Sandstorm

8:36 P.M.

SAFIA HADbeen forced to her knees, hands on top of her head. Cassandra crouched behind her, a pistol pressed at the base of her skull, another pointed toward the entrance. They both faced the doorway, poised tensely on the far side of the chamber. The grave mound stood between them and the exit.

With the explosion, Cassandra had extinguished the lights and sent Kane out a back window. To circle around. To hunt down Painter.

Safia clenched her fingers together. Could it be true? Could Painter still be alive, be somewhere out there? If that was so, had the others survived? Tears welled. No matter what, she was not alone. Painter had to be out there.

Gunfire still rattled from beyond the compound.

Fires cast the night in crimson and shadow.

She heard the beat of helicopters, spatters of automatic fire.

“Just let us go,” Safia pleaded. “You have Ubar’s location.”

Cassandra remained silent in the dark, her full attention on the door and windows. Safia didn’t know if she had even heard her plea.

From beyond the door, a shuffling sound reached them.

Someone was coming. Painter or Kane?

Across the doorway, a large shadow passed, lit momentarily by the lone flashlight still out in the courtyard.

A camel.

It was a surreal sight as it sauntered past, soaked by the rain. In its wake, a woman stood framed in the doorway, naked. She seemed to shimmer in the crimson glow of the nearby fires.

“You!” Cassandra gasped.

In one hand, the stranger carried the silver case containing the iron heart. It had been resting just outside the door.

“No you don’t, bitch!” Cassandra fired her pistol, two rounds, deafeningly close to Safia’s left ear.

Crying out from the painful sound of the blast, Safia fell forward onto one of the prayer rugs. She rolled a step away, toward the grave mound.

Cassandra followed, still firing at the door.

Safia craned up, her head ringing. The doorway was empty again. She glanced sidelong to Cassandra, who’d assumed a shooter’s stance, both pistols pointed toward the open door.

Safia saw her chance. She grabbed the edge of the prayer rug, which she now shared with Cassandra. In a swift motion, she lunged up, dragging the rug with her.

Caught by surprise, Cassandra toppled, her feet going out from under her.

A pistol fired.

Plaster shattered from the ceiling.

As Cassandra fell backward, Safia dove over the grave mound and rolled toward the door. At the entrance, she leaped headlong over the threshold.

Another blast.

In midair, Safia felt a kick in her shoulder, shoving her around. She hit the ground and skidded in the mud. Her shoulder burned. Shot. Panicked, reacting on pure instinct, she rolled to the side, away from the doorway.

Rain washed over her.

She scrambled around the corner, pushing through a hedgerow to enter the narrow alley between the tomb and the ruins of the prayer room.

As she reached cover, a hand from behind reached out of the darkness and clamped over her mouth hard, bruising her lips.