Freedom Does Matter (Mercenaries Book 2) (11 page)

She scanned the scene as she ran, dragging Noorah nearly fast enough to cost the girl her footing. The parking area to her left had four cars beyond her Jeep. “A short cut,” she muttered, and ran across the flower garden toward the Jeep. “Where is everyone?”

Several gunshots rang out, barely audible over the crash of the wave. Beckie thought it must be reaching the rocks by now, but she thrust her certainty of looming death far enough away to grab the Jeep’s door and shove Noorah to the passenger seat. She threw herself around to the driver’s side and under the wheel.

“Thank God,” she said. “And Allah, too! They left the keys in it.” Already she’d forced the key over so hard her finger hurt, but the engine started, rumbling as it had before. Three jabs to find reverse without gears screaming. “Dammit!” she said as she backed too far, into the flower bed.

By now, people were shouting over the water, so Beckie slammed Noorah’s head down and spun the tires, throwing sand and flowers behind as the Jeep swerved and slewed its way out of the parking lot. When Beckie listened, the engine was screaming; she gasped a new breath and shifted to second, then to third. Up to fifty, she watched the resort’s walls close in, squeezing her to the gate. As it became visible behind a tall planting, she heaved a sigh of relief; it stood open. The men standing guard were pointing, staring behind the Jeep.

The crashing water had broken over the resort’s buildings; blue-gray filled Beckie’s mirrors. “Not stopping for anything!” she shrieked at the guards as she piloted the Jeep through the gates. “Keep down!” she squealed at Noorah, who was trying to get up.

Any speed over 50 kph threatened to pitch the Jeep off the road and into the sand, but the water was gaining on them. It took a minute or so to catch them; the crest had dropped to just lower than the roof. As water rushed ahead, the Jeep began to float, only touching the road with the front tires. Finally it lifted off completely, surfing along with the other debris.

Water began to seep in, not flooding them until the windows fell below the water level. But when it did, both Beckie and Noorah were inundated as the level inside rose to match that outside.

Beckie tried to rise to see beyond the wave, looking for something she might recognize when this was over. As she watched, railroad tracks disappeared beneath the water some five hundred feet ahead. The Jeep was dropping. Water washed over the roof. The engine died; along with steam came silence. Beckie turned the key off and put the transmission in neutral.

The wave had pushed them toward a low hill, but they weren’t home free yet. Noorah was clutching her arms to herself, but the sounds the girl’s mouth was working to make were inaudible. Suddenly, the Jeep hit something, but while it wanted to stop, the water pressed on. The Jeep bounced twice, three times before a wheel or something dug in and the water rolled it over. Inside, Beckie regretted having unfastened her seat belt; in a bizarre underwater ballet, she fell from the roof to the floor and back to the roof again. An arm went out the window; she snatched it back in as the wet desert tried to crush it.

She wanted to help Noorah, she really did, but being in the washer’s spin cycle allowed no time for anything but trying to stop her body slamming against the wheel, the gear shift, the seat back all the while hoping her face would surface long enough to get a bite of fresh air.

The second time the car came upright, Beckie was facing where Noorah should have been; suddenly the girl’s head broke the surface, spitting, gagging and gasping for air. Beckie felt the Jeep rolling over again and as she took a deep breath, she reached to smack the girl’s mouth closed. Unsure of her success, she opened her eyes, but the sunlight was dimmed by the water, the small opening of the window and the sand in the mix. She squeezed them closed again and tried to hang onto the steering wheel. Her life—the life she’d hoped to have with Ian—flashed through her mind until her head and the gear shift collided.

Finally, the rolling stopped with the Jeep on its side. Beckie opened her eyes to stare at the rock coming through the open window. She twisted to look up at the surface. Just as she began to claw at Noorah to fight her way to air, the Jeep rocked in the water; one last surge flipped it onto its wheels.

Her head and shoulders, and nothing else, cleared the surface. Waves lapped her chin. “If you’re there, God, thank you!” Beckie cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Outside, the water level had already dropped two feet. After several moments, her mind began to work again, and along with the minor cuts and bruises she cataloged, the tsunami studies returned.

“Noorah!” She grabbed at the girl’s hair, yanking her face out of the water. Grasping her sodden shoulder, hoping against hope that she was merely unconscious and not dead, she shook her. By the third shake, each more violent than the one before, Noorah started to convulse, gasping and choking, fighting off Beckie’s hand. Water splashed everywhere.

Beckie opened her door and the water inside drained until it matched the falling level outside. She fought with Noorah’s seat belt until it released; she pushed the girl toward her door.

“Get out! We have to get up this hill. May be another wave coming!”

Noorah’s comprehension grew as she processed the words and she threw herself out the door. Like Beckie, she dripped and sloshed as she stumbled through the foot of water now draining to pond in local depressions. Beckie grabbed her around the waist, dragging both of them up till the sand was dry.

Above the high water mark, she fell, gasping again. Equally saturated, Noorah landed beside her, retching and heaving. Beckie’s gasps had turned to tears, but only briefly before she sat up to find Noorah. The girl was no longer gagging; she had collapsed, sobbing and bawling into the sand. Beckie pulled her up into a shared embrace; Noorah’s arm clenched Beckie’s neck.

“We died, Miss! Water…” Beckie squeezed her tight. “Water was everywhere!”

“It’s okay,” she said to sooth her. Beckie watched more waves pass the Jeep, but these were much smaller. She said nothing, just returned Noorah’s hug, damping their mutual spasms as they both cried the stress down.

Several minutes passed while their shared survival became believable. Beckie began to survey their situation. The sun had never stopped beating down, so their clothes would dry soon enough, she guessed. While Noorah’s short hair was merely disheveled, her own long tresses were tangled and dripping. To hurry the drying along, she pressed as much water from her shirt and shorts as she could. Noorah lay and watched, unbelieving.

Beckie walked to the summit of the small hill. The shore appeared to be in its proper place. When she turned inland, a road was no more than twenty feet away; the slope they’d fetched up on was part of the road’s berm. The railroad she’d seen as they surfed along was between them and the shore; the Jeep might have gotten hung up on the tracks.

“Stay there, dry out. I’ll go and check the Jeep. Maybe it’ll live again.”

Most of the water had drained, the seat only squished a little when she slid in. Her mind worked, trying to remember anything to help. My phone should be here somewhere… I left it by my feet… After a quick, unproductive search—Damn! Probably went out the window—she focused on the vehicle. Her nerves felt better when she talked aloud to herself; opening the hood pleased her as well. The heat of the engine and the sun together had dried almost everything. “I wonder,” she asked the lump of oily metal, “if we’d be so lucky that the water just shorted the spark plugs?” A large placard fastened to the inside of the hood took her eye, but it was in Arabic. “Noorah! Can you come down and read this?”

Noorah stumbled down the slope to stand under the hood and study the notice. “‘This vehicle is equipped for…’ I am sorry. Miss, but the next word, I do not have… But it… perhaps means travel over, ‘rivers, as may be found in the Nile Delta, but more likely desert travel, avoiding the ill-effects of
fesh-fesh
. The Safari intake air snorkel assists in providing the engine with clean air, substantially improving performance and longevity. This vehicle accommodates unusual situations by including an air shutoff…’ Another word I do not know, Miss.”

Beckie waved the apology away. “Keep going. You’re doing fine so far. Uh, what’s fesh-fesh?”

Noorah’s raised eyebrows gave Beckie to understand that this was something she should have known. “Fesh-fesh is fine dust of the desert.” She made as if to pat her clothes, but they were still soaked.

Beckie nodded. “I recall. Read on.” As Noorah began reading again, Beckie paid more attention to the snorkel, running down from the passenger side of the windshield, forward to the fender and through to the air intake box beside the engine.

“‘Air shutoff… This shutoff will prevent the engine from receiving air once tripped by deep water or the vehicle being overturned, to prevent water or substantial amounts of dirt from being eaten.’ Does this mean—”

“It means the damn thing may run again, if that’s what killed it. Read that, see what else it says about the shutoff. Or anything…” Beckie paid even more attention to the snorkel, which had a Safari Snorkel logo molded into the plastic near where it entered the body. The top had been turned to point sideways instead of either fore or aft as she expected. Maybe when we rolled… She opened the door and stood on the frame, reaching up to grasp the top. It rotated with an effort; she pointed it aft. Using her clenched fist, she rapped it a couple of times. The second time, there was a clunk, and a cup or so of water ran from slots just below the top piece. “Cool!” She hopped off the running board and joined Noorah, still reading the placard. “Anything else?”

The girl gasped in amazement. “If this sign may be believed, nothing will damage this vehicle. Well, unless a gun or accident. ‘All fluids must be changed by the company, to avoid breaking,’ seals, I think it says, but I don’t understand that.” She shook her head. “The shutoff is reset…” She turned back to the placard. “… by a lever inside the snorkel head. Move it to the left.” She sank to sit on the bumper.

Beckie went back to stand on the running board and inserted two fingers in the opening. She felt for a lever, but couldn’t find anything. As she tried to force her hand farther in, a car slid to a stop on the road behind her. She heard Noorah’s strangled cry of surprise and turned toward first her, and then the noise.

Haleef’s beat-up Mercedes was rocking on its suspension as the man got out and hurried around before stopping short of the berm. “Are you okay?” After hailing, he stared open mouthed down the slope at them: Beckie atop the Jeep’s running board, hand stuffed in the top of the snorkel; Noorah, her clothes still dripping, now stood before the bumper, though chalky gray best described her complexion. Haleef’s attention seemed focused on Noorah. When Beckie glanced to see why, the drenched shirt was plastered to the girl’s figure, exposing everything Noorah had.

Grinning, she stepped off the running board and walked around to stand facing Noorah, between her and Haleef. She did her best to pull the girl’s shirt from its damp embrace, whispering, “Take a couple deep breaths.” When she did, Noorah’s color improved, and she lifted her head.

“Thank you, Miss.” She nodded at Haleef. “Who do you think he is?”

“Haleef Al Hosni. We met during the negotiations.”

While the women discussed him, Haleef had come off the berm and was now about ten feet from them. His disappointment vanished as his eyes took in Beckie’s knowing smile and then Noorah’s embarrassed frown. As his gaze shifted between them, concern overtook his expression.

Before he spoke again, Beckie said, “Hello…” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Haleef?”

He flinched. “Sorry. I’m awestruck,” he said, blushing. “Are you okay? Both of you?” 

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Beckie glanced at Noorah who was still plucking at her shorts. “We came through undamaged. However, the Jeep… My… translator…” She nodded toward Noorah. “My new translator has some trouble with… technical terms.”

“How did you survive?”

“Dumb luck, certainly. I recognized the shock waves, but not quickly enough. How about you?”

“I was returning from the offices in Mersa Matruh. As I came over the top of that hill…” He pointed off to the west. “… two or three kilometers back, I saw…” He gulped. “The wave had just come over the buildings of the resort and your Jeep wasn’t fast enough. I could do nothing while you were overtaken, then carried along in the water. I was unable to drive… the water flooded the road between us.” He stepped closer; his eyes were wide. “I feared you had died. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Beckie said with a laugh. “I’m just glad you’re here! But do you have a phone? Mine’s… missing, and I want to call Kevin, make sure everyone’s okay. Tell him I am, too.”

“Yeah.” He reached in his pocket and drew out a smartphone, one that Beckie recognized. He pocketed it again after a glance. “No service. The towers are along the coast, where the people congregate and…” He shrugged.

Beckie nodded. Incommunicado a little longer. “Thanks anyway.” She half-turned, then faced him again. “Would you confirm my translator’s understanding of this notice?” She pointed at the placard pasted underneath the hood.

“Sure.”

While Noorah and Haleef discussed the notice, Beckie took a turn around the Jeep. Along with the spare gas can, the passenger side roof rack was missing. On the driver’s side, the rack was crushed, but the jerry can of water remained, scuffed but undamaged. When she opened the back door to step up, the yellow case with her phone was bobbing in the water in the footwell under the seat. In another moment, she’d opened it and verified it worked.

In two more moments, she’d talked to Kevin and gave him the briefest of updates: she was okay and if she could get the Jeep running, she’d be headed back to Cairo. If not, she’d call again. The group at the Marriott was likewise in good shape, and Kevin recommended a southerly approach to the city, to avoid road closures into and out of the delta. “Hope the GPS works,” she told him before disconnecting.