Najeeb’s eyes darted around the restaurant before he gave his menu to Hannah. “Not hungry.”
“Chris, can you order us something, so we can look like we’re enjoying a meal?” she asked sweetly.
“Sure.” When the waiter returned, Chris ordered, and the waiter gathered up the menus.
Najeeb leaned over the table and spoke quietly, “The man in charge is Professor Mordet. He supervise bomb cell that make IEDs in Syria. And he supervise other cell that smuggle bombs into Iraq. They plant on roadside and use cell phone to detonate.” He took out a flash drive and showed it to Hannah. “I put all information in here.”
Hannah nodded. “We can protect you. You can live in the US like we talked about.” Of course, that all depended on his intel being as good as he claimed it was, but Hannah must’ve told Najeeb that before because she didn’t mention it now.
“You not understand,” Najeeb said. “They will find me.”
“They won’t find you,” Hannah said. “I’ll make sure.”
“How can make sure?”
Two stern-eyed burly men walked into the restaurant and studied the interior, and Chris reacted by discreetly separating the Velcro on his hip, drawing his pistol, and covertly wielding it under the table. Kapua’s slight movements indicated to Chris that his buddy was doing the same.
Crack! Najeeb’s drinking glass erupted, one of the restaurant windows had shattered, and a shot sounded — for a split moment, space and time seemed jumbled. Without thinking, Chris crouched and brought his weapon up to search for targets. Najeeb fell out of his chair, and Hannah pulled him away from the line of fire. Kapua flipped over the table with a loud thud, creating a shield for them. One waiter froze and the other dove to the deck as two customers upped and dashed for the side door.
The stern-eyed burly pair seemed to have spotted Najeeb, and they lifted their robes, exposing their AK-47 rifles, and then raised them in Najeeb’s direction. Chris still hadn’t figured out where the original shot had come from, but using the upturned table for cover, he popped the quickest-moving burly guy twice in the upper body before shifting to the slower guy and popping him once in the chest. Chris’s adrenaline pumped so madly, and his mind sped so quickly that the world around him decelerated. Chris’s shooting instructor Ron Hickok told him that body shots were effective for slowing a man down, but the only sure way of stopping a man was a head shot. The fear struck Chris that he wasn’t moving quickly enough, but he ignored it and took the time to adjust his own body position for a clearer line of sight and aimed at the slower man’s face. Chris squeezed the trigger, causing the man’s head to snap back. With the same efficiency, Chris dispatched the other man.
Kapua blasted in the direction of the shattered window — he must’ve picked up the shooter who Chris hadn’t seen. Hannah and Najeeb crawled away, toward the kitchen, following the retreat of waiters. The remaining customers fled the restaurant through the side door.
Outside, more men with AKs descended on the restaurant. Chris and Kapua didn’t have to kill them all, but they did have to protect Hannah and Najeeb. The enemy muzzles flashed. Inside, windows imploded, and a salvo of projectiles ripped into Chris and Kapua’s table. The wood wouldn’t hold much longer before the bullets broke through. Chris and Kapua scrambled to another table, and Chris flipped it to its side. He and Kapua used it as a shield while they busted caps in the direction of the muzzle flashes. Chris’s gun ran dry, and with a fluid motion, one hand ejected the empty magazine while the other brought up a fresh one. He inserted the full magazine and depressed the slide stop release. The slide sprang forward and a new cartridge loaded into the chamber.
Hannah and Najeeb had disappeared into the kitchen, and now it was time for Chris and Kapua to do their vanishing act, too. In training and in real firefights, Chris and Kapua had learned to read each other’s minds — words were unnecessary. They gave the enemy one last taste of lead, but just as they turned toward the kitchen to make their escape, a loud swoosh sounded behind the duo — the distinctive sound of a rocket-propelled grenade with their names on it. The RPG exploded. Its concussion caused Chris to stumble and nearly popped his eardrums. On either side of Chris and Kapua, chairs and tables scattered as if thrown by a typhoon, but Chris and Kapua remained on their feet.
They tumbled into the kitchen and joined Hannah. Najeeb was under a nearby table, shaken, but he seemed unharmed. Waiters and kitchen staff were hunkered down for safety. Chris squatted as he threw open the back door and aimed his weapon outside. Bullets snapped the air where he would’ve been standing, and he spotted ruptures of light in the direction from where the shots had come from. Instinctively, he fired at the flickers, and the outline of a man dropped. Chris glanced down the opposite way of the shady alley where a frightened woman froze in fear. “Clear!”
He glanced behind to find Hannah and Najeeb following while Kapua brought up rear security. Chris slipped into the alley and while headed in the direction of their vehicle, gave the fallen enemy a security round — a shot to the head to make sure he wasn’t playing possum. Gunshots sounded behind them, the smaller caliber of Kapua’s pistol, but Chris had his responsibility in front and couldn’t neglect it. He trusted Kapua to cover their six.
Chris made his way around the block to the car, where the Agency guy was in the driver’s seat and had the engine running. Chris swung open the back door and covered for his crew as they piled in the back. Then Chris took his seat up front beside the driver. Before he could close the passenger door, the Agency driver burned rubber. Chris tried not to fall out as he snatched the door handle and slammed the door shut. He observed everything in front while Kapua kept a lookout behind. Chris’s nerves stretched taut. He’d taken a couple wood splinters in the leg, and now he pulled one out and flicked it on the floorboard. “Anyone wounded?” he asked.
“Najeeb and I are okay,” Hannah said.
Chris plucked out another splinter, but when his buddy didn’t reply, Chris took his eyes off the road ahead of them and checked the backseat. “Kap, you okay, buddy?”
Kapua faced the rear window, but he wasn’t moving.
“Kap?” Chris asked.
“Did you see that RPG explode right around us?” Kapua asked. “Shit exploded on both sides of us, but we didn’t explode.”
“We got lucky,” Chris said.
“No, that wasn’t luck,” Kapua said.
Chris turned around and returned his gaze to his area of responsibility in front of them. “We’ve always been lucky.”
“That was a miracle.”
“You don’t believe in miracles.”
“I do now. Don’t they have miracles in that Bible you’re always reading?”
Chris pulled another splinter out of his leg. “Yeah, the Bible is full of divine intervention.”
“Well, shit blew up on both sides of us, but we didn’t blow up. Doesn’t that qualify?”
“It blew up in front of a pillar that split the force of the explosion.”
“There was no pillar,” Kapua said matter-of-factly. “Did you see a pillar?”
“So much shit was happening,” Chris said, “I don’t remember seeing one, but there had to be.”
“Well, if you insist, that RPG hitting the pillar was a miracle. We should be dead right now.”
“Shit happens.”
“That wasn’t like ordinary shit happens kind of shit. That was more like an angel protecting us kind of shit.”
“Are you watching the road?” Chris asked.
“I know my job.” Kapua was always the most laid-back, but now there was irritation in his voice. “You of all people should understand that that was a miracle.”