Termination Orders(33)

Morgan was so startled, he didn’t notice that a panicky zoo employee had arrived on the other side of the gate and was yelling at them as he fumbled and cycled through keys on a ring as big as Morgan’s fist. Having picked one out, he pushed it into the padlock, and, with a turn, the lock fell open. He undid the bolt and swung open the gate, urgently motioning them outside. They got out of the cage and into the service access tunnel. The zoo employee closed the gate behind them, securing the dead bolt and clicking the lock shut. He obviously wasn’t about to risk his life for the other man. Morgan looked back into the cage and saw the lion dragging his prey, screaming, out of sight.

Morgan surveyed the tunnel. It was long, curving out of sight in both directions. He noted which way was the exit. Then he noticed his companion, whose eyes showed a state of mind past fear and horror.

“Look alive!” Morgan exclaimed. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” He took Zalmay by the shoulders and shook him; the youth seemed to snap out of it. They started down the tunnel in the direction of the exit. Pain gripped Morgan’s bad knee as they ran; with every impact of his right foot on the concrete, he fought through agony. But he kept on moving as fast as he could.

Eventually, they reached a flight of stairs that led them up to a custodial building. The door to the outside was locked, but it was made of flimsy, decaying wood. Resting on his bad leg, he raised his left foot high and kicked the door. The weak jamb splintered around the lock. Sunlight flooded in, and Morgan saw that they were at the entrance of the zoo, where patrons were swarming, funneling through the narrow door to the outside. No better plan than to get lost in the crowd, thought Morgan. “Let’s go,” he told Zalmay, holding his arm so they wouldn’t get separated.

They pushed and jostled, but everyone was as eager as they were to get through. Rather than let go of Zalmay, Morgan let the pushier patrons pass; they finally made it outside with the last of the stragglers. Morgan heard police sirens approaching in the distance.

They found Baz looking apprehensively at the crowd that was streaming out of the zoo. He frowned at Morgan as they approached and said, “Did you cause this?”

“I thought I told you to keep the engine running. Where are the keys?” he demanded. Baz took them from his pocket and held them up. Morgan grabbed them.

“Hey!” Baz protested.

“Get in the backseat. You!” he said, pointing at Zalmay. “Up front.”

They complied, Baz reluctant and Zalmay bewildered. Morgan got into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and maneuvered around the frenzy of pedestrians. As they rolled onto the road, the police cars were pulling up to the zoo’s entrance.

Morgan drove as fast as he could without attracting undue attention, keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror to spot any possible tails. As the zoo receded into the distance and they approached the city, Morgan took a deep breath. When he inhaled, he felt a sharp pain on his right side where the knife had sliced his skin, pain that up until that point had been dulled by the adrenaline. He lifted his shirt to look at the wound. It was bleeding freely, a long cut but not very deep. I’ve had worse, he thought, and he pressed his hand to the wound to stanch the blood. He would have to get somewhere quickly to attend to it. But first there was a pressing issue he was eager to get out of the way.

He turned to the young man in the passenger seat. “You’re Zalmay, then?”

“That is r-right,” he said, with a slight stammer. “Zalmay Siddiqi.”

“All right, Zalmay. You can call me Cobra.” He reached for the radio dial, turning it on and cranking it up until cheesy Middle Eastern pop music blared from the speakers. “I need you to tell me who’s after us,” he said just loudly enough so Zalmay could hear him but Baz could not. “And while you’re at it, tell me what they have to do with Acevedo International.”

Zalmay looked back at him anxiously, a bit surprised. “So you know they are from Acevedo, then? They are enforcers. Mercenaries.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he replied. “And why do they want you dead?”

“Because of what I know—what Cougar and I uncovered. Because I’m carrying this.” He took something out of his knapsack and handed it to Morgan: a tiny memory card. “Pictures that show Acevedo is involved in the Kandahar drug trade.”

Morgan frowned, turning the memory chip in his fingers. If what the kid was saying was true, this whole thing was much bigger than he had imagined. Acevedo was a major contractor, a multibillion-dollar corporation. And it had major ties with politicians. Whatever separation there was between government and business was especially porous when it came to Acevedo. The object in his hands would put him in the sights of some major players.