Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [128]
Ivana grabbed her shoulder. The pain seared her flesh. She let herself fall to the floor, where she curled into a tight ball as she felt the bodies struggling above her.
Jeff smelled the fear as he struck the man. The pair of them grappled for the knife. All the while the man was swearing in Arabic. Determined as he was, Jeff was stronger; if he could avoid getting disemboweled, he’d have the better of the Arab in seconds. He twisted the man’s wrist again, so hard he expected to hear the snap of bone. The Arab grunted in pain. Jeff heard the knife clatter to the floor and a moment later felt hands seize his throat and begin to squeeze like a vise.
* * *
Daryl was grabbing at the Arab, trying to find some way to help Jeff, when she saw him put his hands around Jeff’s throat. At her feet lay the knife he’d had. She reached down and picked up the strange-looking weapon.
Beside her, Jeff grunted. Daryl grimaced, then plunged the knife into the Arab’s stomach.
* * *
Fajer had never before experienced such pain. Releasing the man, he clutched at his side, pulling away from everyone. The blond woman held in her hand his knife, the one that he realized had taken his life.
Blood flowed from him in a torrent. He prayed in Arabic as he attempted to stanch it. Within moments he became lightheaded, then sleepy.
The jihad, he thought. It is unleashed whether I live or not. This is Allah’s will.
He swayed on his feet, then toppled over, falling across the dead body of his brother Labib.
67
PARIS, FRANCE
HILTON HOTEL
CHARLES DE GAULLE AIRPORT
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 7
2:43 P.M.
Jeff watched the Arab die without emotion, then checked on the other Arab lying on the floor. He was dead as well. The third man was also lifeless.
“Jeff!” Daryl said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. You?”
“Me too. I think he stabbed Ivana, though.” She squatted down beside the Russian woman, who was still curled in a ball. “Let me help,” Daryl whispered.
“We have to get out of here,” Jeff interrupted her. “The police will arrive any second.” He checked the floor, slippery with blood. Spotting the external drive, he grabbed it and thrust it into his pants pocket. “Let’s go. Now!”
Already they could hear the siren of a Paris police car. He helped lift Ivana, who moaned and winced at the touch of his arm around her. “I can walk,” she murmured in halting English.
The three of them hurried out the back and into the alley. “Wait a minute,” Jeff said. “Daryl, put pressure on the wound. I’ll be right back.” He rushed off. When he returned, he was carrying their two travel bags, which they’d left on the street. Moving as quickly as they could, they fled the death and chaos.
* * *
Five blocks away, they stopped at a fountain and washed as well as they were able to. Daryl removed Ivana’s bloody jacket and threw it away. Jeff reached for his undershirt, tore most of it off, and tied it against her wound to stem the bleeding. Then Daryl took her jacket off and slipped it over the Russian.
“Let’s flag a taxi while we can,” Daryl said. “We look presentable enough. It will take the police a few minutes to figure out what happened.”
Jeff moved to a wider street, where he spotted a taxi stand and waved.
“Act like we’ve been nightclubbing,” he said. “We don’t want to be especially memorable, at least not for the wrong reason.”
A moment later the car approached and the three entered, all laughing. Despite her pain, Ivana put a smile on her face.
“Where to?” the driver asked in French.
Daryl thought for a moment. “The Hilton.” She looked at Jeff and shrugged. They must have a Hilton somewhere.
“There are five,” the driver said. “Which