The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

Juan checked his watch. Certainly Nazari had heard the shots. He might think that they’d been killed as ordered, but the distinctive sound of the AK-47 following the M2 could have given him doubts. Nazari would return as quickly as he could in the fully armed Scorpion.

Juan said, “We need to dig out those cases pronto.”

They counted off twenty-one paces from the nose of the plane according to Hodgin’s “Blue Suede Shoes” code. Putting their backs into it, they scoured a hole up to Juan’s waist in less than five minutes. If it had been dirt, they never would have reached the depth they needed to in time, but the fine sand was easy to toss aside.

Two minutes later, Linc’s shovel clanged on something hard. They attacked the ground and quickly unearthed two aluminum cases. The yellow and black radiation hazard symbol hadn’t lost any of its menace in sixty years of buri

al.

Linc and Juan each picked up a lead-lined case by its handle, while Eddie ran to get the Scorpion that didn’t have a dead body in it.

“It must have taken Hodgin forever to drag these out here with a torn-up leg.”

“You have to admire the guy,” Juan replied. “Dedicated to the end.”

Eddie skidded to a stop next to them in Scorpion 2 and pointed into the distance. “By the way Nazari’s Scorpion is tearing over those dunes, I’d say he figured out that we didn’t follow his command to dig or die.”

The desert patrol vehicle jumped over the crest of a dune, and Juan caught a glimpse of Nazari, yelling at his driver.

He and Linc bungeed the cases to the Scorpion’s frame and got in, Linc on the impotent machine gun and Juan in the passenger seat behind the grenade launcher. They donned their helmets as Eddie took off.

Moments later, the first grenades landed where they’d just been parked.

“Are they nuts?” Linc yelled over the comm system. “If they rip open one of those cases, we’re all toast!”

“Either they’re not thinking clearly or they don’t care,” Eddie offered.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to stop and point out their poor judgment to them,” Juan said. He pulled his pant leg up, opened his combat prosthesis, and removed a tiny transmitter. He clicked the button and said, “Head for those cliffs.”

“You got it,” Eddie said, and steered toward a wall of rock five miles away.

Grenades rained down behind them, churning the sand into clouds of dust. Every time they were provided with a smoke screen of sand, Eddie veered to one side or the other to throw off any subsequent shots.

The zigzagging was slowing them down, while Nazari came at them on a direct path.

“Any ideas?” Eddie said.

Juan scanned the horizon for any obstacles to put between them. One feature stood out.

A dust trail rose from the surface, and it was approaching.

It had to be the Libyans. Nazari hadn’t been hightailing it back just because of the gunfire. He had seen the competing terrorists coming their way.

“We’ve got more company,” Juan said, and pointed at the plume of dust only a few miles to their right.

“Well, that’s just great,” Linc said.

“It is. Eddie, bring us in closer to them.”

Eddie turned to look at Juan, confusion in his eyes turning to understanding. “You want to start a fight?”

“Exactly.”

Over the next dune, Eddie yanked the wheel to the right, heading directly for the Libyans.

“You’re going to have to time this just right,” Juan said.

“I’m all about trajectories and timing.”