Chapter Fifty-Two
The desert was a wondrous environment. It was unwelcoming to those who didn’t belong yet provided endless opportunities for those who knew where to look.
It was barren, yet teeming with life. Harsh but picturesque.
It was also unpopulated and wide open. And just as light traveled a great distance, so did sound in the still desert air.
So when Novikov heard gunfire erupt far to the north, he knew he and his men were on the right track.
It was faint, and he estimated that it must have been up to twenty kilometers away, which meant Wilde had at least a four- or five-hour head start on them.
And once darkness fell, movement would be even slower.
No matter. He knew their ultimate destination, and he would catch them eventually.
His team of former Russian commandos drove in a three-vehicle convoy, well armed.
Like him, these men were professional mercenaries.
There was no complaining about the heat, the dust, or the conditions.
They rode in relative silence, focused on getting the mission at hand finished.
He trusted these men to see the job through, if only for the sake of their reputations.
However, it was his own reputation currently at stake.
He’d never failed an assignment before, and would never dream of doing so under his current employer.
These were not men who accepted failure.
It was the reason they hired someone like Novikov to clean up their messes.
If he failed, then he was no longer relevant, and some of the same men he now sat beside might come for him. It was the way of this world.
That was why Novikov would not fail. He no longer cared if he made any profit on this job, or even if he went into the negative.
All that mattered was the success of the operation, and he was determined to see it through.
The only other option was to go on the run, which wasn’t a realistic choice.
The world was not big enough to hide from people like his employers.
Novikov’s mood brightened hours later when they came across the wreckage of a Toyota Hilux.
It was shot through with dozens of rounds, and corpses lay strewn about the scene, already beginning to bloat in the hot sun.
The stench was palpable, but none of the men minded.
They had all seen and smelled worse before.
It appeared to be a classic ambush, and some of the fighters had not even made it out of the truck.
This must have been what was left of Omar’s men.
Perhaps they had not gotten word of their leader’s demise and sought to chase down the Westerners as ordered.
The reasoning mattered little. Within a few days the sand would bury them and any evidence of their miserable existence.
He surveyed the area, getting the lay of the land.
There were bullet holes on the front end of the truck, indicating that they had been shot at from the opposing sand dune, but they were also present on the right side.
He walked several meters to the east and saw a shell casing sticking out of the sand.
Using his foot he cleared away the area and uncovered several more.
He picked one up and observed the spent cartridge that fit the AK-47 rifle, the most common weapon in the world.
An L-shaped ambush, he thought to himself. They had initiated from afar to draw fire, then done the majority of the killing up close with two, maybe three men. Standard infantry tactics for any army, and the terrorists never saw it coming.
He crossed north to the next dune and found additional shell casings from a rifle that fired 7.
62x54mmR cartridges, meaning that Wilde and his team possessed weapons with some standoff.
Novikov noted the fact. A few yards away he noticed something else.
There was a large stain on the ground, and he scooped up a handful of the contaminated sand and brought it to his nostrils.
It was fuel. They must have used their vehicle to draw the terrorists in.
In the exchange of gunfire, either their fuel tank or their reserve jugs had been hit.
Either way, it meant they were running on borrowed time.
They may not even make it to their destination before they ran out of gas.
Novikov smiled and ordered the men to load up. Things were starting to go his way.