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“Welcome back, brother.”
Rapp reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes—something he’d learned never to be without when traveling in Muslim nations. At the same time, he slid a knife from his waistband and held the blade flat against his forearm. It was probably more stealth than necessary in light of the fact that the guard was completely hypnotized by the pristine pack of Marlboros. As he leaned in to reach for one, Rapp flicked the knife out and ran it across his throat. The motion was so subtle and the blade so sharp that the man didn’t immediately seem to notice.
Rapp guided him to the ground facedown. A foot between his shoulder blades kept him from splattering them as he bled out.
“Are you all right?” Rapp asked Mohammed.
“Yes. Of course.”
There was no question that Rapp’s companion had seen a great deal in his life. But there was a difference between seeing and participating. He hadn’t panicked or run, though, and that was worth something.
“Then let’s go.”
As they started toward the entrance to the building, Rapp instinctively raised a hand to activate his throat mike but then remembered it wasn’t there. Just like his body armor, night vision gear, and, most critically, his silencer. It wasn’t quite as bad as going up against a group of well-armed jihadists with a stick and a rock, but it was close. At least sticks and rocks were quiet.
They stopped outside the door and Rapp leaned into Mohammad’s ear. “Remember, we belong here. Until we’re sure those kids are locked away upstairs, anyone we run into is our best friend. All you have to do is translate for me just like you did with the guard. If you stay calm, all this will be over in a few minutes.”
After a nervous nod, they entered a lobby decorated with a bullet-ridden plaque commemorating the school’s opening. Dim, widely spaced bulbs strung together with extension cords provided enough illumination to navigate but not much more. Rapp led, bloody knife still held against his forearm.
They stayed in the center of the hallway, walking casually through a litter of crayon drawings that recalled better times.
“Left just ahead,” Mohammed said.
Rapp strode into the narrower corridor, slowing when he noticed that the doors along the right side contained windows. Some had intact glass and others shattered, but all the rooms they looked onto were dark. He moved quickly to the first, peering inside at a classroom full of overturned desks.
The next one looked similar, but with one critical difference visible near the center: a lone cot with a man asleep on it. Rapp was about to continue on when he spotted a shadow moving among the desks piled against the far wall. His hand moved subtly toward the gun in his waistband but then his mind identified the vague shape. A girl, probably not much older than Anna, naked and shivering.
Rapp felt his anger building again, but he pushed it aside. There would be time to let it out soon enough.
Footsteps became audible approaching from the west and Rapp turned away from the window, motioning for Mohammed to remain calm.
The armed man who appeared around the corner looked a hell of a lot more serious than the guard at the gate. Rapp computed the distance between them and tried to figure the odds that he could hit him with an underhand knife throw. Before he could finish his calculation, though, the man shouted at him in thickly accented English.
“Eric! I saw you in the square, but I could not reach you in the crowd!”
Rapp was starting to enjoy his newfound fame. Maybe they’d throw him a party and he could pop every one of these pieces of shit while they were cutting the cake.
“Brother!” Rapp said, throwing his arms around the man, despite the AK between them. It was tempting to use the knife, but their joyful reunion was generating too much noise. Someone was bound to hear the commotion and come to see what it was about.
“Why are you here, Eric?”
“General Mustafa has returned me to the team,” Rapp said excitedly and then pointed to Mohammed. “This is my new friend. He translates for me when it’s necessary.”
“God be with you.”
“And you,” Mohammed replied.
“You really must learn our language, Eric. This is your home now. We are your people.”
“I know,” Rapp said. “You’re right.”
The door that he had peeked into earlier was suddenly thrown open and the man who had been sleeping on the cot appeared.
Rapp raised a hand in greeting, but Mohammed was startled by the sound and spun, firing an automatic burst into the man’s chest.
Rapp’s new buddy, despite having an assault rifle hanging across his chest, hesitated. With no other option, Rapp used that delay to drive his blade into the back of the man’s head.
“Get to the girls!” he said, dragging the body toward the open door Mohammed was frozen in front of.
