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“Mitch?”
“It wasn’t one of the guards.” He’d known this conversation was inevitable when he’d come back for Mohammed and his people. And he’d made his decision about what to say long before he’d set out for Iraq. Laleh deserved to have her story known. Her real story.
“Who then?”
“I shot her. The general was bleeding out on the floor. His guards were going to take her.”
He wasn’t sure how Mohammed would react but was surprised when he just sank a little deeper in his seat.
Where the fuck was that patrol? Anything would be better than having to sit here and talk about Laleh. He was just starting to be able to sleep through the night without her memory jerking him awake.
“I know what ISIS does to women who defy them,” Mohammed said finally. “Like you, I’ve witnessed it personally. And I’ve seen what’s left of their bodies after.”
He put a hand on Rapp’s shoulder. “Me and my brother are the only people left from my family. And on behalf of both of us, I want to thank you for having the courage to do what had to be done. I know how hard it would be for an American. Even one like you.”
A set of headlights appeared from over a rise in front of them and Rapp tried to determine whether the road’s shoulder was solid enough to divert onto if the oncoming patrol tried to block them. Not a chance. The sand had drifted into a soft ridge alongside the roadbed and ahead it grew into a low cliff.
“What are we going to do?” Mohammed asked.
“Nothing. For now, just sit there.”
The intensity of the headlights grew until Rapp had to pull down the visor in an effort to protect what night vision he had. He eased as far right as he could and hovered a foot over the brake in case the patrol turned sideways in the road. At one hundred yards it became clear that the vehicle was similar to their own—a small pickup with two men in the cab and more standing in the bed. Unless the driver was an idiot, he would resist the urge to do anything sudden out of fear of throwing his men into the road.
At fifty yards Mohammed reached for the pistol in his waistband. “Are you sure we shouldn’t—”
“Don’t do anything.”
He heard Gaffar shout a greeting that wasn’t returned. The men in the truck just stared at them as they passed. Rapp drifted back to the center of the road, focused on the rear view mirror. Twenty-five yards. Fifty . . .
Suddenly the men in the bed of the ISIS truck crouched to steady themselves.
“Shit . . .”
“What?” Mohammed twisted around in time to see the truck skid ninety degrees to a stop.
Rapp shoved the accelerator to the floor without much effect as the truck behind them struggled to turn around without getting bogged down.
“Take the wheel,” he said, throwing open the door and stepping onto the running board. He found Gaffar already in motion, gathering mags from the terrified people around him.
“All right, listen to me,” Rapp said to Mohammed as the man slid into the driver’s seat. “We’re going to start up the hill and when we circle behind that cliff, you’re going to slow down enough for me and Gaffar to jump. Use the parking brake—we don’t want the brake lights to go on. Do you understand?”
He gave a jerky nod, keeping his hands locked around the wheel at two and ten o’clock. Rapp swung into the bed and accepted an assault rifle along with three magazines.
“What’s the plan?” Gaffar shouted over the wind.
“We’re getting out. You take the high ground to the east of the road. I’ll set up in the sand to the west. You shoot first—drive them to me.”
Gaffar nodded.
The patrol vehicle finally managed to turn around and its engine was audible as the driver pushed it to the limit. Unlike the little service vehicle they were stuck in, the one chasing them was a late-model Toyota Tacoma. By the time Mohammed got them around the cliff and started to slow, the patrol truck had already cut the distance between them in half.
Velocity was hard to judge in the dark, monochromatic landscape, so Rapp looked through the back window, waiting for the speedometer to reach fifteen miles an hour. When it did, he threw his AK over the side and jumped out after it, clearing the road and landing in the softer sand at its edge. Gaffar, heavier and less athletic, came up short and hit harder, rolling across the road surface before coming to a stop.
Rapp scooped up both weapons and ran to him.
“You alive?”
“I’m fine,” he said, rising unsteadily.
