The Romanov Ransom

5

Stay with Zakaria,” Sam called, taking off after the thief. He pushed through a group of tourists posing for pictures with a tame monkey, then past a stall selling fresh orange juice.

The thief darted into a narrow alley, barreling over anyone who got in his way. Soon, the colorful souk and eager vendors hawking their wares gave way to a maze of dark doorways and high walls, the noise from the crowded marketplace fading in the distance. The only sounds came from the thief’s and Sam’s footsteps, echoing through the tunnel-like streets.

The man glanced behind him, saw Sam gaining, and quickened his pace. He shot around a corner, jumping over a wooden crate filled with empty burlap sacks. The alley twisted to the left, and he pulled an empty garbage can out, swinging it around at Sam, who was midair over the crate. Sam dodged the can as he landed, hearing it rattle down the alley behind him. When he looked back, the thief was gone. Although he could hear the sound of running, the alley was empty. There was only one direction the thief could have gone, but any number of doorways.

Sam stopped and listened, trying to hear the footsteps, when someone laughed from a window above. He looked up, saw a boy and a girl, grade school age, looking down at him, their dark eyes alight with curiosity and amusement. One of them pointed, not down the alley but at an arched doorway about ten feet away. Sam walked up to it, and the boy nodded. Sam returned the nod.

The heavy wooden door hung on iron hinges, and when he pushed, it swung open, not to a house but to another alley. The thief, his chest heaving from exhaustion, was about twenty yards ahead, fishing through Remi’s purse, pulling out the wallet and opening it. Recognition hit Sam as he realized this was one of the two men he’d seen following Durin. When the guy looked up and saw Sam, he dropped the purse, kept the wallet, and took off again.

Sam closed the distance, was nearly on him, when the thief suddenly turned and threw the wallet at Sam. The man stumbled as he turned back, and Sam pounced, slamming him to the ground. They rolled together, the thief trying to twist free. Sam held tight, using their momentum to swing the guy around, until Sam was back on top, vaguely aware that someone was running toward them. Sam drove his fist into the man’s face. The thief lay there motionless, his stunned expression moving from Sam to someone just behind them. Sam grabbed the guy’s shoulders, rolling away just as a club came crashing down, missing Sam and striking the ground.

Sam shoved the thief to the side just as his partner kicked at Sam’s ribs. The blow knocked the breath from his lungs. Sam saw the man’s boot coming at him again. He spun around, scissor-kicked, sweeping the guy’s feet from beneath him. His attacker fell to the ground.

The first thief scrambled to his knees, lunging. Sam caught the glint of a knife arcing toward him. He blocked the blow. The thief swung again. Sam caught his arm, gripped the knife hand, twisting the weapon from his grasp. It clattered to the cobblestones as Sam swung, slamming his fist into the man’s eye socket.

“Police!” someone shouted from the gate.

The thief dragged his partner to his feet, pulling him away.

They raced through the alley, and Sam jumped up, about to give chase, when he saw Remi and Zakaria coming through the gate.

No police. Regardless, their ruse worked. The thieves were gone.

Remi picked up her purse, then her wallet.

“Everything there?” Sam asked.

“Seems to be.” She looked at Sam, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Beyond the bruises likely to develop on his ribs and knees, his worst injury was a few scraped knuckles. “Had you given me a few more seconds, I might have won the round.”

“Close enough, Fargo. Or did you forget we have an early day tomorrow?”

“Good point,” he said, glancing down the street in the direction the thieves had fled. Tonight’s events seemed entirely too coincidental. Durin being followed, and then the distraction in the marketplace moments before Remi’s purse had been stolen. He examined the five-inch folding knife left behind by one of the thieves. Sharp, well-balanced, quality German carbon. Not the sort he’d expect a couple of Moroccan street thieves to be carrying. And, now that he thought about it, that was a pretty elaborate and deadly scheme to steal a purse.

Only one reason for all this that he could think of. Someone didn’t want them to get out to that plane.