Page 140 of Enemy of My Enemy
* * *
Chapter 46
Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
“We don’t cook.Like, at all. So this will be fine.” Doc shrugged, crossed his arms, and grinned at the gobsmacked Saudi pathologist.
Adam and Doc had draped tarps over Faisal’s kitchen, across the countertops, and over the floors, and laid out Noah’s body along the tarp-covered marble surface. Ice lay packed around his pale, ghostly skin, and on top of his clothes, soaking wet with the ice melt. His head was near the large sink.
“I think that’s how it’s done on TV,” Doc had said.
Faisal watched from the doorway, staying well clear of the corpse.
“What… is it you want me to do?” The doctor glanced at Faisal, incredulity straining his features. He wore a tailored suit and a ghutra, the checkered pattern hanging off his face and down his back. “The cause of death is clear.” He gestured to Noah’s skull. On one side of his head, a small entrance wound, and on the other side, a blown out depression, skull and brain gone, like an ice-cream scoop had dug in and taken a portion of his head away.
“Is there anything medically… off about his body?” Adam spoke when Faisal arched his eyebrows toward him. “Any evidence of drugs? Or torture? Anything odd in his system at all? Or, hell, do his vocal cords even work? Were they cut through? Anything weird about him in any way?”
The doctor’s cheeks ballooned, and he stared down at Noah’s corpse with wide eyes.
Across the island, Doc snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “I’m ready to assist.”
Adam and Faisal rolled their eyes.
* * *
Ethan finishedanother water bottle and chucked the empty plastic into the back seat of the Land Rover. Saudi Highway Five rolled on beneath his tires, an endless stretch of two-lane blacktop heading north through the sun-scorched rocks of Western Saudi.
He’d left before dawn, taking one of Faisal’s three Land Rovers, a set of binos, a case of water, and a collapsed inflatable boat in the back seat. It had a two-stroke engine, and he’d be able to get through the cays and reefs with ease.
If there was anything out there.
Adam had given him a compact M4 with a mounted flashlight, a bulletproof vest, and a tactical pack, lifted from Faisal’s security team. Faisal had banished the security team to their separate house down the private road by the gate, but they still had a cache of weapons at Faisal’s main villa. He wore the vest and the attached tac pack, and the rifle lay in the front seat, beside a bag of figs, a map, the binos, and three bottles of water.
Finally, his GPS pinged after he passed Umluj and the turnoff to Kuff in the Saudi foothills, and forty-five miles before the village of Al Wajh. He slowed and turned off the highway, his tires crunching over baked dust and chipped red rock. Uneven ground rocked his Land Rover until it gave way to smooth, golden sand, stretching endlessly along the coast.
He parked near the shoreline above the waves and pulled out the inflatable. A quick break of the seal, and the boat started filling up while he filled the engine with gas. His rifle went over his head and shoulder, tucked on the side of his body, and he tossed water bottles into the bottom of the boat as he scoped out the reefs through the binos.
Just on the edge of the horizon, he could make out the rough outline of a tanker, shivering in heat waves. It was easy to miss, buried amongst the cays and reefs and in the distance. Whoever had parked it there had used the curvature of the earth to their advantage.
It would take time, winding his way through the reefs and cays. He plotted out a route, sketching it on his map, folded to just the reefs. A few hours to get there, winding in and out of the tangled sand barriers and low waters. Faster, if he stayed south and went over open waters. But he wouldn’t have cover, then, and anyone onboard would spot him coming from miles away.
Engine in one hand and boat in the other, he headed for the water, shoving off in the shallows and paddling out until he could attach the engine and get it going. Perfectly clear waters lapped at the edges of the boat. Rainbow-colored fish darted to and fro, and at the nearest cay, a line of orange and purple coral winked at him under the surface.
Jack would love this. We could have gotten married on a beach.
He shoved his heartache down and pointed the boat toward the tanker.
* * *
Ethan stoppedat the last cay, a long, narrow stretch of empty white sand, and peered at the tanker through the binos.
No movement. Nothing on deck. A limp line hung over the side, seemingly abandoned. A rope ladder dangled toward the waterline, drifting in the light breeze.
No signs of life anywhere.
He crawled back to the boat, pushed off the sandbar, and started up the engine again, heading for the rope ladder. Up close, the tanker was huge, towering overhead. At the bow, the tanker’s name had been scratched off, and dents marred her steel sides. Bullet holes pierced the hull, some huge, others smaller. A deep gouge dented half her beam. The battle with the Russians had left its mark, when Madigan had sunk theVinogradov.
He tied the boat to the bottom rung of the rope ladder, pulled his rifle across his chest, and started climbing.
