Splinter Cell (2004) by Tom - Splinter Cell 0 Clancy Page B

if I’ll be able to trust them.
    The sun is setting as I approach Arbil. Lights up ahead indicate I need to slow down—another roadblock. Four men surround the Toyota when I stop. They’re dressed in Iraqi police uniforms, but somehow I get the feeling that something’s not right. Two men carry rifles and the third has a handgun.
    As soon as I lower my window, the man with a handgun points it in my face. “We’re going for a ride, friend,” he says in Arabic. These guys aren’t Kurds.
    “I have my papers if you want to see them,” I say in his language.
    “Shut up!” he commands again. He waits until his three companions get in the backseat of the car. The guy with the handgun goes around the car and gets in on the passenger side. He keeps it trained at my head.
    The man without a gun sitting in the backseat says, “Now drive that way,” pointing to a dark dirt road leading off the highway. There’s nothing I can do but obey. I put the Toyota in drive and follow their directions. The road moves off into the thicket. Were it not for the headlights, I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.
    “Where are we going?” I ask in Arabic.
    “You’ll see,” the backseat driver says. “Just shut up and drive.”
    Three minutes later we’re approximately a mile from the main highway. The man in back tells me to stop the car, leave the headlights on, and get out.
    I have no choice but to comply. I open the door and step out, followed by all four men. It’s now very dark outside, but the car’s headlights illuminate the area well enough to see. The unarmed man, obviously the leader, roughly turns me around and pushes me against the car. “Get your hands up, on top of your head!” he orders.
    I do so, but I’m getting pissed off. I’m not about to let these guys manhandle me. The asshole starts to frisk me. I’m thankful I left the Five-seveN in the glove compartment, but I need to think of a way to keep them out of the car.
    “I’m with Interpol,” I say. “I have clearance with your government.”
    “Shut up!”
    The guy with the pistol grins at me. I see now that he’s missing three teeth and is the ugliest son of a bitch I’ve seen since I got to Iraq. “Where did you get the nice car, my friend?” he asks.
    The one frisking me, apparently looking for money, demands, “Where’s your wallet?”
    “I don’t carry one,” I say truthfully.
    He grabs my shoulder and pulls me away from the car. All four of them are now facing me. The two with rifles hold their weapons across their chests, not aiming them yet. The guns appear to be Hakims. No-Tooth, though, has a Smith & Wesson 38 Special revolver. Probably a black-market item.
    “I think we’ll take your car, then,” the leader says. The other three laugh. “We need it to move some boxes.” They laugh some more. “There we were, sitting and waiting for some friends to bring us a truck to help us move our things, but I think your big car will do fine. May we borrow it?” More laughs.
    “Where are you from, my friend?” No-Tooth asks. He twirls his revolver around his finger as if he were in a John Wayne Western. “We don’t see many Westerners who speak Arabic.”
    “I’m Swiss,” I say. “I’m a police officer with Interpol. I suggest you let me be on my way.”
    “Oh, you suggest that we let you be on your way?” the leader mocks me as he takes a step closer. “Listen, I suggest that you get down on your knees and pray because you’re about to kiss the earth goodbye.”
    Come on, I think. Move just another step closer.
    “You want me to get on my knees?” I ask.
    “That’s what I said!”
    I look at the ground and point. “Right here?”
    That does the trick. He takes another step and starts to say, “Yes, right th—”
    Before he finishes I kick him fast and hard in the crotch. I don’t stop there, though. I move in like lightning, using an advanced Krav Maga technique to grab hold of his upper body and pull him toward me as