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Chapter 3
Smoke rises from the barrel of my rifle. A buzz in my head washes away the irritation of my dry, sandpaper skin. For a week I’ve lived inside a partially buried box in the desert, only crawling out under the cover of darkness to relieve myself. I’ve subsisted entirely on protein bars and warm bottled water. During the day, I roasted. At night, I froze. I barely slept. Auditory hallucinations started by the second morning. If not for my men checking in on the walkie-talkie, I might have lost it. We kept each other sane.
“One target left,” I say. “Keep him pinned down. I’ll approach on foot.”
“Understood,” Henrik and Stanislaw respond in unison.
I’ve been looking forward to this part for a week. More than the look on Anton’s face, more than the catharsis of peppering his ride with bullets — more than witnessing his realization that he would be dead if I wanted him dead. More than all of that, I’ve dreamed of getting out of this fucking box, standing upright and hoisting my rifle like a championship trophy. Today, Anton learned that he’s not in control of the world anymore — that the days of his unchallenged reign are over.
Should I have simply killed him now and dealt with the consequences later? I had a clear shot from the moment he stepped out of his Hummer. I could have gutted him and made sure he died slowly — but this is about more than revenge. Before every move I make I ask, If I do this, what will happen to Kate? Her life is tied to Anton’s — if not electronically than for all practical purposes. I can’t kill Anton until she’s safe.
The plan to free her will take time, it won’t be easy and it won’t be bloodless — but it’s going to work. It has to. It kills me that she’s out there waiting. Every second she rots in Anton’s prison is an outrage. However, if Anton has even an inkling of a suspicion that she’s somehow helping me, he will kill her and everything I’ve done in the past months will be for nothing. I’ve let out a lot of fury on the shooting range; I’ve nearly knocked punching bags off their chains. I hate having to wait, but I know Kate will hold on.
I skirt the line of bullet-riddled cars so that the last man standing doesn’t have a clear shot at me. He mumbles to himself as every few seconds another bullet smacks a windshield or hood. By the time he hears my footsteps, I’ve got my rifle trained on him. There’s blood on his black suit, but I don’t think it’s his. Short-haired, clean-shaven and steady of hand, he has ex-military written all over him.
“Hands up,” I say. “Toss your gun.”
He yells at me in Arabic until I fire a warning shot into the sand.
“Stop it. I know you’re not some fanatic. You’re a mercenary who worked for an arms dealer. So let’s talk. What’s your name?”
“Nasir,” he says, tossing away his AK.
“How would you like to survive today, Nasir?”
“Fuck you. I’m not a fanatic but you killed Hamza. He was a good man. He paid us well; he took care of his people.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, glancing at my men as they approach. “But Hamza was about to sell weapons to a monster.”
“Then why didn’t you shoot the monster?” Nasir growls.
It’s a fair question.
“Because I can’t kill Anton yet,” I say, as a vehicle rises over the dune in the distance, heading toward us. “And if he thinks Hamza was the primary target rather than himself, that helps me too. I admire your loyalty to your employer. If you wish to die with honor, I can make it quick. If you have a family, I can see that they’re taken care of.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’ve seen families destroyed from losing a father.”
Nasir nods, turning to look at the black, armored van that slows to a stop near the tables full of missiles.
The driver steps out with a handgun drawn, ready for any surprises.
“We’re clear, Eyal,” I say.
“Death,” he replies, surveying the spent bullet casings and the havoc rained on Hamza’s SUVs. “Well executed.”
“Start loading the missiles,” I say. “And get the laptop Anton’s man used. I want to be wheels up and exiting Saudi airspace in an hour.”
“Understood.”
I turn back to Nasir.
“If you come with us, there could be a job in it for you. No promises, but otherwise I have to shoot you.”
“Can I think about it?” he asks.
I’d laugh, if I thought he was joking.
