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The swollen little jackass had done it again.
“So, we should just take your money and forget? Is that what you’re saying?”
Rapp nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”
The kid on the right spoke up again. “Why not kill him and take the money he brought? Then we get paid twice.”
“If you know who I am, then you know what I’m capable of,” Rapp responded. “More of you than I can count have tried to kill me and I’m always the one who walks away. It won’t be any different this time.”
“All talk!” the young man shouted. “He’s one man. He’s—”
“Shut up, Hadi!” the old man said. “Don’t be stupid. He’s not alone! He—”
“Don’t tell me to be silent! The end of the fighting has turned you into a bunch of old women!”
The tone and volume of his voice weren’t a problem as long as all he did was run his mouth. Unfortunately, he was too young and proud for that. He jerked his rifle upward in an effort to sight along it, but before he could get it to eye level, he crumpled to the ground.
Other than the thud of the bullet and the impact of his body against the dirt, there was no sound. Charlie Wicker was too far away and using a suppressor.
The rest of the men possessed enough experience fighting the Americans that they remained frozen. All of them had understood the certainty of their companion’s fate the moment he raised his weapon, and none were anxious to join him. Not yet anyway.
“Take the money,” Rapp repeated.
Video sent of the hostages suggested that they were wearing explosives that could be set off wirelessly. That meant that someone had a detonator. And with the hierarchal tribal culture that ruled the region, a good bet would be the elder. Taking him out was tempting, but didn’t come with any guarantees.
“You might kill us all,” the old man responded. “Or we might finally be the ones who killyou. Either way, you won’t get what you came for.”
Rapp had guessed wrong. Both of the old man’s hands were in clear view when the explosives blew.
Scott Coleman followed the hostages through the door and cut left just seconds before the detonation. The door and part of the jamb were transformed into projectiles, but the stone walls held. He was knocked to the ground, but with no injuries beyond some minor burns to the exposed skin on the back of his neck.
By the time he pushed himself back to his feet, the two men he’d freed were already disappearing into the darkness. Neither was particularly fit, but what they lacked in athleticism, they made up for with enthusiasm.
The Afghans seemed to decide simultaneously that they weren’t going to let this go. They leapt to their feet, with two not even making it fully upright before Wick dropped them. Rapp crouched and sprinted left, trying to lose himself in the smoke blowing from the edge of the village and covering ground as fast as he could. Between the haze and darkness, it wouldn’t take long for him to disappear.
He managed to pull his Glock from a holster in the small of his back and use it to take out the one man who’d decided to pursue. His lifeless body had barely hit the ground when someone began firing on full auto from the east. Likely Joe Maslick hosing down the bonfire area in order to give the Afghans there something more important to worry about than the fleeing Malik al-Mawt. Revenge tended to become a secondary concern when you found yourself caught between a random hail of bullets on one side and precision sniper fire on the other.
Rapp turned out of the smoke, crossing some loose terrain and scrub before regaining the trail that had led him there. The starlight was bright enough to allow him to keep a decent pace without much danger of breaking an ankle or diving off a cliff. He guessed about an eight-minute mile—a pace that few people could match given the conditions. Certainly not the men he’d just left behind.
Various bullets sped past, but nothing close. When he looked back,he could see the flames from the explosion spreading and intermittent flashes of gunfire, but no one in direct pursuit.
“Scott,” he said into his throat mike. “You still alive?”
He felt a powerful sense of relief when his old friend’s voice came over his earpiece. “No thanks to you, asshole. Weren’t you supposed to turn on the charm?”
“That was the charm. Is the chopper inbound?” Rapp said, jumping over a narrow ditch. He’d been focused on off-road triathlon training for the past few months, and it seemed to be bearing fruit. Despite the relentless pace, he still had enough wind for a coherent conversation.
“ETA seven minutes. We’re making a beeline west with no one following. They probably think the hostages are dead and don’t want to take any more casualties.”
“I’m not sure,” Charlie Wicker interjected over the comm. “It might just be because they have bigger fish to fry. Men are pouring out of those buildings and everyone old enough to be out of diapers has a rifle.”
“Mas, Bruno. Are you both okay?” Rapp said.
“Yeah, boss. They’re not interested in us. It looks like they’re putting together a posse that’s going to be coming in your direction. We’ve got a drone overhead. Should we give them the go-ahead?”
Rapp thought about that while maintaining his speed across the desolate landscape. The men pouring out of those building weren’t the only ones living in them. Their wives and children would be inside, huddled in corners wondering if the Americans were about to rain hell down on them.
“Any horses or vehicles?” Rapp asked.
