The Templar Heresy

18

In the cab of the lorry, the driver was following the very specific orders he had been given. As soon as they’d seen the Toyota, a couple of miles in front of them, he’d increased speed to try to get as close to the target as he could. The obvious problem was that although the lorry was, like all vehicles adapted for use in desert conditions, fitted with a permanent four-wheel-drive system and, in this case, a big turbo-charged diesel engine, its sheer weight and bulk meant that it was never going to be as fast as the vehicle they were pursuing. Although it had got closer to the target, the tail chase was a contest that the lorry was slowly losing.

But Farooq had passed one other piece of information to the driver, and as the front of the lorry crashed down over the top of a dune and he accelerated down the slope in front of him, he also snatched a glance at his GPS unit. Moments later he steered the truck over to the right, down a long narrow gully that ran fairly straight for about a hundred yards.

‘Where are you going?’ the man sitting beside him demanded, one hand clutching the fore-end of his Kalashnikov while he held on to the dashboard grab handle with the other.

‘I’m following my orders. Wait and you will see.’

At the end of the gully, the ground sloped gently upwards on the left-hand side. The driver took another look at the display on his GPS then steered the truck up the slope. At the top, he hit the brakes briefly, then swung the steering wheel to the left and accelerated again. Immediately, the bone-crunching ride that everyone in the vehicle had been enduring eased noticeably, despite the fact that within a few seconds the lorry was travelling even faster than it had done before.

‘Now I see what you mean,’ the passenger said as he stared at the beaten track that stretched away in front of them. It was a long way from being a proper road, but it was relatively flat and level and mostly free of potholes and dips. ‘How far does it go?’

‘Only about three kilometres, according to Farooq, and then it turns away to the south. But that should be far enough for what he wants us to do.’

The driver knew that timing was everything. As the straight section of the track came to an end, he hit the brakes and shouted out, ‘Get ready.’

As the lorry shuddered under braking, two of the men who’d been clinging on to the sides of the loading area clambered painfully to their feet and grasped the steel bar that ran across the truck directly behind the cab. The moment the vehicle came to a complete stop, one of them pulled a grey canvas cover off a long and somewhat bulky object located right in the centre, and directly above, the steel bar.

Underneath the cover — used only as a precaution to keep the worst of the sand out of the mechanism — the long black barrel of a Browning M2 half-inch machine gun gleamed in the sunlight.

The man designated as the gunner checked the weapon, ensured the belt carrying the ammunition was properly aligned with the breech and clear of obstructions, cocked it and then grasped the twin grip handles at the rear of the machine gun and swung it round to point the barrel towards the distant vehicle. Even for that powerful and heavy weapon, he knew that the 4x4 was at the very limit of its range, probably around a mile distant, but he had his orders.

The good thing was that although the 4x4 was travelling quite quickly, it was also following a reasonably straight course, making it an easier target.

He sighted the weapon, allowing a slight lead ahead of the vehicle, and raised the barrel a fraction to cater for the drop the bullets would experience in flight due to the effects of gravity.

‘Quickly,’ his companion urged. ‘They’ll be out of range in a few seconds.’

The gunner adjusted his aim, then pressed the trigger in a short and controlled burst.