doors of the warehouse crack open. The night had moved in, and a full moon cast a brilliant
light down over the empty street, clearly illuminating the face of only one man.
One man. It was the guard, and Naomi watched as he carefully pulled the door closed and
locked it behind him. He walked quickly to the Mercedes, unlocked the door, squeezed his heavy
frame into the car, and drove away. Naomi felt the excitement rise in her chest as she groped
back across the rough surface of the roof for the radio.
The cold gray waters of Table Bay lifted the large boat on the gentle swells as Ryan stood at the
helm, staring toward the line of warehouses jutting up from the rocky shore. His attention was
focused on the only building still illuminated at this late hour, although no motion could be seen
from the brightly lit interior.
He was startled back to reality by a sudden burst of static from the radio resting on the
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instrument panel inside the covered cockpit.
“Ryan, pick up.” He heard the urgency in her voice and reached quickly for the handset.
“Go ahead.”
“The driver’s gone,” she said, her excitement penetrating through the harsh static. “He just
drove off by himself… Did you hear me? He’s gone. What do I do?”
Ryan’s mind moved rapidly as he considered the options. “Okay, listen carefully. Go get the
jeep and pull it around to the front of the building. Wait in the front seat and pull out the map
like you’re looking for something. If the driver comes back, hit the Selcall button twice. The
radio won’t make any noise on your end, but I’ll get the message. Then get the hell out of there.”
A beat while he thought. “Make sure you bring that pack down with you. You got all that?”
“Got it.”
Ryan slid the radio into his coat pocket and moved quickly back to the stern of the boat.
Ripping the tarp off the small rubber dinghy, he hooked up the power cord to the portable
crane and started the generator before undoing the tie-downs that secured the smaller craft to
the catamaran. Looking up and across the water, he could see that the incongruous French
doors tucked into the rear of the renovated warehouse were still open to the cool night air.
They’d never get a better chance, he decided.
Naomi was racing through a tangled web of dark alleyways, her pounding footsteps echoing
loud in the narrow space between the buildings. She fumbled for the keys as she reached the
Nissan, tossed her pack into the back of the vehicle, and slid onto the cold leather of the driver’s
seat. The temperature had dropped rapidly after sunset, and she found herself shivering as she
started the engine and pulled the jeep out of the secluded alley.
The dinghy bounced over the gentle waves, Ryan wincing at the loud rumble of the 40 hp
outboard motor churning up the water behind him. He shut down the motor after a few
hundred meters and let the momentum of the boat carry him into shore. Jumping out, he pulled
the dinghy up behind him, almost slipping on the wet rocks beneath his feet as he moved up the
beach toward the open doors.
Naomi turned off the headlights as she turned the corner and braked to a gentle halt on the
street opposite Gray’s building. The road was still clear as she unfolded the map and nervously
fingered the radio lying by her side. Hurry up, Ryan.
Kealey passed through the double doors, the Walther up as he moved into the warehouse. Light
from the fluorescent bulbs positioned far above erupted over the white-painted brick walls,
reaching down to touch and illuminate a shining floor of lacquered oak.
Stephen Gray, seated behind an immense desk in the center of the room, was reclining
comfortably in his chair, sipping at a cut-crystal glass of Chivas. He was startled by a shadow
moving over the mirrorlike surface of his desk, and looked up as the dark figure entered the
room.
He immediately knew that he would not survive the encounter. His buildings had been raided by
the authorities many times before, but this was not how the police came, through the back
entrance with silenced pistols and shadowed faces. He began to tremble as his right hand inched
toward the second drawer of his desk.
He tried to recall if the revolver it held was loaded.
Ryan moved quickly to control the situation. “Stephen Gray,” he said in a low, calm voice.
Reason, he thought. Reason with the man. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I have a few questions, if
you don’t mind. Stay still and keep your hands on the desk.”
“Fuck you.” Gray’s face was twisted in anger and defiance. He started to get to his feet.
Kealey saw that reason wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He moved fast around the desk
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before Gray could stand and put his foot hard into the man’s chest.
The chair flipped backward and Gray fell violently to the floor, the air crushed out of his lungs.
Gasping for breath, he got to his hands and knees before Kealey’s foot slammed up into his
stomach.
Gray felt his ribs crack on the second blow, and tried to curl himself into a protective ball as his
vision blurred. Despite the nauseating pain, he could feel the barrel of the pistol being pressed
into the base of his skull.
“I want to pull this trigger,” Ryan snarled. “You have one chance to save yourself.” He reached
into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wrinkled picture, dropping it unceremoniously in front of
the businessman’s face. “How do you know this man?”
The silver Mercedes came fast around the corner, screeching to a halt right in front of the Nissan
4x4. The air caught in her lungs as Naomi reached for the radio and furiously punched the Selcall
button. She tried to focus on the map, but the heavy driver was already out of the car, holding a
bulging sack of takeout in one hand and tapping on her window with the other. The suspicion
was plain in his face before she even began to lower the window.
“I swear it’s the truth!”
“I don’t believe you.” Ryan’s finger tightened on the trigger as he pressed the cold metal harder
against the man’s head. “That’s the only name he’s ever used with you?”
“I knew his father personally. You can look for yourself. Jesus, look… Look, just let me up. I’m
not going anywhere.” Any distraction would do, Gray thought to himself. The gun is loaded, I
know it is. If I can just get to it, I might have a chance.
Ryan grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up roughly. Immediately, Gray moved for the
desk. “It’s right here, I have a file on him—”
The fist tightened around the back of Gray’s shirt, pulling him back and away. “Sit down,” Ryan
said. He moved to the desk and started opening drawers. Turning to face the other man, he held
the Smith & Wesson revolver up toward the light. “Is this what you were looking for?”
Opening the cylinder, he spilled the bullets out of the gun, the rounds rattling and rolling away
across the polished floor. Casually tossing the revolver onto the desk, he moved forward in a
smooth motion and slammed the butt of his own pistol into Gray’s face. The impact
reverberated along the length of his arm. As Ryan pulled back to deliver a second blow, the
radio tucked into his pocket bumped the corner of the desk, inadvertently pressing the transmit
button.
“No, I have absolutely no idea,” Naomi was saying. “I think I made a wrong turn coming out of
the Malay Quarter… I’m just trying to get back to the Commodore. Can you point it out to me?
I mean, if you don’t mind.”
The doubt had faded slightly from the man’s blunt features. Leaning forward and through the
window, he began to trace a line along the map, snapping out directions in heavily accented
English. His finger was tracing through the map and along her leg… She held the map tightly in
both hands, her arms straining so that she almost ripped the thin paper in half. Her mind was
moving at the speed of light. Keep him occupied, Naomi.
She placed her hand on the man’s forearm and gave him her best smile. “I can’t thank you
enough. You’re a lifesaver.” She hit the tone perfectly, and watched the grin spread over his face
as his eyes scoured her body for the first time…
There was a burst of static from the radio.
The driver saw something change in her face and he pulled back quickly, the lascivious smile
fading fast, replaced by a sneer as he dug for the weapon in his jacket.
Naomi’s hand moved down in a blur to the space between the seats, pulling up on Ryan’s
Beretta. She got there first. Her mind was blank as she pointed the gun at his chest and fired
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twice, the shots ringing in her ears as she watched him fall back, shock carved into his face.
She stumbled out of the jeep, the radio forgotten behind her. She was reaching down, searching
for the man’s keys, only to realize that they were in the still-running Mercedes. Naomi didn’t
notice the lack of blood on the driver’s chest as she pulled the keys out of the car and ran to the
front door of the warehouse.
The shots were audible from inside the building. Stephen Gray looked up and smiled in Ryan’s
direction, a bloody, awful smile. Something feral slithered into his eyes as he spoke. “You may
know his name, but it won’t change anything.”
Ryan stepped back, still aiming the Walther at Gray’s chest. “What are you talking about?”
“The shipment has already landed in Washington. It’s too late to stop him. Do you understand
what I’m saying? He’s going after all of them. He already has what he needs.”
Ryan was about to respond when the door burst open. He swung his pistol and then stopped
when she moved into view. Naomi ran into the building… All she could see was Ryan.
Gray reacted immediately. With astonishing speed he turned the corner and hit Naomi head-on,
the pistol flying out of her hand and across the floor. She was stunned by the blow, struggling to
stand when Gray reached past her, his fingertips brushing against the Beretta. Then it was in his
hand, and he was turning up and around…
Kealey shot him twice in the chest. Stumbling backward, Gray hit the wall and slumped down
against it. He glared up at Ryan, a thin trickle of blood running out of his mouth and down onto
the clean white cotton of his shirt. He summoned the last of his strength and lifted the pistol in
Naomi’s direction.
Ryan had no choice. Taking two steps forward, he leveled the Walther and fired a third bullet
into Stephen Gray’s forehead.
He breathed a soft curse. This was going all wrong… His first priority was to get out of the
building. Moving forward, Ryan lifted the Beretta out of the dead man’s hand and slid it into his
coat pocket. Naomi was crouched against the wall, staring up at him with horror in her face.
Leaning down, he grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly to her feet.
“Where’s the driver?”
“I shot him,” she said in a low monotone. Ryan’s eyes were moving fast around the room. There
was a wall full of file cabinets and papers strewn across the man’s desk. He thought about
sending Naomi out to the boat while he looked through the papers. He thought about the
probable response times for police units heading out of the commercial district, and about what
they would find when they arrived. He knew instinctively that Gray wouldn’t keep records of any
illicit dealings in these file cabinets.
His deliberations had taken three seconds. It was too much of a risk. Besides, he already had
what he came for. He grabbed Naomi’s hand and pulled her hard toward the open doors
leading out to the bay. A scuffling sound behind him, movement on unsteady feet. A moment of
shock as he considered… No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t turn to look.
They were running hard, out through the back as a long burst of automatic fire followed them,
ripping through the French doors and sending jagged splinters of glass and wood spinning out
onto the beach. Ryan felt like he was barely moving as his feet pounded over the sinking sand,
Naomi like dead weight behind him, her hand tightly gripping his. Another long burst of fire,
and then a shouted curse in Afrikaans as the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. Ryan
pushing the dinghy out over the rocks, pulling her roughly in and the engine roaring to life. The
boat was going hard over the waves, slapping against the rubber floor as they jumped each swell.
Two minutes later they were out of range of the driver’s submachine gun, and Ryan cut back on
the motor as they eased up to the rear of the catamaran.
Ryan finally forced himself to turn and look at Naomi. He was almost certain that she had been
hit. He felt an overwhelming wave of relief when she didn’t appear to be wounded, but it was
difficult to tell; he could see only her back as she crouched facing away from him, her upper
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body leaning over the side as she was violently sick into the black waters of Table Bay.
CHAPTER 19
TAJIKISTAN ? CAPE TOWN ? PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA
The journey had been long and arduous, but they were now closing in on their final destination.
The most difficult part for al-Adel had been in securing more auxiliary tanks for the helicopter.
It had taken shouted curses and threats of retribution in fractured Farsi over the encrypted
radio, but the promise had been made and kept. The fuel tanks were waiting in a covered truck
bed just off an abandoned highway north of Repetek. From there, they were free to continue on
the third leg of the flight. The sky began to darken once again as the Mi-26 headed northeast,
skirting the jagged western edge of Tajikistan that led toward the lush and fertile floor of the
Ferghana Valley.
Saif al-Adel noticed that the American had not spoken for the entire duration of the flight. He
wondered whether this was a sign that the man regretted his earlier demands, but soon dismissed
the notion when he examined the other passenger’s face and saw nothing but quiet confidence.
Clearly, the American had unshakable faith in his own abilities.
It was some time before they banked east over the valley floor 3,500 meters below. The descent
took the heavy aircraft shuddering down through dark gray cumulus clouds, a light rain washing
over the armored plating as the weight of the helicopter settled onto the struts of the landing
gear. The monstrous blades continued to slice the air overhead as the passengers climbed down
from the elevated cabin. Al-Adel gave a hand signal to one of the two pilots through the cockpit
glass, and both men moved away from the craft as power to the engines was increased and the
