All Necessary Force

Just because the man might have had blood on his hands doesn’t mean we get to beat him to death.

She finished with the second layer of security at the entrance to the terminal and joined the cattle call moving toward the departure gates. Walking with everyone else, she was jostled by a man trying to remove his bag from the X-ray conveyer. He politely said, “Excuse me,” and she noticed he was Asian and appeared nervous. He turned and ran to catch up to an Arab who was impatiently waiting. An Arab she recognized.

The man from the tombs.

She watched them link up with three other Arabs and walk briskly deeper into the airport. She grabbed her bag and followed.

She shadowed them for close to ten minutes, until they finally stopped and sat at a gate. She looked to the counter and saw a flight on Czech Airlines headed to Prague. She pulled out her phone and dialed Pike. He answered after three rings, his voice clearly happy.

“Hey. Glad you called. Listen, I can’t talk now. We’re at the market. I’m busy.”

She remembered that the team was going to track the remaining tourist trip to the Khan al-Khalili market in the hopes of finding a thread to pull. She was certain she was looking at the thread.

“Pike, I’m at the airport and I’ve got eyes on the man from the tombs. You’re tracking the wrong—”

He cut her off. “Jennifer, call me back. Don’t go anywhere. I gotta go.”

He hung up.

He must have his hands full. She looked at the men again, then looked at her ticket. Okay. You can always fly tomorrow.

She spent a few moments memorizing their faces, then left the airport and flagged a cab.

“Khan Khalili market, please.”

31

Jennifer survived the cab drive through the chaos of Cairo traffic, pulling into the front entrance of the market with her knuckles white against the door handle. She paid the driver, ignoring his attempts to become her personal guide for her stay. She stood on the street and surveyed the area, trying to formulate a plan. She knew that the market itself, while once the center of shopping for Cairo as far back as the fourteenth century, had devolved into a massive tourist trap. The square behind her was a testament to that, as it was jammed full of tour buses transporting people from all over the world, the tourism industry finally beginning to return after the unrest of last year.

She decided to start in the souvenir area and ignore the parts of the market that still served the locals. Noordin’s people could be going to the gold section, but she’d hit that after she came up empty.

She walked past the cafes on the outskirts and entered the market proper, a rat maze of hundreds of shops, most simply stalls lined with souvenirs, a few with small courtyards and doors. She could see why Pike had hung up. Staying on someone in here without getting burned would be tough.

With every step, she was accosted by shop owners, all begging her to come into their store, regardless of what they sold. She did stop every few meters and sample the wares, not because she wanted to buy anything, but because she didn’t want to step all over Pike’s surveillance.

Moving down another alley, she spotted the Members Only jacket that Retro wore. Not too hard to figure out that call sign. He needs some shopping tips.

She ducked into the nearest shop to see if she could identify the targets or Pike. The owner descended on her like a spider on a fly.

“Handmade. All handmade.”

Yeah, sure. The only time a hand has touched this stuff was when it peeled off the “Made in China” label.

She picked up a lamp, keeping an eye on the activity outside. She felt the barrel of a gun jam into her back, then a voice with a heavy Chinese accent.

“Do not move or you will die right here. I do not intend to harm you.”

“Pike, this is Retro. We got someone on us.”

I kept my eyes on Noordin’s crew. “What? You sure?”

“I’ve ID’d three so far. All Asian. And all on you. I don’t think the rest of us have spiked yet.”

What the hell? I’m being followed again? “Okay. I’m going to draw one in and see what he wants. I’m moving into the restaurant at the end of the alley.”

“What about the targets?”

“Let ’em go if you have to. Watch my back.”

I wasn’t too concerned about my safety. In fact, I felt blessed to have a second chance to find out what the hell was going on. Second chance to locate Bull’s killer. Noordin’s crew took a backseat to that. I knew only one man would penetrate into the restaurant to keep eyes on me. He’d try to be inconspicuous and wouldn’t expect an assault. I’d get the tail alone and pump him for information — without killing him.

The hostess asked where I’d like to be seated, and led me to a table. After she walked away, I went to the bathroom. Surveying quickly, I saw one stall, a urinal, and a counter with two sinks. I decided to stay inside. It would be a little bit of a wait, but eventually the curiosity of the guy would force him to enter. Once he saw me, he’d immediately act like he needed to use the toilet or wash his hands, ignoring me so I didn’t get spooked.

I decided to stay at the sink until he came inside, then head to the door, forcing him deeper into the bathroom to stay in role. Once I blocked his escape, I’d find out what he was doing.

I saw the door open and turned off the sink. I turned around and faced an Asian man. He was staring hard at me, his face set in determination. In his hand was a QSZ-92 pistol aimed at my chest. Another Chinese model, this one not sporting a suppressor.

Well, that didn’t work out like you wanted.

Jennifer remained stock-still, gripping the lamp until her knuckles were white. She heard the man say something in Chinese, then felt the barrel push her forward. He switched to English.

“Put down the lamp and leave the store. Quietly.”

The owner looked confused for a moment, Jennifer’s body blocking the view of the gun. He assumed the Chinese man was with Jennifer and repeated his mantra of handmade crafts.

The man said, “We don’t want to buy anything.” He pushed Jennifer again.

True to form all over the market, the owner suspected nothing more than a little hardball haggling. He smiled and placed his hand on the Chinese’s shoulder.

“Friend, how much is handmade worth? I have the best—”

Jennifer seized the distraction, whirling around and slamming the lamp into the man’s gun, sending it skittering through the souvenirs.

The owner’s eyes went wide at the sight of the pistol. He fled the store, screaming in Arabic out on the street. Jennifer attempted to follow, but the Chinese grabbed her arm. She felt a vise on her elbow, then a searing pain that brought her to her knees. The man twisted her wrist and used the locked joint of her elbow to drive her face-first into the ground. She ceased struggling before he could break her arm.

Jesus. He knows how to fight.

The thought sent a stinging fear through her.

Holding the joint lock with one hand, the man pulled a knife with a three-inch blade out of his belt buckle and put it against her neck.

The terror exploded in her, her brain flashing on an image of her sliced open like a sacrificial lamb, blood jetting out of her neck and coating the floor.

Gunfire exploded outside, startling them both. She felt him shift above her. The blade left her neck, and the lock loosened a fraction. Seizing the moment, she rolled to the right, relieving the strain and freeing her joints. Flipping onto her back, she scissored her calves around the legs of the man. Before he could react, she torqued them as hard as she could, rotating onto her face again and bringing him to the ground.

She leapt up and raced to the back of the store, looking for an exit. There was none. She whirled around and