His fingers closed around a cold metal handle. He snatched it up, striking at Zamal’s face—
It wasn’t a knife.
It wasn’t even a fork. It was only a spoon, the back of the rounded head striking Zamal’s brow with an almost comical smack! that brought a mocking look from Chase’s opponent.
The look changed instantly to one of enraged pain as Chase rolled the spoon over in his hand and jabbed it at the bearded man’s eye as if trying to scoop it out of his head. Zamal roared and jumped back. Chase leapt up, both men spinning around—and pointing the gun at Nina again. She shrieked and dived out of the way, landing behind the RV’s driver’s seat.
Ribbsley appeared in the bedroom door, wielding the champagne bottle. He saw Chase and Zamal battling for the gun and ran at them, raising the bottle like a club.
Sophia jumped out from behind the chair, grabbing a black leather briefcase with her cuffed hands. “Gabriel!” He froze, the bottle held high, and looked around at her in surprise. “Take this!” She swung the briefcase and hit him in the chest. Ribbsley stumbled, dropping the bottle, and fell through the open door to land on his back in the sand outside. The case thumped down beside him. “Nina! You’ve got the keys! Drive!”
Nina realized that she still had Ribbsley’s key ring—and on it was one key with the fat black plastic head of a remote-locking system. With a worried look at the struggling men, she dropped into the driver’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition.
Chase kicked back with one foot to give himself leverage on the refrigerator, throwing Zamal against the wall. He smashed the other man on the cheek with the point of his right elbow, then managed to get a grip on the gun. Zamal responded by punching him in the ribs. Chase grunted in pain. He elbowed Zamal in the head again, trying to wrench the gun away—
Zamal realized he was in danger of losing his weapon—and squeezed the trigger.
The shot punched through the Winnebago’s roof. Chase yelled as his hand was burned—the heel of his palm had been partly covering the automatic’s ejection port. He let go, and Zamal twisted his wrist around to point the gun at his head, pulling the trigger again—
Clink.
No shot. Chase’s grip on the gun’s slide had stopped it from cycling properly; it would need a manual operation to complete the reloading action.
Chase took immediate advantage of the misfire to slam a sledgehammer punch into the Arab’s stomach. Zamal bent at the waist as the wind was knocked out of him, and took a follow-up blow to the face.
The engine started. “Go!” Sophia yelled. Nina released the hand brake, put the Winnebago into drive, stamped on the accelerator …
And the seventeen-ton vehicle wallowed as its wheels spun in the sand.
The movement sent Chase and Zamal reeling across the lounge. Sophia snatched up the champagne bottle, waiting for a chance to strike.
Nina tried again, pushing the pedal down more gently. The Winnebago rocked, then gained traction and jolted forward. She swung the steering wheel to bring the enormous RV toward the dirt track away from the coast.
The gunshot had attracted attention. Through the windshield, she saw men running toward them. Grimacing, she shoved the accelerator down harder.
Zamal and Chase traded more blows, neither willing to relinquish their grip on the other as they staggered back and forth across the room. Sophia was still waiting for a clear strike. “Eddie!” she said impatiently, holding up the bottle. “Turn him round!”
Chase saw what she had in mind and with a furious burst of strength forced Zamal’s back toward her. The bottle flashed down, smashing over the Arab’s head and showering Chase with frothing champagne. Zamal’s knees buckled.
“Waste of a Cuvée Winston,” said Sophia, almost sadly, before moving to the door and holding it open. “Throw him out!”
Chase half dragged the groaning Zamal across the room. “Okay, mate,” Chase grunted. “Holiday’s over.”
The track ahead curved, low limestone embankments rising on both sides. Nina threw the RV into the bend without slowing, the front bumper clipping the outer bank.
Chase lurched, Zamal grabbed him—and both men toppled out through the open door.
SIXTEEN
Chase landed on top of Zamal, knocking the breath from both of them as they rolled to a stop in the Winnebago’s dusty wake.
Chase recovered first, coughing. The Arab was lying prone a foot away.
He still had the gun.
Zamal realized this at the same moment as Chase. He tugged the slide to unjam it and brought the weapon around—
Chase punched him so hard his beret flew off. This time, Zamal stayed down. “Guess the champagne went to your head,” Chase said. He looked around to see the Winnebago retreating into the desert—and one of the quad bikes swerving off its patrol route after it.
It wasn’t the only vehicle in pursuit. He could hear the second ATV cutting through the excavations behind him—and the rasp of a third Kawasaki starting up. All that, plus shouting from the camp as the rest of the Covenant forces mobilized, told him that he really needed to be somewhere else.
He pulled the gun from Zamal’s limp hand and staggered painfully after the Winnebago.
Nina found the switch for the headlights. The bumpy desert landscape lit up before her.
A noise to one side, an engine. In the mirror she saw one of the quad bikes bounding toward her. And something picked out by the headlight’s glare above the handlebars, a line of dark metal in the rider’s hand—
“Shit!” Nina gasped, ducking as flame spat from the rifle’s barrel. Bullets punctured the Winnebago’s slablike side. “Eddie, keep down!” No answer. “Eddie?”
Sophia took cover behind Nina. “He fell out!”
“He what?” She was about to stamp on the brake when another burst of gunfire deterred her. Instead, she increased her speed, the RV pitching over each bump like a ship in heavy seas. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Eddie can look after himself.”
“Well, I hope we can!” Another turn was coming up fast, a bank channeling the Winnebago to the right. Sophia grabbed the fat leather seat for support as Nina turned hard, feeling the big, top-heavy vehicle begin to tip over. “Whoa!” She had to ease off …
“If you could keep all the wheels on the ground, it’d be helpful,” Sophia said dryly as the RV dropped heavily back down, loose objects clattering around the cabin behind them.
“It’d be even more helpful if you’d shut your goddamn yap!” The track curved back to the left, rising out of a little gully. She swung the wheel back, the Winnebago rolling even harder.
Where was the quad bike? Nina checked the mirrors, seeing no sign of it behind them.
Engine noise, very close, too close—
It wasn’t behind them. It had drawn level, zooming over the rise in a straight line to catch up while she had been forced to weave through the gully. She looked sideways to see it just yards away, the rider swinging the rifle around in one hand, aiming at her …
Nina ducked, hauling on the wheel to slew the Winnebago off the track at the quad bike. The rider fired a burst before he was forced to swerve away, shattering the side window and ripping a pair of bullet holes in the panoramic windshield, a web of silver cracks obscuring Nina’s view.
“Sophia!” she yelled, the RV ripping through bushes before she swung it back onto the track. “I can’t see ahead! I need you to—”
A red cylinder flew past her head and smashed through the damaged windshield—one of the Winnebago’s fire extinguishers. “Is that better?” Sophia asked, dropping into the passenger seat.
“Oh, just fine,” Nina growled as a gritty wind blew through the new hole. But at least she could see again. She looked for the quad bike. Its headlight was now in the mirror; it had been forced to drop in behind them to avoid a stand of trees.
The sound of bullet impacts echoed up the cabin from the Winnebago’s rear. “What the hell’s he shooting at???
?
“The tires, maybe?” Sophia suggested with considerable sarcasm. “Or the gas cylinders? Or the hundred gallons of fuel?”
Another burst of gunfire—then a low whoomph reached them from the bedroom as something ignited. “Or your boyfriend’s napalm aftershave,” said Nina frostily. They turned to see flickers of flame through the bedroom door.
“Maybe it is a little overpowering,” Sophia quickly agreed.
“That’d better not have been the only fire extinguisher you just threw out the window.”
“I think there’s another one.” Sophia made her way unsteadily back down the length of the bucking vehicle.
Nina checked the mirror again. The quad bike was still tucked in behind them—and farther back, she spotted other lights racing through the desert. “Oh, God,” she muttered, “Eddie, where are you?”
Chase was having quad bike problems of his own. The nearest ATV was closing fast, the cyclops glare of its headlight casting his long running shadow into the night ahead. Still running, he twisted and fired off a shot. It hit the bike’s front with a metallic crack.
But it caused no damage. The bike kept coming. He turned to shoot again—
Too slow. The Kawasaki swept past—and the rider kicked him square in the back, hurling him face-first to the ground. The gun spun from his hand. With his spine on fire, he rose to his hands and knees as the quad bike made a skidding turn to come back around for another attack.
Where was the gun? It couldn’t have landed more than a few feet away …
The bike charged straight for him. He crawled forward, hands sweeping back and forth through the sand, finding nothing but stones.
The light was blinding, from his low viewpoint looking like a locomotive about to crush him.
Sand, stones—
Metal!
Chase snapped up the gun and fired just above the headlight. There was a startled scream, and the rider fell backward—The quad bike veered sharply, hitting a rock and flipping over to barrel across the sand—
Straight at Chase.
He threw himself sideways, rolling over and over as the tumbling bike slammed down beside him, showering him with grit and broken bodywork. It bounced a couple more times before finally coming to rest on its side.
Pain rippled up Chase’s back, but he fought through it and stood, looking toward the camp. The other quad bike was still coming, and he could see more headlights moving along the track.
He limped to the battered bike and pulled it back onto all four wheels. The engine had stalled; he mounted the saddle and tried the starter. It whined in protest, the engine reluctantly turning over on the third attempt.
He could see the Winnebago’s rear lights in the distance—and something else, a flickering glow through its rear window that looked suspiciously like a fire. “Oh, Christ,” he moaned as he twisted the throttle, the engine revving raggedly. “What’s she done now?”
“Have you found the fire extinguisher?” Nina shouted down the Winnebago’s cabin.
“Yes!” came the answer from the bedroom.
“And?”
“It’s on fire!”
“Oh, that’s, that’s …” Nina struggled for words. “So not good” was all she could come up with. She looked back, seeing Sophia making a hasty exit from the bedroom as a curtain caught light behind her. “You’ve got a kitchen and a bathroom back there—throw some water on it!”
“In what?” Sophia snapped, holding up a teacup.
“How about pans? Don’t you cook?”
“Of course I don’t cook! What am I, a peasant?”
Nina’s scathing reply was cut off when she saw the quad bike trying to overtake them again. She turned to force the rider off the track. He dropped back slightly but had no trouble riding up the low embankment flanking the trail—unlike the Winnebago, which shook violently.
And in the other mirror, she could see two more quad bikes charging across the desert …
Chase was gaining rapidly on the lumbering RV, cutting straight across the sand to intercept it. The first quad bike had gone wide, trying to overtake it—he guessed that the rider planned to get far enough ahead to stop and aim a head-on shot at the driver.
He wasn’t going to let that happen.
The third quad was about fifty yards behind, following him. Even though he knew its rider was armed with a rifle, Chase doubted he would take a shot … yet. At speed over rough terrain, firing one-handed, he would have only a slightly better chance of hitting his target than if he fired up into the air hoping the bullet would come down on Chase’s head.
But the odds would improve dramatically at closer range.
A boulder leapt into his headlight beam; he dodged it, then angled back at the Winnebago. It was definitely on fire, burning curtains whipping from the bullet-smashed rear window.
Chase leaned into the dusty wind and forced the throttle to its limit.
Nina was thrown against the wheel as the Winnebago hit a large hump, rocking sickeningly. Sophia fell onto the lounge’s leather couch, clinging to its padded arm.
The RV hadn’t taken the landing well: something was grinding under the floor. The wheel felt heavier in Nina’s hands. Either the power assistance was failing or the steering had been damaged.
“How’s the fire?” she called.
Sophia glanced back. The flames had now spread into the main cabin. “Getting bigger! Where’s the bike?”
“Getting closer!” The quad bike had drawn level again. Then it surged past, sweeping across the sand to cut in just ahead of the RV. Nina yelped, swerving to avoid it—realizing a moment too late that she would have been better off trying to hit it. By the time she straightened, the Kawasaki was clear and pulling away. The rider’s rifle stood out in the headlights, slung over his back. “Dammit!”
The trail ahead dipped, dropping into another gully. The quad held its speed as it slithered around a corner, but Nina was forced to brake to prevent the Winnebago from running wide and hitting the wall. The grinding grew louder as she pulled the wheel, but mechanical concerns paled against the knowledge that the rider ahead was gaining ground to set up an ambush—while the two other bikes were catching up from behind.
Chase saw the Winnebago ahead, picked out by little running lights along its length—and the trail of smoke behind it, glowing red in the RV’s taillights. He was almost on it, but he realized he didn’t have a plan for what to do when he caught up. If Nina and Sophia stopped to escape the burning vehicle, the rider behind him would shoot them—and there was no way the compact ATV could carry three people.
The man behind cut his options still further as gunfire cracked across the desert. He looked back. The undamaged Kawasaki had gained ground, its rider close enough to attempt a shot. He was resting the rifle’s barrel on the handlebars, shooting from the hip. Not very accurate—but if he got any closer, he wouldn’t need to be.
The Winnebago was just ahead, its roof almost level with the top of the gully. He steered parallel to it.
A second shot tore past, closer.
He was alongside—
Chase squeezed the last ounce of power out of the quad—and turned sharply, leaping off the edge of the gully.
The bike cleared the gap, landing on the Winnebago’s roof—
And fell through it, steel and aluminum instantly buckling under the weight.
The RV’s back end collapsed, side panels bowing outward as the entire rear wall broke loose and crashed aflame onto the trail. The quad bike fell onto the bed, pitching Chase over the handlebars. He smashed through the scorched partition wall in a shower of sparks to land on his back in the lounge.
Sophia regarded him in surprise. “Ay up,” Chase said with a dazed wave.
“What the hell was that?” Nina shrieked.
“Just my ex-husband making a typically overblown entrance,” Sophia told her.
Nina looked back. “Eddie!”
“Hi, love. With you in a minute,” he said, brushin
g away stinging embers before going to the bedroom door.
Behind him, Sophia saw the gun lying among the splinters. She hurried across the room to pick it up, glancing calculatingly after Chase.
Chase entered the devastated bedroom, looking through the gaping hole where the rear wall had been to see the pursuing rider swinging onto the trail behind them as the RV climbed out of the gully. He reached for the gun—to find nothing there. “Buggeration and fu—”
The rider lined up the rifle—
Chase threw himself down among the debris, taking cover behind the quad bike on the bed as a three-round burst ripped into the Winnebago’s mangled tail end. A few seconds later came another crackle of gunfire, the bullet impacts lower down.
Chase knew why. He was aiming at the tires.
He poked his head up, seeing the rider steering toward the Winnebago’s side for a better firing angle—and realized with alarm that his own battered Kawasaki was now on fire. Worse still, a broken metal spar had punctured its fuel tank, a dribble of gas seeping into the mattress … which was burning in several places. “Fuckery!” he concluded.
No way to put out the flames. He had to get rid of the quad bike before the fuel tank ignited.
The engine was still burbling. Chase jumped up and grabbed the handlebars, pulling the ATV around as he blipped the throttle. The rider saw him and swung back, switching targets from the rear wheels to the Englishman—
Chase twisted the throttle.
As he dropped flat, the quad bike surged from the bed, flying out of the flame-licked back of the RV straight at the other bike. The trail of leaking fuel spattered through the flames—and ignited, an arc of fire rushing after the quad bike as it tumbled at the screaming rider …
The bikes collided, the fiery streak catching up an instant later. Chase’s bike blew to pieces in a fireball that lit up the surrounding desert, the explosion of the second quad following almost simultaneously.