*****
Nearly twenty minutes had elapsed by the time the Ford pickup reached the scene of the crash. Slowing down for a better look, Jarral and the others skirted the still burning wreckage. A green and white Nissan GR with Guardia Civil markings was now parked to one side as a pair of officers cordoned off the scene with cones and directed traffic. Staring hard at the wreckage, Jarral found himself unable to separate the remains of the car from what was left of the truck. However, it was clear the Rover had not been involved. Therefore, Tariq and the American had to be somewhere in the darkness ahead.
Rolling past the twisted metal and caustic smell of smoldering rubber, Jarral silently gave thanks to Allah. By sparing Tariq and the Infidel from this conflagration, the honor of killing them both would now at last surely fall to him.
Moving on, the Ford pickup accelerated as it continued down the road. Jarral felt his pulse quicken. There could be no question, the Final Reckoning was now at hand.
TWENTY-NINE
The highway descended rapidly now as the road wound its way down through the cragged bluffs overlooking the sea. Ella could taste the bite of the salt air as it caressed her lips and filled her nostrils. Marveling at the rugged beauty of the shoreline, she tried without success to remember the name of the seaside village he had mentioned. No matter, they would be there soon enough.
Her thoughts turned once more to Corbett himself. What was it about this man that aroused such conflicting emotions within her? She tried to remember what it was that had first attracted her to him. Without question, it had been his intellect. That first lecture. Those brilliant insights into the evolution of Early Man and their relevance to the world today. And of course, his charisma. His lifestyle. All the things that had spoken to her. Things that had caused her to reshape her life. Then meeting him here again in Spain. That mysterious sense of inevitability. The feeling that this moment had somehow been preordained. She could still taste the touch of his lips, still feel the incandescence of their bodies entwined. Lost in the afterglow beneath the ancient wall paintings. It had all seemed so right. And yet, it had gone so terribly wrong. How could she ever truly care for a man who was this capable of killing other men? The question troubled her. And what did these feelings for Corbett reveal about her?
Staring out as the sliver of a moon climbed at last above the horizon, she suddenly saw with complete clarity: the conflict within Corbett was as old as humanity itself. Man’s unique capacity for brilliance forever yoked to his capacity for violence and self-destruction. The one unbreakable link in the chain of human DNA. And despite her deepest desire to deny it, she had to admit that no matter how much she might want to change him, it could never happen. When this terrible night was over, she would break things off. Though the idea pained her, she realized now that there could be no other way.
“Almost there,” Corbett’s voice intruded on her thoughts as the dark and empty road reached the Costa Vasca, the Basque Coast, at last. Off to the east lay San Sebastian, to the west Bilbao. The narrow, winding two-lane strip of asphalt skirted along the blue-black waters of the Bay of Biscay. Ella watched in silence as the string of tiny, darkened coastal villages slipped by until finally they reached the cobblestone streets of Elantxobe. At the side of the road, a black dog ravenously tore through an overturned trashcan, devouring whatever remained from the previous night’s revels. Moving through the empty streets, Corbett headed for the beach beyond.
*****
On the bluff high above, Jarral stared down at the sea as the pickup began its descent. They were close. He could feel it. Out across the black water, he could see the crescent moon rising and took it as a omen. Victory would be theirs at last. Urging Furag to drive faster, he clutched his Uzi and prayed to Allah for the strength to carry out His will. Tariq and the Infidel could no longer escape God’s wrath. Their time had come at last.
*****
Three kilometers beyond the village lay a deserted beach. A rocky promontory marked the leeward side. Twenty meters from the rush of the incoming tide, a dozen beached fishing boats lined the sand, their hulls turned upward in the pale moonlight like great sea turtles washed up from the depths. Out beyond the breakwater, black waves flecked with white broke, then raced toward shore.
Emerging from the darkness, the Rover pulled off the road and came to a stop fifty meters from the water’s edge. Without turning off the engine, Corbett climbed out, his body stiff from the demands of their escape and hours of driving. Stretching, he opened the rear door and helped Ella out. Tariq followed, the wound to his forehead no longer bleeding as he peeled away Ella’s improvised bandage.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, still half asleep. Then staring out across the sand, she realized, “This is it… the beach you mentioned.”
Corbett nodded then retrieved the carbine from between the seats. Slinging the bandolier across his shoulders, he stepped to the rear of the Rover and opened the boot. Rummaging around, he managed to find a worn sweatshirt bearing the Salamanca University logo.
“Here, better put this on. It will be cold out there,” he said, handing the sweatshirt to Tariq. Turning back to Ella, he asked: “Think you can drive stick shift…?”
“Stick shift…?” she shrugged. “If I have to. Why?”
“Because
