grip and struggled to angle his gun inward. Another round exploded—again mere inches from Matt’s face, again deafening, dizzying, like a baseball bat to the ears—and whizzed past Jabba’s face before spinning out through his open window. Matt saw the guy reaching down with his free hand—his left hand—moving to pull the gun he’d taken off Matt from under his belt, and Matt spun the wheel to the right—once, twice, full lock, using one arm—then dropped his hand down to the gearshift, slammed it into reverse, and mashed the gas pedal again. The car leapt back, courtesy of the standard tight gearing in reverse, and with the steering locked all the way to the right, the Camry’s front swung sideways and outward violently and slammed into the first shooter. He was thrown back and, with his hand still pinned to the pillar, tripped over himself and stumbled to the ground—with the car still arcing backward. The Camry’s rear end crunched against the outbuilding’s concrete wall just as its left front wheel rode over the fallen shooter’s ankles, tearing up bone and cartilage in its wake. The man howled with pain and his fingers let go of the gun, which tumbled into Matt’s foot well. Matt threw the car back into drive and howled away in a squeal of rubber.
He threw a glance at the plane—the two bodyguards who were with Rydell’s daughter were rushing toward him, guns drawn. He floored the accelerator again and tore back up the apron, found the gate through which he’d sneaked in—it was closed—plowed right through it and tore down Hanscom Drive and into the shelter of its tree line.
“They knew we were coming,” he yelled at Jabba.
“What? How do you know that?”
“They knew. Maddox knew we were coming. They were waiting for us.”
“But . . .” Jabba’s mouth was stumbling for words, still in shock from the bullets slicing through the air right in front of him.
“Your phone—they’re reading it,” Matt stated flatly.
“No way,” Jabba objected. “I haven’t been keeping it on long enough—”
“I’m telling you they’re reading it,” Matt shot back angrily.
“There’s no way, man.” He held his iPhone up, examining it curiously. “No way they can lock onto it that fast, and I haven’t had it on long enough for them to download any spyware onto it and—”
Matt just snatched it out of his fingers, and was about to flick it out the window when Jabba grabbed it with both hands.
“No,” he yelled, “don’t.”
Matt looked at him angrily.
Jabba wrenched it out of his fingers and took it back. “My whole fucking life’s in there, man. You can’t just throw it away like that. Just give me a second.”
He looked around, checked the car’s side pockets, the ashtray, then opened the glove box and rifled through it. He found some paperwork in a plastic sleeve—service documents and a receipt—held together by the very thing he was looking for, a paper clip. He plucked it off, straightened it, and stuck one of its ends into the tiny hole on the top face of the phone. The SIM card tray popped out. He pulled the card out of its slot and showed it to Matt.
“No SIM card. No signal. For all intents and purposes, the phone’s dead. Okay?”
Matt frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Okay.” He felt his pulse ratchet its way back. He’d just killed two men. Which should have felt bad, but—strangely—didn’t. It was, he told himself, a simple matter of kill or be killed. But he knew he’d have to be more careful if he didn’t want to fall on the wrong side of that equation the next time it presented itself.
Jabba sat quietly for a moment, just staring ahead, then asked, “What are we going to do now?”
“What do you think?” Matt grumbled.
Jabba studied him, then nodded stoically. “Rydell?”
“Rydell,” Matt simply confirmed.
Chapter 55
Wadi Natrun, Egypt
“ Iunderstand you’re looking to get out of there in a hurry,” Darby said in a casual tone.
Gracie stared ahead quizzically. “I’m sorry?”
Dalton leaned out and mouthed her a question. She gave him an uncertain glance back.
“You need a ride, Miss Logan,” Darby observed somewhat smugly. “And I’m calling to offer you one.”
Her mind scrambled to make sense of the call. She recognized the name, of course. She couldn’t exactly count herself among the pastor’s fans. Far from it, truth be told. But that didn’t really matter now, nor did it tell her what she needed to know. “How did . . .