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“Amy…get off, damn you.”
“Only if we reach an understanding,” I whisper. “No more keeping me out of the loop, no more trying to leave me behind. We’re in this together. I want your vow that the nonsense is over.”
“The nonsense is over,” he says. “You have my personal word. You will be at my side throughout the duration of this mission.”
I almost get up, but quickly say, “And I’m the one who determines when the mission is completed, correct?”
“Christ, you’re heavier than you look,” Jeremy says. “Yes, you’ll make that determination. Now will you get me up? I think my face is in a pile of dog shit.”
“All right,” I say, keeping my voice low, looking down the trash-filled alley. “Where to now?”
He coughs, and in the dim light he really does look like crap. But I don’t feel bad. He tried to dump me and got what was coming to him.
He wipes an arm across his face. “We go see Nassim.”
“Oh,” I say. “So the mysterious Nassimexists.And who lives in the place with the yellow shutters?”
“His cousin Ali,” Jeremy says.
He steps out of the alley and I join him in the narrow street, the sounds of radios and televisions coming out from the dark homes, dogs barking, some folks talking loudly or shouting. Across the street, two men huddle in a doorway, smoking; they give us a long, unfriendly look as we quickly stroll by.
Jeremy says, “This part of Lebanon is mostly Maronite Christian. They don’t like outsiders. Those types are usually Hezbollah or smugglers.”
“Thanks for the commentary,” I say, staying close behind him. “Then let’s get inside and make them feel better.”
We jog down to the right, to an even narrower street, where Jeremy finds a recessed doorway with a little grilled window set near the top of a heavy wooden door. He stands by one side of the door and I stand by the other.
Jeremy hits the door twice with his fist and calls out a quick phrase in Arabic.
Something slides aside from the top grill, letting a little beam of light shine out.
A man’s voice replies from inside, the Arabic muffled.
Jeremy replies, louder this time and a bit more frantic.
No answer from inside.
He hits the door again with his fist and—
The door bursts open and at least two men reach out and seize him, then drag him into the house and start closing the door.
I move fast. The door slams shut on my left booted foot.
There’s yelling inside and I lean back and slam in with my left shoulder and hip, getting the door wide enough so I can go through it. As I push my way in, I recover my MP5 from underneath my coat and bring it right up, and now I’m in the entryway, taking in the whole mess in one quick glance.
Jeremy, facedown on the floor, a man squatting on his shoulders, a pistol at the base of Jeremy’s neck.
Another man, also on the floor, kneeling, pointing a pistol at Jeremy.
And a third man, halfway through another door, AK-47 at his side, but he can’t bring it into play because the doorway is too narrow. There are narrow carpets on the stone floor, another closed door, flickering lights, and the scent of incense and something cooking.
Three armed men and me.
Outnumbered, but I’m definitely not outgunned.
But it’s a stalemate for sure.
Chapter23
