Attempting to refocus, he turned his mind to the situation that he knew lay ahead. Clearly, at the moment they had a lead on their pursuers, but for how long he could only guess. Without question, the Jihadi attack on the camp along with the destruction of the chopper had rendered Plan A completely buggered. Certainly Reed would know that by now. However, he would have had no way of knowing whether or not the terrorists had succeeded in assassinating Tariq. And if things went according to form, without proof of his death, ISIS would be reluctant to go public just yet. Assuming Reed would play it close to the vest rather than prematurely admitting defeat, Corbett could only hope that the rendezvous with the trawler was still an option. If it was, then Tariq had a chance.
In the dark, the mountain road was treacherous with unexpected twists and turns as it descended through the foothills to the sea, causing Corbett to constantly downshift and adjust his speed. Fortunately, due to the lateness of the hour, so far, they had encountered no traffic. Nevertheless, he kept checking for lights in the rearview mirror. Somewhere behind but closing fast, he was certain ISIS was pressing the chase.
“You still never answered my question,” Ella’s voice drifted out from the darkness behind, intruding upon his thoughts. Corbett glanced over his right shoulder. He could barely make out the features of her face among the shadows of the backseat. Tariq’s bandaged head still rested unconscious on the seat beside her.
“What question was that?” He said, once more attempting to avoid answering her without success.
“Who are you…?” she persisted. “You’re obviously not just some American archeologist working in Spain. So, what are you doing here?”
“That’s two questions,” he answered evasively.
“Could you just for a minute stop the bullshit, and tell me the truth.”
“The truth…?” Corbett hesitated, weighing his words. What could he say? How to explain to her all that was in play here?
“The truth is,” he said at last. “There is no truth. Only violence, ignorance and death. A senseless war of attrition in which everyone is right and everyone is wrong.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“The only one I’ve got. Unfortunately, the trouble with mixing religion and politics is there are no simple answers. No rational explanations. Just blood on the hands of the righteous.”
Ella shook her head. “So that makes you what… a cynic…? an atheist?”
“A realist.”
“So, you don’t believe, yet you’re willing to risk your life to save…,” she looked toward Tariq, still asleep beside her, “some stranger.”
“First, Tariq’s not a stranger. He’s my friend. And second, that he’s even here at all is because of me. That means it’s up to me to get him out.”
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Corbett reacted to the pair of headlights that now appeared out of the darkness in the distance behind them.
Seeing Corbett’s attention abruptly shift, Ella reacted as well. “What is it…?” she asked turning in her seat to stare out the rear window.
“Trouble,” he said as he stepped hard on the accelerator once more. The headlights looked to be roughly a kilometer behind them and closing fast.
“What can we do? Outrun them?”
“Not likely. Just buckle up and stay low.”
Putting the Rover into a steep bank, Corbett negotiated a series of hairpins, accelerating out again as the Jetta continued to cut the distance. From a kilometer to a half. Then closer and closer still.
In the backseat, Tariq felt the unexpected lurch of the car and awoke with a start. Sensing something had changed, he tried to sit up. But gripping him with both arms, Ella held him down as she buckled them both into their seat belts.
“Michael…?” he asked, his voice still groggy. “Where are we? What’s going on?”
“Stay down,” Corbett ordered, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead.
Without warning, the Rover’s rear window exploded in a shower of glass, forcing Tariq and Ella to cover themselves as Buttar opened up with the AR-15. A moment later, the Jetta’s driver, Umar, attempted to pull alongside. More semi-automatic rifle fire pounded into the Rover’s left rear quarter panel as Corbett hunkered down behind the wheel, refusing to give way.
Racing neck and neck, they headed into the next turn. Just ahead, Corbett caught a glimpse of an approaching pair of headlights. Craning his head to the right, he could just make out the ancient six-ton Scania Diesel making its steady climb up the grade from the coast in the dark. Using the Rover like a battering ram, Corbett slammed against the Jetta forcing it further into the left-hand lane as they moved together into the turn. Consumed with passing, Umar failed to hear Buttar’s panicked cry or see the oncoming truck until just before the moment of impact.
As the truck driver leapt from the cab of the Scania, the Jetta slammed headlong into the Diesel’s grill. The massive explosion engulfed both vehicles at once. His rifle still gripped in his hand, Buttar tumbled through the window on the passenger side of the Jetta, his body wrapped in flames. A firebrand consumed by his own obsession.
Barely avoiding the downed driver, Corbett slipped the Rover past the wreckage by balancing along the gravel shoulder of the road. As a massive explosion shook the night directly behind them, Corbett muscled the Rover back onto the pavement then stepped on the gas.
In the backseat, Ella turned to watch as the fireball consumed both car and truck. As the air began to boil, thick with the rancid mixture of burning Diesel fuel and gasoline, Tariq shifted in his seat, brushing the broken glass from his clothes as he caught Corbett’s eye in the mirror. “Not to seem ungrateful, Michael,” he said dryly, “But if we ever do this again, remind me to call a cab.”
Corbett shook his
