“And then unlucky.”
I shrug. “But it also means they’re actively looking for us—and the sheer number of people at the fort means Spaulding has alotof manpower at his disposal. They’ll be watching all the major routes out of Tunis, including highways and public transit systems. And probably also most public spaces in the city.”
“And we don’t know when—and maybe evenif—Dad and Uncle Harry will get here, and also how they’d find us.”
“If Spaulding’s hirelings can find us, I’m assuming Harris’s people can find us even more easily.” I fiddle with the strap of the HK on my lap. “We need to ditch this Toyota, now that we can be relatively certain they know which particular vehicle to look for.”
Corinna frowns. “Why didn’t we take the car back there, in that case?”
“Because it was a deathtrap,” I say. “It was on its last legs twenty years ago. At this point, I’m not sure how it’s even still running, or in one piece. This FJ-40 may be easily identifiable, but it’s in halfway decent condition. We need to be mobile, and in something that’s not going to fall apart at the wrong moment.”
She nods her understanding. “We have cash now,” she says, looking at me. “We could find a room somewhere. I know it’s a risk, but…I need a shower. Your arm needs to be cleaned off and the bandage changed, and we both need better rest than we’re going to get in the car.”
I muse. “Itisrisky. We’d need some supplies—a bag to carry the weapons in, since we can’t leave them behind and we can’t carry them openly. Something to use as a bandage. Some water, some food.” I consider again. “It is very risky. It can’t be anywhere very nice or touristy.”
She frowns. “I disagree—I think itshouldbe touristy. I in particular will stand out less in a touristy sort of place.”
“We only have so much cash, though.”
“And we only need one night.”
I grimace. “I don’t like it. We’d be trapped in a hotel.”
“What are we going to do, Apollo? Flit from alley to parking lot, dodging Spaulding’s henchmen? Sit and wait for them to find us?” She reaches for my hand. “The last…what? Seventy-two hours?—they’ve been chaotic, traumatic, and terrifying. And I know it’s not over. But I just…I need a moment of something like normalcy. Just to catch my breath for a few hours.”
I nod, exhaling roughly. “Yeah, yeah. You are right. I need that, and I know you do even more so.”
She turns the motor over, puts it in gear, and leaves the parking lot. By now, we’ve crisscrossed enough of the city to have at least some idea where we’re going. First, we find a twenty-four-hour drug store, and I go in alone. I purchase some bandages and sundry other first aid supplies; I also buy several liters of water and some food—junk food, but something to put in our bellies; they have tourist junk clothing as well, and I buy Rin and I each a new shirt and a black ball cap emblazoned with the Pepsi logo for Rin, to cover her bright blond hair. Since I can’t be sure of the provenance of whether or not the cell phones purloined from the dead bodies, I also buy a cheap prepaid cell phone and minutes. The last thing I select is a cheap backpack. We won’t be able to bring the M-16, but it’s nearly out of ammunition anyway.
The clerk behind the counter eyes me with an expression of extreme boredom, seeming to barely even register my presence other than that I mean he has to perform a function other than watching something on his cell phone. He rings up my items, not bothering to even speak the total amount due, just waiting for me to tender my payment. I pull out the local dinars first, and fortunately the amount I have is sufficient to cover the purchase. I’ll need to exchange some of the international currency, at some point. The moment I’ve received my change, the clerk utterly dismisses me, returning his attention to his phone.
I return to the SUV, piling the bags in the footwell. “And now we look for a hotel. Nothing super high-end, but not a no-tell motel.”
Rin nods and drives out of the drug store parking lot—her eyes are narrowed, suspicious, focused on the rear-and side-view mirrors.
“What?” I ask. “Someone following us?”
She nods. “I think so.”
I twist in my seat, HK on my lap—it’s suppressed and a pretty small caliber, so it’s not going to be very good at anything like distance; it’s also going to be nearly impossible to use one-handed, so pistol it is. The nearest one to hand is one retrieved from the newly deceased henchmen.
I hand the pistol to Rin. “Can you rack this? I can’t do it one-handed.”
She drives with a knee, expertly ejecting the magazine and the round from the chamber, checks the load in the magazine, replaces the round into the magazine, and then the magazine goes back into the handle and slide is racked—handed back to me, handle first.
Back to scanning the road behind us—there are a couple cars, a Hilux and a small sedan of indeterminate make and model. “Make some turns,” I say, twisting to slide awkwardly sideways in the seat so I can watch behind us. “See who follows us.”
“Both cars have been with us since before the drug store,” Rin says, her voice tight. “I clocked them not long after we left the parking lot. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. But at this point, I’m relatively certain.”
She’s cruising at thirty-five mph, about to pass an intersection—she suddenly jams the brakes, throwing me forward against the dash, hauls the wheel and guns the accelerator.
Except the motor doesn’t respond.
“Downshift!” I snap, struggling to find my seat. “Put it in second gear!”
“Oh,” she huffs, easing off the accelerator and kicking in the clutch. “Defensive driving is hard when you’re not used to a manual.” She yanks the shifter into second and tries the accelerator again.
The vehicle responds properly, this time, the FJ’s sturdy inline-four suddenly roaring, pushing me backward now. We haul ass down the road, a narrow lane between major thoroughfares.
