A sharp blow struck Julian on the back of the head sending a lightning bolt of pain through his brain. Julian stumbled forward, dropping his gun. A man fell on his back, unloading punches to the side of Julian’s head, back and sides. Each blow sent a series of pain radiating and rocking through his body. Pushing up from the ground, Julian managed to land an elbow to the man’s arm, knocking him off kilter. Flipping over to his back, Julian reached for his knife as the man grabbed for Julian’s fallen gun. Slipping the butterfly knife from his ankle holster, Julian jerked his arm in a wide arc, slicing the rebel across the throat.
Blood spewed from the man’s neck, spraying across Julian’s face. The man grabbed at this throat. An awful gurgling noise emitting from his mouth as he tried to breathe, stumbling backward down the hallway toward the open side door. Julian reached for his gun and took one shot, hitting the man in the center of his chest.
Wiping blood from his goggles, Julian stood and turned, glancing into room two. Empty.
His steps cautious, Julian approached room three. Enzo should have entered the compound through the window of room three, but Julian hadn’t seen or heard his friend yet. To his left, across from the open door of room three, the wall ended, revealing an opening into the large room in the middle section of the structure. Rebels might be hiding in that room, waiting to ambush him. Inching slowly to the edge of the wall, Julian—
Gunfire sliced out of room three. Julian dropped to the floor. Return gunfire blasted from the large open room back toward room three. Julian couldn’t see the shooters. He stayed low, hoping Enzo was alive inside room three and would win the shootout.
Further down the hall, Glaze emerged from room five, squatting low against the back wall, waiting for the battle to end. Neither of them could risk surprising Enzo or join in the shootout without being able to positively ID which blasts were coming from their friend.
After several more rounds, the shooting ended. Julian held his breath, his weapon extended, waiting to see who would emerge. At the other end of the hall, Glaze did the same. They had to be careful. One wrong move and they could end up killing Enzo instead of a rebel.
A hand extended from room three, then clenched into a thumbs up sign. Standing to his feet, Julian approached room three as Enzo stepped into the hallway.
“Any sign of the hostages?” Enzo asked.
“Rooms one and two were empty,” Julian responded.
“My room was empty. No sign of them in there either,” Enzo said, pointing toward the large open room of the middle section of the compound.
“Male dead in room five. Isaac Gatobu. Only room four left, but I don’t hear any sounds coming from there,” said Glaze.
Julian moved forward, motioning for Enzo to follow. He knew what the men were thinking. One last chance to find Mena and Wangari. One last chance to find out if the intel had been accurate or if Tubeec Hirad had made a fool of them as well.
Glaze held back, holding position to provide cover fire in the hallway if any militants showed up. Walking along the side wall, Julian dropped low before swinging around to face the opening.
Wangari Irungu cowered in a corner, her eyes wide with fear as tears streamed down her face. A rebel stood behind her with hands raised. The man nodded toward a gun laying on the floor a few feet from where Julian stood.
“No gun,” the rebel said. “I give up.”
Julian stood and beckoned for Enzo and Glaze to follow. He entered the room, gun trained on the rebel.
“Julian? Is that you?” Wangari asked. Relief spread across her face.
Julian saw no sign of Mena.
Glaze moved past him and reached a hand toward Wangari, helping her to stand. Enzo picked up the discarded gun from the floor and placed it at the temple of the rebel.
“The other woman you kidnapped. Where is she?” Julian demanded, raising his gun toward the man’s face. His heart pounding, he stroked the trigger with his finger.
“I don’t know. She escaped.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Inhaling deeply, Tubeec savored the pungent scent of urine filling the air as the soft trickle of liquid pattered against the metal floor of the hollowed-out van. He slid his thumb against the hard ridge of the laryngeal prominence and pressed his fingers into the neck of the hacker who went by the name, Garbo.
Tubeec had contemplated paying the arrogant fool for his services, but had realized quickly that money, as usual, was not the best motivator. Power and fear could incite and compel far better than currency. Undetectable precision and excellence was needed for this delicate task and the fear of being tortured for days before dying was creating an intense focus within Garbo.
Minutes ago, Tubeec had completed the exchange with a contrite Okeyo Lagat. Every piece of evidence the DPP had on Deputy President Kipsang Rono was copied onto a flash drive. Okeyo had followed his instructions perfectly, ditching the ASF Agents assigned to accompany him and delivered exactly what Tubeec wanted.
The consequence of any double-cross was clear.
“If this flash drive does not contain the evidence, you will watch your beautiful wife being murdered live on the morning news,” Tubeec had warned Okeyo.
Okeyo assured him that he’d handed over everything they had on Rono. The only thing left was for Tubeec to implement extra insurance in case Okeyo was lying. Even if Tubeec didn’t end up with the evidence against Rono, he needed to make sure that the Office of the Department of Public Prosecutions, ODPP, didn’t have it either.
Garbo had set up shop across the street from the ODPP House on Ragati Road waiting patiently for Tubeec to return. The van was obscured toward the back of a nearby parking lot, with a direct view of the building surrounded by ivy-covered brick walls and barb wire.
