Zeb took a long step down the pavement, his eyes automatically scanning the scene. Sectioning from left to right so that details could be taken in. Automatic mode which came naturally from training and experience.
Meghan, down below, two bodies at her feet. Her face set, determined, flashing a look at him and Bear and Chloe who were closing in on her.
The arrivals opened up on the two men who had just appeared from behind a vehicle. Bear raked the attackers while Chloe grabbed Meghan and hauled her into the opening of an empty store front. Temporary cover.
Three men on the pavement to his right, ducking and weaving as they converged on Beth who was firing randomly as she darted towards the mouth of the alley.
Broker and Roger took them on.
A man who seemed to have come out of a tea shop leaping across a car his gun down, yelling something soundlessly at the younger twin.
He heard her shout a warning and then Bwana launched himself, a lean, mean shape flying into the air bringing the attacker down and then they were out of sight.
Further down the alley, men emerging from wherever they had been hidden, coming up the alley to take on the new arrivals.
All this in a split second.
Zeb decided even as he heard a vehicle door slam behind him. Mostofi’s ride.
He lunged into the open alley, his Glock coming up in a smooth motion, bucking in his hand as he fired at the Quds operatives who were bringing up the rear. Sent them scattering. Fired at Fathi who was coming from behind his ride and sent him diving back for cover. He thought he shot one killer in the chest, maybe two, but he wasn’t sure.
He landed on his heel, stumbled on unevenness on the tarmac.
A Quds attacker broke away from Broker and Roger, turned at him raised his gun with a feral grin.
Zeb let himself fall. Rolled on the ground as rounds spat and hit a vehicle. Gunfire echoed as the Agency operatives took on the Quds killers.
He swiveled desperately to train his Glock on his shooter. Saw the man was dead.
‘You’re welcome,’ Roger grinned in his ear and turned towards the remaining two men who were scrambling for cover as they leaped across vehicles.
‘That’s Beth’s side!’ Zeb yelled.
‘We know,’ Broker grunted.
And then the firing opened up as the line of men at the back of the alley targeted Zeb.
‘I WANT HIM ALIVE,’ a voice yelled.
Zeb crawled between two vehicles, squeezing himself between the front and rear of the cars which were parked hood to trunk. Craned his head cautiously. That’s Nassour.
The Quds man was coming down the alley, shooting with his service revolver, trapping Zeb.
‘Get here.’ Chloe in his earpiece. He tracked her. There, along with Bear and Meghan, in that doorway, taking on the line of attackers at the back.
Quds have numbers on their side. We are split up and cornered.
Ahead of him, a crack in the line of shops. He frowned, desperately trying to remember the map of the area.
That’s nothing. Goes between buildings and comes up against Taqizadeh. It wasn’t a path to that next alley, which was a dead end, but was a route for residents and shop owners to access Fereydoun through side entrances.
He thrust his Glock out into the alley, fired blindly in Nassour’s direction and lunged at the crawl lane. Through the corners of his eyes he could see the Quds major crouching for protection behind a car. Bear, Chloe and Meghan providing protecting fire down the street.
‘WHY THERE?’ the elder twin yelled in his earpiece and then he was in the coolness and relative darkness of the narrow path.
Just over two meters of width between the buildings on either side. Air conditioning units jutting from walls, water leaking down from them. Buckets randomly placed underneath to collect the spill. Garbage bins and cardboard boxes strewn. The smell of damp and thick stench in the air. A red door passed as he leaped and weaved around the obstructions. A window slammed above.
Movement behind him. Voices and then a fusillade of shots.
Zeb threw himself to the ground as rounds whistled past him, snatched a look back. Nassour with two men, in pursuit.
Ahead, thirty meters away, the lane ended at the imposing side of a building. More doors and dirty buckets. Washing hung out to dry, above his head.
Got to get inside one of those side entrances.
He had darted into the narrow opening to draw away the attackers, to give his team some relief.
It looks like I’ve trapped myself.
Nassour wanted him alive, which gave him some operating leeway. He replaced his magazine in a swift change and fired a long burst at the attackers who had slowed down in the dimness of the lane and were trying to spot him amidst the garbage.
His rounds made them duck. Someone shouted, another man swore, the shots and their voices loud, echoing in the small space.
Zeb risked a jump over a carton, kicked it back when he landed. Anything to slow down their movement. Bent low and ran, pounding on doors to see if they were open.
Came to one of the few remaining ones, green, with streaks of dirt on it, raised his fist just as a bullet clipped his temple and sent him staggering.
He started falling when something clamped around his arm and he was pulled inside the suddenly-open door powerfully.
An old man, dirty vest, dark trousers, white stubble on his chin.
He raised his finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence. Locked the door and beckoned at Zeb.
Who’s this? A trap?
Zeb followed him cautiously, his Glock ready to take on any threat. The old man moved deeper into what turned out to be an apartment. A bedroom doubled up as the kitchen. A narrow hallway which lead to the bathroom.
The front door shook as Nassour and his men pounded on it.
‘Open up!’ the major yelled.
The old man chuckled. He looked slyly at Zeb and went inside the bathroom. Climbed on the commode’s seat and pushed up against the tiles on the ceiling. Pulled himself up in the crawlspace.
‘Come!’ he frowned when the operative gaped at him.
Zeb heaved himself up and stared in wonder. They were on the roof of the apartment, surrounded by the walls of other buildings, many of them residential, some commercial.
The old man settled the tiles back over the bathroom and grunted as he pushed a large water tank over it. Zeb helped him move it and seal the escape route.
‘Now,’ his savior rubbed his hands against his trousers. ‘They can’t come up even if they find how we escaped.’
He went to the edge of the roof and jumped up nimbly to a window on the building to the right. Caught its sill with his left hand, and pushed it open with his right. Dragged himself inside and waited for Zeb to join him.
‘It’s empty,’ he whispered as he led the operative through the apartment, outside, into a hallway, up a flight of stairs, into yet another apartment, out of the kitchen window and into another crawl lane and then inside another building and finally through its lobby.
‘Wait!’ he ordered and went to the entrance and looked out cautiously.
‘Come,’ he signaled and when the operative neared the entrance, looked pointedly at his Glock.
Zeb holstered it and went out. Blinked in the bright sunlight as he got his bearings.
We are on Special Street, past Malayeri, towards Kamali Street.
‘We can’t wait here,’ the old man caught his arm and dragged him towards a restaurant.
‘Firdaus,’ he told the man behind the counter, ‘We need to use your bathroom.’
‘Yes, amu.’
Zeb shook his head in wonder. He looked behind him as he followed the old man. Yes, that was Special Street. He felt for his gun. It was there on his chest, to his side. He remembered the bullet and felt his right temple. His fingers came away red from the split skin.
No, none of it was a dream.
He joined the old man who was waiting for him impatiently, past a line of empty tables, beyond the kitchen and into the bathroom which was surprisingly clean.
His savior locked the door and opened a closet above the sink. ‘Wash your face,’ he ordered, then wear this.’ He tossed a khaki shirt at Zeb. ‘It’s Firdaus’s. It should fit you. You and he seem to be the same size.’
‘WHERE ARE YOU?’ Beth, in his earpiece, anxious.
‘I am fine,’ he held the old man’s gaze who raised an eyebrow but had no other reaction. ‘What about you?’
‘We escaped. We are on Kamali Street.’
‘Kamali Street?’ They’re not far from where I am. ‘Any injuries?’
‘Scratches, nothing more. We got away when Nassour followed you down that lane. We shot it out and escaped through the alley’s entrance.’
‘Mostofi—’
‘He wasn’t in the vehicle.’
‘Fathi?’
‘Dead. I got him as he was trying to come up on us. WHERE ARE YOU?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘Stay where you are, in different tea shops. I will join you.’
‘Ask them to go to Naeem’s,’ the old man washed his hands and face and toweled himself dry. He removed fresh linen from the closet and draped it over the sink. ‘They can’t miss it. It is one of the biggest restaurants there. Tell them to say Firdaus from the empty house on Fereydoun sent them. They should say that to Naeem himself, no one else.’
‘WHAT? WHO’S WITH YOU?’
‘Long story,’ Zeb said. ‘You heard that?’
‘YEAH. BUT WHO IS HE? CAN YOU TRUST HIM?’
Zeb looked at the man fully, for the first time. He was lean, wiry, thinning hair on his head cut short. Must be in his seventies, but moves easily and seems to be in great shape. The stubble on his face was neatly trimmed.
He stilled when he noticed the man’s hands. Badly healed fingers.
He had seen those in several places around the world. From nails being pulled out.
The old man silently lifted his vest. Burn marks on his chest. Crude stitching that had healed on his belly.
‘Yes,’ Zeb caught his breath, his voice sounding distant to himself. ‘We can trust him.’
He washed his face, careful to keep his cheek pads and fake nose in place.
The old man watched him silently as he changed into Firdaus’s shirt.
‘Come,’ he said when Zeb was ready.
He led him out, stopped at the counter, hugged his nephew wordlessly and went out in the street.
Zeb donned his shades and turned on the rear-view. Special Street was crawling with police vehicles and soldiers.
The old man stopped at a chai stand and conversed in a low voice with the owner.
‘Nine officers dead,’ he said when he rejoined Zeb. ‘Police are looking for eight people. Three of them, women.’
‘No need for that,’ he shook his head when Zeb bent his head and started walking faster. ‘They think you have escaped. In any case, you don’t look any different from many of the men here.’
Zeb nodded but made sure there was enough space between him and his savior as they went up the street.
He couldn’t risk the old man if he was accosted by Quds or the cops.
They reached the intersection with Kamali Street uneventfully, turned right, walked a kilometer and came to Naeem’s.
Zeb inspected the establishment briefly before climbing up the steps and inside the air-conditioned premises. He’s right. This is big.
An array of tables. Several customers enjoying their meals. Soft music from ceiling speakers. Uniformed servers who looked past them as if they didn’t exist.
They’ve probably been instructed to ignore the old man.
A suited man, who seemed to be the manager, jerked his head when they reached the end of the seating area.
‘Parvez,’ the old man clasped his shoulder momentarily.
‘Amu,’ the suit bowed respectfully.
A portly person came out of an office, hugged the old man tight and whispered in his ear. He didn’t look at Zeb.
His savior went down the hallway and opened the door to a private dining room.
Beth leaped out of her chair and hugged Zeb and inspected him critically.
‘You are okay,’ she pronounced and then felt his temple and at her red fingers. ‘Almost. This is him?’ she inspected the old man who stood with a gentle smile on his face. No sign of the suffering he had been through. Just an old man, his dignity around him like a cloak.
‘Khanom,’ he bowed respectfully and nodded to Meghan and Chloe. Sat in the chair that Zeb had pulled out.
‘We are safe here,’ he said when Bwana glanced at the door. ‘Beneath that air conditioner,’ he pointed to the wall, ‘there’s a hidden door that opens outside. We can escape from there if we have to.’
‘You have questions,’ he said, ‘I have questions, as well. Let’s start with me. I am Reza Zarhagi. Anyone who fights Quds is a friend of mine.’