Page 12 of Dalla's Royal Guards
Nasser and Colin each shouldered a heavy bag and followed. Musad pulled the strap of his bag over his head and positioned it along his back before he descended the stairs. Enrique followed behind them, closing the false door.
They entered a long underground corridor that ran twenty-five feet before it opened into a wider room. There were two othercorridors leading in different directions from this central room. Along the walls were an array of maps of the area.
“Impressive,” he murmured.
Enrique grinned. “Welcome. You should feel honored. You are the first we have brought here.”
“We don’t do much socializing,” Henri added.
“What is this place?” Nasser asked, walking around the room.
“A leftover from the old days. Our great-great-grandfather enjoyed a side business of robbing the rich traveling to Egypt during the day. He would bring his spoils here. It was a very lucrative living.”
“Enrique and I used to play down here all the time when our grandfather ran the business. Our dad decided he wanted a change and began looking at auto restoration,” Henri elaborated.
“It looks like you have expanded the business,” Nasser said with a chuckle.
“Only for a good cause,” Henri replied with a slight edge in his voice.
“We should go over the routes again,” Musad said.
He placed his bag on the floor next to Colin and Nasser’s and walked over to the center table. A large digital map of the city glowed on the table. Tiny red and blue pins dotted the surface.
“The red are Hellman’s mercs. Blue shows the cleared areas,” Enrique explained.
“How current and accurate is this?” Nasser asked, leaning over the map.
“Very. Collette’s crew have been placing GPS trackers on the mercs’ vehicles,” Henri added.
Nasser frowned. “That is extremely dangerous.”
Henri nodded. “Collette and her friends are very good at what they do. They look like kids.”
“Clean cut kids, which makes them even more effective,” Enrique added.
“You have to remember, we are fighting for our country and to protect Nanna and Cianna,” Henri said in a low, terse voice. “Crosse and Hellman have a lot to answer for. Their greed for power has cost the lives of many good people already. By the power of Dalla, we’ll free Kashir once again.”
The mention of Dalla caused Musad to look at his brother. Nasser gave him a half-smile. It was impossible to ignore the cynicism in both of them. While they had both grown up with the wild tales of a mythical warrior woman appearing out of the desert to save two kingdoms, it still amazed them how many people looked to her for inspiration—nearly a thousand years later.
He absently touched the seax his father had given him, eyes tracking the red lights inching across the map. Any mission was inherently dangerous. This one would be more so because not only was the future of a country at stake, but so was the life of a precious little girl caught up in a high-stakes game of greed and power.
As the red pins began to converge on the city market, he thought with dread,We will need Dalla herself to come to our aid if we are to get out of here safely.
Three
“Take a left at the next intersection,” Nasser instructed.
Colin eased into the turn. From the passenger seat, Nasser scanned the early afternoon crowds. Despite the coup of the government, daily life continued. Daylight made him uneasy, but there was no other choice.—but it had to be done. Henri had stressed that using the crowded marketplace to their advantage was necessary since a curfew had been placed on the city.
Nasser was dressed as a local, covered from head to toe against the heat in a long white tunic and trousers. He scanned the vehicles and pedestrians as they passed along the narrow streets. He counted a half-dozen military vehicles.
He recognized the emblem on the trucks as belonging to the O’Toole group. Kramer O’Toole was a former British MI6 agent turned mercenary for hire. O’Toole and an American billionaire named Travis Hayes had started the group. O’Toole ran the on-the-ground troops while Hayes provided the financing.
Revulsion tightened Nasser’s jaw. O’Toole’s men were people from around the world with no ethics. None of them would thinktwice about killing an old woman and an innocent child. To them, Nanna and Cianna were not human. They were collateral damage.
“Let me off at the next intersection,” he ordered.
Colin nodded and pulled into a space along the road. Nasser exited the ten-year-old tan Range Rover, scanned the walkway in both directions, and then turned right and strode down the sidewalk.
