Chapter 66
RAPP found the knife, dug it out of the man’s pants, and crossed the room. He took his gun back from Hurley and stuck it under his armpit while he cut the tape from Hurley’s wrists.
The tape peeled free and Hurley said, “Give me the gun.”
Rapp held out the knife. “Get your own.”
Hurley grumbled and took the knife.
“There are two guys in the hallway.” Rapp started dragging one of the bodies across the room and placed it by the wall with the door. “I’ll open the door, you try to sound like Radih. Yell for them to get in here and I’ll pop ’em.”
When the bodies were piled out of sight, Rapp placed his hand on the door handle. Hurley stood behind him. Rapp nodded and yanked the door open. Hurley muttered something about a mess and ordered the two guards to get in there. Unfortunately, only one appeared. Rapp shot him in the back of the head while pulling the door open farther and swinging his left arm around, searching for the second man. The tip of the suppressor ended up less than a foot from the man’s face. Rapp squeezed the trigger and shot him in the nose, pink mist exploding out into the hallway. Stepping over the body, he looked left and right. The hallway was empty.
Rapp dragged the guard into the room. Hurley was already stripping the first guard of his pants, shirt, and boots. Rapp did the same with the second guard and told Hurley to grab the man’s bandanna. When Rapp found the radio he asked Hurley, “Do you know where we are?”
“No.”
“I think I might. What about Bobby and Cummins?”
“Bobby should be here, but I think they took Cummins to the airport. They’re trying to auction off our asses.”
“We’ll get Bobby in a second, but I need to call Ridley first.” Rapp dialed in the right frequency and hit the transmit button. All he got was static.
“Bad reception down here,” Hurley told him. “We’ll have to get out of the basement.”
“All right…” Rapp looked around the room. “I assume Bobby is naked, too.”
“Yeah … Let’s grab him some clothes.”
Rapp scavenged up a set while Hurley collected two ammo pouches with eight extra AK-47 magazines. When they had everything, they tied the bandannas around their faces and Rapp checked the hallway. It was still empty, so they ducked out, closing the door behind them and locking it. The next door over was padlocked, so Rapp shot the lock off with his Beretta. Hurley opened the door and froze. There, dangling from the hook in the middle of the room, with a rope wrapped around his neck, was Richards.
“Motherf*ckers,” was all Hurley could manage to say.
Rapp considered checking for a pulse, but Richards’s skin was chalk white. He’d been dead for hours. “Should we bring him with us?”
“No.” Hurley shook his head.
Rapp closed the door to Richards’s cell and told himself he would process it later. They ran down the back hallway, but when they got near the stairs they heard some voices. Hurley started making hand gestures, but Rapp waved him off, pulling him back away from the stairs.
Whispering in his ear, Rapp said, “I have an idea.” Rapp handed him the two-way radio. “Try Ridley again. Tell him I think we’re at Martyrs’ Square. I’m gonna run down to the front of the building and see if I can start a little something.” Rapp started to move, but Hurley grabbed him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just wait here. If I’m right, you’re gonna hear a shitload of gunfire in about a half minute. Then we’ll make our break.” Rapp pointed at the radio. “Just try to raise Ridley. I’ll be right back.”
Rapp tore off down the hallway, slowing when he was fifteen feet from the stairs at the front of the building. He stopped and listened for a moment, but heard nothing. Then there was the sound of a foot scraping along the floor and a faint voice. Rapp couldn’t tell if was coming from the first floor or farther up. He considered going back to Hurley. He could use his silenced Beretta to take out whoever was at the back of the building and then try to make a run for it. Fundamentally, though, there was a problem. They were on the wrong side of town and severely outgunned. They needed a diversion to get out of here.
“Full speed ahead,” he muttered to himself as he started up the stairs, his silenced pistol in his left hand and the AK-47 in the right. Midway up the steps he got his first glimpse of a small lobby off to the left, maybe fifteen by fifteen feet. Rapp counted two heads and then three. The main entrance was sandbagged, as were the windows on each side, although they’d left two holes in the sandbags to fire from—exactly what Rapp was looking for.
When he hit the landing he noticed two more men lying on the floor. One was standing, looking out one hole in the sandbags, watching the street, and two more were sitting in folding chairs, playing a board game. Rapp walked straight for the man who was on his feet. He kept his pace casual and started shaking his head as if he was going to tell them just how crappy things were downstairs. One of the men started bitching in Arabic. The best Rapp could figure was that the man was telling him he had another hour before he had to pull a watch in the toilet. Rapp laughed and then raised the suppressed Beretta. He had had eighteen shots to start with and was down to twelve.
The guy who was standing got it first, a nice little shot from ten feet right in the left eye. The two guys playing the board game—one got it in the back of the head and the other in his open mouth. Rapp never stopped moving. It was another nice thing Hurley had taught him. When you have the advantage, close with the enemy. He was no more than eight feet away when he shot the two nappers. The first one was clean, but with the second guy, he was off a bit on the first shot, so he had to fire one more to put him out of his misery.
Six shots left. Rapp glanced to his left. The hallway had been barricaded with scraps of broken office furniture. The stairs going up were empty. He walked over to the little one-by-one-foot hole in the sandbags and looked across the street. Sure enough, about two hundred feet away was a similar building. This had to be Martyrs’ Square. Rapp slung his AK-47 over his right shoulder, stuffed the Beretta in his waistband, and picked up the dead lookout’s AK-47. He gripped the rifle firmly, flipped the selector switch to full automatic, and sighted at the building across the street. He didn’t want to kill anyone over there, but he did want to make sure he got their attention, so he chose a position on the second floor and let it rip. The bullets shredded the afternoon calm, thudding into the sandbags across the street and then the building itself as it climbed. Rapp emptied the entire magazine and dropped the weapon.
Without hesitating, he moved to the peephole on the other side of the front door and took aim with the other AK-47. This time he sprayed the entire building down, firing in controlled bursts. Twenty or so rounds into the magazine the building across the street erupted in gunfire. Rapp hauled ass down the stairs as he heard bullets smacking into the building and gunfire being returned.
Hurley was standing at the other end, waiting for him. “What in hell did you just do?”
“I gave the big FU to Washington and got us a little diversion.” Rapp looked up the stairs. The men were gone. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They climbed up the stairs, and when they reached the landing a heavyset guy in green fatigues came running down from the floor above and started ordering them to the upper floors to return fire. Hurley pointed out the back door with his rifle, and when the man looked in that direction, he deftly stuck a knife through his carotid artery. Blood came cascading out, pulsating through his fingers.
Hurley followed Rapp out the back door just as a sedan skidded to a stop between two piles of rubble. The two men in the front seat jumped out of the car, yelling and asking what was going on. Rapp couldn’t hear them over the gunfire, and since they weren’t pointing a gun at him he wasn’t in any rush to kill them. All he wanted was their car. Two more men exited the rear of the car, one Caucasian and the other Middle Eastern. Both looked vaguely familiar, which made Rapp think he’d seen them in some of the photos Ridley had shown him.
Hurley said, “Merry f*cking Christmas,” and then shot the two men in front.
Rapp raised the Beretta and took aim at the fair-skinned guy on the left.
Hurley yelled, “Don’t kill the little Commie. Crack him over the head and stuff him in the trunk. I’ve got the other one.”
Rapp and Hurley rushed the two men, their weapons leveled.
Hurley swung the butt end of his rifle and cracked Sayyed across the temple. As the Syrian dropped to his knees, Hurley said, “Sayyed, old buddy. I can’t wait to play Twenty Questions with you.”