The Viper strode through the bustling streets of the small Algerian town, smoothly blending into the crowd like a native son. A casual observer would be hard pressed to single him out as a foreigner among the teeming masses.
Darkness had fallen upon the city. The sun had set over an hour ago, but the merchants were still out in full force, their tents and carts and meager storefronts lit by lamps or dangling light bulbs. They had no intention of missing a potential sale... daylight or darkness meant nothing when it came to making dinars.*
The Viper dodged the multitude of indigenous peddlers with seasoned ease, never giving one the chance to give an Arabic `hello', much less start a sales pitch. It was a skill honed to a fine art by the locals, people who spent most of their time beating off the merchants with a proverbial stick. If any of the local-yokels actually owned any of the second-rate goods available on the street corners, he'd be more than surprised.
Sidestepping a grizzled man eagerly selling glass beads, the mercenary crossed the street, making eye contact with no one yet seeing everything around him. A few more minutes and he'd be back at his hotel... his second such residence in the same day. True, this one was five times as run down as his earlier choice, but it served its purpose as a temporary holding cell, and The Viper definitely wouldn't be checking in for the night.
Not only did he have decidedly higher standards, but the point was moot: Before he went to sleep he'd be away from this desert rat nest and safely in Sid Ifni.
The meeting with his pilot had gone well. With no commercial airport within fifty miles, the plane was stationed just outside of town, repaired and ready to go. He smirked as he thought of Sydney Fox, without a plane she'd be forced to find alternative transportation. Even if she found a taxi or bus to take her to a distant airport, she'd still be hours behind him. All he needed to do was collect his cargo and he could be on his way. The advantage was his.
He lowered his head as a swirl of wind pushed by with a loose cargo of grit and sand. With a grimace, he raised one hand to help shield his eyes.
He hated the desert.
Hated the way the heat swept over a person like a thermal blanket in summer. Hated the way the sun beat down as though it had nothing better to do. Hated the way impromptu sandstorms billowed out of nothingness and abraded everything in their wake.
And to top it all off, he hated camels.
In a normal situation he immediately doubled his fee if it required even the slightest jaunt into a desert, but for his Ichriem buyer... well, he made an exception. The potential half-billion dollar payoff was enough incentive to not only trek across the Sahara, but do it with a smile.
Arriving at the outer door of his hotel, he pushed it open and tried to ignore the dank smell of mildew and rotting drywall that drifted through the hallway. To call the place 'a dump' would be a noble compliment. He imagined Nigel Bailey would have something appropriately droll and crisply British to say about it. The kid had been interesting, without a doubt one of the most memorable hostages he'd ever taken. Nothing like his replacement.
Lloyd was the product of government training and conditioning and had counterparts all around the world who were probably mirror images. The United States, Russia, England... no matter what country dispensed them, 98% of spies were alike. They were fast thinkers, quick shots, easy liars, and above all, they hated being caught unaware... they hated being caught period. It was a social taboo in their elite inner sanctum, a dark blotch on their record of subterfuge.
The only fun in kidnapping spies was to see how good they were, how fast they'd give in, how soon they'd talk and spill the secrets they'd trained so long to keep. Lloyd was obviously a good spy, The Viper would give him that, but even good spies had a breaking point.
Approaching the door to his room, he reached in his pocket for the key and froze before his hand was halfway there.
The door was already partially open.
Quicker than lightning, he swore and drew his gun, kicking the door and sending it slamming into the wall behind it with enough force to embed the doorknob in the crumbling plaster.
Bursting in the room, his eyes flicked around the interior and his foreboding suspicion was confirmed: Derek Lloyd was gone. He swore again, a vicious string of obscenities that would make his grandmother turn over in her grave.
How could he have been so careless? So sloppy? Leaving Lloyd, a man trained to escape the inescapable, alone and relatively unrestrained... What the hell had he been thinking? That the drug would be enough to keep the agent down? He'd learned long ago never to underestimate an enemy, and he'd just seriously underestimated Derek Lloyd.
Pacing the room and hastily weighing his options, the mercenary happened to glance down and notice a piece of glass lying discarded on the warped hardwood floor. Retrieving it, he turned it over in his hand, seeing the traces of fairly fresh blood around the jagged edge. Clever. *So that's how you got away Mr. Lloyd.* As irritated as he was, The Viper managed to summon up a wisp of grudging respect for the agent's resourcefulness.
Lloyd had probably escaped over half an hour ago, and The Viper knew exactly where the man would go... back to Sydney Fox and her little entourage. The good professor was probably still in her hotel, but would no doubt be planning a hasty retreat at any time, especially if Lloyd made it back to her. It was a problem, but no problem was without its solution.
Going back to Fox's hotel was out of the question, it would not only be stupid, but also pointless. He knew he'd never be able to recapture Bailey or Lloyd here... the situation was wrong, the rhythm was off. His decision was plain: He'd continue as though nothing had happened and fly to Sid Ifni as planned. He knew where Ichriem was, and sooner or later, Fox would come to him.
He'd bide his time, the way he always had, and as it always had, the method wouldn't fail him.
Studying the piece of glass in his hand once more, he abruptly drew back his arm, hurling the bloodstained shard against the wall, and smiling as the shattered pieces fell to the floor.
End of Part Thirty Four
*Dinars are the currency of Algeria. One dinar is equal to about 74 cents in US money.
Go to Part Thirty Five.