Free Rules of Betrayal by Christopher Reich

around her cuffs. She squinted, watching one of the policemen attach the other end of the chain to the rear bumper of the prince’s Mercedes.
    “No,” she said, hearing a desperate voice cry out inside her. “Please. I’m—” She rose to one knee, but the car was already accelerating. The chain grew taut and yanked her to the ground.
    The prince drove slowly across the desert floor. He dragged her over rocks and thistles and sage and sand gritty enough to peel paint. When the pain was too much, she lost consciousness. Against her will, the waking world found her. She didn’t know how many times she passed out or how long they drove, only that at some point she was no longer moving and someone had removed the handcuffs.
    A hand slapped her cheek and she opened her eyes. Stars glistened like tears in the sky above.
    The prince glared down at her. “If your friends know so much about me, surely they’ll figure out where I took you. The question is, my darling, will they find you before the sun dries you out?”
    Emma watched Rashid climb into his car and drive away. The sound of the motor faded. In a minute the desert was silent.
    She was alone.
    And then pain began in earnest.
    Emma put her hands to her stomach and cried.

9
    For an instant, shocked silence ruled the cave chamber.
    “What the hell did you do?” gasped Jonathan. “You killed him! Jesus Christ!”
    Hamid paid no attention to his words. The scalpel was no longer in his hand. In its place was his cell phone. Oddly, he was pointing it at the nearest guard. There was a bang and a flurry of blood and the guard dropped to the floor. The phone was a concealed handgun. Before Jonathan could react, Hamid fired at the second guard, another head shot delivered with devastating accuracy. The guard fell backward, colliding with Sultan Haq, who was scrambling for his rifle.
    “Who are you?” asked Jonathan.
    “Watch it!” Hamid shoved Jonathan to the ground, turning as he did so to fire at Sultan Haq. There was a welter of gunshots, one on top of the other, the explosions painfully loud in the confined space. Bullets ricocheted off rock. Someone cried out. Jonathan covered his head. As quickly as it had begun, the gunshots died. The air quieted and he looked up. Haq was gone, as were the two remaining guards.
    “Get a rifle.” Hamid picked up one of the slain guards’ AK-47s, checking the magazine and making sure that a round was chambered. “We’ve got to move before they can regroup.”
    Jonathan rushed across the room and pried the machine gun from the dead warrior’s fingers. He had too many questions to ask, so he didn’t ask any.
    “You know how to fire it?” Hamid asked.
    “I’ve plinked at some cans.”
    “Great, they told me you’d done this before.” Hamid snatched the weapon from his grasp, released the banana clip, rapped it against his thigh, then shoved it back into the stock, finally flipping the rifle onto its side and chambering a round. He was no longer the shy, whining doctor in training. This was another Hamid altogether. He was bold, decisive, and thoroughly professional.
    “You’ve got a full mag,” he said, slamming the rifle against Jonathan’s chest. “Fire low and in short bursts. Now come on. We’ve got to get our guys before Haq takes care of them.”
    Jonathan stared at the elder Haq’s corpse, then at the rifle in Hamid’s arms. The scope of the operation came to him in its entirety. Hamid worked for Division, and Division had used Jonathan as cover to put their operative in place to kill Abdul Haq.
    A volley of automatic-weapons fire rattled through the cave. Hamid poked his head into the dim passage. “Stay on my tail. When I move, you move. Ready?”
    Jonathan nodded. He was shaking badly.
    Hamid slid the barrel of the machine gun around the corner. With crisp, practiced movements, he leaned into the cave and fired at the ceiling. The lightbulbs shattered. Darkness was immediate. There was a breath of wind