was instead going to run. She’d started to back away when a sound froze her.
To her extreme far right it was like a wave of black moving through the forest. She dropped to the dirt and tried to burrow in. When the guns started firing she tried to dig in even deeper. Yet something, perhaps her journalistic instincts, made her look through her binoculars in time to see two of the dealers riddled with machine-gun fire, their bodies literally opening up with holes awash in blood. They dropped to the ground dead without having uttered a sound.
As she continued to watch, the tall man managed to wrestle the submachine gun from one of the giants and then, with a nimbleness that belied his size, he landed a kick to the gut and then the head of the larger man, felling him. He turned and held the gun up, as though in surrender, but as machine-gun fire hit all around him he seemed to think better of this.
The other drug dealers had taken up cover behind the truck. They were shooting at whatever was coming their way, while the wave that had passed Katie was laying down walls of intense fire. And the tall man was caught right in the middle.
“He’s dead,” Katie whispered fearfully to herself.
Shaw dodged behind the Mercedes as another blast of fire missed him by centimeters. The Tajiks were shooting at him from his rear flank and his own men were doing the same from the front. What, had Frank failed to mention to the strike team that they were supposed to leave at least one man standing? Him.
He got off a burst of submachine fire at the Tajiks and then slid into the front seat of the Benz. He cranked the engine and slammed it in gear. Another bullet blast from the rear took out his back window.
He crushed the accelerator and the S600 leaped forward, gravel firing off the tires and spraying the truck. Holding the MP5 out the window, he emptied his clip at the truck, catching one of the Tajiks flush in the face and ending his career in international drug dealing.
Shots pinged all over the car like hail, and water and oil started spraying from under the hood. He slid the car into reverse, burned down the gravel strip backwards, and spun the wheel, whipping the Benz into a J-turn. He came out of the one-eighty, slammed down the gas, and hurtled forward, hitting a hundred on the straightaway and getting almost clear of the trees when the engine started vomiting black smoke and the car died. His gaze swept over the car’s interior, before coming to rest on the SIG nine-millimeter partially stuck under the passenger floor mat. He grabbed it, kicked the door open, and ran.
And he wasn’t the only one.
He changed course, rounding the bend, his long legs eating up chunks of ground, and caught up to her right as she was climbing in the car, a black Mini Cooper.
“Let me go!” Katie screamed as he grabbed her arm.
“Give me the keys!” he yelled back.
He ripped them from her fingers and opened the car door, sliding his big body into the small space.
“Get in!” he cried out, because she was just standing there.
“No!”
“If they find you here, they’ll kill you.”
“You mean you’ll kill me.” She eyed his gun.
“If I were going to do that, you’d already be dead. I wouldn’t be offering you a ride.”
“A ride to a hostage , you mean.”
“These guys don’t give a shit about hostages. Now get in.”
In the near distance they could both hear something coming their way.
“Your last chance!” he said in a voice that clearly meant it.
The truck exploded out from the treeline fifty feet from their location. It was the cargo truck and it was being driven by one of the big Tajiks. The small man with the wicked grin who didn’t accept credit cards or checks was sitting next to him. His gaze suddenly found them and his smile widened as he rolled down the window and took careful aim.
“Look out!” Shaw exclaimed.
His eyes had seen what Katie’s hadn’t. He grabbed her arm, yanked her through the open
To her extreme far right it was like a wave of black moving through the forest. She dropped to the dirt and tried to burrow in. When the guns started firing she tried to dig in even deeper. Yet something, perhaps her journalistic instincts, made her look through her binoculars in time to see two of the dealers riddled with machine-gun fire, their bodies literally opening up with holes awash in blood. They dropped to the ground dead without having uttered a sound.
As she continued to watch, the tall man managed to wrestle the submachine gun from one of the giants and then, with a nimbleness that belied his size, he landed a kick to the gut and then the head of the larger man, felling him. He turned and held the gun up, as though in surrender, but as machine-gun fire hit all around him he seemed to think better of this.
The other drug dealers had taken up cover behind the truck. They were shooting at whatever was coming their way, while the wave that had passed Katie was laying down walls of intense fire. And the tall man was caught right in the middle.
“He’s dead,” Katie whispered fearfully to herself.
Shaw dodged behind the Mercedes as another blast of fire missed him by centimeters. The Tajiks were shooting at him from his rear flank and his own men were doing the same from the front. What, had Frank failed to mention to the strike team that they were supposed to leave at least one man standing? Him.
He got off a burst of submachine fire at the Tajiks and then slid into the front seat of the Benz. He cranked the engine and slammed it in gear. Another bullet blast from the rear took out his back window.
He crushed the accelerator and the S600 leaped forward, gravel firing off the tires and spraying the truck. Holding the MP5 out the window, he emptied his clip at the truck, catching one of the Tajiks flush in the face and ending his career in international drug dealing.
Shots pinged all over the car like hail, and water and oil started spraying from under the hood. He slid the car into reverse, burned down the gravel strip backwards, and spun the wheel, whipping the Benz into a J-turn. He came out of the one-eighty, slammed down the gas, and hurtled forward, hitting a hundred on the straightaway and getting almost clear of the trees when the engine started vomiting black smoke and the car died. His gaze swept over the car’s interior, before coming to rest on the SIG nine-millimeter partially stuck under the passenger floor mat. He grabbed it, kicked the door open, and ran.
And he wasn’t the only one.
He changed course, rounding the bend, his long legs eating up chunks of ground, and caught up to her right as she was climbing in the car, a black Mini Cooper.
“Let me go!” Katie screamed as he grabbed her arm.
“Give me the keys!” he yelled back.
He ripped them from her fingers and opened the car door, sliding his big body into the small space.
“Get in!” he cried out, because she was just standing there.
“No!”
“If they find you here, they’ll kill you.”
“You mean you’ll kill me.” She eyed his gun.
“If I were going to do that, you’d already be dead. I wouldn’t be offering you a ride.”
“A ride to a hostage , you mean.”
“These guys don’t give a shit about hostages. Now get in.”
In the near distance they could both hear something coming their way.
“Your last chance!” he said in a voice that clearly meant it.
The truck exploded out from the treeline fifty feet from their location. It was the cargo truck and it was being driven by one of the big Tajiks. The small man with the wicked grin who didn’t accept credit cards or checks was sitting next to him. His gaze suddenly found them and his smile widened as he rolled down the window and took careful aim.
“Look out!” Shaw exclaimed.
His eyes had seen what Katie’s hadn’t. He grabbed her arm, yanked her through the open
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