“It’s ours,” he said.
“What is it doing here?”
To think others had escaped and come here was too good to be true. He pulled a transceiver from the glove box and dialed up the Osiris frequency. He was about to call it when he saw the lab technicians come out of the cinder-block building with a cart. From it, they transferred crates of plastic boxes to the helicopter. A man in Egyptian military fatigues directed them.
When the work was done, all four climbed aboard the helicopter and the rotors began to turn. The Gazelle took off and began to climb as it traveled east.
“They’ve taken the antidote,” Hassan said. “But at least they’ve gone.”
“They’ll come back before long,” Scorpion noted.
“I only need a few minutes to reprogram the pumps and make it impossible for them to counteract the order. Let’s move.”
Scorpion shifted the Rover back into gear and they began moving once again.
—
In the underground chamber, Kurt waited. For a long while the only sound was the endless thrum of the pumps. Joe had hidden himself in the control room.
When the machinery in the elevator shaft sprang to life, it was startlingly loud. Kurt looked up. In the dim glow he saw the elevator car moving. It was a tiny square high above, dropping with surprising speed. Halfway down, it passed a light embedded in the side of the wall. The illumination flared against the bottom and side of the car, then vanished again.
Kurt pressed back into the rock, holding still in the dark, as the car passed him and continued down another thirty feet before it stopped at the ground level.
Kurt had put down his AR-15 in exchange for a pistol—in this case, a Beretta Cougar .45 automatic.
The front gates opened with a slight clang. Two men walked out. Kurt immediately recognized Hassan. He assumed that the other man had to be Scorpion. Both had guns drawn as if they were expecting trouble. Hassan held a snub-nosed pistol, Scorpion a long-barreled sniper’s rifle.
“We seem to be alone,” Hassan said, holstering his pistol.
“That may not last,” Scorpion said.
Hassan nodded. “Find a spot to cover me in case our military friends come back. This won’t take long.”
Scorpion looked around, studying the room. He came to the same conclusion Kurt and Joe had: the only place to cover the room was from the rigging around the elevator shaft. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he climbed onto the scaffolding exactly where Kurt had ascended it.
From his position in the dark, Kurt could have killed them both, but he hoped to take them alive. Still, his finger pressed ever so slightly against the trigger as he kept the weapon aimed at Scorpion’s head.
Hassan crossed the floor as Scorpion took up a position on the scaffolding ten feet beneath Kurt. From there, he could watch the entire room and see into the control room. He never looked up. Even if he had, he’d never have seen Kurt, his eyes were still adjusting to the dark after driving across the blinding sands of the White Desert.
He settled into his perch and pulled the rifle off his shoulder and held it almost casually.
Hassan paused at the door to the control room, looked around and went inside. He moved cautiously and then vanished from sight.
Scorpion waited. A sniper’s job was to wait and be still. But his mind would not be still. Thoughts from the past intruded. Voices. He could hear Shakir insist he walk across the desert. He could hear the American, the one named Austin, demand he throw his rifle into the teardrop bay on the coast of Gozo. He’d been just about to take a shot.
He told himself he should have fired, should have killed him then, if not earlier. Perhaps he should have killed him instead of Hagen at the fort. But those were not his orders. He would not wait a third time.
In the stillness, his senses seemed heightened. The hum of the pumps was soothing. But it should have been changing by now. What was Hassan waiting for?
Scorpion blinked hard, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He saw green flares in the blackness, left over from the glare of the desert sun. He shook his head and focused on the task at hand. He had to protect Hassan. He had to stay sharp.
He forced his mind to be quiet and stared into the control room. Finally, he saw a figure emerge from the deeper section and sit at the controls. The image was blurred at first, but then it came into focus. It wasn’t Hassan. It was Austin.
How? he thought. How was it possible?
He stared and brought the rifle up to his shoulder.
The helicopter, he decided. Of course. Austin had tricked them again. He’d arrived first and waited in the control room. And Hassan was probably already dead.