Angels Don't Die (Madeleine Toche Series Book 2) (21 page)

She leapt out of the parking space and onto the street as two more shots skipped over the hood. Concentrating on driving, Madeleine attempted to put some distance between herself and the shooter.  She drove as quickly as she could away from the market through the narrow streets that led away from the square.

Amaya stepped into the road and walked up to a medium sized pickup truck.  To the amazement of the driver, she stuck her pistol through the open window and shot him in the leg.  She didn’t pause or hesitate, knowing that the silenced weapon would not draw any attention and the man’s immediate shock would keep him quiet while she removed him from the cab.  She opened the door grabbed the man by his shirt collar and with little effort, deposited him onto the pavement before anyone else took any notice.  She sped after Madeleine, working the gears and holding her pistol in the same hand.  She had made a mistake previously and been spotted but she was in pursuit and that gave her the upper hand.

Madeleine kept the truck in her review mirror as it raced to catch up with her.  She maintained a good interval and was able to drive faster as she headed east away from the city.  With luck her attacker would think Madeleine was running away and fail to pay attention to the direction.  Madeleine judged that the vehicle was now less than one hundred yards behind her.  She judged that they had similar engines and horsepower, but that the Range Rover was probably heavier.  Both she and her assailant had only the weapons they carried.  Even though the vehicle she was in might have another weapon under the back seat, she knew that the majority of the supplies had been loaded into John’s Range Rover for the move to the new safe house.  That might be a problem, Madeleine thought as she shot away from the city onto the flat highway that led away from the safety of the populated areas and into the belly of the desert.  She settled down for a longer run, keeping her eyes glued both on her pursuit and the road ahead.  Her plan required the attacker to follow her deep into the desert. Madeleine wanted to lure her out into the rocks and then ambush her. This was the desert where Jesus had wandered for forty days and modern-day campers and hikers routinely got lost forever.  She hurtled forward, the pickup truck following closely.

Madeleine kept her attention on the road and the odometer as the miles ticked by.  The heat of late morning was climbing well above one hundred degrees as her clothes became increasingly damp with sweat.  She removed the loose clothing she could to avoid having the moisture wicked away from her body.  She willed her assailant forward as the vehicles left the small villages on the edge of the desert behind them.  Her assailant followed relentlessly.  Madeleine only needed another thirty minutes at this speed and then she’d have to act. She silently thanked god that John had topped off the vehicle’s gas tank, as she quickly turned onto a dirt road that led away from the highway and out into the arid rocky scrabble.  Madeleine pushed the engine to its limit, briefly widening the gap as she saw the driver behind her easily make the turn and pick up speed in her wake.

John, Jack and Karen sat fitfully in the kitchen of the new safe house.  It had the same heavy stone walls and tiled roof of their former residence, with a few overhead fans, a small bathroom and two sparsely furnished bedrooms.  Again it was on the second floor, providing some vantage point for observation and against an attack.

“I hate this,” Jack said, standing, his chair sliding back into the tiled wall behind him.  “She always has to be alone, always bloody alone, for these missions.”

“I don’t like it either,” John said.  “We’ve both seen plenty of action, we’re not helpless!”

“Madeleine has earned the right to make her own decisions,” Karen said, facing both men. “ Neither of you put us on Tracy’s trail as quickly as she did.  I’m terrified for her.  I saw that truck charging after her, but what are we going to do about it?”

“I am going to give it until tomorrow evening, and then I’m going to get in touch with Hartmann.  She’s been fighting their bloody war since we landed in France in 41,” Jack said frustrated.

“Israel’s war?” Karen said.

Jack pulled his chair forward and sat down.  “Madeleine often ‘supplemented’ her orders in occupied France.  She helped countless Jewish families escape the Nazis.  She seems so formidable, and she is, but she has no regard for her safety.  None.  She trusts herself.”

“You could say we specialize in fighting other people’s wars,” John added.

“I know you’re right and I admire Madeleine’s devotion, I just have to get mad at somebody,” Jack said.

“Hartmann’s not our only ally, you know.  Madeleine has friends in high places. But even so, what good will that do?  We don’t even know where she is or what she’s doing,” John said.

             
Madeleine alternated between checking the mileage on the odometer and glancing in her rearview mirror, willing her quarry to follow her out of the flat, rock strewn sand flats into the rugged terrain of rocky valleys, hills and sand blasted mountains.  The Judean desert was a mixture of dunes and small mountains with deep valleys cut into the crumbling rock.  Madeleine favored cover for the fight that followed close behind.  She was surprised the assassin followed her out into the wild, allowing her to choose the terrain for their confrontation. Either the woman was overly confident or saw this as her only opportunity to kill her.  Madeleine was more concerned about two things, having adequate fuel to drive out of the desert and water if she did not.

             
The terrain began to change abruptly and the pounded dirt road began to weave through the jagged rock outcroppings that rose out of the desert as far as the eye could see.  Madeleine worried the road would abruptly end and she would have less of a choice when it came to stopping the Range Rover and taking cover. She scanned the road ahead and made her decision. Madeleine stopped the vehicle, pulled out the keys and opened the back seat.

  “Merde,” she exclaimed finding only two loose grenades and a heavier caliber pistol.  She grabbed the equipment and took one last look inside the vehicle for water.  There was none.  Her assailant’s vehicle stopped more than 75 yards behind her, at the extreme of pistol shot, even for her.  Momentarily perplexed, Madeleine quickly scanned the exterior of her vehicle for a jerry can of water.  She spotted one, strapped to the rear of the vehicle and moved towards it, but inches from her outstretched hand, bullets struck heavily into the rear door.  She flung herself behind the safety of a rock pile and scurried away. That’s why she stopped so far away, she has a sniper rifle.  She wasn’t about to follow me into rocks, Madeleine thought.  She didn’t follow me into the desert for a game of cat and mouse; she wants me to come to her.  Madeleine moved further into the twisted ravines and damaged rock of the massive stone abutments, still hoping to draw the killer in.

Amaya moved carefully up to Madeleine’s vehicle, keeping her body behind the natural cover and her semi-automatic weapon.  She held her body in a practiced crouch position, constantly sweeping the short barrel of the vicious little weapon from side to side.  She had the selector set for short bursts.  Now she only needed it for cover as she quickly sheltered her body behind the open driver’s side door.  Keeping the majority of her body behind the door, Amaya scanned the hood and located the dual hood releases.  Darting around the front she released the first clamp and moments later the second.  Spotting Madeleine’s tracks in the sand, she fired a burst in that direction.  While the echo of the bullets still rebounded, she reached into the engine compartment and pulled all of the alternator and spark plug wires she could grab.  With these in hand, she moved around the back of the disabled Range Rover and stuffed the wires into her back pack.  She constantly kept her eyes forward, expecting an attack at any moment.  Little more than a minute had elapsed, but she intended to take no chances.  Her admiration for the older assassin had grown during the chase.  Toche was no coward, but she was human. 

Amaya jammed her hand into her pack and pulled out a trench knife.  She stabbed it into the bottom of the Jerry can and released a strong flow of water.  Without pause, she opened the gas cap, slashed at her tunic and ripped a long piece of fabric from the cloth.  Standing, she swept the hillside in front of her with another short burst, hoping to buy a few more moments.  She feared being pinned down herself, before she could carry out her plan.  Amaya twisted the fabric into a haphazard rope, tying a couple of small knots for stability.  She plunged the cloth down into the gas tank and ran it in and out several times soaking it in gasoline.  She picked up her weapon, and pulled a lighter from her pocket.  It struck immediately and she lit the makeshift fuse.  The moment it ignited, she sprinted in a direct line from behind Madeleine’s vehicle, distancing herself from the coming explosion.

The moment Madeleine heard the explosion; she turned and ran back towards her Range Rover.  The rocky terrain and the twists and turns of the narrow bottom of the ravine slowed her down.  She paused just short of the opening leading to her vehicle in the event that the explosion was a ruse to flush her out.  Her instincts told her the assassin’s plan was to let the desert kill her.  As she watched the fire rage, engulfing the Range Rover in billows of black smoke as the tires burned, she knew she was right.

  Scanning the road, she saw the tell-tale dust kicked up by her attacker’s fleeing truck.  She had misjudged her enemy.  It was a serious mistake. She was too far out to signal for help.  It was unlikely that a vehicle would wander this far out into the desert.

Blaming myself won’t help, Madeleine thought.  I need to get moving and travel as light as possible.  She unloaded one of her two pistols, and put the magazine in her pocket, tossing the empty pistol aside.  Madeleine looked down at her clothes; they were loose and covered her body. At least she would have some protection from the sun. Thankfully she still had her burka to cover her head and face; it was in the pocket of her pants.  She wrapped the cloth around her head, Bedouin style, leaving only a small slit for her eyes.  Her shoes would have to do and she was thankful they were sturdy and would keep some of the sand and rocks out. She patted all of her pockets and to her relief felt the outline of her sunglasses, and slid them on.  The last thing she needed was to be blinded by the desert sun.  She turned the dial of her watch to the inside of her wrist, to protect the face from the sun’s glare. With the watch, she could calculate her speed and the time it would take to walk out.  Her main problem was the lack of water. It was late afternoon and the sun was moving down.  She knew she could survive in the desert for two days without water if she stayed in the shade and didn’t move.  Each moment would sap her strength, she thought.  She needed to get a head start and continue all night.  If she found shade shortly before the sun came out, she would try to survive the day and move again the following night.  Beyond that, it wouldn’t matter.

  Madeleine moved beyond the truck.  The fire burned more slowly now. The gasoline from the ruptured tank had burned itself off.  She stepped onto the hard pack of the road, reminding herself that it could be much worse; she could be lost in the wild of the desert without a landmark or accurate direction.  She fell into step, careful to stay on the road, avoiding rocks that could turn her ankle.  Her body remembered a forced retreat march in North Africa during the war with the French Foreign Legion, eighty eight steps a minute.  It was as if she had never done anything else those long years in between, that her life had only been a mirage, until the desert could claim her, once and for all.  Then, as now she had one job and one job only; walk out of the desert.

CHAPTER THIRTY-
ONE

             
“Madeleine is overdue. I can’t wait any longer,” Jack said. “I’ll have to make a call to MI6 and see if I can get any kind of assistance.”

             
“I agree, Jack.  It’s been a full twenty-four hours and we have had no word.  I don’t know what to tell them.  Their first question will be, where do we look?” John said, standing up from the table. “I’m heading down to the pay phone at the corner,” Jack said.

“Want company?” John asked.  “I think we should all stick together at this point.  We really don’t know who or what’s out there.”

“I’ll get my coat.  It gets cold out there when the sun’s down.  You would think with all that heat during the day, it would at least stay warm,” Karen added.

“Here, keep this in your pocket,” John said handing Karen a heavy revolver.  “It’s a .357 Magnum, point and squeeze.  It won’t jam.”

Karen took the heavy pistol from John without comment.  Nobody moved unarmed anymore.  The enemy was fighting back in the most personal way.  First it was Madeleine. Any one of them might be next.

The three walked towards the phone booth, less than half a block from the safe house.  Jerusalem was
a
modern city and phone booths were plentiful.  The fact that they were rarely wiretapped was an added bonus.

John and Karen watched as Jack became more animated, raising his voice several times during his conversation.  Abruptly he slammed down the phone, thrust his hands in his pockets in frustration and walked over to where John and Karen stood in the shadow of a stone wall.