Or at least one of its members.
A torso and section of leg protruded from beneath the helicopter’s right skid. The rest of the man was presumably somewhere beneath the twin tubular sections of steel, but the Iranian wasn’t going anywhere. The same could not be said for the monster of a human being coming around the helicopter’s nose.
A monster with a gun.
CHAPTER 95
THE sight of the armed man prompted four quick realizations.
One, Rapp recognized him.
Or at least recognized the Iranian’s flattened nose, heavy shoulders, and cauliflower ears. It was Ruyintan’s bodyguard from the café.
The bodyguard with the scarred knuckles.
Two, Derek was slumped in the pilot’s seat. Rapp couldn’t see much beyond the dark rivulets dripping from Derek’s scalp, but he knew the aviator was going to have one hell of a hangover when he woke up.
If he woke up.
Three, Rapp’s HK was no longer slung around his neck. Rap had slipped the weapon’s sling over his restraint harness, and the rifle must have come free during the crash sequence.
Fourth, and most important, Rapp saw a black figure just beyond the monster.
A figure with a long tube resting on his shoulder.
Rapp felt the bulge of the pistol that was holstered at the small of his back, but with the Iranian on top of him, it might as well have been in the helicopter’s cabin with his HK. He’d never draw the Glock in time. Instead, Rapp rushed forward, sweeping the monster’s pistol offline with his right hand and firing a hook into the Iranian’s side with his left.
At least that’s what he’d intended to do.
Unfortunately for Rapp, this was not the Iranian’s first scuffle.
Rapp had knocked the gunman’s pistol off target, but his left hook found air instead of flesh. The Iranian crashed Rapp’s strike, leading with his forehead. The headbutt caught Rapp square in the face. Rapp tucked his chin at the last second, saving his nose, but a constellation of stars went supernova thanks to the skull-to-skull contact. Rapp shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and instinctively brought both elbows up to cover his face in anticipation of a follow-up hook.
The blow didn’t come.
At least not to his face.
What felt like an aluminum bat exploded into his side, followed by a sledgehammer to his head. The Iranian had cinder blocks for fists. The body blow clipped Rapp’s thick back muscles instead of his liver, but the haymaker to his head knocked him on his ass. The Iranian scooped up his pistol from where it had fallen and extended it toward Rapp.
Derek grunted, and the cockpit door slammed into the Iranian just as the pistol fired.
The bullet impact sprayed Rapp’s face with manure. He snapped his leg into a straight kick, torquing his hips and driving his heel through the monster’s knee. The Iranian howled, instinctively reaching for the fuselage to steady himself.
For an instant, the monster’s pistol wavered as pain overrode his tactical sense.
Rotating to his side, Rapp drew the Glock, indexed the pistol on the monster’s chest, and pressed the trigger.
The pistol barked.
The monster grunted.
Rapp fired once more into the crumbling man’s torso, then panned the glowing front sight post toward the man with the missile. The warbling sound of a seeker head locking on to a target competed for Rapp’s attention with a thundering from multiple helicopters.
The strike package was overhead.
Rapp’s world shrank to three glowing tritium dots—one on the Glock’s front sight post and two on the rear. He brought the floating green orbs into alignment and pressed the trigger.
The pistol discharged, and the sights drifted up and to the left.
Rapp brought the orbs back onto target and fired again.
The pistol’s slide locked open.
Scrambling to his feet, Rapp grabbed the monster’s pistol and sprinted toward the crumpled form. He fired twice more into the unmoving body and then pulled the missile away from the dead man’s chest. The seeker’s tone changed, indicating that the weapon had lost lock. Rapp was reaching for the missile when a pair of black forms scythed through the sky, drowning out the electronic warble. Rapp tracked the strike package’s progress for a moment before squatting next to the missileer.
A faint pucker marred the man’s right cheekbone.
A pucker made by an American Marine’s 5.56mm round.
Ruyintan.
The missile warbled a final time before falling silent.
Rapp looked south toward bin Laden’s compound and the two helicopters loaded with commandos. The world’s most wanted terrorist was about to receive justice, but there were still plenty more shitbags who needed killing.
His work wasn’t done.
Not by a long shot.
