44

In the plaza, sitting next to Retro working a tablet, I heard, “I lost him. He’s off the roof.”

Knuckles said, “I have him, I say again, I have him. We punched into another alley, and he dropped right in front of me. He’s in between me and the cops. They’re running like a bat out of hell, but they don’t know he’s behind them.”

I looked at the tablet, seeing the position of his phone no more than thirty seconds out, and said, “Okay, okay, everyone slow it down. He’s going to try the nonchalant route. Knuckles, keep on him. When he gets to the plaza, it will be critical. I need a direction. Veep, where are you?”

“Still up high.”

“Get your ass down here. Stage at the Kasbah. Jennifer, you get off and go west, near the entrance to the plaza. Retro and I will stage the vehicle.”

I saw the police twenty meters away, busting out of an alley in between two cafés, running together and looking left and right at the locals and tourists in the paved area, the people gathered in the afternoon sun mildly surprised at the activity. I said, “I got eyes on the police. Let him escape.”

I heard, “Pike, Koko, I’m in the square at your three o’clock.”

She was maybe forty meters away, casually strolling to the Kasbah, but looking like she’d just rolled down a hill, her hair all over the place and sweat running off her face.

I couldn’t resist. “Holy shit, Koko, did that guy smoke you?”

She said, “Oh yeah. He did.”

Veep said, “I’m here. At your ten o’clock.”

I said, “Okay, get in the rear SUV. Start it up and wait. Knuckles, status?”

“He’s hanging back. Letting them go.”

“Roger that. Everyone take a breath and let it play out.”

I watched the police, now separating and starting to search, questioning people on the square. They would realize soon that he hadn’t come running through here and would know he was still trapped in the old town. Two more police cars arrived, spilling out men.

I said, “Knuckles, they’re searching hard, and he’s boxed in. He’s going to get captured if he hangs around.”

“What do you want me to do, go tell him?”

And then I had a stroke of genius. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Tell him you’re from Frank and Jalal and that you’ve got a vehicle for him. Get him across the square and into my SUV.”

“Will they see him crossing the plaza?”

“They might, but it’s pretty crowded, and we can head straight out. By the time they get to their cars, we’ll be gone.”

“It’s a single highway. Gone where?”

“Gone to the first intersection, the one going up the mountain next to the gate of the city. The road that goes into the national forest. Break, break, Veep and Jennifer, stage there. We’ll transload the package and keep going.”

“Then what?”

“You guys head back to the hotel, and we’ll meet you there.”

I saw Jennifer start moving across the square and heard, “What if you’re arrested?”

“For what? Driving the same type of Toyota everyone else does?”

Knuckles said, “This is starting to sound like Madrid.”

I saw Veep moving to the vehicle and said, “Yeah, and that worked out fine.”

Jennifer said, “I’m going to ask you later for your definition of fine.”

Knuckles said, “I’m moving to him now.”

Off the net, Retro said, “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Stand by here, monitoring the net. We’ll all have our phone beacons on. Just keep track in case something goes wrong.”

He laughed and said, “Like it’s going to?”

I scowled at him and said, “Give me the keys.”

He did, and Knuckles came back, “Okay, I’ve talked to him.”

I broke across the square to our Land Cruiser, saying, “How’d that go?”

“He’s eye-popping scared. We’re coming. He’s a believer. Get the car ready.”

I saw Jennifer and Veep already on the road. I jumped in the seat and fired mine up.

Knuckles said, “We’re out. Where are you?”

I saw them and said, “Look to your eleven o’clock.”

“Got it. On the way.”

Retro said, “Hold up, hold up, the cops are clustered together like they’re quitting. Might not be necessary.”

“Too late. We’re in the open.”

I said, “Get him across.”

They made it halfway before Retro said, “They’ve spotted you.”

I said, “Make his ass run.”

Knuckles practically carried the skinny man to my vehicle, the target’s eyes bulging out of his head in fear. I heard the cops start shouting and leaned over the seat, throwing the door open. Knuckles bodily shoved our target inside, then jumped in behind him, shouting, “Go, go!”

We took off out of the square, hitting the main highway out of the city. I called and said, “Retro, status?”

I heard the target say, “Who are you guys? How do you know Frank?”

Knuckles said, “Shut the fuck up.”

Retro said, “They’re loading up. They’re coming.”

“Time?”

“You got about a two-minute head start.”

I went screaming around a corner, threading through the new city, and hit open highway, goosing the gas pedal. I said, “Snyder, we’re going to pass you to another car and then keep going, pulling the cops with us.”

He nodded, then said, “Who’s paying for this? How did you know they’d find me?”

I said, “Jalal.”

He didn’t look convinced, and I said, “Come on. You didn’t think you were the only American working for him, did you? We have to stick together.”

He nodded, soaking it all in as he was rocked back and forth from the driving. We hit the outer gate and I reversed completely onto the switchback, jerking up the parking brake and causing the wheels to lock up into a slide, the tires smoking and the vehicle skipping into the turn. I saw our other vehicle and slammed on the brakes.

I said, “Get the fuck out.”

He hesitated, and Knuckles kicked the door open, saying, “Get out, get out, get out.” He rolled onto the gravel, and Veep jerked him upright. I withdrew my Glock, handing it to Knuckles. I said, “Give Veep our weapons.”

He looked at me quizzically, and I said, “Just in case . . .”

He shook his head and passed our weapons out the window. I glanced at Jennifer behind the wheel of the other vehicle. She pursed her lips and shook her head, her face still grimy. I grinned and gunned the engine, swinging the vehicle around and blasting back onto the road.

We raced down it for about a quarter of a mile, then hit the checkpoint we’d seen on the way in, but this time, it was active, with two trucks blocking the road. We slowed to a stop, and I rolled down the window, waiting on one of the uniformed members to approach.

None of them did; instead they pointed FN FAL rifles at us from across the hood. I said, “This doesn’t look good.”

Knuckles jabbed a finger to the rear of the trucks, where a Mercedes was tucked, the door opening. A man exited, walking toward us. Knuckles said, “No, that definitely doesn’t look good.”

The man waved his hand, and the rifles lowered. A tall guy of about six feet, dressed in an impeccable suit, he approached me, and I saw a thin face and the ubiquitous Saddam Hussein mustache, then noticed a small discoloration on his forehead, like a bruise.

In flawless, unaccented English, he said, “Where is Snyder?”

I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re just tourists.”

He shook his head and said, “Okay, license and registration, please.”

Shocked that he’d ask for something like I was on a highway in California, I immediately complied. He saw me reaching for the glove box and said, “That was a joke.”

Confused, I leaned back, saying, “What have we done?”

He said, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

An unmarked panel van pulled up. He rattled off some Arabic to the men around him. I glanced at Knuckles, saying, “Sir, we’re just tourists.”

He said, “Yes. Yes, of course. Get out of the truck. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, keep your hands in view. I really want to talk to you, but not at the expense of my life.”