The Anubis Plague полностью

Ifza’s face soured. “As it were, an individual with a typical, uncompromised immune system can fight off sickness at a much higher success rate. That is what you and the others are here to confirm. We believe that the ancient plague is far deadlier to someone like you.” She smiled. “We hope to correct that limitation.”

“But,” his mind swam, “why me? Out of all the people with Celiac, why me?”

“Oh,” Ifza replied, failing to hide her smile, “that is a simple explanation.” She leaned over Grant, lusting over his body. It wasn’t his fit body, or good looks, that attracted her to him. She was getting off on seeing him in his current condition. “You can blame your involvement here on Zahra Kane.” Ifza leaned away from Grant. “She killed some of my dearest friends back in London. The least I can do is return the favor.” Ifza headed off. “Welcome to the cause, Mr. Upton. Your eventual sacrifice will not be in vain. We will learn much from you. You should count yourself lucky.”

“Oh, yeah,” he asked, his head clunking back down to the table, “why’s that?”

Ifza gazed over her shoulder, her eyes alight with fire. “Because you have been kept alive for much longer than the others. If it were up to me, I would have already cut your head off and mailed it back to your family.”

The Cessna’s twin turbines came to life. Zahra shielded her eyes against the early afternoon sun, as well as the dirt rushing from the aircraft. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses and waited for Cork to give her the all-clear.

“Are we ready?” George asked, shouting over the noise.

Cork slid open her side window and stuck out a skyward pointing thumb.

Zahra patted her father’s shoulder and hefted her bag. “We are!”

The concussive sound died down as Cork killed the engines and climbed out of her plane. She rejoined her team over by the entrance to Vincenzo’s hangar. The local was smiling wide, and for good reason. He had just gotten off the phone with his buyer. The man, Giorgio, was supposed to be coming in by boat later in the day to collect his prize. In six or so hours, Vincenzo was going to become a millionaire.

Zahra, her father, and Cork packed up their gear, but still had one thing to take care of.

“What are we doing about a runway?” George asked.

Vincenzo climbed into his truck and started it up. His window slid down. “Stefano has taken care of it.”

“He has?” Zahra asked.

“Si, signorina.”

There was no further explanation. The mechanic threw the vehicle into reverse and carefully moved it to within inches of the Cessna’s front strut. He and Cork then went about hooking up his winch and tow cable to the plane, just as they had the day before. Wherever they were about to lug the plane, apparently, it was an area they could use as a makeshift airstrip.

After taking a right out of Vincenzo’s property, they drove for half a mile before taking a second right. Then, they took another right a mile after that. The rising sun was on Zahra’s right, telling her they were headed north. The two-lane road was in good condition, and based on the absence of traffic, she guessed it was from its lack of use, and not due to recent refurbishment. Up ahead the roadway split, and sitting directly in the middle of the fork, was a squad car with its rooftop lights flashing. No siren accompanied them. The vehicle’s owner was leaned up against the trunk lid, arms crossed.

Vincenzo rolled up to the officer and lowered the windows.

“Good morning, Stefano.”

The two men shook hands. The police chief greeted everyone else with a quick wave.

“Hello, Vincenzo. Are we ready?”

The mechanic turned and looked back at Zahra. She nodded. “Yes.”

Vincenzo opened his door and hopped out of his truck, closely followed by Cork. Zahra and George were last to exit the vehicle and joined Stefano over by his squad car with their gear.

“We’ve cleared the way for you until you are in the air,” Stefano explained in heavily accented English. “Just follow this road to the north.”

“That’s our runway?” George asked, appalled.

Stefano shrugged. “It is the best we can do for you unless you are willing to load the plane onto a ferry and head to Trapani. That could take all day, though.”

“No, this’ll do.” Zahra put a reassuring hand on her father’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Cork can handle it.”

“I ‘can handle’ what?” the pilot asked, stepping over. She had not heard anything.

“The takeoff,” George replied. He jabbed a finger to the left-hand road. “Down that.”

Cork turned and faced the narrow roadway. Even Zahra could tell the Cessna’s wings were barely going to stay clear of the trees growing off to either side.

The pilot shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Shouldn’t?” Stefano asked, standing straighter.

“She says that a lot,” George muttered, keeping his eyeing off the pilot.