He worked through the first magazine in a methodical fashion, trying to make each shot count. He didn’t know what if anything he was hitting, but he and Stan were achieving target effect. The van slewed to the right and came to a stop as the front wheels left the pavement for the road’s dirt shoulder. After reloading, Rapp switched the selector switch to sustained fire and hammered through two more magazines using short, controlled bursts.
He was on his third and final magazine when Stan’s voice crackled through his earpiece.
“Cease fire, cease fire.”
Rapp complied, placing the HK on safe.
For the first time, he took in the sum of the vehicle instead of just the section he’d been shooting. Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that the van was significantly worse for the wear. The windshield was a mass of splintered glass and at least one of the headlights had been shot out. Most importantly, nothing moved. No scrum of bodies came boiling out of the vehicle, and no driver attempted to steer the van clear of the ambush site.
They’d done it.
“I’m clearing the vehicle,” Stan said.
“Negative,” Rapp said. “Wait for me to get on the ground.”
“No time.”
Stan moved toward the van with his smooth amble. Rapp ground his teeth at his mentor’s actions, but he was more irritated with himself than Stan. Hurley had been working as a covert operative since before Rapp was born. He didn’t take orders.
From anyone.
Pausing in front of the vehicle, Stan punched the HK’s barrel through an already half-shattered window and fired several times.
“Trouble?” Rapp said.
“Better safe than sorry.”
Withdrawing the rifle, Stan opened the door and plunged his torso inside. For a long moment Rapp could do nothing but stare at Hurley’s backside and cycle through all the potential ways this could go wrong.
Then, Stan’s voice crackled in his ear.
“I was wrong—we do have trouble.”
“What?” Rapp said.
“We’re missing a missile.”
Where had he heard that before?
CHAPTER 93
“YOU sure?”
Rapp regretted the reflexive question the second the words left his lips.
Maybe Stan would forgive his slip.
“Of course I’m fucking sure. I’ve got a van full of dead Iranians and a single missile case. We’re short one.”
Nope.
“Is Ruyintan there?” Rapp said.
“Stand by.”
A pulsing light drew Rapp’s attention to his watch.
His five-minute alarm.
The flight of Black Hawks would now be at their release point turning south toward the compound. Thirty-odd American lives were on the line because he’d told Irene to trust him, and now he was short a missile.
Damn it.
“Negative,” Stan said. “Ruyintan’s not here.”
What had they missed?
A second vehicle?
Another target?
Had the original missile count been wrong?
“If I don’t pick a place to land in the next thirty seconds, the helicopter’s going to pick one for me,” Derek said.
“Stand by,” Rapp said, trying to sort through the problem.
What had they missed?
