The Alexander Cipher Page 0,87

you think I’m doing?”

Nerves taut, eyes skinned, they lumbered on down the track to the yard. Rainwater had gathered in shallow puddles on the concrete, reflecting their beams brightly. There was a muddy patch ahead. They both saw the fresh footprints in it together. “Shit!” swore Rick. He stamped on the accelerator and roared into a violent U-turn, tires screeching, flinging Knox hard against his door.

Nessim’s white Freelander surged out from the trees, headlights springing on high beam, dazzling them both. Rick tried to swerve around it, but he lost traction in the wet and slithered head-on into it instead, hoods crumpling, glass shattering, airbags deploying, pinning them in their seats. It took Knox a moment to gather himself—a moment he didn’t have. His door was hauled open, and something cracked him on the temple, leaving him stunned. He was hauled out by his collar and dragged roughly along the concrete, too dazed to resist, his ears ringing like a bell tower, until he was inside the outbuilding—and Rick, too—the steel door closing like a trap behind them both. Nessim kicked him onto his back, and stood astride him, aiming down at his chest. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, pointing his flashlight at Rick, who was groaning and rubbing his forehead, mussing a trickle of blood into his hair. He tried to push himself up onto his knees but promptly collapsed again, vomiting hard, making the Egyptians laugh.

“Not friend,” mumbled Knox, still hopelessly disoriented. “Driver. Knows nothing about this. Let him go.”

“Sure,” snorted Nessim.

“I swear,” said Knox. “He knows nothing.”

“Then it’s his unlucky day, isn’t it?”

Knox pushed himself up onto an elbow, his scattered senses beginning to return. “Good money, is it?” he asked. “Working for a gangster like al-Assyuti?”

Spots of red flared momentarily on Nessim’s cheeks. “You know nothing about my life,” he said.

“And you know enough about mine to end it, do you?”

“You brought this on yourself,” spat Nessim. “You must have known what would happen.”

Rick pushed himself up, successfully this time. “What’s going on?” he slurred. “Who are these people?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Knox.

“They’ve got guns,” said Rick, sounding fearful and bewildered. “Why have they got guns?”

Knox frowned at his friend. Somehow his tone didn’t ring quite true. Maybe it was simply a concussion, but maybe he was trying to lull Nessim and these others into taking him lightly. They’d have no idea of his background, after all. If that was so, then it was down to Knox to buy him some time to go to work. Time and perhaps darkness. The only light in this place was from the various flashlights, after all, and if he could get them all pointed at him . . .

He glared up at Nessim. “I overheard you tell that girl in Sharm you used to be a paratrooper,” he said. “You fucking liar.”

“It wasn’t a lie.”

“Paratroops have honor,” sneered Knox. “Men of honor don’t sell themselves to rapists and murderers.”

Nessim slapped Knox hard across the cheek with the barrel of his gun, sending him sprawling. “Men of honor don’t refuse duties just because they dislike them,” he said tightly.

“Honor!” snorted Knox, pushing himself back up onto his knees. “You don’t know what the word means. You’re just a whore, selling yourself for—”

Nessim slapped Knox even harder this time, so that he collapsed, dazed, to the floor, his cheek scraping like stubble on the rough concrete. And it was lying there, in a daze, that he watched Rick blur into action. A single punch sent the first man sprawling. An elbow doubled up the second, Rick wresting his gun from him as he went down, shooting the third through his thigh before turning the gun on Nessim, who was still standing frozen over Knox.

“Drop it!” yelled Rick. “Fucking drop it!” Nessim’s gun and flashlight both clattered to the concrete. “On your knees!” he shouted. “All of you. On your fucking knees. Now!” The Egyptians complied, even the wounded man, whimpering piteously with shock, his cream trousers staining red. “Hands behind your fucking heads!” roared Rick, enraged partly by their treatment of Knox, but more by having been made to fear that he was going to die. The Egyptians must have read their fate in his expression, because the color drained from their faces. Nessim alone showed defiance, bracing himself as Rick aimed down at the bridge of his nose. Knox remembered the shame on his cheeks earlier, how he had bridled at the accusation of lacking honor. “No,” he said,