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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Badawi was standing next to the sedan with a handgun raised over his head.  When Rickards turned, Badawi slowly lowered it and pointed it through the glass directly at Mona.

“Stop!” he yelled.  “Enough!”

The men continued to converge around Rickards as Badawi used the butt of the gun to smash the sedan’s side window, showering pieces of glass over Mona.  He then reached in to unlock the door and yank it open.

He grabbed her arm and forcefully dragged her out onto the pavement.

Losing sight on one side again, Rickards finally relented and reached behind himself for the gun.

It was gone.

Badawi would have liked nothing more than to kill them all, especially the American standing in front of him.  But Khoury had been very clear.   No one was to be harmed—particularly the girl, when found.

But he could still threaten to shoot.  Which he did, until his men had surrounded and restrained Rickards face down on the ground.

Four held him down with a large foot against the side of his head while the others extracted both Mona and Eshe, dragging them each to one of the SUVs and climbing in after them.

From the ground, Rickards watched through one eye as the truck doors slammed closed, just before one of Saad’s men brought down the missing gun on top of Rickards’ head.

Blackness.

68

68

“Joe… can you hear me?”

It took Rickards a long time to finally hear the words, which were followed by a blinding glare as he tried to open his eyes.  With an audible groan, he closed them again and reached up a hand to touch the back of his head, which was swollen, painful and damp.

He tried to speak, but his mouth struggled to form the words, leaving him to acknowledge the others through a simple grumble.

He tried his vision again, wincing at the bright light of a lamp high above him.  At least both eyes appeared to be working.

Rolling his gaze to one side, he found Angela’s worried face leaning over him.  Townsend was on the other side.  Behind them were more he didn’t recognize.

“Can you hear me?”

He nodded and carefully tried to move his jaw.  “Yes.”

“Good.  Do you know what your last name is?”

Rickards blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the glare.  “Presley.”

Above him, Townsend peered worriedly at Angela, who simply shook her head.  “Very funny.”

“Where am I?”

“On the street.  You were knocked out.”

Rickards managed a nod and with a groan, rolled onto one side of his body—searching.

The SUVs were gone, replaced by several other cars.  Passersby who had stopped to offer help.

“Are they gone?” he murmured.

“Yes,” Angela answered.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

He rolled back and gazed up at the night sky past the glare of a streetlamp, feeling exasperated.  “How bad is it?”