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In spite of himself, Mukhtar laughed loudly. There weren’t many men who would have dared to defy him.
The Quds commander ordered his men ahead to clear the way. Mukhtar looked at his watch. Only a minute and forty-one seconds had passed. They were making good time, but they could not afford to get bogged down. Finally, after another twenty seconds they were up and moving. Mukhtar was even more pleased when he finally got a clear glimpse of the second Suburban. It was disabled, but not destroyed. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, but the man in the front passenger seat was moving.
Mukhtar approached the vehicle to get a good look. Right there, in the middle of the back seat, he locked eyes with the director of the CIA.
“She is alive,” he said loudly as he stepped aside and pointed at the driver’s side passenger window. “Take it out.”
One of Dadarshi’s men shouldered a .50-caliber rifle and took several steps back. Everyone, including Mukhtar, covered their ears. The first shot splintered the glass and left a small hole the size of a quarter. The second shot took out a fist-sized hole. Mukhtar held up his hand, signaling the man to stop shooting. He approached the window with a smoke grenade in one hand and his Markov in the other. He pulled the pin with his teeth and stuffed the grenade through the hole. Another man was standing ready with an industrial saw in case they needed to cut into the vehicle. Mukhtar didn’t think they would need it. These men would choose survival, even if it were only for a few more seconds.
As they waited for the smoke to build up, two cars skidded to a stop just short of the Suburban. These were meant to transport Mukhtar, Kennedy, and a security detail.
“Remember,” Mukhtar yelled, “nothing happens to the woman.” He stepped closer to the truck and made sure he stayed away from the opening in the window in case one of the bodyguards decided to fire out the hole. “Come out and no one will be harmed!” He waited a few seconds, checked his watch, and started to get nervous. He was about to tell the man with the saw to go to work, when the rear passenger door opened.
One of the security men stumbled out of the vehicle with his empty hands above his head. Coughing, he was immediately thrown to the ground. The director of the CIA came out next. Mukhtar grabbed her roughly and pulled her away from the smoky vehicle. Two more men came out of the truck also gasping for air and coughing. They were thrown to the ground next to the first one.
Mukhtar yanked the hijab from Kennedy’s head and slapped her across the face. Her sunglasses went flying. She staggered for a moment and then slowly turned to face him. The man from Hezbollah looked into her eyes relishing the fear he would find, but instead was confronted with the blankest expression he had ever seen. There was no emotion in her eyes. In fact, she looked as if she had been drugged. Mukhtar slapped her again. She lowered her head for a second and then slowly regained her posture, standing up straight and staring back at him with the same flat, brown gaze.
Mukhtar forcefully grabbed her hair and dragged her back to where her bodyguards were lying on the pavement. He pointed his Markov pistol at the first man and squeezed the trigger. With all of the explosions and heavy machine-gun fire that had been going on, the relatively light report of the 9mm seemed ridiculous. The damage it caused, however, wasn’t. A pool of bloo
d began spreading beneath the man’s head. Mukhtar forced Kennedy to look at the dead man and then held her firm while he shot the next two men in the head.
“You,” Mukhtar growled in Arabic, “will do exactly as I tell you, or you will suffer the same fate.”
Before Mukhtar could pull her head up to see if he had finally gotten through, two explosions rocked the intersection just to the north. Mukhtar looked up to see one of the police vehicles aflame and another car burning.
The Quds force commander grabbed Mukhtar by the arm and started pulling him away from the dead bodyguards. “We need to leave,” he yelled over increasingly loud gunfire.
Mukhtar did not disagree. He grabbed Kennedy and began dragging her toward one of the waiting vehicles.
40
Rapp rushed down the stairs with a loaded Glock .45 in his left hand. As much as he had wanted to bring his distinctly American M-4 rifle instead, he thought it best to leave it behind. Rapp hit the landing with a thud, grabbed the railing, and started down the next flight. He couldn’t get the vision of the burning white Toyota SUV out of his head. The thing had been cut to shreds in a matter of seconds. Kennedy’s armored Suburban would fare much better, but it would not hold up indefinitely. He needed to get out there and help them.
Rapp hit the first-floor landing and reached the front door. He looked out the small window and said, “Stan, are you guys ready?” He waited to hear Stilwell’s voice over his wireless earpiece.
“Mitch, I think this is a bad idea,” Stilwell said in a worried voice. “The base says they have air assets on the way, and the quick reaction force is rolling. The smart thing to do is sit and wait.”
Rapp lowered his head. He knew this wasn’t the brightest thing he’d ever done, but sitting and waiting for reinforcements to show up while Kennedy and her people were in all likelihood dying simply wasn’t in his programming.
“Stan,” Rapp said firmly, “we’re done talking about this. On the count of three I’m coming out the door. Are you with me or not?”
“Yeah,” Stilwell groaned.
“One,” Rapp tugged on the black balaclava hood to get a better opening for his eyes. “Two,” he took a breath and told himself he was crazy. “Three,” he put his hand on the doorknob and waited to hear Stilwell and his men open fire. Right on cue there was a massive volley of gunfire. Rapp leaned his shoulder into the door, hit the small stoop, took a hard left, and started running for his life.
The first thing Rapp noticed were four men standing behind an old blue Chevy Impala that had been backed up on the sidewalk to form a makeshift barricade. All four men were pointing their rifles directly at him. Rapp had no choice but to keep moving toward them. If he stopped and went back they would shoot him for sure. If he kept rushing toward them they would hopefully think he was one of them.
As planned, two explosions rocked the opposite corner. Rapp winced as tiny pebbles of debris pelted him. The men behind the car elevated their weapons and began firing at Stilwell and his men. Rapp reached the corner and hopped up onto the trunk of the car. He slid across on his butt and was helped to the ground by one of the men.
Rapp tried to steal a quick glance at the convoy, but the street was covered in smoke. Of the four corners of the intersection this was safest. The two just to the north were getting absolutely hammered by Stilwell and the Kurds, and the fourth corner, just behind him, had received its first incoming grenade. Bodies were everywhere and confusion was spreading rapidly.
Rapp had the .45-caliber Glock in his left hand and kept it up in the air so it was there for anyone to see who might be watching. His right hand slowly slid under his shirt and drew his silenced 9mm Glock from its paddle holster. Rapp moved up behind the first man and placed the tip of the silencer right between his shoulder blades and slightly to the left. At the same time he extended his .45 and aimed it down the street. Rapp fired the 9mm and slid his right knee under the man’s butt to stop him from falling. He kept his left arm raised and angled the 9mm to the left. He fired one quick suppressed round, striking the second man in the head. He instantly collapsed. Rapp fired another shot into the third man’s head and then finally the fourth.
Rapp dropped to his knee, as if he was seeking cover. He placed his back against the Impala, and for the first time he took in the full scope of the carnage. Through the billowing smoke he saw what was left of the vehicles. His heart sank. The fourth vehicle was as bad as the fifth. The white skin was riddled with blackened .50-caliber holes the size of fists. The lead vehicle was in flames and the first Suburban was in two pieces. The second Suburban was shrouded by white smoke, rather than the dark gray smoke caused by explosives. From what he could make out, Kennedy’s vehicle looked pretty much intact.
Just beyond the Suburban, Rapp noticed some movement. There were men in black hoods moving around. He looked up and down the cross street. Stilwell and the Kurds were pounding the hell out of the militia and the few remaining cops. Rapp decided to move closer.
“Stan, I’m moving to take cover behind the last Toyota. Make sure your guys don’t shoot me.”
