. “Remind me never to make you mad.”

“They’re not playing around,” Sammi said. “We can’t either.” But her hands were shaking.

Three men in three days. Gabriel tried to push the thought out of his mind. There’d be time for that sort of thinking later. Or there wouldn’t, if he let himself be distracted by it now.

He sprinted to the staircase and took the steps two at a time. One of the guards met him coming down as he and Gabriel both reached the first landing. The guard delivered a haymaker to Gabriel’s chin, which stunned Gabriel for a moment, but he dropped into a defensive crouch and shook off the blow. As the man came in for a second try, Gabriel blocked the punch with his forearm and gave one right back, slamming his knuckles into the man’s temple. The man collapsed against the staircase banister, which snapped under his weight. He fell screaming to the floor below.

Another guard appeared on the landing, but a pair of bullets from Gabriel’s Colt sent him scurrying back upstairs. Gabriel followed, shooting one more time, and then turned off at the landing for the third floor. He raced down the hall to Lucy’s room. It was shut and locked. He banged loudly on the wood with his fist. “Lucy? You in there?”

“Gabriel?” She didn’t sound normal.

Gabriel lifted his boot and kicked the door in, snapping the lock off the jamb.

Lucy was there, dressed exactly as she had been in the airport, her eyes slightly glazed from the lingering effects of whatever drug they’d given her this time.

“You came back,” she said, her voice muzzy.

“Of course I did,” Gabriel said. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Don’t think I can climb . . .” she said.

“You don’t have to. Just stay behind me and do what I say.”

“Okay . . . Gabriel?”

“What?” he said, and began pulling her toward the door.

“I don’t hate Michael,” she said sleepily. “I don’t.”

“That’s great. We’ll talk about it later.”

“I just . . . can’t live there, in their home, spending their money . . .”

“Later,” Gabriel said. Then he pressed her back against the wall and followed suit himself just as a spray of bullets came whizzing past.

“Gabriel!” Lucy exclaimed.

He poked the nose of the Colt around the doorframe and snapped off one shot. Then another—and this time he heard someone groan and collapse. “Come on.” He pulled Lucy with him toward the stairs.

They made it halfway down.