Riki screamed “No!” he raised his weapon to Stanley’s forehead.
A mechanical rumble sounded nearby, followed by a puff of black smoke that rose into the air behind them. The gunmen turned toward the noise—and the mountain of dirt suddenly began to cascade onto them.
One man fell, his lower torso buried by the avalanche. He screamed as a giant steel blade burst through the dirt mound just above his head. An accomplice tried to pull him free, but had to jump back as the front-end loader crushed the first man beneath its big, knobby tires.
The third gunman shoved Stanley aside and turned his weapon on the machine, firing into the cab. With its dusty windows, he was unable to see that the vehicle was driverless.
Zeibig realized what was happening and dragged Riki and the two laborers along the trench and away from the collapsing dirt mound. Then, through a cloud of rising dust, another woman dropped into the trench ahead of them.
“Summer?” said Zeibig.
“Quick, this way. Stay in the trench.” She motioned along its path.
“Where’s Dirk?”
“Hoping to provide us cover. Come on!”
Riki hesitated, but Zeibig pushed her. “Follow Summer. I’ll get Harrison.”
A few steps back, Zeibig found the archeologist staggering along the edge of the trench. Zeibig grabbed his shirt and pulled him into it. “Come along, Harry, this way.”
The two scampered after the others as the front-end loader lumbered behind them, its blade raising a cloud of dust.
The loader’s front wheels rolled down the dirt mound into the trench, and the vehicle dropped forward, pinning itself in place. Just a few feet ahead, the two remaining gunmen riddled the cab with gunfire, until they realized it had no driver. They looked about and saw the two archeologists fleeing.
The gunman with the checked headscarf raised his weapon at the two men, then redirected his fire to a tall figure crouched in the center of the field.
While Summer was setting the loader in motion, Dirk had circled the palace ruins and sprinted to the body of the antiquities agent. He ducked beside the dead man and retrieved his sidearm. It was a bulky, antiquated Webley Mk VI revolver, but it still packed a lethal kick with its .455 caliber cartridges.
Dirk had barely gotten his hand around the gun’s grip when popping erupted and the sand kicked up in front of him. He dropped flat beside the body, which absorbed a pair of rounds. Targeting the source, Dirk rose and fired two quick shots, then sprinted east across the site.
The gunman recovered to fire another salvo, struck only air, as Dirk dove into the pit that held the offering table. Summer appeared a few seconds later, leading the others through the trench with their heads down.
Summer gave a mirthless grin. “I guess we’ve got ’em right where we want ’em.”
“I’ve still got a few rounds,” Dirk said. “To buy us time to summon help.”
“A little tough without cell coverage.”
Riki slipped past Summer to the head of the group and poked her head over the side. Dirk eyed the attractive woman.
“You best keep your head down,” he said. He popped up for a quick look, leading with the Webley.
The two surviving gunmen had dropped into the trench that ran perpendicularly and were now inching closer. Dirk fired a shot to deter them, the bullet raising dust in front of the trench.
The two men ducked low for a moment, then one sprang up and flung a round object toward the group.
“Grenade!” Dirk shouted. “Everybody down!”
The grenade bounced into the trench near Stanley at the back of the line. It struck the ground a few feet away and detonated.
With its deafening boom, the explosion kicked up a cloud of dirt and more dust. Once the debris began to settle, Dirk moved through the haze to the point of the explosion. He passed the two laborers, who were picking themselves up, appeared unhurt. Zeibig was just beyond, leaning over Stanley.
“How’s the professor?” Dirk asked.
His ears ringing, Zeibig couldn’t hear the question. He did note Dirk’s presence. “Leg,” he said.
Zeibig had a smattering of blood on his arm and shoulder, yet he appeared pristine compared to Stanley. The British archeologist was caked in dust and splattered with blood, but his clothes and limbs seemed intact. Zeibig had already torn a strip from Stanley’s shredded pants and was using it to bandage a damp red spot near his knee.
His eyes glazed, the archeologist mumbled quietly.
Summer appeared behind Dirk. “We can’t take another one of those.”