Redman nodded. They packed up and carried the gear to the vans.
When they got back, John was waiting. “I saw something. A man entered Nazer’s apartment building.”
Damn. They had just packed up their gear. “We saw others enter the building,” Deion reminded.
“I know,” John said, “but this man had blond hair.”
“How could you tell? It’s dark.”
John tapped his hand against the VISOR. “Multiple overlays. Blond hair shows up differently.”
The VISOR’s computer could extract more information and process it visually, something he kept forgetting. “You think it’s Al-Hakim?”
John nodded. “How many blond-haired young men would be meeting someone in the one building in Syria, that has a known AQ member, who is in contact with a terrorist cell, that might have bought a nuke?”
Redman had a big smile pasted across his face. “He’s got you, brother. Dang it, he sounds kinda like Wise, don’t he?”
Deion sighed and activated his mic. “Nancy, we have a complication. We think Al-Hakim is here.”
Moments later, Eric joined the call. “You’ve got a visual on Al-Hakim?”
“We believe so.” He relayed John’s description.
“We can’t pass this up,” Eric said. “You can take both of them?”
“Yes,” Deion said. “We’re T minus forty from our extraction.”
“Speed it up,” Eric ordered. “I want them both in Turkey. Nancy, you’re in charge of the interrogation. All means necessary. I want the location of that nuke.”
CHAPTER SIX
John crept through the apartment building. His VISOR showed the darkened hallway in vivid detail. It also picked up the faint sound of televisions. The few people left awake would soon turn in for the night, and he wanted to grab the two men and be on their way before they roused the building.
He turned to look back at Morse, wearing NVG’s and clutching his MP5SD. Mark was at the end of the hallway, watching their exit. He pointed to Nazer’s door and signaled for Morse to move to the right of it and hug the wall.
“I’m in position,” he whispered.
“Do you need activation?” Deion asked.
He considered it. The Implant was amazing, but not always necessary. While the drugs boosted his strength and attention, the Implant carried a finite amount. Refilling it required Doctor Elliot guiding needles through his abdomen using a CT machine, replenishing the chambers of the Implant. It didn’t hurt, but he didn’t enjoy it, either.
“I’m good,” he said.
“Your call,” Deion said. “On your mark.”
“Got it.” He took several deep breaths, then stepped back and kicked the door, the shock running up his good leg. The strength training paid off as the door splintered around the lock and swung open.
He surged forward, his HK tracking from left to right, looking for movement.
The two men sitting at the table looked up. He registered surprise on their faces. Nazer, with his dark hair and slight beard, gawked, but the young man with blond hair jumped from the table and was reaching for a stockless AK47.
Unlike the movies and television shows, the suppressor on his HK didn’t eliminate the sound of the gun firing. But, with the low-grain ammo, it quieted the report. He was taking a calculated risk on the sound waking the neighbors versus stopping Al-Hakim without killing him.
Time slowed and he fired once, near Al-Hakim’s AK. The young man jerked back, then rushed toward him.
So much for doing the smart thing. Nazer was rooted in his chair and John knew that Morse had him covered. Al-Hakim was another story. As he approached, John snapped the butt of his rifle against the man’s head. The effect was instant as Al-Hakim dropped to the floor.
John jammed his prosthetic foot against the man’s chest, pinning the struggling man in place.
Nazer took it all in, then slowly raised his hands. The fight was over before it began.
John nodded toward Morse, then spoke, “We got them.”
It was the last thing he said before there was a crash through the window and an explosion of sound and light knocked him unconscious.
Deion had a fraction of a second to process the sound of the RPG firing before the room across the street exploded.
He dropped under the window as a rain of debris blew across the street and slammed into the wall of the apartment building where they hid. The roar of the explosion was deafening in the small space and he shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from his ears.
There was shouting in his earpiece and he realized it was Taylor Martin. “I’m taking fire,” Taylor shouted.
“What’s the sitrep?” Eric demanded.
Next to him, Redman was scrambling to stand, pointing across the street. He staggered up and peered through the window sill. The glass had been blown away, and only razor sharp shards poking from the top and bottom remained.
The wall of Nazer’s apartment was gone. There was thick smoke inside and small fires cast shadows through the haze. “An RPG just took out Nazer. TM, what do you see?”
I’m pinned down. Can’t see anything. One shooter, I think. Probably the guy with the RPG, to my east.”
The operation had gone to shit.
They had only minutes before the Syrians arrived. If they were caught on Syrian soil, their chance of survival was close to that of a snowball in Hell. “Mark, what do you see?”
“Christ, it’s a mess,” Mark responded. “I’m inside. John isn’t moving.” There was a pause. “Flipper is dead. Nazer and Al-Hakim, too.”
What a cluster. “Nancy, how much time do we have?”
There was a pause. “Four minutes,” Nancy said. “Maybe five.”
Above, the gunfire trailed away. “The shooter is leaving,” Taylor said.
Before he could order Taylor to pursue, Eric overruled him. “Do not engage. Get the bodies, and any evidence, and get out.”
He gritted his teeth. He wanted to lead a full-scale assault on the man or men who just killed one of theirs, but Eric was right. They couldn’t be taken by the Syrians. “Mark, start gathering evidence. Stratello and Young, grab body bags and get your asses up there. TM, watch for police. Redman and I will help load the bodies.”
Redman’s face flushed but he nodded. “Make it happen, people, before we wind up in a Syrian jail.”
Deion led Redman through the hallway, a few heads poking out, but the now-wakened locals quickly slammed their doors when they saw the grim-faced men running through their building.
They exited the building and entered Nazer’s, and the same opening and slamming of doors repeated itself. “Locals are stirred up,” he said into his mic.
“Don’t worry about them,” Nancy said. “Get the bodies out of there.”
They entered the remains of Nazer’s apartment. The apartment was trashed. Nazer’s meager possessions were strewn across the floor. Stratello and Young were loading Nazer and Al-Hakim into green body bags while Mark stuffed notebooks in a canvas bag.
John stirred, then sat up. “What happened?” he asked, frantically running his hands over the body armor.
“RPG,” he said. “You hurt?”
John turned his head from side to side. “VISOR says my vitals are elevated, but I feel fine, except for the pain in my arm.”
John raised his arm and Deion saw the armor gaping open, a long bloody gash across his forearm. He noticed John’s right hip-holster was missing, and another gaping wound across his thigh. “What about your leg?”