“Stop!” the guard yelled from the bottom floor.
Against her better judgment, Kate peeked over the rail and her eyes met his. He raced up the stairs.
Kate opened the door to the fourth floor, and—
The hallways were filled with people, some lying, others sitting, many already dead. At the sight of her, a woman grabbed her white coat. “You’ve come to help us.”
Kate shook her head and tried to break the woman’s grip, but others crowded around her, all talking at the same time.
Behind her, the door opened again and the guard filled the doorway, his gun drawn. “Okay, turn around. Back away from her.”
The people around her scattered.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Kate.
“I’m… taking samples.”
The guard looked confused. He took a step forward and glanced at her badge. Her fake badge. Confusion turned to shock. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your back.”
“She’s with me,” interjected another soldier as he casually exited the stairs. He was taller and more muscular than the guard that had chased Kate, and she thought he had a slight British accent.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Adam Shaw. I came in with the shipment from Fuengirola.”
The smaller guard shook his head as if trying to clear it. “She’s wearing a fake badge.”
“Of course she is. You want these people to know her identity? You think they know what an actual Immari Research ID card looks like?”
“I…” The guard eyed Kate. “I have to call this in.”
“You do that,” the soldier said as he stepped behind the man, quickly gripped his head and neck and ripped hard, sending a loud crack into the hallway. The guard fell to the floor, and the people in the hallway, those left alive anyway, scattered, leaving Kate alone with the mysterious soldier.
He focused on her. “Coming here was a very stupid thing to do, Dr. Warner.”
CHAPTER 42
Immari Operations Base at Ceuta
Northern Morocco
Major Alexander Rukin adjusted the sniper rifle. Through the riflescope, he could see the mysterious colonel approaching the Berber encampment on horseback. The man had ridden out wearing plainclothes, as if that could help his cause.
The colonel had been evasive about his purpose for leaving, and Rukin had only protested enough to seem believable. In truth, this was the opportunity Rukin had been waiting for. He had placed a tracker and a bug on the colonel's clothes; they would know exactly where he went and hear everything he said. A team was also shadowing the colonel, just in case he made a break for it. That would expose him as well. One way or another, Rukin would soon know what this “Alex Wells” was after.
The colonel brought the horse to a stop, then dismounted, his hands in the air.
Three Berbers ran out of the tent. They carried automatic rifles and shouted, but the colonel remained still. They surrounded him, hit him over the head, and dragged him into the tent.
Rukin shook his head. “Jesus. I assumed the fool had a better plan than that.” He packed up the rifle and handed it to Kamau. “I’d say we’ve seen the last of our mysterious colonel.”
“You think—”
“I think they’re having him for dinner.”
“To talk terms?”
The major smiled and shook his head. “No I think they are having him for their dinner. Or maybe the pre-meal entertainment. Either way, he’s finished.”
Kamau nodded and gave a final look in the direction of the tent camp before following the major into the stairwell that led down from the roof.
“I’ve come here to help you,” David insisted.
The Berber soldiers tore the last of his clothes off and carried them out of the tent.
The chief stepped forward. “Don’t lie to us. You’ve come here to help yourself. You don’t know us. You don’t care about us.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t tell us who you are. I want to see it.” The chief motioned to a man standing by the entrance to the tent. The man nodded once, left quickly, then returned with a small burlap sack. He closed the flap to the tent, plunging the room into almost total darkness, save for the dance of candlelight that played across the cloth walls. The chief took the sack from the man and tossed it into David’s lap.
David reached for the sack.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
David looked up, then he felt it. Muscle, a finger sliding across his forearm. Then another rope gliding out over his thigh. Snakes. Two, no three of them. His eyes had almost adjusted to the dim light, and he knew instantly what they were: two Egyptian cobras. One bite would do him in. He would be dead within ten minutes.