The Seven Seals of Egypt

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The battle raged.

Luther and his men, twelve in total, may have had the element of surprise back at the arena, but Vladimir’s men had regrouped by the time Luther broke back out and gave immediate chase.

The prospects weren’t good. Drake had been herded into the back of one of two trucks — standard military with canvas covering the back — and told to sit on the floor. Half his team followed and half went in the other truck. Drivers stepped on the gas and they were away. Drake was thrown water and chocolate and then tied by one hand to a metal strut.

“Oh, love.” He chomped hard at the thick bar. “This has to be one the best things that ever went in my mouth.”

Luckily, Alicia was in the other truck. He sipped the water slowly, not surprised with the sudden vigor that entered his body but knowing it would take a while yet and some good food for everything to return to normal. One by one, they began to catalogue their wounds and the seriousness of them, sounding off to each other and yelling out to Luther’s men that they needed antiseptic and bandages.

Both vehicles raced along the desert, hills and dunes to either side, as the mercenaries geared up to follow, pealing out in pursuit with four trucks. Luther’s men had gained a five-minute head start.

Luther himself sat with them, back to the cab where a driver and shotgun-man sat. Two more crouched in the bed of the truck, peering through the canvas to gauge the pursuit.

Luther made a point of attracting Drake’s attention. “You need us,” he said. “For now. Don’t fuck with us. Let us do our jobs.”

Drake nodded and carried on evaluating his new enemies.

Luther got on the comms, talking to the other truck and making sure they were following the plan. The desert rose and fell all around; mushroom clouds of sand and dust plumed into the air. Though the vehicles were traveling comparatively slowly it felt like they were moving at great speed, bouncing and jouncing around so that Drake’s wrist again started to chafe as they rubbed against the new chains.

Dahl nudged his shoulder. “Captured twice in two days. That’s a new low for me.”

Drake considered it. “Yeah, me too.”

“Really? Surely with the SAS it’s just a Tuesday.”

“Funny. Seriously though, this feels better.”

Dahl shifted his gaze across to Luther; the enormous head with its long scar and intelligent, black eyes. “Depends what he has in store for us.”

“The guy’s Army, through and through,” Drake said. “I’d like to know his orders.”

“Well, if his orders come from the same guys that disavowed us it won’t be a tea and biscuits invitation.”

Through gaps in the canvas they saw flashes of the other truck, where Alicia, Hayden, Kinimaka, Yorgi and Smyth lay in chains, Drake assumed. It jolted along a few feet parallel to theirs, the figures and frames of their friends visible only briefly. If Drake shifted again he could see through the back.

The mercenaries were coming up fast.

“You couldn’t get a faster truck, bro?” Dahl asked Luther.

A shrug. “White House is strapped for dollars these days. Everyone knows that.”

Luther moved to the back of the truck with such physical presence it was like watching a lion stalking. Drake did not fancy trading blows.

“Pal?” he said. “Any more of that chocolate?”

“It’ll make you fat.” Luther studied the oncoming vehicles.

“We’ll take the chance,” Dahl said. “The conditions in that cave were somewhat taxing.”

Drake snorted. “Taxing?”

“English understatement,” Luther said, signaling one of his men to comply. “I like it.”

Drake tuned it out as eating the sugary food became the highlight of the last twenty four hours. The engine roared in his ears, the tires rumbled like thunder across the desert. The heat was intense but frequent gusts of wind wound through the canvas gaps, making it more tolerable.

“Not good.” Luther turned back to the truck. “This is not good, boys. Break out the candy.”

Drake eyed Dahl and they both watched Luther’s men crack open the large black box they had been sitting on. Reaching inside, they rummaged and then withdrew two RPGs, grenades, smoke bombs and other military paraphernalia. Luther crab-walked over to heft the first rocket launcher.

“Snyder, you ready with the smoke?”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Do it.”

The truck rumbled on. Luther approached the rear of the truck once again, then suddenly stopped and threw the launcher to the floor.

“Grenade!” he bellowed.

The driver heard, stamping on the gas. Drake saw the black streak flying toward them and ducked just as the driver wrenched hard on the wheel. The truck slewed, slamming into its partner and bouncing hard on the dust and gravel. The missile flashed by, burying its head into a mound of sand and exploding. The screen of expanding sand it threw up blasted far and wide, showering the passing trucks. Drake felt sand striking his back.

Luther rose and took position. “Firing!”

A rocket flew, just missing the passenger side wheel of a gaining truck. Drake now saw the second in line.

“Balls, that looks like it means business.”

The truck sported a turret-mounted gun on top, like a tank, but Drake fancied it would move a lot quicker.

“Smoke.” Luther reloaded the RPG.

Snyder stepped past him and hurled two grenades. Exploding as soon as they hit the ground, they spewed out thick, white smoke, blanketing the area. Luther crouched and hefted the rocket launcher across one broad shoulder.

Drake caught a good glimpse of the other truck. A man waited there too. He switched his gaze back to the smoke screen.

Two missiles flashed through the thin veil, straight toward them.

“Fuck!” Luther cried.

“Evade!” Drake shouted. “Do it now or we’re dead!”