“And there it is.”
Penni wanted to scream. Were they really standing there shooting the shit after finally catching Winterfield? Acting like it was no biggie that they’d just interrupted a deal with a member of the AQAP? Pretending like there was nothing at all urgent about the situation? I mean, really?
Chelsea must have been having similar difficulties because she piped up with, “Are we doing this or what? I’m still waiting for the signal to come get you guys.”
“Roger that, Chels,” Dan said. “We’re r—”
Boom!
A shot rang out over the square, making Penni jump at the same time al-Rahma’s head erupted like a melon loaded with firecrackers. Blood sprayed in a terrible arc, shining black in the dim light cast by the nearby street lamps.
What the hell? Where did that—
Boom!
Another shot blasted through the cold air, the round ranging wide, hitting the middle tier on the fountain and shattering the ceramic. Penni heard the crash of the broken pieces into the water in the base of the fountain at the same time Dan yelled, “Down! Down! Get down!”
Boom!
A third shot grazed Winterfield’s arm before Dan jerked him to the ground. Winterfield’s scream of agony echoed around the plaza. That, combined with the unmistakable sound of gunfire, had lights flashing on in two of the second-story apartments up the street to Penni’s right. Every dog within ten blocks started barking and howling and setting up a terrible ruckus.
She noticed all this as an aside since every part of her was focused on the spot where she’d seen a muzzle flash. She ran through the four rules of marksmanship. Rule one: steady position. Check. Her right forearm was still braced solidly against the post. Rule two: aim. Check. Check. She lined up the Ruger’s three-dot sight until the spot she thought she saw the muzzle flash was dead center. Rule three: control breath. Triple check. She punched all the air from her lungs. Rule four: Squeeze trigger…
Bam! Bam! Bam! The Ruger kicked like a mule in her hand as she lit up the dark spot catty-corner to her across the square. She could hear Winterfield bellowing like a wounded bull and Dan and Zoelner yelling orders to each other, to Chelsea, and to her. But she’d stopped comprehending English, concentrating entirely on laying down cover fire.
Time slowed to a crawl. Her heart was a steady, deliberate lub-dub. Her breathing was a calculated inhale and exhale between rounds. She counted off her shots to keep track of how many bullets remained in her clip. Four, five…
The column she was braced against took a round. Then another. The noise of the lead projectiles burying themselves in the thick post seemed oddly muted. And then she realized that was because her heart wasn’t a steady lub-dub; it was a dull roar between her ears. Her breathing wasn’t a calculated inhale and exhale; she was panting so loudly she sounded like she was auditioning for the role of Darth Vader. A chunk of concrete flew off, grazing her face, and she was slingshotted out of the momentary time warp.
Sonofa—
Now nothing was happening in slow motion. The whole world seemed to be spinning out of control, thrust into a chaotic twirl as she adjusted her position, aimed for the muzzle flashes, and let loose with another round of return fire. The Ruger belched .45-caliber bullets at a pulse-pounding rate, perfuming the air with the scent of cordite, slinging spent shell casings off to Penni’s right, and making the muscles in her wrist and hand burn from exertion.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the van Chelsea had hot-wired come screaming around the corner. Its tires gripped the damp cobblestones in an effort to remain upright as the whole vehicle tipped ominously.
“Goddamnit, Penni! Get down! Protect yourself!” Dan’s terrified yell blared not only through her earpiece, but also through the air itself. Oh goodie! Apparently she was understanding English again.
And boy, oh boy, how she would have loved to obey his order. But he and Zoelner would be sitting ducks if she did. Not to mention Winterfield. Really, she didn’t mention Winterfield because who gives a flying frick about that traitor’s sorry ass? But since she did give many flying fricks about Dan, and Zoelner by association, she ignored his command and continued to lay on her trigger—eight…nine… A mutinous terror had entered her bloodstream, making her veins burn.
So much to lose. So much to lose. So much to… The mantra spun around and around inside her head, dazing her, dizzying her.