Avery Lindenhurst: He sat next to Terry and the men appeared to be close. He'd been the other man on the helicopter that had picked me up. Avery was the biggest guy in the group and had the longest hair, which wasn't saying much. But his golden curls had started to grow over his ears. He had hazel eyes, a long strong nose, and a cleft chin. He didn't laugh out loud, but his large shoulders shook as Terry cracked him up. His FGI black T-shirt looked like it hardly fit, too tight on such a big man. It was also more faded than the others, the black having been through too many washes. Did it have some kind of sentimental value? Or, along with the extra length of his hair, was it just a matter of being low maintenance?
James Gavioli: Italian American with jet-black hair, big, brown eyes, and olive skin; he reminded me of people I'd grown up with. He was from Yonkers—and sounded like it. He volleyed back and forth verbally with Terry, setting him up so that Terry could make the slam-dunks. I had a friend in high school who came from a big, Italian family, Jill Luciano. And James’ banter reminded me of dinners at her house.
In addition to that blast from the past, he also shared my brother's name. If James tried to kill me, it would be hard. I didn't want to fight him. He reminded me too much of a part of my life that I liked, in hindsight. Though at the time, if you'd told me those high school years, when my brother was still alive and I was getting invited over to Jill's house for dinner, would be the best of my life, I would have laughed. I would have pointed to my alcoholic mother and my dilapidated house and told you I was getting out of there as fast as possible. Of course now, I'd give anything to go back to that time. To see my brother James one more time. To spend just one moment outside the prison cell of my failing mind.
Taylor Maudlin: A California surfer dude with very blond hair, deeply tanned skin, sparkling, light-blue eyes, and a disarming grin. He wasn't as bulky as the other guys. His laugh was full and friendly. A former Navy SEAL, like most of the guys, Taylor told me how much he missed the ocean, twice. Once in context and once just out of the blue. Was he telling me because he felt guilty about taking money in order to kill me and return to the sea he missed?
Connor Oberon: the first thing I noticed was the scar on his face. It looked like a blade had sliced him from his left eyebrow across the bridge of his nose and on to his right cheek. His head was shaved completely. His eyes were incredibly dark, almost entirely black. There was only a slight variation between the pupil and iris. Connor hardly laughed, hardly spoke. He ate his food with a slow and steady determination. Chewing each bite a uniform number of times—I counted, and it was twenty-three. Then swallow, followed by a sip of milk, a deep breath in through his nose, out his mouth, and then another bite of food. Those dark eyes scanned the room. His large shoulders hunched forward as if he were a dog protecting his bowl.
Of course, he seemed like the most obvious risk. Dark and scary, clearly with a violent past. But I didn't fear him. There was something noble about him. I didn't think a man who ate like that was interested in throwing away his honor in exchange for cash. But it wasn't just my own instincts that made me trust him: Blue had wagged his tail at Connor.
Deacon Tanner: a Texan, the oldest of the men. He filled out his crisp, new FGI shirt in a way that made Zerzan keep glancing at him. Dimples and a Texas drawl added to his charm. He was quiet but made a few comments here and there. Keeping things light, doing his part to help Terry keep the breakfast conversation going. He was looking at Zerzan as much as she was looking at him. Every time he caught her eye, he gave her a dimple-filled smile and she'd force a scowl.
I didn't have a chance to speak to Zerzan before the meal began, so when Bobby stood up, signaling the end, I moved around the table toward her. Deacon had picked up Zerzan's tray and offered to bus it for her, flashing his dimples one more time. She frowned. "I can do it."
"Of course you can," Deacon said with another grin. "But it would be my pleasure."
Before Zerzan could respond, she spotted me, and I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head toward the ladies’ room. She gave Deacon one more frown before joining me.
I checked that all the stalls were empty. Zerzan watched me, her arms crossed and the frown still on her face.
"Someone is going to try to kill me today."
"Yes ..." She raised her eyebrows as in, duh.
"I mean, someone on our team."
Zerzan's frown deepened. "Why?"
"It's better if I'm not around. I'm a liability to this whole operation. They needed me to broker the deal with you because you trust me. And they need me to die in a way that looks like it's legitimate so that you will continue to trust them."
"How do you know this?"
"Bobby told me."
"And you can trust him?"
"I can."
"Who will try?"
"I don't know, one of the guys we just met. I'm just telling you this so that if I do die today, you'll know what happened. But I think that—"
Zerzan interrupted me. "You're not going to die."
"Hey," I held up a hand. "I appreciate your faith. But, it's always good to be prepared for the worst." She started to respond, but I pushed on. "Promise me that you will continue to work with Bobby to get what you need."
"Agreed."
I smiled. "Well, that was easier than I thought."
Zerzan shrugged. "I know how important what I'm doing is. I also know you're not going to die today."
Only half of me hoped she was right. The other half—the one that had noticed the fissure of lightning that circled the ceiling of the bathroom, shooting out sparks of madness—was ready to end this. One last gasp, one last attempt to do something good. To exact some kind of justice in this sick world. Then peace. Rest. An ending.
***
Philip (the one with the pretty mouth), Taylor (the surfer dude), James (the Italian), and Connor (the scary one) were our snipers. The road below was paved, a ribbon of black through a sea of gray sand. Zerzan, Blue, and I would be pulling the target from his vehicle and moving him onto the helicopter. Deacon (the Texan) was our pilot and Terry (the joker) and Avery (the joker's best bud), would assist us in the transport.
According to our intelligence—well, according to Martha's intelligence—our target would be traveling in a convoy of six vehicles. Six Toyota trucks with mounted machine guns and a Land Cruiser. And our target would be in the Land Cruiser.
Three fighters per truck, two in the cab, one in the back. Another three men in the Land Cruiser guarding our target. A total of twenty-two men.
We planned on ambushing the convoy at a place where the road barely fit between opposing faces of the mountains. The cliffs rose up starkly on either side; only small trees and spindly bushes clung to the rocky surface.
The section of road between the cliffs was long enough that you could trap a convoy of seven vehicles.
Night descended while we waited. Zerzan, Blue, and I sat on a rocky ledge thirty feet above the ground. There was a path to the road which could be traversed quickly, but needed concentration.
Zerzan and I were dressed in black with helmets and flak jackets. We even had night vision goggles if we needed them. But I doubted we would, considering that the convoy’s headlights would likely make it too bright for the goggles.
Our four snipers—Taylor, James, Connor, and Philip—were in position above us. They were collectively responsible for taking out the eighteen men in the Toyota trucks. The snipers would first take out the lead and follow vehicles, locking the Land Cruiser in the center of the narrow cut between the cliffs. The SUV may or may not be bulletproof.
Luckily for us, our target was burned as a child, so half his face looked like melted cheese, making him easy to identify.
Once the lead and follow vehicles were disabled, the snipers would kill the rest of our target's protection in the ensuing gun battle, at which point Zerzan and I were charged with extracting our man alive from the Land Cruiser. With help from Terry and Avery, we'd load him onto the helicopte
r and away we'd fly.
The helicopter waited on a plateau at the top of the mountain. It was our evac point if anything went wrong. I glanced up the mountainside; it was almost sheer, with just enough rock outcroppings to make it climbable.
My mind was clear and yet fingers of lightning radiated around me, along with the low thrum of thunder vibrating in my ears.
Rather than a distraction, these figments of my broken mind helped to center my focus.
Our mission was to capture Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi and use him to begin a women-led revolution that would take down Daesh.
Yet, to think in terms that broad was not helpful in a battle situation. My only goal could be to do my best and keep Blue and myself alive for as long as possible.
Clearly, I was broken. The years of anger and violence, the many injuries both physical and psychological, had destroyed me.
This could be my final act.
That brought me a sense of calm that I hadn't felt in half a decade. Perhaps I'd never felt it before. I'd always wondered about my purpose and questioned my life. But now, as I sat on the edge of the rock formation, my feet dangling into empty space, it was obvious what was important. And it wasn't me.
For years I'd been saying that I didn't matter, that I didn't care.
But I acted as if I was the only thing that mattered; my own thirst for blood and revenge guided my every move.
Now was my chance to finish it. With this one sacrifice, this one final chance at salvation, I could help start the revolution and leave this world, hopefully, a better place.
Blue touched his nose to my elbow and I laid a hand on the top of his head. He sat next to me, our bodies close together.
I imagined him disappearing into this wilderness, finding a pack of wolves to live with. Finally free of the burden of me.
"I see them," Phillip's voice said in my ear.
They were early. We had not expected them until all signs of the sun had gone, and the moon's dominion was established.
"They have motorcyclists with them. An additional seven, no, ten men."
The numbers didn't matter. Zerzan was an unstoppable force and her destiny was already written. She was going to change the world. It didn't matter how many men tried to stop her; she'd send them all to hell.
The rumble of pistons pumping reached us. It sounded like the final complaints of a dying society.
Adrenaline pumped into my system. The snipers checked in over the line. Everyone was ready. Everything was in place. The action was about to begin.
Chapter Eighteen
The first truck came into view, followed quickly by the second and third. They were blasting through this narrow passage, understanding that it was the most dangerous part of their journey.
The gunfire that popped the front tires of the lead vehicle was almost silent. The speeding truck swerved out of control, leaving the paved road and smashing into the rock face, crumpling the front end. Smoke spewed from under the hood. The guard who'd been in the bed, manning the mounted machine gun, flew over his weapon and smashed onto the rocks before landing on the steaming hood, denting it further.
The second vehicle careened into the back end of the first, becoming wedged between the turned truck and the rock face. The third truck stopped in time to avoid a collision. Yelling started as bullets flew.
From our vantage point, we saw a sniper round execute the soldier manning the machine gun in the back of the third vehicle. Then another round took out the gunman in the second.
The men on motorcycles pulled up and jumped off their bikes. One went down, his brain exploding onto the road. They were trying to push the trucks out of the way to create an opening for the Land Cruiser to escape.
The back of the convoy was not visible to us until we began to climb down the mountain. Still hidden within the folds of the rocks, we saw that the follow vehicle was also under fire and its occupants were being killed quickly and efficiently.
The Land Cruiser sat in the middle of the melee, tinted glass windows and bright white headlights, a center of calm in a sea of calamity.
Stars began to pop out in the darkening sky, as if the sound of the gunfire had awakened them. The shadowy space between the high cliff faces was darker than the flat plains on either side. I could see the last vestiges of light down the road, but darkness now reigned where our battle waged.
A Daesh fighter behind one of the still-functioning mounted guns fired wildly into the mountain. Rock exploded off the cliff face; sharp shards of ancient soil flew through the air, raining down on the blacktop.
A sniper's bullet knocked the man off the gun; he fell over the side of the truck, his limbs spiraling, and landed on the pavement, dead.
Zerzan and I stayed hidden, crouching in the shadows at the base of the cliff side, a small, scrubby tree hiding us from the men who ran back and forth, trying to survive.
No compassion, no sadness. I felt nothing. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. The stiff wind of my madness carried away all fear as I stepped out from our shelter. Blue touched his nose to my hip.
Zerzan moved with me.
No one noticed us.
Three men were pushing the front vehicles blocking the road—they had gotten one to the side and were working on the second. A sniper bullet took one of the men out. He fell against the truck, his blood spattering a brilliant red coating on the dusty surface.
The other two men didn't look at their fallen comrade; their purpose was as clear as my own.
The second truck budged; they yelled in triumph. Another bullet struck one of them, piercing his thigh, blood and muscle exploding out of the exit wound. The man stumbled but with a feral scream, kept pushing.
The truck cleared, the last dying light of day so close, the open road calling.
The Land Cruiser roared to life. It slammed through the narrow opening, spinning one of the trucks to the side.
Sniper rounds tinged against the bumper and back windows, but did not breach the SUV.
"Stay, Blue." I pointed back to our hiding place and he returned to the black shadows.
The thump of the helicopter broke through the rumble of thunder.
Zerzan and I crossed to one of the fallen bikes, stained with its rider's blood, his body still slumped next to it. I picked it up, climbed on, and Zerzan got on the back.
A soldier noticed us then, his eyes widening so that I could see the whites in the dark shadows of the steep valley. Zerzan fired behind me and his head rocked back, taking his body down with it.
I revved the engine, feeling the power between my thighs.
We shot forward, Zerzan wrapping one arm around my waist, the other holding her pistol. One of the men who'd helped to push the lead truck out of the way reached out, a crazed and desperate attempt to stop us. His hand touched my elbow, I felt his fingers, the warmth of his skin through my sleeve, for only a moment before Zerzan knocked him away, her gun connecting with his wrist with a sickening crack as the bone gave out.
Then we were out in the open, the sky giant above us, midnight blue, rich, and darkening fast. Stars burned, light a billion years old sparkling like it was brand new.
The moon, a silver sliver at the horizon, followed our progress as we raced to catch up with the Land Cruiser which was barely visible through the thick cloud of dust rising up behind it.
The helicopter flew over, beating air down upon us, thwapping loudly, faster than us. It maneuvered in front of the land cruiser and turned back to it, firing into the front end.
A tire caught fire, exploded off, and rolled, flaming down the road. I swerved to avoid it. Through my side mirror, I saw it continue on its own path, the stench of burning rubber filling my nose.
The Land Cruiser slowed, sparks flying from its destroyed tires as it continued to roll on its rims. The flashes turned to lightning in my vision, spidering out into the distance, spreading across the horizon, filling the night with bright, white light.
The Land Cruiser came to a stop.
I slowed down, the engine of the bike chortling. The Land Cruiser's windows and doors remained closed, the black tint hiding the occupants, the bulletproof glass protecting them from us.
I rolled around to the front. The headlights lit up the night, illuminating white smoke that rolled off the rims. The helicopter hovered right above the ground, dust and smoke billowing around it.
Zerzan jumped off the bike and in two long strides hopped up onto the hood of the Land Cruiser. Both hands gripping her weapon, she fired into the windshield, spacing her bullets evenly, starting with the passenger side and moving toward the driver’s.
The bullets ricocheted off the glass, flying back at her, landing with small tinging sounds on the black top. The crack of the windshield came on her tenth shot.
She shot again and again. Then raised her leg and kicked hard, breaking through into the vehicle.
The yelling of deep, male voices sounded from inside the SUV.
I dropped the bike and pulled my pistol. Zerzan shot the driver and then dove into the vehicle. More gunshots lit up the interior. Black silhouettes were caught in the flashing lights; arms up, weapons raised, bodies going slack, heads kicking back.
The back door flew open. A dead body fell out, the eyes wide, staring up at the sky above.
Another man fell out, landing on his hands and knees, this one alive. Zerzan came out after him. A graze on her cheek pumped blood, spilling it down her neck, soaking her shirt.
The man on the ground looked up at me. His face was twisted with scar tissue. I grabbed him and started hauling him toward the helicopter.
Zerzan helped, taking his other arm. His head swiveled between the two of us.
Avery and Terry ran up to us and took the man, throwing him through the open helicopter door. Zerzan jumped in after him.
"I have to get Blue!" I yelled. Zerzan nodded, turned to the captive, and pulled her knife, a smile crawling across her blood-soaked face.
I returned to the bike, picked it up, climbed on, and kicked it to life. Leaning over the handlebars, I raced back toward the shadows.
The Girl With The Gun (Sydney Rye Book 8) Page 17