Chapter 64
HURLEY dangled in the air from a hook that was tied to his wrists. His toes hovered only a few inches from the floor. His shoulders ached like nothing he had ever experienced. This had been his punishment for taking a bite out of Sayyed. They also decided to tape his mouth shut, but he thought that had more to do with silencing his insults than with their fear of being bitten. The only nice thing to come of it was that they’d left him alone. Not that hanging by your wrists a few inches off the ground was a nice thing, but it was certainly preferable to having your fingernails ripped out and being electrocuted.
There was a noise at the door. A second later it opened and the light turned on. Hurley blinked a few times before he could see it was Radih. The Fatah leader crossed over and exhaled cigarette smoke into Hurley’s face. Hurley inhaled the smoke and thought he might apologize for all the nasty things he’d said about Radih’s mother if only the man would offer him a heater.
Radih reached up and tore the tape off the American’s mouth. “I have a surprise for you.”
“We gonna try the rubber hose today?”
“No, something much better.”
“Great,” Hurley said with feigned enthusiasm. “I can’t wait. Hey … about that stuff I said about your mom—”
Before Hurley could get the rest of it out, Radih smashed his fist into Hurley’s stomach. “I have had enough of your lies. I am going to make you feel more pain than you have ever imagined.”
“Good,” Hurley coughed. “I hope you kill me, because Mughniyah will kill you for it. Nothing could make me happier than making sure you went down with me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you,” Radih said, smiling. “But I am going to kill your son.”
Hurley laughed. “What the f*ck are you talking about?”
Radih turned to his men. “Get him.”
“My son?” Hurley asked. “You must be off your rocker, unless you mean one of your bastard brothers I fathered with your mother.”
“Yes … keep talking. We will see how tough you are in a moment.”
The two men returned, each with one arm looped under Rapp’s armpits. Rapp was shuffling along trying to keep up and blabbing incessantly about the money he could get them.
Rapp saw Hurley and yelled, “Dad. Don’t worry, we’re going to get out of this. Washington is going to pay for your release.”
Hurley looked at Rapp and said, “What the f*ck are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”
Radih was finally having some fun. “This is beautiful. You are right. I can’t kill you, but I can kill your son. A big American f*ck-you.” Radih snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor. “Bring him here.” The men dumped Rapp on the ground at Radih’s feet. “I will handle him,” he said as he drew the American’s silenced Beretta from his waistband. “Hold the father’s head and make sure his eyes are open.”
The two men left Rapp and took up positions on the right and left side of Hurley. They grabbed his head and dug their thumbs into the skin just under his eyebrows and pulled up.
“Make him look,” Radih commanded as he grabbed a fistful of Rapp’s hair. “Over here.”
“Why are you doing this?” Rapp wailed in a panicked voice. “Our government will pay you.”
Radih bent over and said, “They will pay for him, you idiot. You are worthless.” He straightened and looked at Hurley. “Are there any other lies you’d like to spew about my mother?”
Hurley didn’t offer a reply.
“How does a man of your considerable though twisted talents sire such a stupid child?”
Rapp looked up, only half listening to the insults. His focus was on a beautiful 9mm suppressed Beretta. Radih kept waving the gun back and forth, sticking it in Hurley’s face and then pointing it at Rapp’s head. Rapp followed it like a tennis volley. Radih’s finger was on the trigger and the red dot above his thumb told Rapp that the safety was off and the gun was hot. The man settled into a rhythm with his insults. He was now saying something about Rapp’s mother, the woman he presumed to have slept with Hurley. The Palestinian stuck the tip of the suppressor under Hurley’s nose and ordered him to beg for his son’s life. As Hurley started to speak, the gun began its slow-motion arc back to Rapp.
Rapp made his move. He’d sawed most of the way through the tape around his wrists while he was back in the holding cell. Now, not sure the tape would break, he went for a two-handed grab around the barrel of the gun. His hands clamped down on the steel while the gun was still swinging Rapp’s way. Rapp stood, driving the gun straight up so a misfire wouldn’t bury itself in Hurley’s chest. At the top, he pivoted to his left, bringing the gun up and over the top of his head, before pulling it back down on the other side, effectively putting Radih in an arm bar. In this position the Palestinian couldn’t move unless he let go of the gun. Rapp delivered a quick knee strike to Radih’s face, and a bullet spat harmlessly into the cinderblock wall.
Having dazed him, Rapp ripped the gun free. He swung the pistol back, cracking Radih across the forehead with the heavy metal grip. The blow sent him to the floor. Rapp tried to wrench his wrists free of the remaining duct tape but it caught. The other two men were finally starting to move. Hurley, realizing that one of the men might yell for help, started screaming at the top of his lungs as if he were being beaten. Rapp took a step back to get a better angle and yanked again, but the last bit of tape held, so he flipped the gun up in the air and caught the grip with both hands. The man on his left was no more than four feet away when he fired the gun twice, hitting him both times in the chest. The man collapsed at Rapp’s feet.
Rapp swung the gun around on the other man, who was caught between the door and Hurley. He was never going to make it, so he stopped and put his hands up in the air.
“Shoot him,” Hurley ordered in a raspy voice.
Rapp squeezed the trigger and buried a bullet in the man’s forehead.
“Get me down … quick,” Hurley hissed.
“What about him?” Rapp asked, pointing the gun at Radih, who was showing signs of life.
“Get me down first.”
Rapp ripped through the last bit of tape while he ran over to the wall and untied the makeshift pulley. Hurley dropped the short distance to the floor, landing on his feet. He wavered for a second and then caught his balance.
“Give me that gun,” Hurley ordered, “and check the right thigh pocket of that second one you shot. He should have a knife.”
Rapp placed the gun in Hurley’s hands and went off to search for the knife.
Hurley walked over to Radih, whose arms were starting to flop around as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. Hurley stomped on his stomach, and the Palestinian’s eyes popped open. Hurley bent over and pressed the suppressor against Radih’s chest. Looking into his eyes, he said, “You should have killed me when you had the chance, you piece of shit.” Hurley pulled the trigger.