The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [60]
Lara didn’t know if the truck could still move, and she wasn’t about to wait and find out. She rushed to the door, flung it open, and pulled the driver out of the truck, throwing him to the ground. As the motor stalled and steam continued to fill the air, two more men emerged from the back of the truck, both of them brandishing guns.
The driver, still on the ground, lunged at her. Lara could have dispatched him with a quick kick to the thorax, but she knew she’d be a sitting duck for the two gunmen, so instead she allowed him to trip her up. As she fell and rolled she finally managed to get her hands on her pistols, and she came to a kneeling position, both Black Demons spitting .32-caliber death. One man dropped instantly. The other ducked under the truck, firing awkwardly without a clear view of his target.
Lara had no intention of laying on her belly to get a good shot at him and give him an equally good shot at her. Instead she jumped into the cab of the truck. The engine was still sputtering, and she put it into reverse. There was a scream, and then, after backing up no more than a dozen feet, the motor died.
Lara leaped out of the cab, pistols at the ready, looking for any sign of life. The driver, who had leaped out of the way, was getting groggily to his feet. She swung her hand with a Black Demon still in it and caught him in the temple. He dropped to the ground, senseless. She stepped back and saw that the truck had indeed backed over the final gunman, pinning him to the ground. His face wore a hideous death mask.
Mason had staggered to his feet and was walking over to her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said ruefully. “Serves me right for trying to be a hero.”
They walked over to Omar and Hassam, who were just getting to their feet.
“I appreciate your saving our lives,” said Omar. “But next time,” he added with a grin, “don’t push so hard. For a moment there I wasn’t sure who was the enemy.”
Lara led them to the three bodies, two dead, one unconscious. “Are they Mahdists or Silent Ones?” she asked.
Mason squatted and propped open the unconscious man’s mouth. “He’s got a tongue, so I guess that means Mahdists.”
“Unfortunately not,” said Omar. “That a man has a tongue in his mouth proves nothing. By that definition, we would all be Mahdists. We’ll have Gaafar question this man when he wakes up, and then we will know for sure.”
Lara looked around. “Where is Gaafar?”
“I think I know,” said Mason grimly. He pointed to the huge Sudanese, who was lying about ten yards behind the truck. “He caught a stray bullet from the man you pinned under the wheel.”
Omar and Hassam raced over and knelt down. Hassam began cursing in Arabic. Omar remained motionless for a full minute, then stood up and turned to Lara and Mason.
“He is dead,” he said softly.
“You’re sure?” asked Mason.
“I am sure.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lara. “If I hadn’t backed over that last man, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten off a wild shot.”
“You saved two of us,” said Omar. “His death is hardly your fault.”
“He was a good man,” said Lara, replacing her pistols in her holsters beneath her robes.
“The best,” replied Omar. “I will tell his brothers and his cousins. They will claim the body after the police examine it. And now we must go. If they were willing to make one attempt on your life in the daylight, in front of witnesses, they will surely make more.”
“I’m not going to let them succeed,” said Mason firmly.
“Then we’d better get you healthy first,” said Lara.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
She pointed to his neck and shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” he said, surprised. “I must have cut myself when I was rolling across the street.”
“Or when the truck hit you,” she said.
“It wasn’t the truck,” he said, obviously annoyed with himself for being hurt at all. “It was that goddamned side mirror.”
“Whatever it was, we should get you to a doctor.”
“It’s just a scratch,” he protested.
“I’m not walking into a museum or a library with a man whose shirt is drenched