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The man’s body went slack, and Rapp lowered it before crawling inthe direction of Nijaz. If there was someone else out there watching, he wouldn’t have seen anything more than his comrade briefly duck behind a bush and then continue on.
After another two careful minutes, Rapp managed to bring Nijaz into view. Now came the interesting part.
He lined up the weapon he’d taken from the man he’d killed and squeezed off a shot that struck the berm a few inches from Nijaz’s head. As planned, the Turk spun and returned fire. Rapp reacted by running toward the enemy shooter dug in to the north. He fired randomly behind him as Nijaz dove to the ground and got off a few wild shots in Rapp’s general direction.
The hope was that the man ahead would see only what Rapp wanted him to—that his companion had missed his opportunity and was now running for cover with bullets flying.
A muzzle flash lit up just ahead and Rapp tensed, waiting for the impact. It didn’t come, though. The man had bought the illusion. He was shooting at Nijaz, trying to cover his comrade’s retreat.
A bullet from behind came a little too close for comfort and Rapp threw himself over the crescent-shaped berm, landing hard and rolling across the rocky ground. The man ensconced there didn’t bother to look back, instead focusing on the threat posed by Nijaz. He never saw the gun barrel line up with the back of his head or felt the bullet that killed him.
A quick search turned up only two backpacks. Not a guarantee that they were in the clear, but a pretty decent indication. A more in-depth search with a dim red penlight turned up only two sets of footprints, one of which had a tread pattern belonging to the corpse.
“Nijaz! Can you hear me? It’s Matthieu!”
“Matthieu?” came the hesitant reply. “Where are you?”
“Behind cover right in front of you. There were only two men, and both are dead now. Do you understand?”
“Are you sure?”
Rapp let out an exasperated breath. “Yes. I’m sure. Now I’m goingto stand up and come over to you. Don’t shoot. Did you understand me?Don’t shoot.”
“Yes. I understand.”
Rapp rolled over the berm and ran to where the Turk was hiding. Ahmet’s body was lying next to him along with two spent magazines and Rapp’s pack.
“How long will the man I’m supposed to meet wait?”
“Not long,” Nijaz said, staring down at his fallen comrade. “There are patrols and bandits in this place. Sometimes shelling. I have no way to contact him, and I think now we cannot arrive in time.”
“You can’t, but I can. Is the rendezvous point hard to find?”
“No. You just follow this ridge. It changes to flat and crosses a road. There you must turn east. He will be waiting two kilometers away.”
Rapp put on his pack and then pressed the barrel of his gun to Nijaz’s chin. The Turk froze, wide-eyed, and staring straight ahead.
“Listen to me very carefully, Nijaz. I didn’t have anything to do with this. We were ambushed and you and Ahmet fought back while I hid. You finally killed the men who attacked us, but Ahmet died in the process. Then you guided me to the rendezvous point and left me there. Are we clear?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure? Because if Damian Losa hears you telling stories about his lawyer shooting smugglers, there are going to be problems. Do you understand the kinds of problems I’m talking about?”
“He will make me watch my family die before he lowers me into a container of acid with them.”
A much more specific answer than Rapp was expecting. Once again, the Mexican’s reputation preceded him.
CHAPTER 13
NORTHWESTERNSYRIA
RAPPmoved through the gully as silently as possible. The peeling sedan was parked on a dirt road to the east, having climbed as far as its tires and suspension would allow. It was as described and where it should be, but based on Rapp’s experience in Syria so far, caution was in order.
A reddish glow inside suggested someone smoking and, as he approached, the form of a lone driver gained definition. Finally, an arm appeared from the open window and the butt arced into the night.
Rapp reluctantly dropped the knife and gun he was carrying before climbing from the gully. He approached slowly, staying in the center of the road and raising his hands. The headlights came on a moment later and he squinted against the glare as the man stepped from the vehicle.
“I’m Matthieu Fournier!” Rapp called in what would pass for a desperate tone. “Did you hear me? Matthieu Fournier!”
