Chapter Forty

 

 

February 25

Aboard Prince Al Khater yacht, Lusail

Off the coast of Larnaca, Cyprus

 

As soon as the guard appeared around the door, Justin thrust his scimitar.

He had misjudged the distance.

The letter opener sliced through the air, but fell short of stabbing the guard. He swung his right hand down—it was holding a pistol—and easily blocked Justin’s attempt. Then the guard threw a left punch, which connected with Justin’s head.

The hard blow almost knocked him off his feet. Justin leaned against the door to keep his balance, then heaved his body against the guard.

The pistol went off. The bullet echoed like a cannon and shattered one of the glass windows.

Justin bit his lip as he and the guard rolled onto the marble floor. The man climbed on top of Justin and threw another left punch. Justin jerked his head, and the guard missed. But he tried again, and this time, his fist struck against Justin’s right ear.

The throbbing pain almost blinded Justin, but he kept his vise-like grip on the guard’s right hand still holding the pistol.

The guard pulled the trigger again.

The bullet struck the prince’s large computer monitor.

Justin kicked hard with his legs and knees, trying to shake off the guard. The man stayed on top of Justin. The guard’s left fist went for Justin’s head again. He blocked the blow and returned a swift hook to the right side of the guard’s jaw.

The guard lost his balance for a split second.

It was enough for Justin to roll over and climb on top of the guard.

Justin punched the guard once, then again, and tried to pry open the guard’s pistol-holding hand.

His fingers began to slip off the pistol. He punched Justin hard in the chest. Justin grunted and ignored the pain. If he could only wrestle the gun away from the guard, this would all be over in a moment.

The guard’s grip around the pistol had loosened. A moment later, the pistol dropped to the floor.

Loud shouts and heavy footsteps came from the deck and the prince’s living room.

Justin had only seconds to retrieve the pistol.

The guard’s next blow hit Justin in the throat.

He gasped for air, but his hand went for the pistol, and Justin wrapped his fingers around it.

Two guards burst through the office door.

Justin fired two rounds, planting a bullet in each guard’s chest.

Before he could aim at the guard still throwing punches, one of those blows caught the side of Justin’s face. He tasted blood at the back of his mouth. He turned the pistol toward the guard’s chest and fired once.

The guard’s arms fell back, and he stopped moving.

Justin drew in a deep breath and glanced at the door. No more guards barged into the office, but angry shouts and rushing footsteps came from the deck. A moment later, a volley of bullets came from the broken window.

Justin returned fire, just a quick burst, and crawled to safety near a metal bookshelf in the corner. Bullets pierced or shattered everything around him: the prince’s large desk, lamps, framed pictures hanging on the walls, bookshelves. Justin stayed low, flat against the floor, waiting for a break in the barrage.

When the break came, he slid across the marble floor toward the office door. He wanted to get out of the trap before the shooter resumed fire.

The flash drives.

He looked up at the computer. Bullets had pierced holes in it, but the flash drive seemed to be intact. Justin grabbed it, then looked at the laptop. It was not where he had last seen it. The barrage had sent it crashing to the floor. He searched for the flash drive among the debris littering the floor, but could not find it.

“He’s still there. Fire, fire!” an outraged voice shouted from outside the window.

Justin crawled away from the window. As he neared the office door, a guard charged through the other door connecting the prince’s living room to the deck. He fired a quick burst that missed Justin’s head by mere inches. He double-tapped his pistol and put two bullets into the guard’s head.

Loud barrages erupted in the distance. Assault rifles. That must be Carrie and Vale.

Justin glanced at the door, expecting other guards to rush in. When they did not, he crawled away from the office and climbed to one knee. But before he could get to his feet, an explosion came from the prince’s office.

Grenade.

Justin was thrown to the floor as the office’s solid wood door was flung across the living room. Shrapnel, splinters, and glass fragments hailed over his head. He stayed down on the floor as a cloud of dust began to drift over him.

Gunfire continued from at least two locations. Justin found it difficult to judge the distance, as his ears were still ringing from the explosion. A sharp pain shot up from his left knee when he tried to climb to his feet. He leaned against the wall with his left, reinjured hand, then took an uncertain step. He shook his head and drew in a deep breath. Yeah, I can do this.

He wondered about Prince Al Khater, his associates, and the Saudi executives. They’re probably holed up inside the conference room.

He had just gotten out on the deck, when machine gun fire came from the stern. Justin could not see the shooter or the target. Must be Ali Mansour. He bit his lip and advanced toward the conference room. He kept his pistol close to his face, ready for action.

Justin had taken a couple of steps when a huge explosion rocked the yacht. He held on to the deck rails as flames from the stern rose into the dark sky.

Two guards came out of the conference room. One of them glanced toward Justin. “We’re under attack,” the guard shouted. “Come this way.”

He must have not gotten the memo that I’m a part of the attack. His hand holding the pistol was behind him. In the chaos and the dark, the guard had missed the weapon.

Justin nodded at the guard. “I’m wounded. My leg . . . You go ahead.”

The guard dashed forward.

Justin waited another moment. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing. Then he glanced at the conference room door. One of the prince’s close associates came out, followed by a guard. Then, Prince Al Khater also stepped on the deck.

He looked toward Justin. “There, he’s there,” he shouted at the guard.

The guard turned his head and raised his pistol.

Before he could aim it, Justin fired a round. The bullet caught the guard on the left side of his chest. He spun around and fell overboard.

Prince Al Khater spat on the deck. “You . . . you’re a spy. I trusted you.” He walked defiantly toward Justin.

Justin took a couple of cautious steps. “You’ll pay for fueling the Syrian conflict with your illegal weapons.”

“Me? I will pay? Aren’t you forgetting someone bigger than me, than all of us? America? Russia? They are the real criminals arming government forces and rebels in Syria. And you come after me?”

Justin shrugged. “Stop arguing and get down.”

Prince Al Khater shook his head. “Never, I’m not a dog to crawl on the—

A colossal explosion violently shook the yacht.

Justin was thrown against the deck as flames and smoke erupted from the stern. Then the entire deck began to lift up underneath his feet. A series of explosions ensued with larger flames.

That must be the engine room. The yacht’s going down.

The prince’s associate slipped and slid toward the stern.

Prince Al Khater was holding onto the rails, but only by the skin of his teeth.

Justin tried to grab onto the rails too, but the deck shot up about a foot. His right hand slipped, and he fell head first into the dark sea.