PAINTER PULLEDthe screen off the window beside his head. It was a flimsy affair. With his back pressed against the tomb’s wall, he fired his pistol twice, keeping Cassandra at bay.
He used his palm to slide open the window. Thankfully it was unlocked. He glanced down the alleyway and watched Safia vanish around the corner.
Dropping to a knee, Painter fired another shot, ejected his clip, grabbed another from his belt, and slammed it home.
Cassandra fired again. The slug struck the wall by his leg.
Where was another goddamn leopard when you needed one?
Painter returned a shot, then holstered his weapon. Without a second glance, he leaped up, boosted himself through the window, and fell in an undignified tumble into the tomb.
Inside, he rolled to his feet. His eyes discerned a central shrouded mound. He kept to the wall and circled the gravesite, his pistol back in his hand, aimed at the door. Crossing past the back window, he felt a wet breeze through it.
So that was how that bastard got the jump on me.
Painter glanced through the window, noting movement outside.
Beyond the wall, a camel turned away, heading down the far slope. A naked woman sat astride it, seemingly guiding it with her knees. In her arms, she cradled another woman. Limp, unmoving.
“Safia…”
The camel and its riders descended out of sight. A pair of leopards bounded from the dark gardens to the wall, then away, following the camel.
Before he could decide to pursue or not, Painter heard a scuff by the door. He dropped and turned. A shadow lay draped across the entry.
“This isn’t over, Crowe!” Cassandra called in to him.
Painter kept his pistol trained.
A new roar reached his ears. A truck. Barreling his way.
Shots fired. He recognized the retort of a Kalashnikov. Someone from his own group. Cassandra’s shadow vanished, sweeping out of sight, retreating.
Painter hurried to the door, keeping his weapon ready. He spotted a discarded map on the floor. He reached down and crumpled it in a fist.
Out in the courtyard, one of the Mitsubishi trucks bounced through the gardens, digging ragged furrows. A figure protruded through the moonroof. A muzzle, pointed skyward, flashed. Barak.
Painter checked the rest of the yard. It appeared empty. Cassandra had retreated into hiding, outgunned for the brief moment. He stepped out of the tomb and waved the crumpled map.
Spotting him, the driver of the Mitsubishi swung sharply. Its back bumper aimed for him. He fell back inside to avoid getting hit. The SUV skidded to a stop, scraping paint off its side panels. Its backseat door landed abreast of the tomb.
He spotted Coral in the driver’s seat.
“Get in!” Barak called.
Painter glanced back to the tomb’s back window. Safia…
Whoever had taken her, they had at least been heading away, out of immediate harm. That would have to do for now.
Turning back, he popped the handle, dove inside, and slammed the door. “Go!” he called to the front.
Coral jostled the SUV into forward gear, and the truck sped away.
A pair of helicopters gave chase. Barak shot at them from his topside vantage. The SUV raced toward the open gate. Coral leaned forward to peer through the cracked windshield.
They swept out of the complex, bounced over a muddy rut, momentarily airborne, then jammed back down. Wheels spun, caught, and the SUV sped toward the road and the cover of the heavy forest.
From the front, Omaha stared back at him, eyes lost. “Where’s Safia?”
“Gone.” Painter shook his head, unblinking. “She’s gone.”