Mitchell started to say something when Jen leaned forward and gently placed her lips on his.
Jen stood up with a weak smile on her face. “Get going, Ryan, and find a way to get us home. Do you hear me, mister?” she said, fighting back the tears.
Mitchell reluctantly let go of Jen’s delicate hands and took a step back away from her. He fought to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t believe his bad luck. To make it this far, only to have to turn back tore at him. Mitchell knew that Jen was right; he had to leave her and try again.
Reaching over, Mitchell gently wiped a tear from Jen’s face. She grabbed his hand for a second time, and then let it go. Without saying another word, she turned her back and quietly walked back out of the shadows towards her tent.
Mitchell wanted to run after her, but knew that it would be pointless. He had to get going. A rustling noise from behind made Mitchell instantly spin around. He found himself looking straight into the face of a startled guard. The man had thought Mitchell was one of his men chatting with a girl and had walked over to see what was going on. Without hesitation, Mitchell swung the butt of his AK up and struck the thug in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The man doubled over in pain. Bringing up his rifle, Mitchell swiftly brought it down hard onto the man’s head, knocking him onto the rocky ground. Mitchell did not care if he had killed him or not. Unlike the Mauritanian conscripts, this man chose to be here. He was someone who killed for money, and that made him a target. Mitchell dropped onto one knee, brought up his rifle, and quickly scanned about to make sure that he was alone. Deciding it was time to head back and join Nate, Mitchell’s stomach dropped when he heard the distinct whoosh sound made by a flare arcing up into the night sky. Without hesitating, he flung himself to the ground. A second later, the flare popped open, bathing the desert in an eerie mix of bright green light and long dark shadows as it rocked from side to side in the wind, slowly descending from the sky. Raising his head slightly, Mitchell could see armed men running towards where he had left Jackson.
After a few seconds, the flare burned itself out, plunging the world back into darkness. Jumping up, Mitchell sprinted towards the empty jeeps.
Shots rang out into the night: Jackson was being hunted.
Teplov heard the flare rocketing up into the air. Instantly, he snatched up his Motorola and screamed into it, demanding to know what was going on.
Only confused and garbled messages came back over the Motorola.
Cursing, Teplov threw the Motorola in the corner of the tent. Grabbing his AK, Teplov ran to the open entrance to see another flare floating through the air.
Automatic gunfire filled the air. Tracers shot back and forth in the dark.
“Stay with Mister Romanov and the women,” snarled Teplov at the two closest mercenaries, as he sprinted off in the direction of the gunfire.
Mitchell ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Turning a sharp bend in the trail, Mitchell saw the jeeps. An armed man had already jumped in the nearest jeep and was trying to start it. Mitchell did not bother to slow down. Leaping over the back of the jeep, Mitchell landed beside the startled driver. A solid right hook sent the man tumbling out of the jeep. Jumping over into the driver’s seat, Mitchell released the park brake, changed gears, and then slammed his foot on the accelerator. Like a hunting dog straining at a leash that is suddenly released, the vehicle leapt forward, churning up sand and rocks behind it as Mitchell sped off into the dark.
Mitchell did not bother with the headlights; he knew they would only draw unwanted attention and gunfire. Turning the wheel hard over, Mitchell headed in the direction of the gun battle, his AK resting close by on the seat next to him. As he drove cross-country, the jeep bounced up and down like a bucking bronco, as Mitchell seemed to hit every rock in his path. Driving like a madman, Mitchell knew that he had to close the distance to his friend, before it was too late.
Another flare flew through the night, again illuminating the desert for all to see. Mitchell could see muzzle flashes coming from all around Jackson’s position. A soldier who had foolishly tried rushing forward was cut down. Another soldier popped his head up to take a shot only to have it shot off instead. Jackson was a crack shot and was proving it tonight.
Teplov stopped in his tracks. His anger instantly boiled over. He could not believe his eyes. There was Mitchell, barely a hundred meters away from him, driving a stolen jeep out of their supposedly secure camp. He didn’t even bother to aim. Firing from the hip, Teplov emptied his entire magazine in the direction of the vehicle before throwing the empty weapon away in a fit of rage.
From somewhere out of the night came two soldiers running, frantically trying to get Mitchell’s jeep to stop. Paying them no heed, Mitchell kept his foot jammed all the way down on the gas pedal. One of the men rushed out in front of Mitchell, waving his hands, trying to get Mitchell’s attention. Without even bothering to slow down, Mitchell rammed the vehicle straight into the man, sending him spinning over the top of the jeep like a rag doll, his body landing behind the jeep in a bloody and shattered heap. The other soldier, seeing what had happened, stopped in his tracks and went to raise his rifle only to be dropped by a well-aimed burst of automatic fire from Jackson.
The sound of rounds flying overhead sounded like a whip cracking right next to his ears, but Mitchell ignored them as he quickly rounded a tall boulder behind Jackson’s hiding spot and then slammed on the brakes.
“Move your ass, Nate!” yelled Mitchell.
A long burst of automatic fire ripped from Jackson’s AK, pinning several men in a gully below him, before he jumped up and sprinted down the slight embankment. He did not so much jump in as tumble into Mitchell’s waiting jeep.
“Drive,” muttered Jackson as he tried to catch his breath.
Mitchell changed gears and thrust down as hard as he could on the aged jeep’s gas pedal.
Another flare streaked across the night sky, opening up right above Jackson’s old fire position. Gunfire erupted as a group of soldiers stormed the abandoned position.
Jackson pulled his seat belt over and locked it in place. Looking over his shoulder, Jackson saw long shadows creep along the desert floor as the flare burned itself out. They were safe for now in the darkness as they hurriedly drove away from the dig site.
“That was a bit too close for comfort,” said Jackson, slapping home a fresh magazine into his AK.
“What happened?” asked Mitchell as he finally slowed down and tried not to hit every boulder and rock on the ridge.
“One of our sleepy-headed soldiers must have gotten loose. Before I knew it, there were people crawling all over my position. I had to do something or I was going to get caught,” explained Jackson. “What about you?”
Mitchell looked over at Jackson. “I found her.”
“So where is she?” said Jackson, looking in the back of the empty jeep.
“She wouldn’t come,” said Mitchell disappointingly.
Jackson sat there speechless for a moment. “What do you mean, she wouldn’t come?”
“Her mother’s with her. She wouldn’t leave without her. We just have to figure a way to get them both tomorrow from Romanov’s refinery,” said Mitchell, his mind racing as he tried to determine his next course of action. He needed a plan to get Jen and her mother back. “Get a hold of Fahimah on your sat-phone and tell her to pull back immediately and RV with us in Ouadane.”