There was no time for subtlety. I slid open the van door and hopped out. I could hear the sirens now, too. They would be passing by any second. The driver of the Audi was just sitting down as I caught the closing door with my body. He looked up in surprise and started to say something. I grabbed the keys from his hand, slugged him hard in the mouth, and jerked him onto the pavement.
The Audi started right up with a purr. I slammed it into gear and roared out of the parking lot. A dozen cows had given their lives for this interior. “Nice car,” I muttered as I shifted into second. Oncoming traffic had to stomp the brakes to avoid hitting me, then I was out on the road, northbound, the GPS told me in Arabic.
On the other side of the divider a police car zipped by, blue lights flashing, heading south. Right behind it was the ambulance. Zubaran emergency vehicles used that obnoxious European-style siren. I grabbed the radio. “Carl, I’ll take the cop car. Run the ambulance off the road!” I shouted as I cranked the wheel and gunned it over the mound of dirt that served as the divider. German cars have great suspension but I still managed to almost bite my tongue off as I crashed onto the southbound lane. I hastily put my seat belt on. The GPS told me I had just done something very bad.
Drivers in this part of the world didn’t pull off to the side for emergency vehicles. If you’re dying in the Middle East, don’t do it during rush hour. Traffic here was a constant battle of wits and honking horns. The ambulance was weaving between cars ahead of me. A Toyota tore off my passenger-side mirror, and the driver honked. Revving the powerful engine, I was doing sixty by the time I passed the ambulance. The police car, some little Euro sedan, was right ahead of me. The Audi pulled alongside effortlessly.
The cops glanced over in confusion. The look here for security forces was Saddam Hussein-style mustaches and big mirrored shades. I drifted right into them, slamming into their side, shoving them hard to the right. The cops started yelling, and the passenger was going for his gun. I drifted left a bit, then swerved back with more energy, smashing the hell out of their little car.
The driver overcorrected, turning too far to the side, and the car spun out of control in a haze of rubber smoke before crashing violently into the rear end of a parked SUV. I applied the brakes and came to a smooth stop.
The cop car was at an angle, sideways, half on top of the other vehicle. Those guys wouldn’t be causing me any trouble for a bit. I could see the flashing lights of the ambulance as it slowed to a crawl behind me. Stepping on the clutch, I shifted into reverse. “Carl, where are you?”
“Right behind the ambulance,” he replied.
“Hit the brakes,” I said as I stomped on the gas. Even in reverse this car was pretty damn quick. I braced myself as the Audi’s trunk collided with the front of the still-moving ambulance. My world came to a violent lurching halt. The rear window shattered and glass ricocheted around the cab as the air bag knocked the shit out of me.
It took me a blurry second to get the seat belt unbuckled and to collapse out the door into the street. Got to hand it to those Germans, they crash test their stuff really well. I staggered to my feet and pulled my gun. It wasn’t necessary though. The ambulance crew were groggily moving, knocked silly by the impact. The siren was still wailing.
Carl was at the back of the ambulance, dragging Al Falah’s corpse out. The cars around us had stopped, and there had to be at least a dozen eyes on us. I limped around the back to help. “Hurry up,” Carl grunted as he pulled the limp body toward our van. I grabbed his legs and lifted. He weighed a ton. We got to the van and tossed him inside, I was in right behind.
The van’s tires squealed as Carl got us out of there.
VALENTINE
Al Khor District, Safe House 4
March 26
2355
Tailor and I were surprised to find Gordon Willis waiting for us back at the safe house. As before, the big guy named Anders was with him, giving us a hard stare but not saying a word. Suffice to say, Gordon wasn’t happy. The two of us sat on folding chairs in the middle of the big house’s living room while Hal, one of our medics, worked to patch us up. I was sitting there, shirtless, as Hal worked on the wound on my shoulder. All while Gordon royally bitched us out.
It turned out Gordon’s cool demeanor came unraveled when he was mad. It was a little amusing to see the smooth-talking slickster sputtering and raising his voice. Yelling didn’t really suit him. He wasn’t unhappy about Al Falah; we’d done quite well in that regard. As we described what happened, I could see the anger in his eyes. We failed to kill the secondary target Khalid. We lost our vehicle and had to exigently acquire a new one. Worst of all, we were seen.
I honestly don’t know what the hell he expected. We were ordered to do the hit in public in the middle of the city; of course it was going to make noise. I thought that was the point.
Looking over at Tailor, I could tell he was kind of tuning Gordon out too. As Gordon blathered on about operational security and his expectations of us, Hunter stood quietly in the corner. Sarah leaned against the wall behind him, looking at me with an expression on her face that I couldn’t read. I wondered what she was thinking. One of Hunter’s security men stood by the door, giving Anders the stink eye.
After a few minutes of ass-chewing, Gordon visibly shifted gears, and the slickness returned. He plopped down on the couch across from Tailor and me and began to speak once more as I put my T-shirt back on.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Gordon said, straightening his tie. I wondered why in the hell he was wearing a suit. “Now we need to focus on the next mission. I need you two to be ready to move on this in a few days.”
Tailor and I looked at each other. I was able to read the expression on his face. I had a bad feeling too. “What’s the next mission, sir?” I asked.
“Ms. . . . uh . . . McAllister, right? Ms. McAllister, would you hand them the mission packets, please?” Sarah rolled her eyes and stepped forward, handing out manila envelopes to each of us.
“Your next mission will be pretty simple, boys. You’re going to return to the social club you snatched the younger Al Falah from and clean it out. The other two men in your chalk . . . um . . .”
“Wheeler and Hudson,” I interjected, my voice flat.
“Yes, Weiner and Hudson,” Gordon replied, “will be rejoining you for this one. It’ll be a straight-up enter-and-clear. Are you up to it?”
I sighed and looked over at Tailor. He nodded at me, ever so slightly. “What’s the plan, sir?” I asked after a moment. Tailor and I listened as Gordon went over the plan. He droned on for a long time. The man sure liked listening to himself talk. He asked us if we had any questions.
“When do we roll on this?” I asked.
“In the next few days,” Gordon said. “Word will be sent down soon, so be ready to go on short notice. Anyway, gentlemen, I need to get going.” Gordon stood up. Tailor and I followed suit. Gordon shook my hand vigorously, squeezing tightly, then did the same to Tailor. He then nodded at Anders, and the two of them strode out of the room.
“You heard the man, boys,” Hunter said after Gordon was out of earshot. “Be ready. The order to move will come down without much warning. You’re going to be operating at a high tempo for the time being. I need you boys to stay sharp. No alcohol, no sneaking off, nothing that will slow you down, until further notice. Tailor, I need you and Valentine to plan your routes to and from the target building, including contingency plans. I trust things will go smoother this time?”