The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

*****

On the road below, Tariq could see the blacktop narrow ahead of him as a pair of rock walls arose on either side, constricting the passage to barely enough room for two vehicles to slip past side by side.  At the same time, an antique rusted tractor pulling a hay wagon hauling a half dozen bales approached from the opposite direction with nowhere to go. Essentially trapped by the natural channel formed by the rock walls, the tractor kept coming.

Trying hard to avoid the tractor, Tariq turned the steering wheel of the van to the right causing the right front fender to sideswipe the rock wall itself.  Metal screaming, sparks flying, it raced toward the oncoming hay wagon.  Seeing this, the farmer did his best to avoid a head-on collision then leaped from the driver’s seat.  With the passenger side of the van continuing to grind along the wall, Tariq could feel the heat coming off the rock face as a shower of shards ricocheted off the hood.  Suddenly, a cascade of sparks exploded from the grinding metal, igniting the hay.  Flattening himself against the rock wall, the farmer watched in horror as the driverless hay wagon careened out of control then overturned, its inertia propelling the flaming bales on along the road ahead as the van hurtled past.

Following close behind, the Peugeot was going too fast to avoid the fiery debacle unfolding directly before it.  Still hanging out the open passenger side window, Akif saw what was about to happen and scrambled to pull his body back inside.  At the same time, Raza clung to the steering wheel and attempted to pump the brakes. Dodging one hay bale, he veered back to the right attempting to avoid the second only to slam directly into it.  Eyes filled with panic Raza let a silent cry escape his lips as the Peugeot plowed through the burning hay.  Bursting out from the fiery barrier, they shot past the wreck of the hay wagon and out the other side of the narrow passage.

White-knuckling the wheel with both hands, Raza fought to regain control of the Peugeot.  A hundred meters ahead, he could see the van now limping down the road toward the village. Hitting the gas, he began closing the distance once more.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, Tariq could see the Peugeot bearing down on him.  Unable to outrun them, he prepared himself for impact.  Totally focused on the road, both drivers failed to see the Land Rover as it swiftly descended across the downslope from the road above.

Locked on the Peugeot, Corbett estimated the distance as he closed in, timing his move.  Then just as the van drove past, he hit the accelerator, propelling the Rover forward, striking the Peugeot in the driver’s side door.  For an instant, he could see the two men in the front seat, their faces frozen, caught completely by surprise.

Raza, the driver, fought to hold the Peugeot on course, but lost control as the car left the road.  Beside him, the gunman, Akif, reflexively gripped the trigger of the Kalashnikov, firing wildly through the roof of the vehicle as they went over the embankment.  Careening down the steep incline, it began tumbling end over end.

At the same time, still tight-roping along the edge of the roadway above, Corbett slammed his foot on the brake pedal as he muscled the Rover hard to the left to avoid following the Peugeot over the precipice as well.  Tires smoking, the vehicle came to a shuddering halt.

Corbett caught his breath and climbed out from behind the wheel. Stepping to the edge of the roadway, he stared down, watching as the Peugeot struck the rocks far below, its gas tank rupturing as it exploded.  A moment later, the car was fully engulfed in flames. Glancing back, Corbett watched as Tariq, now a half-mile ahead, nursed the damaged medical van along the road leading to Xeria.

Relieved, Corbett climbed behind the wheel once more.  Then putting the Rover into a tight U-turn, he started back up the mountain toward camp.  Reaching the deserted farmhouse as the sun set behind the mountains, he cornered and headed back toward the base camp.  Neither the Jetta nor the men he had seen surrounding it were anywhere in sight.

NINETEEN

T he rabbit stood stock still in the early morning light, its coat blending almost perfectly with the scrub grass and fieldstone.  Instinctively, it wrinkled its nose, searching for a scent of danger.  The crack of a rifle.  The force of the bullet slamming into the rabbit sent the animal reeling, head over heels.  Coming to a stop a dozen feet beyond where it had been crouching, clearly in shock, its body convulsed as its life ebbed away.

Gorka stood, bandolier across his torso, sighting down the barrel of an antique .32 caliber carbine as a wisp of gun smoke hung in the air.  Lowering the weapon, his eyes still fixed on his kill, he moved slowly forward to collect his prize.  From his leather belt hung two more dead rabbits, enough for a stew.  Collecting the third, he trussed it there beside the others and lumbered back toward the cook tent.

As he drew closer, the old man spotted Karim just emerging after breakfast.  Catching sight of the old Basque returning, Karim avoided eye contact and attempted to move in the opposite direction.

“Ongi etorriak…!” the old man called.  Karim kept moving.

“You… deaf boy.  Don’t run away.”

With unexpected speed, Gorka intercepted him as Karim feigned surprise.  “Beg pardon…” he said in English as if to suggest he had been so lost in thought that he failed to hear him.  Without ceremony, the old man untied the rabbits and thrust them into his hands.  Karim reacted recoiling in mild horror as he allowed the rabbits to slip through his fingers.  The old man shook his head in disgust.

“What