Dead Six (16 page)

He didn’t see me. I fired. A fat .44 slug tore through his head, splashing the airbag with blood. I fired again, putting a bullet into the passenger. He looked dead, but I wanted to be sure.

There was a third man in the backseat. He sat up, obviously dazed. There was a cut on his forehead; blood was pouring down his face. He placed his hand on his head as he came to, not noticing me at first, but he froze when he saw the big .44 leveled at him. His eyes went wide. My hand was shaking. I could hear sirens in the distance. We had to go. We weren’t supposed to leave witnesses. I pulled the trigger again. The terrorist disappeared behind the door in a small puff of blood.

My ears were ringing. My heart was pounding. I was injured.
The Calm
had worn off, and I was half in shock. I took a deep breath, reloaded, then holstered my revolver. I moved to the passenger’s side door of our pickup. Tailor was starting to come around, but he was in a daze.

“C’mon, bro, we gotta split,” I said. “Cops are coming.”

“Yeah . . . yeah . . . okay . . . You get ’em?”

“I think so. C’mon, let’s go!” I grabbed the SR-25 and its carrying case from the backseat. My shoulder screamed in protest as I hefted the rifle, but I didn’t have time to worry about it. Tailor stumbled and nearly fell down but was able to retrieve his backpack, his carbine, and the spare magazine he’d dropped onto the floor of the truck. We then hurried away from the scene of the crash, heading up the street a short way before turning into a narrow alley.

Rounding the corner, we were immediately illuminated by headlights.
Oh, hell.
The vehicle, a small French Renault, came to a stop just under a streetlight. I could see the driver. He appeared to be a Westerner.

Not sure what to do, I leveled the SR-25 at the Renault. “Get out of the car!” The man hesitated, then raised his hands, seemingly in shock. I squeezed the trigger. The suppressed rifle cracked thinly in the night air, and the Renault’s left-side mirror exploded as a 175-grain match bullet tore through it. “Now!” I ordered. The driver stepped out of the vehicle. I lowered my rifle and moved toward him. “I’m sorry,” I said without looking at him. “We need your car.”

“Bloody hell! Just take it! Don’t shoot!” He was British.

Tailor stepped up to him. “Drop your cell phone,” he said levelly, even though he still looked a little wobbly.

“Are you mad? You’re taking my car, do you have to take my bloody mobile, too?”

I’m not going to repeat the swath of obscenities that Tailor let out at that point, but an instant later the unlucky British man dropped his phone onto the ground. Tailor stomped on it, smashing it.

“Get out of here!” he yelled. The terrified man ran off down the street.

“You drive,” I said.

“Why?”

“I’m
bleeding,
that’s why!” I said as I tossed my weapon into the little French car’s backseat.

“Fine,” he said. We got in, Tailor put the car in gear, did a three-point turn in a narrow driveway, and we took off down the alley, away from the crash scene, just as the police arrived.

LORENZO

We drove south toward our apartment. After a few minutes I was positive that nobody was after us. Our vehicle was as bland and common as could be had in this city, even though Carl had worked it over so that we had some speed on tap if necessary.

Carl’s Portuguese accent was a lot more pronounced when he was enraged. “Everybody knows Falah’s dead. We’re screwed!” he bellowed as he slammed his fist into the steering wheel. His eyes flickered back to the mirror as the sound of a siren went behind us, but it was heading for the scene of the crime and not our way. He continued, slightly calmer. “What now?”

“Pull over.” My mind was racing. The mission depended on making Al Falah disappear. “Nobody has to know he’s dead.”

“And how’re we supposed to do that, genius?” Carl pulled us into the lot of the Happy Chicken on Bakhun Street and parked the van behind a brand new Audi A8.

I got on the radio. “Reaper. Come in.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

“You’ve got the police band. Figure out where they’re taking Falah.”

Carl’s eyes studied me in the rear-view mirror. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me . . . No. You’re not,” he sighed. “We’re gonna die.”

“Eventually.”

Reaper was back in a matter of seconds. “Security forces are freaking out. How many people did you guys kill down there?” I looked at Carl and held up two fingers. He gave me one back, but he used his middle finger. “Never mind. Ambulance is en route to the hospital in Ash Shamal under police escort.”

I glanced back the way we had come. The hospital was just off Bakhun, which was the major four-lane through this peninsula. The ambulance would have to pass us. We could still intercept them. “Reaper, I want you to flood their emergency system with calls. Give them a bunch of shooters randomly killing people at the
north
end of Ash Shamal,” I ordered. Carl looked at me in confusion. “Let’s see what we can do about that police escort.” Zubara was a relatively quiet city by this part of the world’s standards. If they just had a bunch of people get popped in the district, they would be quick to jump at another call.

“Too late.” Carl glanced back. “I hear sirens. Here comes the ambulance.”

Through the window, I saw a pudgy, well-dressed Zubaran approaching the Audi with a sack of fast food in hand. He raised his key fob, and the car’s alarm beeped. “I’ve got an idea.”

There was no time for subtlety. I slid open the van door and hopped out. I could hear the sirens now, too. They would be passing by any second. The driver of the Audi was just sitting down as I caught the closing door with my body. He looked up in surprise and started to say something. I grabbed the keys from his hand, slugged him hard in the mouth, and jerked him onto the pavement.

The Audi started right up with a purr. I slammed it into gear and roared out of the parking lot. A dozen cows had given their lives for this interior. “Nice car,” I muttered as I shifted into second. Oncoming traffic had to stomp the brakes to avoid hitting me, then I was out on the road, northbound, the GPS told me in Arabic.

On the other side of the divider a police car zipped by, blue lights flashing, heading south. Right behind it was the ambulance. Zubaran emergency vehicles used that obnoxious European-style siren. I grabbed the radio. “Carl, I’ll take the cop car. Run the ambulance off the road!” I shouted as I cranked the wheel and gunned it over the mound of dirt that served as the divider. German cars have great suspension but I still managed to almost bite my tongue off as I crashed onto the southbound lane. I hastily put my seat belt on. The GPS told me I had just done something very bad.

Drivers in this part of the world didn’t pull off to the side for emergency vehicles. If you’re dying in the Middle East, don’t do it during rush hour. Traffic here was a constant battle of wits and honking horns. The ambulance was weaving between cars ahead of me. A Toyota tore off my passenger-side mirror, and the driver honked. Revving the powerful engine, I was doing sixty by the time I passed the ambulance. The police car, some little Euro sedan, was right ahead of me. The Audi pulled alongside effortlessly.

The cops glanced over in confusion. The look here for security forces was Saddam Hussein-style mustaches and big mirrored shades. I drifted right into them, slamming into their side, shoving them hard to the right. The cops started yelling, and the passenger was going for his gun. I drifted left a bit, then swerved back with more energy, smashing the hell out of their little car.

The driver overcorrected, turning too far to the side, and the car spun out of control in a haze of rubber smoke before crashing violently into the rear end of a parked SUV. I applied the brakes and came to a smooth stop.

The cop car was at an angle, sideways, half on top of the other vehicle. Those guys wouldn’t be causing me any trouble for a bit. I could see the flashing lights of the ambulance as it slowed to a crawl behind me. Stepping on the clutch, I shifted into reverse. “Carl, where are you?”

“Right behind the ambulance,”
he replied.

“Hit the brakes,” I said as I stomped on the gas. Even in reverse this car was pretty damn quick. I braced myself as the Audi’s trunk collided with the front of the still-moving ambulance. My world came to a violent lurching halt. The rear window shattered and glass ricocheted around the cab as the air bag knocked the shit out of me.

It took me a blurry second to get the seat belt unbuckled and to collapse out the door into the street. Got to hand it to those Germans, they crash test their stuff really well. I staggered to my feet and pulled my gun. It wasn’t necessary though. The ambulance crew were groggily moving, knocked silly by the impact. The siren was still wailing.

Carl was at the back of the ambulance, dragging Al Falah’s corpse out. The cars around us had stopped, and there had to be at least a dozen eyes on us. I limped around the back to help. “Hurry up,” Carl grunted as he pulled the limp body toward our van. I grabbed his legs and lifted. He weighed a ton. We got to the van and tossed him inside, I was in right behind.

The van’s tires squealed as Carl got us out of there.

VALENTINE

Al Khor District, Safe House 4

March 26

2355

Tailor and I were surprised to find Gordon Willis waiting for us back at the safe house. As before, the big guy named Anders was with him, giving us a hard stare but not saying a word. Suffice to say, Gordon wasn’t happy. The two of us sat on folding chairs in the middle of the big house’s living room while Hal, one of our medics, worked to patch us up. I was sitting there, shirtless, as Hal worked on the wound on my shoulder. All while Gordon royally bitched us out.

It turned out Gordon’s cool demeanor came unraveled when he was mad. It was a little amusing to see the smooth-talking slickster sputtering and raising his voice. Yelling didn’t really suit him. He wasn’t unhappy about Al Falah; we’d done quite well in that regard. As we described what happened, I could see the anger in his eyes. We failed to kill the secondary target Khalid. We lost our vehicle and had to exigently acquire a new one. Worst of all, we were
seen
.

I honestly don’t know what the hell he expected. We were ordered to do the hit in public in the middle of the city; of
course
it was going to make noise. I thought that was the
point
.

Looking over at Tailor, I could tell he was kind of tuning Gordon out too. As Gordon blathered on about operational security and his expectations of us, Hunter stood quietly in the corner. Sarah leaned against the wall behind him, looking at me with an expression on her face that I couldn’t read. I wondered what she was thinking. One of Hunter’s security men stood by the door, giving Anders the stink eye.

After a few minutes of ass-chewing, Gordon visibly shifted gears, and the slickness returned. He plopped down on the couch across from Tailor and me and began to speak once more as I put my T-shirt back on.

“Well, what’s done is done,” Gordon said, straightening his tie. I wondered why in the hell he was wearing a suit. “Now we need to focus on the next mission. I need you two to be ready to move on this in a few days.”

Tailor and I looked at each other. I
was
able to read the expression on his face. I had a bad feeling too. “What’s the next mission, sir?” I asked.

“Ms. . . . uh . . . McAllister, right? Ms. McAllister, would you hand them the mission packets, please?” Sarah rolled her eyes and stepped forward, handing out manila envelopes to each of us.

“Your next mission will be pretty simple, boys. You’re going to return to the social club you snatched the younger Al Falah from and clean it out. The other two men in your chalk . . . um . . .”

“Wheeler and Hudson,” I interjected, my voice flat.

“Yes, Weiner and Hudson,” Gordon replied, “will be rejoining you for this one. It’ll be a straight-up enter-and-clear. Are you up to it?”

I sighed and looked over at Tailor. He nodded at me, ever so slightly. “What’s the plan, sir?” I asked after a moment. Tailor and I listened as Gordon went over the plan. He droned on for a long time. The man sure liked listening to himself talk. He asked us if we had any questions.

“When do we roll on this?” I asked.

“In the next few days,” Gordon said. “Word will be sent down soon, so be ready to go on short notice. Anyway, gentlemen, I need to get going.” Gordon stood up. Tailor and I followed suit. Gordon shook my hand vigorously, squeezing tightly, then did the same to Tailor. He then nodded at Anders, and the two of them strode out of the room.

“You heard the man, boys,” Hunter said after Gordon was out of earshot. “Be ready. The order to move will come down without much warning. You’re going to be operating at a high tempo for the time being. I need you boys to stay sharp. No alcohol, no sneaking off, nothing that will slow you down, until further notice. Tailor, I need you and Valentine to plan your routes to and from the target building, including contingency plans. I trust things will go smoother this time?”

“It would’ve went smoother if we’d had some backup,” Tailor said.

Hunter shook his head. “Gordon had the rest of your chalk on a wild goose chase. We sent a dozen men to hit a building, and no one was even home. Complete waste of time, unlike your next job, where I can promise you’ll have a target-rich environment.”

“Roger that, Colonel,” Tailor said.

“Outstanding.” Hunter turned to the medic. “Hal, you’re coming with me. Singer’s chalk is coming back from a mission tonight, and they’ve got some injuries. The doctor could use your help.”

Hal nodded and began to pack up his jump bag. “Valentine, make sure you change that bandage in the morning,” he told me. “I’ll check you out when you get back to the fort.”

“Sarah, do you want to come back to the compound tonight, or do you want to come back tomorrow?” Hunter asked.

“I, uh, need to pack my stuff, Colonel,” Sarah said, seemingly surprised by the question.

“That’s fine,” Hunter said. “You can ride back to the fort in the car that brings Hudson and Wheeler here. Let’s go, Conrad,” he said, addressing his security escort. It was the first time I’d heard him name one of his bodyguards.