Meeting Corbett’s uncertain gaze, Amaia’s demeanor immediately turned to ice. Scooping up her daughter, she clutched her protectively as she allowed her anger to curdle the moment.
“What are you doing here?”
“Tariq… It’s imperative that I speak with him as soon as possible. There’s no time to waste.”
“Go away, Michael. Whatever it is you’re selling we don’t need it.”
“Amaia, listen…”
“No, you listen. We have a life here. It may not seem like much to you. But it’s enough. So don’t destroy it. Just leave us alone.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Really…? Is that what you told my brother? In Nairobi… before you let him die? Jon’s dead, Michael. But the truth is – it should have been you.”
Her accusatory tone cut through him like a knife as her eyes filled with loathing. Though he wished it were different, he had no defense. She turned to go.
“Tell Tariq his father doesn’t have much time. He needs him now.”
Still clutching her child, Amaia turned back. “And his daughter doesn’t? Why can’t you at least be straight with us? The only reason anyone gives a damn about any of this is politics and greed. Tariq, his father… you. You’re all being used. Just this once, Michael, do the right thing. Walk away. Leave us alone.”
“Tell him I’ll wait for him at the café…” He hesitated then added softly, “I’m sorry.”
“Liar.”
Without warning, she felt her anger boil over. Lashing out, she slapped his face hard with her open hand. Absorbing the blow, he silently held her gaze then watched as she turned, carrying her child back inside, slamming the clinic door behind her.
Re-crossing the street, Corbett started for the café when something caught his attention. The tarp covering the rear cargo hold of the stake bed truck had come loose during transport, partially exposing a cluster of electrical wires. Stepping closer, he started to pull back the flap, revealing a cell phone detonator attached to a large clay-like brick of what he immediately recognized to be C-4 – an Improvised Explosive Device with enough plastique to wipe out everything for twenty meters in every direction.
Examining the IED, he quickly saw that there was no way to defuse it without risking setting it off. Retracing his steps back across the street, he opened the clinic door to find the nurse named Nekane seated at the desk just inside. Stepping through the doorway, he approached her, lowering his voice as he attempted to speak in measured tones.
“Listen to me. There is a truck parked across the street filled with explosives – enough to level this entire block,” he disliked exaggeration but knew he needed to make the point. “Find Dr. Alesander. Tell her she must evacuate the clinic immediately or many people will die. Do you understand?”
Nekane stared at him unable to move as she attempted to process his words, her mind barely able to comprehend his meaning in English.
“Now…! You must get everyone out immediately,” Corbett repeated, raising his voice. “Do you understand? I’m going to go try to move the truck. Find Dr. Alesander!”
Visibly shaken, the young woman finally managed to rise from her chair. As she headed off to find Amaia, Corbett ran back outside. Quickly crossing the road, he reached the truck and threw open the driver’s side door. But as he started to climb into the cab, someone grabbed him from behind, catching him in a chokehold. Locking his forearm, the unseen assailant began applying deadly pressure against Corbett’s carotid artery, shutting off the blood supply to his brain. His vision began to swim. Instinctively, he knew that he had no more than seconds to free himself before he would lose consciousness. Twisting his torso and arching his back, he simultaneously drove his left elbow sharply into his assailant’s ribcage. Once… twice… three times before finally breaking the man’s grip.
Pulling free and spinning away, Corbett found himself staring into the sullen, scarred face of the man called Noor, the other man who had attacked him at the airport. Instant recognition as both men squared off. Lashing out with his left, Corbett caught Noor square in the face, pulverizing his nose. Covering his broken nose with his right hand, blood spilling out between his fingers and down his lips covering his chin, Noor stumbled backwards. Then turning he began to run. Without a moment’s hesitation, Corbett took off after him.
A footrace across the ancient stones. Fists clenched, legs pumping full bore. Dodging down an alley, Noor vaulted a handcart filled with melons while slamming the merchant who was pushing it into the wall. Grabbing the cart, he upended it, sending the ripe green melons tumbling directly into Corbett’s path. With the merchant cursing them both, Corbett managed to barely catch sight of the back of Noor’s shirt as he disappeared around the next corner.
Racing after the fleeing assailant, Corbett reached the corner only to find himself standing alone facing a blind alley. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the man climbing lizard-like up the side of the nearest house – from the drainpipe to the windowsill to the rain gutter. Grabbing the drainpipe himself, Corbett started to climb after him.
Directly above him, Noor reached the red tiled roof of the first house and clambered over the edge. By the time Corbett did the same, Noor was several rooftops away threading his way along the uneven tiles. Leaping from one roof to the next, the Jihadi glanced back, his still bloodied face fighting panic as Corbett closed the gap.
Ahead, Noor reached the far end of the roof of the last house on the block and froze. Nowhere to go. Looking down, he could see the worn stone cobbles of the
