His head throbbed and he wondered if it might not be too late. It did not matter now.
The Bedouin began to run, ducking quickly around the horse barn and into the dark tangle of wild grapevines, briars, and oak trees. He would kill Navarro and take the child with him. In the few short hours they had left alive, Zafir would teach him the true way of Islam. In the end, his son too would become a glorious martyr and find his reward in Paradise.
CHAPTER 53
Four minutes from Juanita Calderon’s house, Quinn began to take long, slow breaths, willing his heart rate to slow. Mahoney had shown enough forethought to bring his M4 when they’d jumped in the rental car and it now hung loaded and ready, suspended on a single-point sling around his neck. He reached behind his back to touch Yawaraka-Te’s hilt, assuring himself the ancient blade was still there. He’d reloaded the 10 millimeter tucked in an inside-the-pants holster over his right kidney. If it was possible, they’d take Zafir out with long guns-giving them the safety of distance-but something told Quinn the Bedouin would be too smart for that.
Steve Akers, the chopper pilot and former Marine, dropped the bird low, skimming the tops of the trees. He followed the rise and fall of the natural terrain in what was known as NOE-nap-of-the-earth flying. It was a technique used in Vietnam to protect chopper pilots from heat-seeking missiles-go low and go fast. The technique had the added benefit of keeping the thump of the helicopter’s approach dampened by the foliage and terrain. Akers flew more like an artist than a technician and coaxed every ounce of speed out of his machine.
The side doors were slid open and a warm, humid wind roared through the cabin. In the front seat Thibodaux checked the magazine in his M4.
Mahoney stared out the open door, eyes locked on the trees as they whipped by in a green blur, less than ten feet below the skids. The wind fluttered the leg of her khakis, pressing the cloth against the smooth curve of her calf. Thick reddish blond hair whipped across her face, but she made no attempt to push it away.
Quinn tensed when she suddenly spun toward him, looking him full in the face. If she’d noticed him looking at her, she didn’t mention it.
“It’s after ten,” she yelled above the roar, tapping her watch. “We’re well inside the safety zone. If he is here, there’s a good chance he’s gone hot…” Her face was drawn, her normally rosy lips pinched and pale.
Quinn put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. “Palmer has the Texas Highway Patrol and the National Guard moving now to cordon off the area. We will stop this. And we’ll stop it here, one way or another.”
“If he didn’t get a cup of coffee along the way… or ask for directions…” Her chin quivered as if she might break down at any moment. “He only has to get Pandora to one other person we don’t know about and their plan has worked…”
Quinn opened his mouth to stay something else, but Akers cut him off.
“Tallyho at two o’clock!” The pilot held his hand up, knifelike and pointed right of the helicopter’s nose. “According to my GPS, that white two-story up there should be your target.” He twisted in his seat to throw a tense look over his shoulder. “And you’re not gonna like what you see.”
Marc Cameron
National Security
C HAPTER 54
Carrie moved quietly, making up her plans as she went along. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew she had to move. Sitting still would drive her crazy if it didn’t get her killed. She carried Christian as she went, telling him they were playing a hiding game so he wouldn’t make a fuss. Her mother might hang up the phone and come looking for her at any moment, the guards could discover she was missing and haul her back inside. Engrossed in worry at the thought of getting caught, she kept careful watch over her shoulder as she made her way down the long flight of wooden stairs leading from the red cedar deck.
As she came off the last step, she ran headlong into Zafir.
A liquid scream curdled in her throat. The Bedouin folded his arms and looked hard into her face, sneering. She’d forgotten how tall he was. With his back to the sun, his body was a dark silhouette, larger than life. The monster’s eyes fell on Christian and his cruel mouth relaxed, hanging open in awe.
Carrie put the boy gently on the grass, without looking down. She wanted to scream, to warn the others inside that he was here. But her lungs felt heavy, her tongue refused to follow her brain’s commands. With the air- conditioning running full bore, she doubted if anyone inside would hear her anyway. Her brain screamed for a way out. She stood rooted in place, unable to lift a finger while before her eyes, this vile, evil man stooped and gently mussed her little boy’s hair like a long lost uncle. He whispered in hushed tones, speaking in Arabic, smiling softly as if he were actually capable of kindness. Carrie knew from long experience that was impossible.
The muscles in her arms twitched as she struggled to free herself from the paralysis. Half breaths escaped her nose in tormented sobs. Her mind raced, thinking of her poor child who was about to witness his own mother’s murder.
Zafir released her with a vicious slap.
“Christian, run!” Carrie hissed, the words gushing from her lungs like air from a ruptured tire. Tears gushed down her face as if from a broken dam.
But the boy stood fast, clinging to her leg. He stared up wide-eyed at the dark man who looked so much like him.
“No need to run, my child.” Zafir smiled, transitioning smoothly to English like the wily devil that Carrie knew him to be. “I am your baba…”
The thought of her little boy calling this horrible man father was more than Carrie could bear. Without another thought, she jerked the knife from her waistband, slashing wildly at Zafir. Her rage helped free her muscles-but he was faster. He’d faced blades before and a few unaimed gashes on his forearm did not faze him.
He swatted the blade from her hand as if it was nothing more than a troublesome fly. It clanged to the ground, wedged at an angle against the wood of the bottom step. Zafir stomped hard with the sole his heavy boot, snapping the sharp steel just inches above the hilt.
“You are a fool,” he jeered, grabbing her by the wrist. “You thought you could kill me with a ridiculous kitchen tool?” Rivulets of dark blood ran along his arm, dripping from the remaining fingers of his disfigured hand. He spat on the ground in disgust. “My son would have been a woman if I had allowed you to raise him.”
“You can’t have him!” Carrie moaned. Her lungs began to lock again as memories of this man’s power flooded her body and mind. “You… can’t… I… I won’t let you take him!”
“You?” He laughed. “And what could you possibly do to stop me?” He grabbed the neck of her T-shirt, tearing it away. “Have you got a spoon in there to go with your knife?”
The sneering smile faded from Zafir’s darkening face. His voice grew ice cold. “I will do as I please.” He drew her to him, squeezing her trembling cheeks between his fingers. “Shall we find a quiet spot in the woods for… how do you Americans say it? Old times’ sake.” His lips hovered inches from hers. The familiar metallic odor of his breath stabbed at her memory.
Carrie spat through pursed lips, catching him full in the face.
Zafir slammed his forehead brutally against the bridge of her nose. Blood gushed from her nostrils. A fountain of colored lights shot through her brain. She staggered backward, tripping over the wooden steps to sprawl backward onto a flagstone walkway.
‘Mama!” Christian cried out. Screaming in rage, the boy kicked Zafir in the leg.
“Ah.” Zafir smiled, scooping up the squirming child. “My son has fire. He is just like me, don’t you think? How long has it been, Carrie? I know you must have missed our times together, my love.” Suddenly calm again, Zafir touched Christian on the tip of the nose. Blood dripped from his wounded arm onto the boy’s shorts and bare leg. Carrie felt her stomach heave. She turned to throw up on the grass.
