World of Trouble (9786167611136) Read Free

pressed to the viewfinder. All Shepherd could see of
the man behind the camera was a blue baseball cap with CNN in red
letters above the bill, a denim jacket, wrinkled blue jeans, and a
pair of blue-and-white athletic shoes. The soundman was just to the
cameraman’s right, arms straight out in front of him, a black
microphone dangling from a short aluminum pole gripped in both
hands. Slightly behind the cameraman and to his left, hovered the
producer. She was wearing a khaki safari jacket and khaki pants
tucked into the tops of brown work boots. She had short blond hair,
a rosy complexion, and eyes the color of jade.
    As Shepherd watched, the woman sank slowly to
her knees and pressed her hands together in front of her face. She
looked as if she was so emotionally overcome by the sight of a man
shot to death right in front of her that she had been moved to
prayer. Then Shepherd spotted the dark stain on the woman’s safari
jacket, right in the center of her chest.
    She tilted her head down and examined the
stain. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
Gradually she slumped forward, twisted slightly to her right, and
laid her cheek gently against the dirty concrete of the courtyard.
A bubble of red formed on her lips, popped, and slid onto the
ground. She didn’t move again.

 
     
     
THREE
     
    SHEPHERD GOT HIS feet underneath him and grabbed
Charlie by the arm.
    “What are you doing?” Charlie asked.
    “We’re getting the hell out of here!”
    “Just stay put, Jack.”
    “We don’t know how many gunmen there are,
Charlie. They may be others, and they may have automatic weapons or
even grenades. Your guys don’t have anything but handguns.”
    “You think too much.” Charlie got his own
feet under him and started to stand up. “Just stay where you are
and—”
    A fresh volley of shots cut Charlie off.
Shepherd grabbed him and jerked him back down, but Charlie’s feet
slid out from under him and he went head first into the bales.
Shepherd heard the hollow sound of Charlie’s head bouncing off the
wooden pallet. His sunglasses flew off and caromed away across the
courtyard. Charlie sat up grunting in pain and lifted both hands to
his face. A thick line of blood appeared across his forehead.
    It was the blood that made up Shepherd’s
mind.
    Dragging Charlie behind him, he duck-walked
behind the bales until they made it to the nearest shophouse.
Inside was a single, large room filled almost to the ceiling with
more burlap-wrapped bales just like the ones outside. Shepherd
pulled Charlie toward the back.
    There was a door. He grabbed the handle.
    Locked, damn it.
    Shepherd pushed hard on the door with his
free hand. It gave slightly but didn’t open. He stepped back,
lifted his foot, and slammed it into the wood beside the lock. The
door popped open as smoothly as if he had opened it with a key.
Shepherd gave Charlie a quick glance. He seemed dazed and the
bleeding had gotten worse. Keeping a tight grip on his arm,
Shepherd pulled him into the alley behind the shophouse. He had no
idea where they were going, but he had to keep them moving.
    A right and two lefts brought them into
another courtyard. It looked a lot like the one in which they had
just been ambushed, but it wasn’t. There was a shadowy passageway
at the opposite end right next to a windowless stucco building
exactly the color of sand. Shepherd headed straight for it. The
gloom of the souk was now their friend. If Shepherd could lose them
in it, they would probably be safe. He tightened his grip on
Charlie and pulled him along.
    ***
    THEY WENT ON like that through the twisting
passageways of the souk, making random turns every so often.
Shepherd thought they were moving further and further away from the
place where they had been attacked, but he wasn’t absolutely
certain. What he was certain of was that he would know the
right way to get them out of this when he saw it.
    And then he did see it.
    Shepherd and Charlie emerged suddenly