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Synopsis
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen comes a new thriller starring fan favorite Eve Duncan as she uncovers the source of the priceless gold in King Tutankhamen’s tomb.
Release date: June 24, 2025
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 432
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The Death Mask
Iris Johansen
Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.
Alex Dominic lowered the binoculars and shook his head. He had traveled hundreds of miles to visit the African village of Karimu, but there was almost nothing left to see. A few smoldering huts, burned-out wells, and dismembered corpses of men and women.
Sam Rashid, who had accompanied Dominic on this hellishly long journey to the village, raised his camera and snapped a series of pictures. “No children yet. Do you think they were spared?”
“Doubtful. I found several infants who had been butchered and left to die in the chief’s hut. My guess is that any older children were probably taken and sold to local traffickers.” Dominic’s jaw clenched. “The attack was just in the past few hours. We still might be able to catch up to the monsters who did this.”
“Where we’ll probably find an entire army of other monsters waiting for us,” Rashid said. “Maybe hundreds of them.”
“I don’t care.” Dominic’s gaze went back to the bloody carnage he’d just discovered. “We’ll find a way to take ’em on anyway.”
“Shit.” Rashid sighed. “I knew you would say that.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“In cases like this, yes. We’ve been through too much together. Besides, I could tell by the look on your face. You’re getting madder by the second.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course.” Rashid adjusted his camera lens and snapped another series of photos. “Did you find any other evidence about who did this in any of those huts?”
Dominic nodded. “I found the main weapons cache in that third hut across the way. It came complete with a box of ammo that had very familiar ID marking the bullets. I’ll have to dig a little deeper, but I’ll be able to pin down the arms dealer very soon.” Dominic pulled the blue kerchief from around his neck and tied it over his nose and mouth. The odor of burning flesh was overpowering. Shit, he’d hoped to prevent this.
Damn those bastards.
There was a sound behind them!
Dominic drew his Glock automatic from his shoulder holster and spun around.
Nothing but a burning hut and a few smoldering piles that had been living, breathing human beings just hours before.
Dominic cocked his head. It was that sound again.
“What is it?” Rashid whispered.
Dominic nodded toward a sheet of corrugated tin lying on the ground. It moved slightly.
Rashid lowered his camera and drew his own handgun.
Dominic tried to affect a casual stroll as he moved back in the general direction of the rusted tin sheet. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s make our way back toward the river. Maybe someone there can tell us where—” Dominic kicked the edge of the sheet, flipping it over. He raised his gun and pointed it toward two figures crouching underneath.
Two children, a boy and a girl. They couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. Their dirty faces were streaked with tears. They both raised their hands in surrender.
Dominic lowered his gun as he inspected the children for any sign either of them might be carrying a weapon.
There was none.
“Don’t worry,” Dominic said quietly, speaking Swahili. He wasn’t a native speaker like Rashid, but he knew enough to navigate most social situations. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
The boy looked relieved, but the girl seemed distinctly doubtful.
“We’re here to help,” Rashid said. He pulled two water bottles from his pack and handed them over. “What are your names?”
“I’m Zola,” the boy said after gulping down some of the water. “This is Alora. She’s my sister.”
“What happened here?” Dominic asked gently. “Do you know? We need your help.”
“We were staying with our auntie today,” Zola said. “Our mother went to another village to sell quilts that she makes. We heard screaming outside and saw the men and their trucks. They came at us with their guns and machetes.”
Alora was crying. “Our auntie told us to hide outside. We crawled under here and heard her and our cousin screaming. There was blood… Those men were killing everyone for no reason.”
Zola looked around dazedly. “Is anyone else still alive?”
Dominic glanced at a smoldering pile that he knew could be the children’s aunt and cousin. “We haven’t seen anyone else yet. I’m sorry.”
Alora sobbed uncontrollably. “I want my mom!”
“It’s a good thing she wasn’t here,” Dominic said. “We’ll get you to her, don’t worry. But we need to find out everything we can about the people who did this. We’re not going to let them get away with it, I promise you.”
The children were silent for a moment, until Zola finally spoke up. “They all had yellow scarves.”
Dominic and Rashid exchanged a look before turning back to the boy. “Are you sure?” Dominic asked.
Zola nodded. “And they had yellow flags on their trucks.”
“That’s helpful,” Dominic said. “Very helpful, Zola. Have you ever seen these people before? Any of them?”
He shook his head no.
“Did it seem like they were looking for something?”
“No. They just came here and started hacking away with their knives. People were screaming and offering them money and food, but those men didn’t care about that. They just wanted to kill everyone.”
Dominic turned toward Rashid and whispered, “Sounds like Zakira’s followers.”
Rashid nodded. “I’d bet on it. All it would take is for the village elders here to turn down Zakira’s invitation to join his flock. He’d wipe them out without thinking twice.”
“I’m familiar with their tactics,” Dominic said. “But it’s strange… Zakira’s armies usually leave at least a few warriors behind for a few hours to eliminate residents who might have been away.”
As if on cue, a truck engine sounded in the distance.
“You were saying?” Rashid turned toward the sound.
“Get down!” Dominic crouched next to the two children and grabbed the large sheet of tin. “Come on, get back under. All of us. Now!”
Dominic and Rashid slid underneath the tin sheet with the children and listened as the truck roared closer. They peered through openings in the panel and saw a beat-up old pickup truck with a machine gun mounted in the bed. Two men rode in the cab, and another manned the gun. A yellow flag flew from the car’s antenna, and each of the men wore a yellow bandanna around his head.
“Zakira’s crew, all right,” Dominic said.
“We were lucky to get here,” Rashid said. “They’re probably patrolling the village and the surrounding areas.”
“They were lucky we didn’t see them earlier,” Dominic said grimly. “But their luck has just run out.”
“What’s your plan?” Rashid glanced at Dominic’s set expression and then watched as he grabbed his knapsack and unzipped it.
“Just a little welcome party. I don’t like the idea of them having all the fun. You stay here and keep an eye on those kids.”
“Maybe we should both stay here with them,” Rashid suggested tentatively. “After the patrol passes, we can probably slide down the ridge without being seen.”
“If my plan doesn’t work, feel free to do that,” Dominic said absently as his gaze narrowed on the patrol.
Rashid shook his head resignedly. “Dominic…”
But Dominic climbed out from under the tin sheet and ran toward the muddy road. He reached into his pack and tossed half a dozen black disks to the ground. They were each about the diameter of a hockey puck, but half the thickness. He’d been assured these latest models would work, but the field tests showed mixed results.
He was about to find out for himself.
The truck was already a quarter mile down the road, but the gunner had clearly spotted him and told the driver. The vehicle spun around and raced back.
It skidded to a stop just ten yards away. The truck’s occupants stared as if trying to size him up.
Dominic smiled and spoke English to the men. “What happened to this place? I was just here last week, and it didn’t look anything like this!”
The three men didn’t smile. It appeared that the driver was the only one who spoke English, as the other two immediately looked to him for a translation.
“Who are you?” the driver said in heavily accented English.
“Just passing through.” Dominic was still smiling. “Didn’t know I was passing through a war zone. Think you fellas could give me a ride?”
The driver translated for the other two, and all three men burst out laughing. Dominic laughed with them.
The passenger climbed out of the truck and pulled a large handgun from his shoulder holster.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Dominic raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, don’t give me a ride. No problem.”
The man leveled his gun at Dominic.
Dominic spoke a command under his breath, just loud enough to be picked up by his wristwatch: “Initiate.”
BOOM! An explosion blew the man apart. Pieces of him splattered across the truck’s windshield.
The driver and gunner screamed at each other as they reached for their own weapons.
“Initiate,” Dominic repeated softly.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! A series of explosions destroyed the pickup truck and its occupants, triggered by the command and motion sensors embedded in the ordnance pucks Dominic had littered on the road.
Uh-oh.
The gunner had survived the blast, perhaps partially shielded by the truck. Blood covered his head and face, but he still had enough strength to raise an automatic rifle and fire it.
Dominic dove behind the flaming wreckage of the pickup truck, where he found a handgun that had been pointed at him just moments earlier. When he picked up the gun, he realized a hand was still gripping it, completely detached from the rest of the assailant’s body. He tried to pry the fingers free, but they were locked in a death grip.
The man with the rifle jumped from around the burning wreckage and fired wildly. Dominic raised the detached hand and pressed the dead man’s finger over the trigger.
BLAM! BLAM!
Two bullets went into the man’s chest. The attacker fell to the ground, dead.
Dominic threw down the hand and glanced around. He didn’t see any other patrols, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more out there somewhere. He turned to see Rashid and the two children running toward him.
Dominic kicked the hand away so the kids wouldn’t see it and joined them at the roadside.
Rashid shook his head. “Interesting. I took a few pictures of that move of yours. It gives new meaning to the term hand job.”
“I’m glad you were entertained. Now let’s get these kids out of here. I need to get to my casino in Morocco right away.”
“Still feeling lucky, are we?”
“Really?” Dominic gave him a sardonic glance. “It’s not that. I need to talk to Hastings and get some information about this damn massacre.” He was already heading across the road. “Come on, let’s get moving down that ridge you were talking about…”
BOSTON SCHOOL OF THE ARTS
8:55 P.M.
“Celine!”
Sighing, Celine Kelly stopped as she reached the back entrance of the studio. It had to be Jean Paul running after her down the hall, dammit.
Gary Barnaby, the uniformed security guard, chuckled as he got to his feet at the door. “Sorry, Celine. I think he’s zeroed in on you. Better luck next time. Unless you want me to try to distract him while you slip out?”
Celine was tempted but shook her head. “That would lack dignity. I’ll handle it. Thanks anyway, Gary.” She turned to face Jean Paul as he came running around the corner. His expression was just as eager and intense as she’d known it would be. No one had more passion for his work than him. Except maybe herself when she was working at the hospital. But there was no way she’d go to the lengths Jean Paul did to get his own way. She ignored his pleading expression and firmly shook her head. “No, Jean Paul. You know I have another part-time job I have to do tonight. I can’t give you any more time today. I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow afternoon, and that will have to be good enough.”
“Just call in sick to that stupid hospital for one more hour.” His tone was wheedling. “I feel really good about where my painting is going today. But I need that wonderful face of yours to inspire me.”
“Too bad,” Celine said. “I need enough money to pay my share of the rent for my apartment and my lessons here at the studio.”
Jean Paul frowned. “You could probably make much more if you posed for nudes here at the studio. I’ve already offered you twice as much as I’m giving you for that portrait I’m doing now. You can’t be making much interning as a resident. Besides, why would you want to take care of a bunch of boring patients when you’re an artist yourself?”
Celine shook her head in exasperation. “I’m only an artist because I’d be bored silly if I had to just sit there mindlessly while I was posing for you. And those patients aren’t as boring as you’re implying. Everyone has a story, and I can help them. Not to mention that at least I’m actually learning something worthwhile.” She made a face. “And I appreciate that I’m inspiring your genius, Jean Paul, but I prefer to do it with my clothes on.”
Barnaby suddenly chuckled. “You tell him, Celine.”
Jean Paul gave him a dirty look before he smiled at Celine. “But it’s such a terrible waste. Give me a chance and I’ll make a goddess of you.”
“I’ll pass.” She headed for the door. “There’s not much call for goddesses in today’s workplace.”
“There would be for you,” Jean Paul said. “Well, if you change your mind, be sure to let me know, and I’ll make arrangements with studio personnel.” He was turning and heading back toward his studio.
“Don’t hold your breath.” She glanced again at the security guard, who was still chuckling. “Stop grinning, Barnaby. He actually means it. It’s quite a compliment to have an artist want to make you into a goddess.”
“Yeah, sure,” Barnaby said. “I was only thinking what a great pickup line it was.”
“But it only works if the artist is as good as Jean Paul,” Celine said. “There has to be a certain substance connected to it. Good night, Jean Paul.”
He nodded gloomily as he wandered back toward his studio. “Tomorrow, Celine. Don’t be late.”
She grimaced as she headed for the rear door. “That takes a good deal of nerve,” she murmured. “Considering he’s probably made me late for my shift at the hospital tonight.”
Barnaby was frowning. “Do you want me to call you a cab, Celine?”
She shook her head as he held the door open. “Nope, I don’t believe you understood that I’d have a problem with that. Cabs persist in requiring me to pay them. I’m strictly a subway girl.”
“You sure?” he asked. “Want me to walk you to the subway?”
“No, don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. By the way, how are your wife and kids doing?”
“Great. Judy said to tell you hi and thanks for the books for the kids.”
“You’re welcome. Books are important. They can change our lives. They were my best friends while I was growing up.” She hurried out the door and said over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Barnaby.”
She was already walking quickly down the street toward the subway a few blocks away.
It was a cold night, and the streets were deserted now that most of the shops were closed and the rush hour was over.
Not quite deserted—she could hear footsteps on the street behind her. Strange. She hadn’t seen anyone when she’d come out of the studio a few minutes ago. But now she definitely could hear the rhythm of those steps on the sidewalk several paces back.
Was it her imagination that their rhythm seemed to be keeping pace with her own stride?
Was someone following her? She increased her speed.
The footsteps on the street behind her did the same.
Okay, someone might be following her. Nothing to get in a panic about, Celine thought impatiently. It wasn’t the first time. It probably wouldn’t be the last. Boston was a big city, and it had its own share of stalkers like any town. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t take care of herself. She just wished this particular creep would leave her alone. She took a quick look behind her. The only person on the street behind her was male, tall with dark hair, and wearing a brown jacket. There was something vaguely familiar about him… Maybe this wasn’t the first time this asshole had decided to follow her to or from the subway? It was possible she might not have noticed him if he’d blended in with a crowd.
Which also meant she could have a decision to make. Should she take off at a run and try to make it to the subway, where she knew there would probably be a crowd? Or would it be better to go back to the studio where she knew Barnaby, the security guard, would be at the door as usual. That might be best. Even though Barnaby was only a security guard, the sight of a man in uniform could sometimes intimidate people who mistook them for regular police. She took another quick glance behind her. Now the man’s demeanor had suddenly changed. He was walking steadily, purposefully, almost stalking her.
She didn’t like it.
And he was speeding up now, and his gaze appeared to be focused on her. She was beginning to feel threatened. Had the creep finally made his decision? It appeared so, she thought impatiently.
Well, so had she. She whirled to face him.
He continued to come toward her. “Don’t run away from me, pretty lady,” he called out mockingly. “I just want to talk to you.”
“And I don’t want to talk to you,” she said curtly. “Get lost.”
“I can’t do that. I have my orders.” His hand fell on her shoulder. “Now just calm down and we’ll get along fine.”
She stiffened. “Don’t touch me.”
His hand pressed down on her shoulder. “I’m trying not to hurt you. I just need you to come with me and—”
She lowered her head and threw all of her weight into a rolling clinch, a move she’d mastered long ago. She’d started Muay Thai classes as a way to relieve stress in her undergrad days, but she’d never used it in self-defense.
Until now.
Her attacker staggered back, then hurtled toward her. She stood her ground and swung her right leg in a high roundhouse kick, hitting him squarely in the throat. He wheezed as he tried to pull oxygen past his crushed windpipe. He fell to his knees.
It couldn’t be that easy, she thought.
It wasn’t.
Another man stepped from the shadows. He was taller and more imposing than the first guy, and his bearing suggested a steely confidence. “Impressive,” he said as he gestured toward the man writhing on the sidewalk. “But I’m afraid you’ll still have to come with me, Celine. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll do it, missy.”
“Missy?” Celine moved her feet apart in the classic Muay Thai fighting stance. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
The man smiled. “Far be it from me.”
Celine nodded down to the first attacker, who was still gasping for air. “I’m pretty sure that your buddy here will survive, but he’s in bad shape unless he gets help. Why don’t we end this right here? I’m a physician. I can help him.”
The man shook his head as he uncapped a syringe. “A generous offer, but he’s on his own now. You’re the only one I care about.”
She lightly bounced back on her heels. “Wow. With friends like these…”
The man rushed toward her and jabbed at her with the syringe.
Oh, hell no…
Celine performed a series of matrix dodges to avoid each jab, anticipating his thrusts and countering with perfect ducks and weaves. But she had to do more than just avoid his attacks; she had to parry.
She ax-kicked his forearm and sent the syringe flying. She jumped forward.
What was it that her old master used to say?
Oh, yeah. Unleash hell.
She cut loose with a series of elbow strikes to his kidneys and midsection in a targeted barrage that made her realize that her medical training was as important as her exercise routine right now.
The man doubled over and grunted in pain. Before he could recover, Celine grabbed his wrist and flipped him over to the ground. She pressed her knee onto his throat and bore down with her entire weight.
She leaned down and stuck her fingers in his eyes and he screamed with pain, reaching out with his fist to strike blindly at her midsection. Time to get away before he fully recovered and decided to go after her again.
She jumped to her feet and ran back toward the art studio.
She heard him screaming and cursing behind her as she flew down the street.
Then she reached the back entrance and threw open the door. “Celine?” Barnaby was suddenly beside her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I just ran into a little trouble with some jerks out there. I guarantee they got a hell of a lot worse than I did.”
“Where is she? I’m going to kill her.” The door was flung open again and Celine saw the man who had been chasing her burst through the doorway. “You bitch! You could have blinded me.” He was wiping the blood away from his eyes and nose. “And I think you broke my nose.”
“You attacked me,” Celine said coldly. “I think we’re even.” She gestured to Barnaby. “My friend here doesn’t like to have women threatened by strangers when his job is to keep the clients of the art institute safe while they’re creating their work.”
“You’ll pay for this.” He was still almost screeching as he wiped the blood from his face.
Barnaby shook his head and stepped between the attacker and Celine. “Not one step more.”
“Or what?” the man snarled.
“You don’t want to know. The police are already on their way, but trust me, I’m your biggest problem right now.” Barnaby’s fingers closed around the nightstick on his belt. “Turn around and cut your losses.”
“You’ll stay out of my business if you know what’s good for you.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door. His lips curled as he glared over his shoulder at Celine. “And this isn’t the end. No one treats me like that. I’m going to see that you suffer for it.” He turned and threw open the door, and then he was gone.
“Ugly,” Barnaby murmured. “Did you really do all that damage?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my fault. I’d never seen him before tonight. I did what I had to do to protect myself. He followed me and then he attacked. I don’t allow anyone to touch me. So I showed him that he should keep his hands to himself.” She frowned. “But he might have seen me before tonight. He looked a little familiar.” She remembered something else. “And he called me Celine when he made his move on me before I had to almost punch his eyes out.”
Barnaby chuckled. “I’m certain he deserved it. We wouldn’t want him to be too familiar. But where did you learn to mete out that kind of punishment?”
“My father was a colonel in the army. I was an army brat who traveled all around the world with him before he was killed in Afghanistan. Some of the places were fairly rough, and he wanted to make sure that I could take care of myself if he wasn’t around. Everywhere we went, he made sure I learned from one of the locals before we moved on to the next place. He taught me everything I needed to know about the fine art of self-protection.”
Barnaby nodded soberly, his gaze studying her face. “I can see why he’d want you to know how to protect yourself. You’re so damn stunning, he probably had to contend with the entire U.S. military by the time you were grown.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he had a few problems with me because of something like that. But he made sure I knew that the outside meant nothing if I wasn’t smart enough to have people admire me because of what I’d studied and knew, not what I happened to look like. That was just window dressing.” Her eyes were suddenly twinkling. “Just to remind me, he always had a photograph of Einstein set up in my bedroom at whichever base we were sent. We studied his work together.”
Barnaby chuckled. “Wasn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Maybe for some people. But I kind of liked it. Haven’t you noticed how much Einstein resembles a distinguished grandfather?”
“It never occurred to me. All I remember is that he was very good at making bombs.”
“I guess you had to have been there.” She was still smiling in reminiscence. “Einstein and I became very good friends. I preferred him to any of my schoolmates’ latest rock stars.”
“That must have been pretty tough competition.”
“But excellent training. I’ve found most people prefer not to have to deal with people who they might have to compete with on any level. They find it uncomfortable.”
“They find it uncomfortable? Or you do, Celine?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been taught to appreciate the value of staying in the background from all those years of learning how to protect my independence. It’s much easier to keep a low profile by ignoring conflict.”
He grinned. “You make the attempt, but you don’t succeed. You obviously can’t even walk down the street without causing a riot.” He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. “But it’s not your fault. The world is just full of scumbags who think they have a right to reach out and grab when they see something they want. I hate to see him just walk away.” He frowned. “Will you at least let me walk you back to the subway and then call me when you reach the hospital? It will make me feel better.”
She hesitated. “I think you’ve intimidated him. It’s probably not necessary to—” She saw his expression and stopped. Why not let him be the hero who chased the villain away? “Of course. Thank you, Barnaby.”
“Good. Wait here until I go tell my boss I’ll be gone for the next thirty minutes or so. But it’s really you who intimidated that bastard.”
“It’s not too late. I find I’m very curious why he went to the trouble of finding out just who I was.” She was already reaching for her sketchbook. “I’m also a pretty good artist, remember? I’m not nearly as good as Jean Paul, but there’s no reason why I can’t do a fairly decent job of sketching that asshole. His face is practically engraved on my memory.” She suddenly giggled. “Particularly his eyes! Lord, he was angry! I bet that I can have this sketch done by the time I finish my shift at the hospital tonight. I’ll drop it by here tomorrow night, and you can turn it in to your friends at the police department and see if you can get a name for us. Okay?”
He nodded and headed down the hall. “I’ll look through the mug books myself. We’ll get him, Celine.”
She smiled wearily as she watched him hurry down the corridor. Barnaby to the rescue, she thought. It was good to know that after those moments of ugliness that she could turn to a man as solid and good as Barnaby and have him there to help. It was almost like having her dad back again. It just went to show that the ugliness would fade away, but men like Barnaby would still be there.
She opened her sketchbook and then closed her eyes for an instant, trying to reme. . .
Alex Dominic lowered the binoculars and shook his head. He had traveled hundreds of miles to visit the African village of Karimu, but there was almost nothing left to see. A few smoldering huts, burned-out wells, and dismembered corpses of men and women.
Sam Rashid, who had accompanied Dominic on this hellishly long journey to the village, raised his camera and snapped a series of pictures. “No children yet. Do you think they were spared?”
“Doubtful. I found several infants who had been butchered and left to die in the chief’s hut. My guess is that any older children were probably taken and sold to local traffickers.” Dominic’s jaw clenched. “The attack was just in the past few hours. We still might be able to catch up to the monsters who did this.”
“Where we’ll probably find an entire army of other monsters waiting for us,” Rashid said. “Maybe hundreds of them.”
“I don’t care.” Dominic’s gaze went back to the bloody carnage he’d just discovered. “We’ll find a way to take ’em on anyway.”
“Shit.” Rashid sighed. “I knew you would say that.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“In cases like this, yes. We’ve been through too much together. Besides, I could tell by the look on your face. You’re getting madder by the second.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course.” Rashid adjusted his camera lens and snapped another series of photos. “Did you find any other evidence about who did this in any of those huts?”
Dominic nodded. “I found the main weapons cache in that third hut across the way. It came complete with a box of ammo that had very familiar ID marking the bullets. I’ll have to dig a little deeper, but I’ll be able to pin down the arms dealer very soon.” Dominic pulled the blue kerchief from around his neck and tied it over his nose and mouth. The odor of burning flesh was overpowering. Shit, he’d hoped to prevent this.
Damn those bastards.
There was a sound behind them!
Dominic drew his Glock automatic from his shoulder holster and spun around.
Nothing but a burning hut and a few smoldering piles that had been living, breathing human beings just hours before.
Dominic cocked his head. It was that sound again.
“What is it?” Rashid whispered.
Dominic nodded toward a sheet of corrugated tin lying on the ground. It moved slightly.
Rashid lowered his camera and drew his own handgun.
Dominic tried to affect a casual stroll as he moved back in the general direction of the rusted tin sheet. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s make our way back toward the river. Maybe someone there can tell us where—” Dominic kicked the edge of the sheet, flipping it over. He raised his gun and pointed it toward two figures crouching underneath.
Two children, a boy and a girl. They couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. Their dirty faces were streaked with tears. They both raised their hands in surrender.
Dominic lowered his gun as he inspected the children for any sign either of them might be carrying a weapon.
There was none.
“Don’t worry,” Dominic said quietly, speaking Swahili. He wasn’t a native speaker like Rashid, but he knew enough to navigate most social situations. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
The boy looked relieved, but the girl seemed distinctly doubtful.
“We’re here to help,” Rashid said. He pulled two water bottles from his pack and handed them over. “What are your names?”
“I’m Zola,” the boy said after gulping down some of the water. “This is Alora. She’s my sister.”
“What happened here?” Dominic asked gently. “Do you know? We need your help.”
“We were staying with our auntie today,” Zola said. “Our mother went to another village to sell quilts that she makes. We heard screaming outside and saw the men and their trucks. They came at us with their guns and machetes.”
Alora was crying. “Our auntie told us to hide outside. We crawled under here and heard her and our cousin screaming. There was blood… Those men were killing everyone for no reason.”
Zola looked around dazedly. “Is anyone else still alive?”
Dominic glanced at a smoldering pile that he knew could be the children’s aunt and cousin. “We haven’t seen anyone else yet. I’m sorry.”
Alora sobbed uncontrollably. “I want my mom!”
“It’s a good thing she wasn’t here,” Dominic said. “We’ll get you to her, don’t worry. But we need to find out everything we can about the people who did this. We’re not going to let them get away with it, I promise you.”
The children were silent for a moment, until Zola finally spoke up. “They all had yellow scarves.”
Dominic and Rashid exchanged a look before turning back to the boy. “Are you sure?” Dominic asked.
Zola nodded. “And they had yellow flags on their trucks.”
“That’s helpful,” Dominic said. “Very helpful, Zola. Have you ever seen these people before? Any of them?”
He shook his head no.
“Did it seem like they were looking for something?”
“No. They just came here and started hacking away with their knives. People were screaming and offering them money and food, but those men didn’t care about that. They just wanted to kill everyone.”
Dominic turned toward Rashid and whispered, “Sounds like Zakira’s followers.”
Rashid nodded. “I’d bet on it. All it would take is for the village elders here to turn down Zakira’s invitation to join his flock. He’d wipe them out without thinking twice.”
“I’m familiar with their tactics,” Dominic said. “But it’s strange… Zakira’s armies usually leave at least a few warriors behind for a few hours to eliminate residents who might have been away.”
As if on cue, a truck engine sounded in the distance.
“You were saying?” Rashid turned toward the sound.
“Get down!” Dominic crouched next to the two children and grabbed the large sheet of tin. “Come on, get back under. All of us. Now!”
Dominic and Rashid slid underneath the tin sheet with the children and listened as the truck roared closer. They peered through openings in the panel and saw a beat-up old pickup truck with a machine gun mounted in the bed. Two men rode in the cab, and another manned the gun. A yellow flag flew from the car’s antenna, and each of the men wore a yellow bandanna around his head.
“Zakira’s crew, all right,” Dominic said.
“We were lucky to get here,” Rashid said. “They’re probably patrolling the village and the surrounding areas.”
“They were lucky we didn’t see them earlier,” Dominic said grimly. “But their luck has just run out.”
“What’s your plan?” Rashid glanced at Dominic’s set expression and then watched as he grabbed his knapsack and unzipped it.
“Just a little welcome party. I don’t like the idea of them having all the fun. You stay here and keep an eye on those kids.”
“Maybe we should both stay here with them,” Rashid suggested tentatively. “After the patrol passes, we can probably slide down the ridge without being seen.”
“If my plan doesn’t work, feel free to do that,” Dominic said absently as his gaze narrowed on the patrol.
Rashid shook his head resignedly. “Dominic…”
But Dominic climbed out from under the tin sheet and ran toward the muddy road. He reached into his pack and tossed half a dozen black disks to the ground. They were each about the diameter of a hockey puck, but half the thickness. He’d been assured these latest models would work, but the field tests showed mixed results.
He was about to find out for himself.
The truck was already a quarter mile down the road, but the gunner had clearly spotted him and told the driver. The vehicle spun around and raced back.
It skidded to a stop just ten yards away. The truck’s occupants stared as if trying to size him up.
Dominic smiled and spoke English to the men. “What happened to this place? I was just here last week, and it didn’t look anything like this!”
The three men didn’t smile. It appeared that the driver was the only one who spoke English, as the other two immediately looked to him for a translation.
“Who are you?” the driver said in heavily accented English.
“Just passing through.” Dominic was still smiling. “Didn’t know I was passing through a war zone. Think you fellas could give me a ride?”
The driver translated for the other two, and all three men burst out laughing. Dominic laughed with them.
The passenger climbed out of the truck and pulled a large handgun from his shoulder holster.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Dominic raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, don’t give me a ride. No problem.”
The man leveled his gun at Dominic.
Dominic spoke a command under his breath, just loud enough to be picked up by his wristwatch: “Initiate.”
BOOM! An explosion blew the man apart. Pieces of him splattered across the truck’s windshield.
The driver and gunner screamed at each other as they reached for their own weapons.
“Initiate,” Dominic repeated softly.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! A series of explosions destroyed the pickup truck and its occupants, triggered by the command and motion sensors embedded in the ordnance pucks Dominic had littered on the road.
Uh-oh.
The gunner had survived the blast, perhaps partially shielded by the truck. Blood covered his head and face, but he still had enough strength to raise an automatic rifle and fire it.
Dominic dove behind the flaming wreckage of the pickup truck, where he found a handgun that had been pointed at him just moments earlier. When he picked up the gun, he realized a hand was still gripping it, completely detached from the rest of the assailant’s body. He tried to pry the fingers free, but they were locked in a death grip.
The man with the rifle jumped from around the burning wreckage and fired wildly. Dominic raised the detached hand and pressed the dead man’s finger over the trigger.
BLAM! BLAM!
Two bullets went into the man’s chest. The attacker fell to the ground, dead.
Dominic threw down the hand and glanced around. He didn’t see any other patrols, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more out there somewhere. He turned to see Rashid and the two children running toward him.
Dominic kicked the hand away so the kids wouldn’t see it and joined them at the roadside.
Rashid shook his head. “Interesting. I took a few pictures of that move of yours. It gives new meaning to the term hand job.”
“I’m glad you were entertained. Now let’s get these kids out of here. I need to get to my casino in Morocco right away.”
“Still feeling lucky, are we?”
“Really?” Dominic gave him a sardonic glance. “It’s not that. I need to talk to Hastings and get some information about this damn massacre.” He was already heading across the road. “Come on, let’s get moving down that ridge you were talking about…”
BOSTON SCHOOL OF THE ARTS
8:55 P.M.
“Celine!”
Sighing, Celine Kelly stopped as she reached the back entrance of the studio. It had to be Jean Paul running after her down the hall, dammit.
Gary Barnaby, the uniformed security guard, chuckled as he got to his feet at the door. “Sorry, Celine. I think he’s zeroed in on you. Better luck next time. Unless you want me to try to distract him while you slip out?”
Celine was tempted but shook her head. “That would lack dignity. I’ll handle it. Thanks anyway, Gary.” She turned to face Jean Paul as he came running around the corner. His expression was just as eager and intense as she’d known it would be. No one had more passion for his work than him. Except maybe herself when she was working at the hospital. But there was no way she’d go to the lengths Jean Paul did to get his own way. She ignored his pleading expression and firmly shook her head. “No, Jean Paul. You know I have another part-time job I have to do tonight. I can’t give you any more time today. I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow afternoon, and that will have to be good enough.”
“Just call in sick to that stupid hospital for one more hour.” His tone was wheedling. “I feel really good about where my painting is going today. But I need that wonderful face of yours to inspire me.”
“Too bad,” Celine said. “I need enough money to pay my share of the rent for my apartment and my lessons here at the studio.”
Jean Paul frowned. “You could probably make much more if you posed for nudes here at the studio. I’ve already offered you twice as much as I’m giving you for that portrait I’m doing now. You can’t be making much interning as a resident. Besides, why would you want to take care of a bunch of boring patients when you’re an artist yourself?”
Celine shook her head in exasperation. “I’m only an artist because I’d be bored silly if I had to just sit there mindlessly while I was posing for you. And those patients aren’t as boring as you’re implying. Everyone has a story, and I can help them. Not to mention that at least I’m actually learning something worthwhile.” She made a face. “And I appreciate that I’m inspiring your genius, Jean Paul, but I prefer to do it with my clothes on.”
Barnaby suddenly chuckled. “You tell him, Celine.”
Jean Paul gave him a dirty look before he smiled at Celine. “But it’s such a terrible waste. Give me a chance and I’ll make a goddess of you.”
“I’ll pass.” She headed for the door. “There’s not much call for goddesses in today’s workplace.”
“There would be for you,” Jean Paul said. “Well, if you change your mind, be sure to let me know, and I’ll make arrangements with studio personnel.” He was turning and heading back toward his studio.
“Don’t hold your breath.” She glanced again at the security guard, who was still chuckling. “Stop grinning, Barnaby. He actually means it. It’s quite a compliment to have an artist want to make you into a goddess.”
“Yeah, sure,” Barnaby said. “I was only thinking what a great pickup line it was.”
“But it only works if the artist is as good as Jean Paul,” Celine said. “There has to be a certain substance connected to it. Good night, Jean Paul.”
He nodded gloomily as he wandered back toward his studio. “Tomorrow, Celine. Don’t be late.”
She grimaced as she headed for the rear door. “That takes a good deal of nerve,” she murmured. “Considering he’s probably made me late for my shift at the hospital tonight.”
Barnaby was frowning. “Do you want me to call you a cab, Celine?”
She shook her head as he held the door open. “Nope, I don’t believe you understood that I’d have a problem with that. Cabs persist in requiring me to pay them. I’m strictly a subway girl.”
“You sure?” he asked. “Want me to walk you to the subway?”
“No, don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. By the way, how are your wife and kids doing?”
“Great. Judy said to tell you hi and thanks for the books for the kids.”
“You’re welcome. Books are important. They can change our lives. They were my best friends while I was growing up.” She hurried out the door and said over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Barnaby.”
She was already walking quickly down the street toward the subway a few blocks away.
It was a cold night, and the streets were deserted now that most of the shops were closed and the rush hour was over.
Not quite deserted—she could hear footsteps on the street behind her. Strange. She hadn’t seen anyone when she’d come out of the studio a few minutes ago. But now she definitely could hear the rhythm of those steps on the sidewalk several paces back.
Was it her imagination that their rhythm seemed to be keeping pace with her own stride?
Was someone following her? She increased her speed.
The footsteps on the street behind her did the same.
Okay, someone might be following her. Nothing to get in a panic about, Celine thought impatiently. It wasn’t the first time. It probably wouldn’t be the last. Boston was a big city, and it had its own share of stalkers like any town. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t take care of herself. She just wished this particular creep would leave her alone. She took a quick look behind her. The only person on the street behind her was male, tall with dark hair, and wearing a brown jacket. There was something vaguely familiar about him… Maybe this wasn’t the first time this asshole had decided to follow her to or from the subway? It was possible she might not have noticed him if he’d blended in with a crowd.
Which also meant she could have a decision to make. Should she take off at a run and try to make it to the subway, where she knew there would probably be a crowd? Or would it be better to go back to the studio where she knew Barnaby, the security guard, would be at the door as usual. That might be best. Even though Barnaby was only a security guard, the sight of a man in uniform could sometimes intimidate people who mistook them for regular police. She took another quick glance behind her. Now the man’s demeanor had suddenly changed. He was walking steadily, purposefully, almost stalking her.
She didn’t like it.
And he was speeding up now, and his gaze appeared to be focused on her. She was beginning to feel threatened. Had the creep finally made his decision? It appeared so, she thought impatiently.
Well, so had she. She whirled to face him.
He continued to come toward her. “Don’t run away from me, pretty lady,” he called out mockingly. “I just want to talk to you.”
“And I don’t want to talk to you,” she said curtly. “Get lost.”
“I can’t do that. I have my orders.” His hand fell on her shoulder. “Now just calm down and we’ll get along fine.”
She stiffened. “Don’t touch me.”
His hand pressed down on her shoulder. “I’m trying not to hurt you. I just need you to come with me and—”
She lowered her head and threw all of her weight into a rolling clinch, a move she’d mastered long ago. She’d started Muay Thai classes as a way to relieve stress in her undergrad days, but she’d never used it in self-defense.
Until now.
Her attacker staggered back, then hurtled toward her. She stood her ground and swung her right leg in a high roundhouse kick, hitting him squarely in the throat. He wheezed as he tried to pull oxygen past his crushed windpipe. He fell to his knees.
It couldn’t be that easy, she thought.
It wasn’t.
Another man stepped from the shadows. He was taller and more imposing than the first guy, and his bearing suggested a steely confidence. “Impressive,” he said as he gestured toward the man writhing on the sidewalk. “But I’m afraid you’ll still have to come with me, Celine. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll do it, missy.”
“Missy?” Celine moved her feet apart in the classic Muay Thai fighting stance. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
The man smiled. “Far be it from me.”
Celine nodded down to the first attacker, who was still gasping for air. “I’m pretty sure that your buddy here will survive, but he’s in bad shape unless he gets help. Why don’t we end this right here? I’m a physician. I can help him.”
The man shook his head as he uncapped a syringe. “A generous offer, but he’s on his own now. You’re the only one I care about.”
She lightly bounced back on her heels. “Wow. With friends like these…”
The man rushed toward her and jabbed at her with the syringe.
Oh, hell no…
Celine performed a series of matrix dodges to avoid each jab, anticipating his thrusts and countering with perfect ducks and weaves. But she had to do more than just avoid his attacks; she had to parry.
She ax-kicked his forearm and sent the syringe flying. She jumped forward.
What was it that her old master used to say?
Oh, yeah. Unleash hell.
She cut loose with a series of elbow strikes to his kidneys and midsection in a targeted barrage that made her realize that her medical training was as important as her exercise routine right now.
The man doubled over and grunted in pain. Before he could recover, Celine grabbed his wrist and flipped him over to the ground. She pressed her knee onto his throat and bore down with her entire weight.
She leaned down and stuck her fingers in his eyes and he screamed with pain, reaching out with his fist to strike blindly at her midsection. Time to get away before he fully recovered and decided to go after her again.
She jumped to her feet and ran back toward the art studio.
She heard him screaming and cursing behind her as she flew down the street.
Then she reached the back entrance and threw open the door. “Celine?” Barnaby was suddenly beside her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I just ran into a little trouble with some jerks out there. I guarantee they got a hell of a lot worse than I did.”
“Where is she? I’m going to kill her.” The door was flung open again and Celine saw the man who had been chasing her burst through the doorway. “You bitch! You could have blinded me.” He was wiping the blood away from his eyes and nose. “And I think you broke my nose.”
“You attacked me,” Celine said coldly. “I think we’re even.” She gestured to Barnaby. “My friend here doesn’t like to have women threatened by strangers when his job is to keep the clients of the art institute safe while they’re creating their work.”
“You’ll pay for this.” He was still almost screeching as he wiped the blood from his face.
Barnaby shook his head and stepped between the attacker and Celine. “Not one step more.”
“Or what?” the man snarled.
“You don’t want to know. The police are already on their way, but trust me, I’m your biggest problem right now.” Barnaby’s fingers closed around the nightstick on his belt. “Turn around and cut your losses.”
“You’ll stay out of my business if you know what’s good for you.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door. His lips curled as he glared over his shoulder at Celine. “And this isn’t the end. No one treats me like that. I’m going to see that you suffer for it.” He turned and threw open the door, and then he was gone.
“Ugly,” Barnaby murmured. “Did you really do all that damage?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my fault. I’d never seen him before tonight. I did what I had to do to protect myself. He followed me and then he attacked. I don’t allow anyone to touch me. So I showed him that he should keep his hands to himself.” She frowned. “But he might have seen me before tonight. He looked a little familiar.” She remembered something else. “And he called me Celine when he made his move on me before I had to almost punch his eyes out.”
Barnaby chuckled. “I’m certain he deserved it. We wouldn’t want him to be too familiar. But where did you learn to mete out that kind of punishment?”
“My father was a colonel in the army. I was an army brat who traveled all around the world with him before he was killed in Afghanistan. Some of the places were fairly rough, and he wanted to make sure that I could take care of myself if he wasn’t around. Everywhere we went, he made sure I learned from one of the locals before we moved on to the next place. He taught me everything I needed to know about the fine art of self-protection.”
Barnaby nodded soberly, his gaze studying her face. “I can see why he’d want you to know how to protect yourself. You’re so damn stunning, he probably had to contend with the entire U.S. military by the time you were grown.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he had a few problems with me because of something like that. But he made sure I knew that the outside meant nothing if I wasn’t smart enough to have people admire me because of what I’d studied and knew, not what I happened to look like. That was just window dressing.” Her eyes were suddenly twinkling. “Just to remind me, he always had a photograph of Einstein set up in my bedroom at whichever base we were sent. We studied his work together.”
Barnaby chuckled. “Wasn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Maybe for some people. But I kind of liked it. Haven’t you noticed how much Einstein resembles a distinguished grandfather?”
“It never occurred to me. All I remember is that he was very good at making bombs.”
“I guess you had to have been there.” She was still smiling in reminiscence. “Einstein and I became very good friends. I preferred him to any of my schoolmates’ latest rock stars.”
“That must have been pretty tough competition.”
“But excellent training. I’ve found most people prefer not to have to deal with people who they might have to compete with on any level. They find it uncomfortable.”
“They find it uncomfortable? Or you do, Celine?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been taught to appreciate the value of staying in the background from all those years of learning how to protect my independence. It’s much easier to keep a low profile by ignoring conflict.”
He grinned. “You make the attempt, but you don’t succeed. You obviously can’t even walk down the street without causing a riot.” He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. “But it’s not your fault. The world is just full of scumbags who think they have a right to reach out and grab when they see something they want. I hate to see him just walk away.” He frowned. “Will you at least let me walk you back to the subway and then call me when you reach the hospital? It will make me feel better.”
She hesitated. “I think you’ve intimidated him. It’s probably not necessary to—” She saw his expression and stopped. Why not let him be the hero who chased the villain away? “Of course. Thank you, Barnaby.”
“Good. Wait here until I go tell my boss I’ll be gone for the next thirty minutes or so. But it’s really you who intimidated that bastard.”
“It’s not too late. I find I’m very curious why he went to the trouble of finding out just who I was.” She was already reaching for her sketchbook. “I’m also a pretty good artist, remember? I’m not nearly as good as Jean Paul, but there’s no reason why I can’t do a fairly decent job of sketching that asshole. His face is practically engraved on my memory.” She suddenly giggled. “Particularly his eyes! Lord, he was angry! I bet that I can have this sketch done by the time I finish my shift at the hospital tonight. I’ll drop it by here tomorrow night, and you can turn it in to your friends at the police department and see if you can get a name for us. Okay?”
He nodded and headed down the hall. “I’ll look through the mug books myself. We’ll get him, Celine.”
She smiled wearily as she watched him hurry down the corridor. Barnaby to the rescue, she thought. It was good to know that after those moments of ugliness that she could turn to a man as solid and good as Barnaby and have him there to help. It was almost like having her dad back again. It just went to show that the ugliness would fade away, but men like Barnaby would still be there.
She opened her sketchbook and then closed her eyes for an instant, trying to reme. . .
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