Favoured Friends
Part 42/51

Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.

Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Monday, September 22, 2003

The ride to Sid Ifni was bumpy and dusty. Every dip and rut in the seldom-used road sent a jolt through the bed of the antiquated military truck and straight into the bones of its passengers.

Sydney winced, moving a hand protectively over the tender stab wound in her back as it throbbed in time to the pulse of the washboard road. Dim moonlight seeped into the otherwise shrouded truck bed thanks to a missing panel in the canvas roof, letting her somewhat see the bedraggled forms of her three companions. And she had to admit, their appearances didn't do much for her confidence.

Beside her, Derek wasn't in much better shape than herself, grimacing at the bumps, but doing his best to keep up his tough guy persona and conceal the fact. Directly across from them, Preston and Claudia sat side by side. Claudia had cuddled up next to the Englishman, wrapping both her arms around one of his and burying her face into his shoulder. And as for Preston… He seemed oblivious to the secretary clinging to his arm. His expression was nearly blank, his eyes locked without focus toward the front of the truck. It wasn't hard to guess what, or rather, who, was foremost in his mind.

Sydney felt a pang of compassion, knowing that as close as she was to Nigel, Preston was still his brother… a brother with a guilty conscience, and that was something she could identify with. Logic dictated the situation had been out of her control from the start, but she still wasn't able to quit blaming herself. She could still see Nigel innocently sitting at his desk, happy and healthy before she'd sprung the idea of the Egyptology conference on him.

A sudden jolt rippled through the truck, and the rhythm of the road changed, becoming quieter and much smoother. They must have at last hit pavement, leaving behind the ruts and grit of the sandy dirt road and bringing them ever closer to Sid Ifni. As though the pavement hardened her resolve, Sydney packed her guilt into a neat mental box and slammed the lid. The blame game wasn't something she had time to play, she had to focus on the here and now.

Overall, she had to say their situation had gotten worse. Davis Campbell would be a problem, he was homicidal and irrational and, more than likely, not entirely sane. At least with The Viper, she'd had a vague idea where she stood, but with Campbell… she might as well be tap-dancing across a minefield. And there was something else about him that bothered her… the photograph Amarja had shown them.

While unconscious on Dr. Rashid's couch when the woman poured out her story, Sydney had heard about the picture from Claudia and asked to see it during the trip from Cairo to Algeria. She'd easily recognized Dr. Reynold, but Campbell, or at least, the young man Amarja claimed was Campbell looked nothing like the one currently holding them captive. It wasn't only that their coloring was completely different and their ages seemed at least five years apart… things that might be explained with make-up… but their heights were wrong, something decidedly harder to disguise.

Artie Reynold had been about 6'1" and in the picture, standing by the professor's side, Campbell appeared nearly two inches shorter, making him roughly 5'11". But this Campbell --the one carting them off into the darkness-- was easily over six feet tall, probably taller than Reynold's 6'1".

So what did it mean? He definitely hadn't been working with The Viper, of that Sydney was entirely certain. But if he was the real Campbell, who had been the young man in the picture? And why had Amarja lied about his identity?

Any further speculation was cut off as Derek cleared his throat and pushed himself up a little straighter. He knew Campbell had told them `not to make a peep', but it was doubtful he could hear them talking from the enclosed cab… not to mention that road noise and the racket of the grinding truck gears made eavesdropping a lost cause.

"All right…" he started. "So what's our next move?" Hints of fatigue rang in his voice, and while he probably wished their next move was to a luxurious hotel with a soft bed and no wake-up calls, he'd never let anyone doubt he was ready for action. "We can't be far from Sid Ifni now… What does anybody know about this place?"

Sydney was about to answer, and was surprised when Preston'svoice came across the truck and did it for her. "It's a relatively small town," he supplied in a tired note, having at last snapped out of his self-imposed funk. "I'd say roughly fifteen thousand people live there. It's literally right on the coast, although it isn't a major port. I'd imagine there's a few fishermen in town, although quite a few people in the area are nomadic herders." He paused for a moment and shrugged in the darkness. "Aside from a few historical bits, there isn't much more to tell."

Derek made a grunting noise implying he was considering the information. "What about the local government? The police?"

"I don't know." Sydney exhaled. Local politics and practices were always hard to feel out, especially without any actual interaction. "Probably about the same as anywhere else in Morocco," she finally answered. "Which beats anything we'd have found in Algeria." She paused again and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Not that it really matters… we can't go to the authorities anyway unless we do something about Campbell."

"Easier said than done right now." Derek pointed out rather needlessly.

"He's completely mad." Preston reminded them. "You saw what he did to the girl… He killed her rather than surrender."

Derek shifted position and winced at the stiffness in his chest. "Probably because The Viper would've killed him either way."

Preston furrowed his brow. "No," he objected after a moment of thought. "I don't think he would have been killed if he had given up."

"Yeah right," the agent retorted in a scoff. "What makes you think that?"

Preston tried not to narrow his eyes at Lloyd's tone. "Something he told me on the plane," he answered flatly, remembering The Viper's words about pointless killings. "I'd rather not go into it now, but it was something I believed." And there was also another reason. "And I don't know if anyone noticed or not, but back there when Campbell threatened to shoot Nigel, The Viper actually protected him."

Sydney felt her face slacken as she mentally replayed the scene from the airstrip and realized Preston was right. The Viper had moved in front of Nigel, shielding him from anything Campbell might have done. There were of course, a million reasons why he might have done it… it could have been part of his strategy to keep Campbell distracted, or maybe he'd wanted Nigel alive to help him find Ichriem. Still… no matter the reason, it had happened. "You're right Preston, but we don't know why he did that, and we don't know what he would have done with Campbell… But I think we can pretty well guess what Campbell might do to us."

"So what are we going to do about it?" Claudia joined in at last, raising her face from Preston's shoulder. There was no trace of surrender in her voice. She may have indulged in a moment of self-pity, but she'd cried silent tears she'd never claim against Preston's robe. "Can we overpower this guy?" she suggested hopefully. "I mean, there's five of us counting Nigel, and aside from the guy driving the truck, Campbell's alone."

"It's no problem if we can get the gun away from him." Derek assured her. "No problem at all," he muttered to himself, clearly looking forward to the moment.

~*~

Meanwhile, oblivious to the conversation going on behind him, Nigel sat in the cab of the old military truck, sifting through his options and studiously trying to ignore Davis Campbell.

At the moment, he was neatly tucked between his captor (who occasionally waved a pistol in his general direction) and a semi- large Moroccan man who kept a very large cigar clamped between his teeth. The Moroccan remained quiet, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, he grinned every time the truck hit a particularly bad bump, but never lost his grip on his tobacco. Obviously a man of talent.

Ahead of him, through the dusty and bug splattered windshield, Nigel could already see the glowing lights of Sid Ifni. In a few short minutes, they'd be in the city and then on a boat bound for Mer de Tueur… and somehow the killer sea never sounded more ominous.

*Okay Nigel, think.* He shifted his glance to Campbell, and was irritated at the self-satisfied expression on the other man's face. *He thinks he's already beaten us,* Nigel thought darkly, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of infuriation.

Since the whole bloody ordeal had started he'd been threatened with death more times than he'd care to count. He'd been kidnapped, drugged, hauled across the world, drugged some more and then hauled across a desert. He'd been rescued only to see his brother shot before his eyes… only to eventually be recaptured by The Viper all over again less than 24 hours later. Which was of course, not to forget everything Sydney and even Derek Lloyd had been through.

Nigel was sick of it. His friends and family were suffering because they'd been trying to save him… Well, now it was time for him to return the favor.

Campbell was distracted at the moment, lazily holding the gun in his right hand and balancing the barrel on his left forearm. He obviously expected his prisoner to do nothing except sit still and be a good little terrified captive.

And he could just go on thinking that, because his good little captive had a different idea.

"Ooooh." Nigel moaned, suddenly wrapping his arms around his stomach and leaning forward slightly.

Campbell didn't express much concern. "What's wrong?" he asked snidely. "Not enjoying the ride?"

"Ooh," the young Briton moaned again. "I think I'm going to be ill," he muttered, doing his best to sound miserable. "Can't he drive any slower?" He kept himself bent over, turning to glance up at his captor.

"Of course he can," Campbell smirked. "But if I've learned anything from digging up worthless crap in the sand, it's that history waits for no one." He gave Nigel a critical glance. "Don't think about throwing up," he warned, perhaps realizing he had no control over certain things. "Once we stop, you can puke all you want, but don't do it in here."

"Oooh," Nigel lamented, shifting position slightly. He was doing an excellent job acting if he did say so himself. "I don't know if I'll be able to wait that long." And when he'd leaned about as close to Campbell as he thought he could get, he doubled over again, giving the impression that he truly couldn't wait. And just as he predicted, Campbell backpedaled, pushing himself back against the passenger door.

Nigel pounced, shooting out his hand and gripping Campbell's wrist, twisting it to push the nose of the gun down and simultaneously throwing himself across the other man and pulling on the door release. The door flew open, creaking against its hinges and letting in a gush of dry wind, and with his weight already against it, Campbell promptly lost his balance, slipping from the seat and flailing for a new hold, dropping his gun in the process.

"Help me you idiot!" Campbell screamed at the driver, desperately clinging to a seatbelt strap to keep from falling completely off the truck. His feet dangled inches from the road, and his attempts to gain footing back in the cab were met with vicious retaliation.

The Moroccan slowed down to about 30 mph but didn't stop, in fact, he started to laugh, taking the opportunity to at last remove the cigar from his teeth. "I never like you." He said in a broken accent, then he grinned, displaying a less-than-perfect set of teeth. "And I no idiot. You idiot for paying only half my dirhams*." And with that, he dramatically stuck the cigar back in his mouth and turned his attention back to the road.

Nigel nearly stuttered in disbelief, but with the driver out of the way as a threat, he snatched Campbell's gun and pointed it at his adversary. "Next time perhaps you'll pay the man what you should." And changing positions, he braced himself against the doorframe and kicked one last time. Campbell lost his grip on the strap, and like something from an old movie, fell from the truck with grasping hands and a strangled curse.

Nigel surged forward in a scramble to peer around the doorframe and see his former captive roll to a stop in a shallow ditch on the roadside. Given the truck wasn't going very fast, he was certain Campbell was still alive... after all he himself had jumped from moving vehicles traveling much faster. At best, he'd bought them all some time. He knew Campbell was a man obsessed and wouldn't let a trifle like falling off a truck interfere with his ultimate goal.

Leaning over, he grasped the handle and pulled the door shut, cutting off the rush of dry wind and creating an odd calm in the cab. He stuffed the pistol in his waistband and glanced over at the driver, who he discovered was glancing back at him.

"I take you there no charge." The man chuckled as though he'd just witnessed the funniest thing he'd ever seen. And perhaps he had… he'd just seen David bring down Goliath. "That," he referred to the fight, "worth pay."

Nigel leaned back in the seat, feeling his adrenaline rush slowly ebb and taper back to normal. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He paused, feeling a little redemption and a touch of pride for the first time in over a week. "I know I did."

End Part Forty