“We have to find Abdullah. If he makes it out of this, he’s the next boogieman. We can’t let that happen. We can’t let him slip away like Bin Laden in Tora Borah. We had him cornered, remember?”
“I was there,” Martin reminded him.
Eric nodded. The memory of their failure still haunted him. “I’m not letting Abdullah get away. Not again.”
Taylor shrugged. “I’m with you.”
They turned their earpieces back on.
“We’re going in,” Eric said. “We’re going to take him down.”
There was a chorus of agreements. Eric got out and the rest followed, approaching the barn. They had it surrounded when a young black man with a high-and-tight haircut opened the door, saw them, and dove for the car.
Eric opened fire with his MP5, joining the others who strafed the side of the vehicle. There was yelling inside the barn and then an automatic weapon opened fire on their position. Eric recognized the sound, an M16 on full-auto.
Eric dropped to his knee and turned sideways, minimizing his profile, the tree-line too far behind to find cover. He fired on the barn and the others shifted from the man behind the car to the half-open barn door.
The black man opened the car door and crawled inside, started the car, and floored it. Rooster-tails of rock and grass sprayed from the front wheels as they slid sideways. The tires caught purchase and the car rocketed forward, aiming for the weakest point in their perimeter, right in front of John.
John froze.
“Get back!” Eric shouted.
John stood, dumbly, as the car rocketed toward him.
Deion and Nancy turned their fire on the car, bullets tearing up the side, but the car did not stop.
Deion took off in a run and tackled John. Time slowed for Eric as he aimed carefully and fired. The bullet caught the driver in side of the face. There was a spray of blood from the back of the driver’s head and the car veered to one side, barely missing John and Deion. They watched helplessly as the car accelerated down the road until it sideswiped a tree and smashed into another, the engine sputtering to a stop.
The man in the barn screamed in anger and his M16 stopped firing. Eric turned to Martin while the man in the barn reloaded and motioned for Martin to go around the back.
Roger and Nancy reloaded and Eric took off at a run, dropping his own magazine and slamming in a new one. He cycled the bolt and saw the Airman, young with dark olive skin and wearing camos, drawing down on him from the doorway. Eric shot first, stitching bullets across the man’s abdomen.
The man dropped his M16 and collapsed.
Eric hit the edge of the barn and plastered himself against it, waiting for more gunfire, his senses amped, his ears ringing. He approached the young man and kicked the M16 away.
“Clear,” Martin yelled from inside the barn.
The others rushed forward, all aiming at the downed man.
Eric grabbed him by his camos and lifted his head up. “Where’s, Abdullah?” he asked.
The man looked up, face ashen, his eyes glazing over. “Allahu-”
Eric knelt. The man’s name, Guardado, was stitched across his camos. Eric checked the man’s pulse. It was fast and erratic. “Where is Abdullah?” he repeated.
Guardado’s eyes focused momentarily. “Fuck you.”
Eric grabbed Guardado’s camos and shook him in frustration. “Why the hospital? Where is he?”
Guardado’s lips parted and foamy blood poured from his mouth as his body convulsed.
Eric watched the man die. He had seen similar injuries. There was no saving him. Guardado’s legs kicked slower, then stopped. Eric shook his head. The man was gone. He turned to Nancy. “Check the guy in the car.”
Nancy nodded and left with Roger in tow.
Martin joined him. “Nobody else here. Looks like it was just these two.”
Eric helped Martin survey the site. There were tools, an air compressor, and the place smelled of paint. Parts to emergency vehicles lay half-disassembled on the dirt floor. A pair of sawhorses held a door, fashioned into a makeshift workbench, and a half-empty box of detonators sat next to spools of wire.
John joined them. He picked up the spool of wire and shook his head.
Nancy and Roger returned. “We found his military ID,” she said. “His name was Terrill Johnson. There were suitcases with clothes and cash in the trunk.”
“Looks like they were going to disappear,” Roger said.
“Well, they’re gone now,” Martin said.
Eric nodded grimly. “Yes they are.”
The water stretched as far as John could see. Far below, the occasional ship spread a long white arrow of foam in its wake. Nancy was in the cockpit with Greg, and the rest of the team slumped in the cabin seats.
He watched Taylor Martin’s chest rise and fall. Martin’s eyes were partially shut and he appeared to be asleep, but John had met soldiers who slept like that, never quite awake but not quite asleep. Roger was at the front of the plane typing away on his laptop, writing up the after-action report.
He turned and found Eric staring back at him. John nodded and Eric dipped his in acknowledgment, then got up and walked down the plane, taking the seat across from him.
John knew it was coming and wilted under Eric’s gaze.
“What happened?” Eric finally asked.
John shrugged. “I froze.”
Eric’s eyes bored into his. “What really happened?”
John glanced down at the table between them. “It was the hospital. Why would someone do that?”
“Some people are evil.”
John squirmed in his seat as he tried to explain his lack of action. “He was clearly working with Abdullah and he was a traitor, but I couldn’t kill him. I saw enough death at the hospital.”
“It hurts to take a life,” Eric said. “It steals something from you. I think everyone who has a conscience and has killed knows that feeling.”
That surprised him. “You feel this way, too?”
Eric smiled. “Of course. I’m not some inhuman killing machine. Is that what you think Delta Operators are? Killing machines? I joined Delta to serve my country, to keep war at bay, not to become a common killer. It’s all about intent. If you kill to protect, you can find a way to live with yourself. If you kill because you take pleasure in it? That’s what makes you a monster. I told you in Denver. You’re not a monster.”
Relief washed over him. “You’ve been good to me, Eric. I know it sounds dopey, but I want to make you proud.”
Eric patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re doing fine.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The airplane dipped lower and Abdullah glanced nervously through the window as the plane approached the runway. In the distance, Mexico City stretched out through a cloud of smog, a jumble of buildings and streets as far as he could see, sharp-toothed mountains in the distance. The plane landed and taxied to the terminal where he disembarked.
He half-expected jack-booted thugs to scream at him and tackle him to the floor, but the flight from Homburg ended peacefully and he was allowed through customs. He smiled and answered all the questions, just a successful business man from India. They waved him through and he offered a polite smile to the two masked Federal officers who guarded the customs exit, then headed to the food court where he met the young man, Emmanuel, who eyed him suspiciously.
He nodded at the young man and offered his hand. “Peace be upon you.”
The young man rolled his eyes. “I’m Manny. My cousin told me to get you over the border. I don’t wanna know your shit, understand?.”
Abdullah nodded and leaned closer. “We need to leave the airport as soon as possible,” he said quietly.