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“As young as six. Maybe a few in their late teens.”
That was going to create a complete clusterfuck. The better part of fifty children panicking and a
ll moving at different speeds, with some of the teens trying to help the younger ones while others just stampeded over them. Not something he wanted to deal with.
“What’s our plan?” Mohammed asked.
Rapp scooted back, bringing them all in close so they could hear.
“Mo and I will go in—”
“No,” Gaffar said immediately. “I will go with you.”
Clearly the big man still didn’t trust him.
“I have to have you here,” Rapp said. “It’s likely we’re going to need cover fire when we come out and you’re our only experienced shooter.”
Gaffar grumbled a bit but seemed to understand that it was the most effective use of their limited manpower.
“What about us?” one of the geeks asked.
“Your job is to protect Gaffar and this position. If anyone comes up behind or to the sides of him, they’re your responsibility. I want to be perfectly clear, though. Under no circumstances are you to fire a gun in my direction.”
Gaffar let out a quiet laugh.
“What about the two of us?” Mohammed said. “What are we going to do?”
“Just follow my lead. Once we get in, we’re going to go straight to the back of the building as quietly as possible. Priority one is keeping those kids contained upstairs. That’s your only responsibility.”
“And you?”
“Once you make sure no kids are going to get in my way, I’m going to start killing people.”
“Alone?” Gaffar said. “With only my pistol?”
“Yes. And if everyone stays calm and does their job, we should be in and out in just a few minutes.”
Rapp slapped Gaffar on the back. “When Mustafa’s men start coming out of the building, let them. Kill shots at this distance are going to be hard and if you start shooting too soon, you’ll just drive them back under cover. Oh, and if the kids manage to get out of the building, remember—they’re the short ones.”
With that, he pulled Mohammed to his feet and they started strolling casually toward the gate.
• • •
The guard turned out to be dangerously inattentive. Rapp and Mohammed approached to within thirty feet and he still hadn’t noticed them. Startling the man wasn’t ideal, but seemed inevitable in the open terrain. The best they could hope for was to be close when it happened.
Twenty feet came and went. Then fifteen. The man remained focused on getting every last bit of smoke out of his cigarette. Maybe they were going to get lucky. Maybe this would go quiet and easy.
Then again, maybe not. At ten feet, the man picked them up in his peripheral vision and spun, clawing for the weapon on his shoulder.
“Brother!” Rapp called, continuing to approach with empty hands spread wide. Mohammed was a pace back, wearing desert garb and a headdress that revealed only his eyes. Rapp was similarly outfitted but had left his face uncovered so as not to obscure his battered face. He seemed to be at the height of his fifteen minutes of fame. Why not use it?
“Jesem?” the guard said before he could line up the rifle. The pronunciation was completely Arabic, suggesting that he spoke no English. Rapp waved Mohammed forward and put an arm warmly around his shoulders. “Translate for me, brother.”
“Of course.”
“General Mustafa has given me back my place on the team. I should have waited until morning to come, but I was anxious to rejoin my comrades.”
Mohammed translated his words and then the man’s response.
