“Were they evacuated by helicopter?”

  “I don’t think so. We know the Houthi’s had vehicles and they’re gone now, so most likely the Americans left in them. I think it’s like you said, sir, they’ve been abandoned by their government.”

  “Good. That will make them easier to find.”

  “It’s a big desert, sir.”

  Al-Qarmati nodded as he looked at a map of the area, his man’s current location highlighted with a red arrow. “If I were them I’d be heading for the coast for possible extraction, or to steal a boat and extract themselves. Try to find them, Rahim.”

  “Sir, I fear we may be looking for a grain of sand in the desert.”

  “True, but it is a grain of sand that must be found at all costs.”

  And there may be another way.

  Avenue Hoche, Paris, France

  Across from the Embassy of Saudi Arabia

  Dawson peered through his binoculars, the night vision mode giving the entire area a hazy green glow. The front of the embassy was surrounded by French police along with half a dozen camera crews though there weren’t any protesters here, the Saudi’s not a prime target for the hatred displayed by the Muslim population now that they were no longer blamed for the loss of their relic—America was, and by proxy, Westerners.

  “How the hell are we getting in there?” asked Niner, lying beside him with his own binoculars trained on the area.

  Dawson focused on the main entrance, a rather plain looking affair, the embassy actually housed in a row of buildings, it small compared to the American Embassy they had just been in. The CIA analyst Leroux had suggested there were tunnels underneath the very building they were now atop, however they had to assume any entrance to the embassy building would be monitored and most likely heavily guarded with the current situation.

  There was no way they were getting in.

  Which meant only one thing.

  “We need to get them to come out.”

  “How the hell do we do that? Fire alarm?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No, they’d just check and confirm there was no fire. If they’re holding someone illegally, they know damned well they have to be careful.” He rolled to his side, fishing out his cellphone. “No, I’ve got a better idea.” He dialed Colonel Clancy’s number.

  “Speak.”

  Dawson had to keep what he said non-specific and fast, the line not secure. “Sir, it’s me.”

  “Status?”

  “We need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “We’re at the location as previously discussed but there’s no way in.”

  There was a pause, the Colonel’s chair creaking. “So you need them to come out.”

  “Exactly.”

  “With the current situation, there’s no way they’re evacuating that building without some sort of confirmation.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a way to convince them that any threat is real. I just need the threat delivered without them knowing it came from our side.”

  “Leave it to me. How much time do you need?”

  “We’ll be delivering our confirmation within the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay, good hunting.”

  Dawson ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket, scurrying back from the edge of the roof. Unzipping a large duffel bag, delivered to their hotel room as promised, he removed a miniature drone.

  Niner grinned as Dawson pulled out a brick of C4. “Oh, Sarge, you da man.”

  “Don’t get all doughy eyed on me now.” Dawson tossed the C4 to Niner then a bag of remote detonators. “Small charges. We’re not looking to do damage, just scare the shit out of some people.”

  Within minutes Dawson had the first drone ready with a package he doubted would ever be delivered by Amazon Prime Air. Approaching the roof edge, careful to keep out of sight from the police below, he launched the drone, expertly guiding it across the street to the roof of the building housing the embassy, releasing his package when the camera on his tablet showed him over the roof and there no risk the charge might actually fall to the cordoned-off street below.

  “One away,” he said, guiding the drone back for another pickup.

  “Five more charges are ready,” said Niner as he crawled up beside Dawson, launching their second drone. Dawson set his down beside them, loading another charge.

  “Two away,” said Niner as Dawson launched his drone. “Do you think six is enough?”

  “More than enough.”

  “But I really want these bastards shitting their pants, enema style.”

  Dawson grimaced at the image as he tapped the control, releasing his charge. “Third away.”

  Niner’s drone launched just as someone shouted from below. Dawson hit the control to put his drone on hover and peered over the side.

  He cursed.

  Several people were pointing at the two drones, cameras suddenly redirected to try and catch a glimpse of the unusual sight. “We’ve been spotted.”

  “What should I do?” asked Niner, his drone already heading for the roof.

  “Drop your package then keep going south. Put it in the river.” He pushed on the joystick, resuming control of his own drone and sending it south, back over the embassy and toward the Seine.

  “Four away.”

  “That should be enough,” said Dawson, watching the city whip by on the display as he directed the tiny vehicle to its watery grave.

  “It’ll at least scare the piss out of them.”

  “And make the news.”

  Dawson’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out, reading the text.

  Done.

  He returned the phone to his pocket, taking a surreptitious peak over the edge, careful not to be spotted by the reporters or police below. “The Colonel has done his part. Now let’s see what happens.”

  Captain Phillip Sikes waited impatiently, his phone pressed hard against his ear, the Saudi’s seeming to take pride in not answering his calls for at least six rings.

  Don’t they know we’re trying to help them?

  “Embassy of Saudi Arabia, how may I help you?”

  “This is Captain Sikes again.”

  “Captain, what is it this time?”

  “We have just received a credible threat that there is a bomb on the premises. We must evacuate your personnel immediately.”

  “Commander, we have no intention of evacuating. We are perfectly safe here.”

  “Sir, the threat is credible. I must insist—”

  “And I must insist that you stop calling. We are secure, and that is the end of it.”

  Sikes turned toward the sound of airbrakes behind him, the first of several buses dispatched for the evacuation just arriving. “Sir, we have buses out here ready to evacuate you to a secure facility. We need to get your people to safety, now.”

  “Just where would you take us that is safer than where we are? It is not us that is under attack, Captain. It is you. Look about you, Captain, and what do you see? Police and reporters and no one else. No one here wants to harm us. You are wasting your resources and my time. Please do not call again.”

  The call ended, Sikes’ phone beeping in his ear.

  Merde.

  The bus pulled to a stop in front of the embassy, a second rounding the corner when something tore at the air overhead, the night sky lit up for a moment as an explosion erupted on the roof, small pieces of debris raining down on them.

  “Everybody back!” he shouted, urging his men away from the façade of the building and toward the other side of the street just as a second explosion shook the area.

  As he reached the opposite sidewalk he turned to see the front doors of the embassy burst open, panicked staff surging through the narrow doors in an every man for himself rush toward the buses.

  A third explosion urged them forward.

  “Get them on the buses!” he shouted, racing back across the street, his men following, the reporters cowering behind parked cars, their cameramen bravely on their feet, taking in the panic.

  He felt a slight rage build in his chest as he spotted the man he had just been speaking to race down the steps, pushing others out of his way.

  Who’s under attack now, asshole?

  Maggie sat alone, as she had been for hours, the hood or veil or whatever the hell they wanted to call it sitting on the table in front of her, she having ripped it off again hours ago in a fit of rage.

  Her captors hadn’t been pleased, but had done nothing to force her to wear it again.

  She had been allowed one bathroom break and food and water had been brought to her twice.

  And that was it.

  No questions, no intimidation.

  Nothing.

  She was going stir crazy.

  She pushed the plate sitting in front of her another few inches across the table, some left over food slowly turning color, similar to how guacamole might. She had no idea what she had eaten, but had to admit it had been tasty.

  If I didn’t hate Saudi Arabia so much right now, I might try their food again.

  She was always one to try new things, to experiment with different flavors and the foods of different cultures. It would never occur to her to hit the golden arches in a foreign country—she could eat American any time.

  Here she wanted to eat French, to eat like the locals. She so rarely got away on a vacation that most of her experimentation came when she’d discover some small, out of the way local ethnic restaurant not influenced by their surroundings, steak and pasta not on the menu.

  The fact that BD had wanted her here, to spend so much one-on-one time with her had meant the world to her. She loved this man, unlike any man she had ever loved before. She knew he had feelings for her, but it would take him time, he not exactly known for expressing himself.

  But she could tell by the way he doted on her, always kept a hand on her when they were together, whether it was simply holding her hand, resting his on her leg or shoulder—whatever it was, it was there, constant, and she loved it.

  It was his way of telling her how he felt.

  She sighed then kicked the table leg in frustration.

  This was supposed to be the trip that sealed the deal, that let them both know it was meant to be.

  Instead she was stuck here in a room only God knew where, with BD out there, somewhere, not even knowing if she was alive.

  He must be so worried.

  But there was more. She could hear the tension on the other side of the door. There had been too much shouting and pounding of feet the entire time she had been here for this to be a normal office day.

  And it was the middle of the night. Shouldn’t everyone have gone home by now?

  No, something big was going on involving these people. She had seen the Saudi flag in the hallway before she was hauled in here, and had spotted it again when she went to the bathroom.

  But what would the Saudi’s want with Professor Palmer?

  The entire room shook and she yelped, grabbing onto the table with both hands as plaster dust slowly settled. She looked up at the ceiling as screams and shouts from the other side of the door erupted, more heavy pounding of feet, the urgency outside ratcheted up several more notches.

  Another explosion rocked the room.

  And she smiled.

  It has to be BD!

  The door flew open just as a third explosion rumbled through the building, two men rushing in and grabbing her, one shoving the hood back over her head.

  Yet she didn’t care.

  He knows I’m here!

  And there was one thing she knew.

  Her boyfriend was the best at what he did.

  And these men were dead.

  They just didn’t know it yet.

  “I think that’s enough,” said Dawson as he watched the staff evacuate through the main entrance, dust from pulverized concrete obscuring the roof across the street, shattered concrete sprayed across the road below. “We’ll keep the last one in reserve, just in case they change their minds.”

  Niner nodded, a slight look of disappointment on his face. “Well, we’ll have to set it off before we leave. Can’t have any kids finding it.”

  Dawson smiled slightly. “Umm, the kids that will be playing on the roof before the bomb squad gets here?”

  “Exactly!”

  A car rushed out of the parking garage below them. “We’ve got activity. Get ready.”

  Dawson had little doubt they wouldn’t risk taking Maggie out the front entrance, and now that there had been an actual bombing at the embassy, the entire facility would be swept by French security, though the Saudi’s could deny access if they wanted to.

  Which would look pretty suspicious.

  No, he was almost certain they would take her out the exact same way Langley suspected she had been brought in, and the fact vehicles were now pulling out of a parking garage in the middle of the night minutes after an explosion seemed to suggest he was right.

  He peered through the infrared, only a driver and passenger in the front seat visible, their heat signatures suggesting they were both men. Two more cars followed, none with what looked like women, before a van emerged, two heat signatures in the front with three in the back, one lying on the floor.

  Maggie!

  “Tag the van on my mark.” He readied the trigger for the final explosive. “Three.. two… one… Mark!” He squeezed the trigger as Niner leaned forward and fired, a magnetic GPS tracking device attaching itself on the roof just as debris rained down from the final explosion. “Status?” asked Dawson, his heart beating a little harder than usual. If the device had failed to attach, or malfunctioned, they may never find Maggie again.

  Niner checked the tracking display and nodded. “We’re good.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Colonel Thomas Clancy listened to the update provided by his counterpart, Colonel Faisal bin Nayef. The situation in Saudi Arabia had deteriorated even more in the past several hours, though Mecca sounded like it was now secure along with government and House of Saud facilities in Riyadh.

  They might just last this one out.

  Yet even if they did there was going to be one hell of a shake up afterward with over half their military detachments refusing to obey orders, several even openly fighting government forces.

  And it would take a blood bath to take back the smaller cities and towns where the populace had essentially thrown anyone connected with the government out into the desert to fend for themselves.

  And he had no sympathy.

  Treat your population like serfs or worse while you live high on the hog, what do you expect?

  “And there’s nothing under government control between Mecca and the Red Sea coast to Yemen?”

  “No, Colonel, nothing.”

  Clancy cursed, snapping his pencil in half, he having given up on the cigars, the temptation too great to finally light one up after keeping his promise to his wife for so long.

  Cheryl, if only you knew what you’ve done to me!

  “But I may have an alternative to them getting here.”

  Clancy’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

  “I have a commando unit here with helicopters. We can pick up your men and bring them here, with the Black Stone. I can guarantee their safety once inside the city, and with the Black Stone returned to the Kaaba, the situation should quickly ease. Once it does, we can arrange for your men to be returned to you, through backchannels if necessary.”

  Clancy pursed his lips as he leaned forward, elbows on his desk, one hand squeezing his temples. “Can you trust these men?”

  “Absolutely, they are loyal, I guarantee.”

  Your guarantees have been worth shit so far, Colonel.

  But he didn’t see that he had much choice. All he knew at this point was that his men had received a burst transmission, he assumed from Kane, with a set of coordinates and a time. That was all their computers told them. And that pickup was over half a day away, through miles of lawless territory, with the risk of discovery at any moment.

  He made a command decision.

  “Very well, Colonel, I’ll give you their location.”

  Rue de Colonel Delorme, Paris, France

  Dawson looked through the infrared goggles, frowning as he counted the number of hostiles they were about to engage, but breathing a sigh of relief to see that Maggie was alive, though her condition was questionable. She appeared to be in a second floor room, tied to a chair set against the wall, next to the door, with one guard watching her.

  “I’m reading twelve hostiles,” said Niner, rolling onto his back, the morning sun just starting to take the chill out of the air. “What do you think their orders are?”

  “I’m guessing for the moment it’s to not harm the hostage, but that might change once we make entry.”

  “There’s only three on the second floor plus one in the room with Maggie by the door,” said Niner. He rolled back onto his stomach and peered through his goggles. “The roof next door is too low, there’s no way to jump across and access the second floor directly.”

  “I know,” said Dawson, taking another look with the infrared turned off. “The only way in is through the main floor.”

  Niner pushed back from the edge, sitting up on his haunches. “Well, if Liam Neeson can do it, so can we. He’s like sixty and just an actor, so this should be a piece of cake for us.”

  Dawson crawled back from the edge of the roof and looked at Niner.

  “If we’re using movie metaphors, then you’re the expendable sidekick.”

  “The lovable expendable sidekick.”

  Red Sea Coast, Saudi Arabia

  57 miles from rendezvous coordinates

  “Jesus,” muttered Atlas as they slowly navigated the burnt out hulks of tanks, the bodies of their crews draped over the hulls or scattered in pieces over the desert floor, the infantry support dead beside them or long having fled. The battle had lasted for hours before the Saudi side retreated, the unknown challengers victorious but badly wounded themselves, leaving their own dead and dying behind to lick their wounds.

 

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