The Red Room by Ridley Pearson Read Free Book Online

is sandblasted from all sides. Cars choke and die, windshield wipers swat at the dust like horsetails, car horns honk at double-parked vehicles blocking traffic. The leaves of the roadside plane trees rattle like the inside of a rainstick. Knox coughs. Shamir spits as he attempts in vain to screen his eyes.
    Hunched forward, they stumble up the sidewalk, battling a directionless wind, caught in vortexes that suck all the oxygen out of the air. Knox chops at a wall of swirling sand, hoping to part the curtain.
    Instead, it envelops him in an airless cocoon with a dust so fine it seeps through even the wet fabric to be ground between his teeth.It tickles his nostrils; stains his taste buds with a foul mixture of street grime, desert sand and the dung heap of humanity crushed into a fine powder and snorted. He tastes tobacco, rubber and motor oil, all behind a tinge of latex he doesn’t want to think about.
    Shamir points across the street. They cut through a line of motionless traffic. Nothing is moving but the air and the street signs, many of which are losing their coats of paint as if in slow-motion animation.
    They take shelter against a wall. The wind quiets. Coils of sand swirl at their feet. Plant life clings to crevices, whistling as if crying to hold on.
    The sudden peace is shocking. He and Shamir hesitate before charging back into the stinging roar. Knox clears his sunglasses, pockets of trapped sand cascading down his cheeks.
    “Not good,” Shamir says.
    Knox understands him perfectly.
    “Bad,” Knox says.
    By now Knox is wondering about his choice. He might have fought harder to hold his ground at the hotel. The truth is: he loves this shit. The more difficult an op, the more he has to celebrate. But he worries he’s come off as soft to Shamir, that the man will report back to Akram how easily Knox was convinced to battle the elements for a meeting or a phone call. Due to the language barrier, Knox is still not convinced which it is to be.
    It isn’t weather for standing around, and the man’s movement catches Knox’s eyes. He’s off to Knox’s right somewhere, sometimes visible, sometimes not. Knox’s first glimpse of him was from across the street as he and Shamir left the hotel. At the time, he stood out as an anomaly. Who hangs around outside in such conditions? Survival dictates taking shelter.
    Initially, Knox assumed the man was awaiting a ride. But now,the same man is huddled against the sting of the sand, facing away from Knox and into the skin-shredding torrent. But Knox feels the eyes in the back of the man’s head. He considers the value of the Harmodius. Is there a group of art thieves after the treasure, too?
    Knox signals Shamir back into the sandblaster. They push ahead for a block, Knox not looking back.
    As they round a corner, Shamir again extends a finger, this time pointing to a swinging shingle sign at the bottom of which, below the Arabic, says in English: INTERNET ! WI - FI !
    Knox waves the man on ahead. Shamir hesitates, encouraging Knox forward. Knox speaks some of the few Arabic words he can command: “Go! Wait.”
    Shamir doesn’t like it, but he trudges ahead anyway, entering the café.
    The man following Knox is made careless by the storm. He’s blind, head down and craned forward in a determined stride. A thick wave of airborne grit envelops the street. The man is a step off his game. Knox hits him from behind. He’s good: he manages to drag Knox down with him. It isn’t instinct. It’s training that allows a move like that. It’s like trying to fight on ice. Knox fails to land an effective blow; he is slow to dodge a fist that catches his shoulder. They wrestle and roll. Knox’s glasses are dislodged; he can’t see a thing. Feels like he took a spoonful of salt in both eyes.
    He wipes the grit from his eyes while clenching a fist. Deflects a blow and lands a sharp jab to his opponent’s kidney, buckling him. The guy lands an elbow to Knox’s head; damn near