Chapter Thirty
The next morning they awoke feeling rested.
Nate was able to partake in the massive breakfast spread down in the luxurious dining hall this time and was feeling more like himself.
When they were finished, they returned to the room and went over their plan one more time.
None of them had weapons, and would simply have to rely on their training and their wits to intercept any possible threats.
With their limited numbers, they would only be able to cover the three approaches to the meeting location.
Unfortunately, it meant there would be no one in the café in the event they missed intercepting her and the meeting actually went down.
Nate dressed in a light-blue button-down shirt and khaki pants with his brown Todd Snyder boots.
Shane and Wally dressed similarly. They weren’t going to blend in completely, but they wouldn’t stand out either.
Leaving the hotel room, they made their way to the elevator and Wally pushed the button for the lobby.
“Everybody get a good look at her picture?” Nate asked, knowing full well they had, but going through the pre-mission checks anyhow.
“Trust me, I’m not going to forget a face like that,” Shane answered, licking his fingers and straightening his eyebrows in a comical fashion. Wally rolled his eyes.
The elevator stopped at the lobby and the doors opened. Standing on the other side of them was a burly redheaded man with a thick red beard holding a large army duffel bag. All three instantly recognized Tim McBride. Nate was speechless. Shane wasn’t.
“I fucking told you he’d show!” he shouted, slapping Nate hard on the back. Nate was in genuine shock.
“You came” was all Nate said, feeling mixed emotions on the matter.
“Yeah, well… I’ve got enough on my conscience,” Tim said, “and I didn’t want you three idiots going off and getting yourselves killed without me.”
Wally and Shane moved around the stunned Nate and gave Tim giant hugs. Tim looked over at Nate and nodded, and he returned the sentiment.
“Well, you couldn’t have come at a better time,” Nate said, getting down to business. “Shit’s about to get real, and we could use your help.”
Tim threw his luggage in the room, changed, and they caught a cab to the Khan El Khalili market.
Nate briefed him on the way as to the situation and the plan, with the other two interjecting as necessary.
When they were finished, Tim thought it over.
As the lead tactical guy on the team he was well versed in strategy, and he and Nate had prepared many operations together.
“It’s a good plan,” he said, “with the exception of one thing.”
“What’s that?” Nate asked, confused.
“I’m supposed to just fucking sit in a café while you guys have all the fun?”
Nate expected this reaction after Tim’s sudden appearance and had prepared an answer.
“Look, Tim, we had this all planned out. We’re all familiar with what the woman looks like, and we’ve had time to map recon our respective avenues of approach to the meeting location.”
“You’re late to the party, bro,” Shane added in a manner that was unhelpful for defusing the situation.
“You just need to be there in case I’m wrong and the meeting actually happens.”
“You’re never wrong,” Tim grumbled.
“There’s a first time for everything.” Nate grinned.
“Besides, consider yourself QRF. If one of us engages, you’ll be free to back us up.
” QRF stood for quick reaction force, a reserve element that stood by to provide assistance as needed during military operations. In layman’s terms, Tim was backup.
“Fair enough,” Tim said, sufficiently pacified.
The cab arrived at the western edge of the Khan El Khalili and dropped them off.
In the event that someone was hunting the girl and was already set up, they didn’t want to infiltrate the area near the café and risk alerting them.
Nate started a conference call and they all joined in, put in AirPods, and conducted a commo check.
When everyone was up on the net they began making their way through the market’s narrow alleys and twisting streets toward the café to take up their positions.
Anastasia had her cousin drop her off by the Al-Azhar Mosque.
She told Mariam she would take a cab home when she finished her shopping and that she would call her when she was on her way.
She didn’t want her cousin to worry, and she definitely didn’t want her to stick around and insist on coming.
When Mariam was out of sight, Anastasia crossed the street and headed north into the souk.
She knew exactly where the Naguib Mahfouz coffee shop was.
When she was a teenager she had allowed a boy to take her there on a date.
It was a popular location, particularly with tourists as it was large and convenient, and fortunately it was also close to the outskirts of the souk.
She loved the Khan El Khalili and could normally spend hours walking through its multitude of shops.
Today was different, though. She was in no mood for shopping and anyhow she was on a schedule.
Anastasia walked past an open-air park and entered the market, continuing straight for several minutes before turning west and being enveloped in the majesty of the souk.
Heads of the many young men sitting around turned as she walked by, and a few catcalls were thrown her way.
She was dressed modestly but hadn’t bothered to cover her head and hide some of her natural beauty, and she was regretting it.
The café was only a short distance ahead, if she remembered correctly. She looked down and checked her watch, noting that she still had fifteen minutes to spare. When she looked back up, two young men were standing in front of her, blocking her path.
“A’an iznak,” she said politely, attempting to get them to move out of her way.
Excuse me. They were both Arab men, and clearly Egyptian.
This was the harassment she was afraid of.
They were much taller than her five-three frame, broad shouldered, and appeared to be about her age, but had a hard look in their eyes.
“A’an iznak,” she said again, this time slightly agitated.
They said nothing, simply stared. She now noticed how conservatively they were dressed and began to worry that they were fundamentalists, perhaps even from the Muslim Brotherhood.
Even though she wore pants, her arms were exposed below the elbow.
She briefly wondered if that was enough to offend these men before remembering why she had come and deciding that she wasn’t in the mood.
As Anastasia attempted to step around the men, one shoved her back, nearly knocking her off balance.
Before she could yell, the same man grabbed her by the throat and squeezed.
She felt immediate pain. His grip was strong, and it was incredibly difficult to breathe.
She struggled and attempted to pull his hand away, but it was no use.
Next, she tried swatting at his face, but he simply smiled and batted away her attacks.
She looked around to see if anyone would help her, but everyone appeared oblivious.
Her throat closed as she began to feel lightheaded, and a wave of panic and despair washed over her. She was going to die here, or worse.
Nate noticed the two men immediately. He’d spent the better part of a decade hunting Islamic terrorists and they all tended to have a similar vibe about them.
These two stood out due to their dress, their look, and their actions.
They appeared to be milling about as if waiting for something or someone and did very little to conceal their actions.
He had ducked into a nearby dukkan and was waving away the shopkeeper, who was trying to sell him various trinkets and jewelry.
Faking interest in a display, Nate watched the two men who were solely focused on whatever it was they were waiting for and completely oblivious to the fact that they were being observed.
Eventually, he noticed that they were talking to someone, although they were blocking his view of whoever it was.
There seemed to be a conversation of some type occurring, but he was still too far away to hear or see anything clearly.
Finally, some type of altercation started.
It was difficult to ascertain the nature of it, but there appeared to be a struggle of some sort.
Nate left the store and moved closer, just as the man turned slightly, and he caught a glimpse of an attractive dark-haired woman who was in the process of being choked.
He unmuted his phone and began sprinting toward the men.
“This is Nate, I’ve got the target at my location! I’m engaging!” he yelled, though without any weapons he was going to be winging it.
Nate picked up speed as he ran down the narrow street and body-checked the man not otherwise engaged in violence, who went flying forward and crashed into a display of hookah pipes, shattered glass spraying the area as he did.
Nate turned to face the second man and instantly recognized the beautiful face of Anastasia Metry in his grasp.
“Let her go,” Nate growled in Arabic, his voice low and laced with aggression.
The man looked at him blankly, as if trying to comprehend the Western man who had appeared out of nowhere, spoken Arabic, and attacked his partner. He did as instructed, and Anastasia dropped to the ground coughing. Next, he turned to face Nate and withdrew a long knife from his waistband.
“Great,” Nate muttered to himself.
The first rule of a knife fight was simple: you were going to get cut.
Without a knife of his own things were going to get sporty very quickly, and Nate cursed himself for leaving his Yarborough behind in the hotel room.
Quickly assessing the situation, he decided that his best course of action was full offense.
In a lightning-fast motion he jumped forward, curled his right hand into the shape of a cup, and brought it down on his opponent’s face with full force.
It produced the intended effect and the man was sufficiently stunned.
Taking advantage of the opportunity he had just created, Nate lunged and grabbed the wrist of the man’s hand that held the knife.
He yanked it forward and then brought his opposite hand down in a hammer fist right on the radius bone of the forearm, putting all his weight behind it.
The man yelped in pain and instantly dropped the knife, staggering backward and falling to the ground while holding his now broken arm in the opposite hand.
Nate kicked the knife away and spun around, searching for the second assailant.
He found him as he was mid-tackle. Nate sprawled, keeping his legs out of reach, before clasping his hands around the man’s neck, locking him in a Muay Thai clinch.
What happened next was brutal and unavoidable as Nate rammed his knee into his attacker’s face, which was being held down by his clinch.
Unlike at the pub in London, he hit him more times than was necessary, and the man crumpled to the ground in an unconscious, bloody mess. This was not a bar fight.
Pivoting again to face the conscious man, he found him slowly climbing to his feet. He waited, and once the jihadi was fully erect Nate let loose with a right hook, his fist catching the man on the chin and instantly turning out his lights. He collapsed to the pavement, unconscious.
With adrenaline still flowing through him, Nate turned to Anastasia, who was still lying on the ground clutching her throat and staring up at him in bewilderment.
He offered her his hand, but she made no motion to grab it.
Not wanting to waste time, he leaned down, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled the dazed woman to her feet.
She tried to speak but couldn’t. Instead, her eyes darted behind him and grew wide.
Nate turned and saw a stranger who looked as if he was a companion of the two that Nate had just put in the dirt.
Nate readied himself for another bout but stopped in his tracks.
The man pointed a small Makarov pistol at them and smiled.
Instinctively, Nate grabbed Anastasia and turned to block her with his body.
He expected to feel the familiar searing pain of a bullet entering his flesh, but there was nothing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nate noticed the newcomer turn his head rapidly to the left before a blur flew out from a side alley and hit the man with tremendous force.
From a full sprint, Tim had launched himself like a missile, his body going completely horizontal before knocking the armed attacker clear off his feet.
The man went flying to the ground with a thud with Tim landing on top of him, crushing the smaller man’s frame with his weight.
For good measure Tim threw several punches to the face, rendering his prey instantly unconscious.
The gun scattered across the stone roadway and Tim hopped up to retrieve it, shoving it into his waistband.
“You guys okay?” he asked, his face flushed from the effort.
“Yeah,” Nate said, “thanks for the assist.” He turned to the woman he was holding in his arms, whose body he was supporting from collapsing onto the ground. “We need to get out of here. It’s not safe.” Anastasia struggled weakly and he shook her gently.
“Let’s go!” Tim shouted. Nate could hear over the conference call that Wally and Shane were scrapping with some attackers of their own.
“Anastasia,” Nate said. “I know about your father. You’re in danger. We have to go! Now!” Anastasia said nothing. Her eyes were slits, and she appeared unfocused.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
Anastasia didn’t reply. She simply gave in to the darkness and slipped into unconsciousness.