Hank cowered on the floorboards, covering his face with his arms. “Don’t shoot,” he cried.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A fight between grasshoppers is a joy to the crow.
– BASOTHO PROVERB –
Sam, his finger on the trigger of his Smith & Wesson .38, watched with clinical detachment as the gunman pulled Hank from the truck’s cab. Like Remi, Sam was belly-down in the grass, his phone set out in front of him. The screen lit up as Remi called him back. He answered, then gave a quick glance toward the lone survivor sprawled in the dirt near the yellow car. The man slowly lifted his gun in a vain attempt to take down his four attackers. He was bleeding out fast and Sam didn’t know if he’d even have the strength to get off a shot.
“Hold …” Sam said softly into his phone. Remi, an expert sharpshooter, could easily drop the man holding the gun to Hank, and was no doubt worried about his safety. At the moment, Sam didn’t care if Hank lived or died. He wasn’t about to risk his wife’s life, or that of Amal and Nasha, because the man was too stupid to follow instructions.
The gunman pointed his weapon at the archeologist’s chest. “Where are the others?”
Hank scooted back, hitting the side of the truck, looking around in desperation, whether for them or to escape, Sam couldn’t tell.
“Tell … me … where … they … are …” With each word, he shoved the barrel of his gun against Hank’s chest.
“They just ran.”
“Which direction?”
“I … I didn’t see.” Hank’s gaze flicked to the side of the road. “Too much dust.”
Crack!
Bako’s shot went wild.
The two gunmen on the other side of the truck spun around, spraying bullets at the yellow car in a deafening barrage. The third gunman grabbed Hank, using him for a shield, blocking any chance of Sam taking him out. “Remi,” Sam shouted into the phone.
She fired before he finished saying her name.
The gunman fell to the ground, taking Hank with him. The man near the front of the truck stepped out into the road, belatedly realizing the shot came from the grass. He swung his rifle in Remi’s direction. Sam fired twice. He fell back against the truck.
Makao, seeing his men fall, ducked behind the Land Rover, then raced to the pickup, jumping in. The lone surviving gunman raced after him, grabbing on to the tailgate as the vehicle sped off.
Sam kept his sights on the truck, waiting until the dust settled to make sure it wasn’t circling back. Finally, he glanced in Remi’s direction, not yet seeing her in the tall grass.
He grabbed his phone. “Remi …”
“Here.”
“Keep the others down. Let’s make sure it’s clear.”
They rose at the same time, guns at the ready, and walked toward the three vehicles.
The only thing moving was Hank, his breathing shallow, his face pale, as he struggled to his feet, trying to push the dead man off him.
“Stay there,” Sam ordered and moved to the right as Remi moved to the left, checking the downed men, kicking any weapons out of reach in case anyone had miraculously survived.
They were all dead.
“Clear,” he called out.
“Same,” Remi said as they met on the other side of the supply truck. They circled back. “It’s safe,” she shouted. “You can come out.”
Amal and Nasha slowly rose, the young girl reaching for Amal’s shaking hand as they made their way through the tall grass.
Sam eyed the dusty pair. “Nice job blending in.”