That Time in Cairo by Logan Ryles (books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

making alterations to her course when the windings streets left her no choice.

“Are we sure this is Pollins?” Wolfgang asked.

“Positive ID confirmed,” Megan said. “She matches the picture.”

“What’s your concern, Charlie Three?” Edric asked.

Wolfgang sucked in a deep breath and broke into a soft jog, sliding one block over and struggling to keep Pollins in sight.

“She doesn’t appear to be headed anywhere,” Wolfgang said. “She’s just walking due east with her head down . . . and the buildings are getting shabbier.”

Edric grunted but said nothing.

An uneasiness settled over Wolfgang, and he quickened his stride. He couldn’t see Megan now. She should be a block to the south, struggling to keep sight of Pollins among the irregularly winding streets. The target was forty yards ahead, still marching forward with dogged determination, her head down as if she wasn’t concerned with where she was headed. Something was wrong. Something didn’t feel right. This wasn’t the way a woman who knew the city and was headed someplace in particular would walk.

“Keep your eyes sharp,” Lyle said. “You’re moving into a rougher neighborhood.”

Wolfgang didn’t need to be told. The streets breathed a grungier air, with looming buildings that hung in shadows next to flickering streetlamps. What people were visible were all inside, moving behind dirty windows, while the streets and alleys in and around tall apartment buildings lay empty and dark.

Wolfgang reached up and unbuttoned his shirt down to his belly button, exposing the white undershirt he wore beneath, and providing him easier access to the pistol—just in case. He could still see Pollins, marching relentlessly eastward, head down, arms hugging herself.

Then he saw the shadow moving out of an alley on her right, sheltered by two tall, dark buildings. The closest street was wide and empty, and before Pollins could cross it, the figure darted out of the alley and grabbed her, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her back into the darkness.

“Target is under attack,” Wolfgang hissed. “I’m moving in!”

5

Wolfgang broke into a run, completing a forty-yard dash to the entrance as the pistol cleared his holster. He didn’t want to use it. He didn’t have time to affix the silencer to the barrel, and firing an unsuppressed handgun in a quiet place like this would almost certainly result in all the wrong kinds of attention, but he couldn’t let Pollins get hurt, either. Charlie Team had already let this go too far—already let her life come into jeopardy.

“I can’t get through!” Megan said. “I’ve got to go around the block. I’m coming!”

Wolfgang spun into the alley and raised the gun. Two men stood in the shadows, both clothed in black, both wielding glistening knives. One of them held Pollins against a wall, his thick forearm jammed beneath her throat, while the other was busy unbuckling his pants.

“Hey, you!” Wolfgang shouted.

The men looked up, their dark eyes growing wide at the sight of the gun. But instead of running away, the first man slammed Pollins’s head against the wall, stunning her before dropping her to the ground. Then they bolted toward Wolfgang, knives gleaming.

Not good.

Wolfgang froze in indecision. Code Yellow only allowed him to fire if fired upon, but it said nothing about knives. And anyway, if he did fire, what then? They didn’t need these people dead; they needed them alive so they could find the scroll.

But knives.

Wolfgang stooped, narrowly missing the first swing of the lead man’s knife, then shot his fist up into that man’s groin. As he stood, Wolfgang retrieved a fistful of dry dirt from the edge of the street and slung it into the eyes of the second man. The entire maneuver happened in mere seconds, all strung together like a perfectly choreographed dance move.

The first man stumbled and dropped the knife. The second man held his weapon but clawed at his eyes with his free hand. Wolfgang went on the offensive, kicking the downed knife away and driving his elbow into the neck of the first man. That guy went down, still writhing from the pain in his crotch as Wolfgang moved to the second guy.

The second guy wasn’t so easy. He’d cleared most of the dirt from his eyes, and he still held the knife. The man took a step back, brandishing the knife with a wolfish grin. Wolfgang lowered his head and charged, smashing into the guy’s sternum and hurling him backward. It was a calculated move designed to shield his face and neck, but the man still swung, and the knife clipped Wolfgang’s shoulder blade. His attacker made a frantic attempt to fend off the headbutt, but as Wolfgang’s skull collided with the man’s sternum, the air rushed from his lungs, and he stumbled back with a grunt.

They hit the ground, both tripping over scattered trash in the alley as the knife clattered to the dirt. That was a win, at least, but Wolfgang was thirty pounds lighter than his opponent, and this guy felt like the kind of man who didn’t mind killing somebody tonight.

Dirt and rocks flew as the two of them flailed. Wolfgang kicked, attempting to prevent his attacker from rolling on top of him, but it was too late. A meaty fist struck him in the shoulder, deadening his arm and causing him to lose his grip on his opponent’s shirt. Then the man struck again, this time smacking Wolfgang across the jaw. His head snapped against the packed dirt of the alley floor, and the world spun. In the distance, he heard the scrabbling of another fight from the mouth of the alley, then Megan cried out in muted pain. He could only hope she wasn’t being slashed to shreds by the knife.

Wolfgang spat blood and twisted his head just in time to dodge a second blow from his attacker. His mind swam, but he imagined he could see the bloodthirst in his assailant’s eyes—the animalistic hunger of a violent man ready to kill.

Wolfgang twisted and shot up with his right hand, grabbing the man by