“Who are you?” Rapp said.
This time CYCLONE let the silence build.
Rapp forced himself to relax even as he could feel the seconds tick by. The next part of this engagement was critical. While Rapp wasn’t an agent runner per say, he knew a thing or two about handling assets. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Rapp thought that people in the intelligence community erred too much on the side of caution. In a world full of nails, a hammer usually was the best tool.
Not today.
Today Rapp had to try something that was anathema to his usual modus operandi.
Subtlety.
“I am the bearer of bad news, Abu al-Iraqi,” CYCLONE said.
“What news?” Rapp said.
CYCLONE snorted. “They are taking us to Parwan Detention Facility. Afghans might run the prison, but only the Americans decide who leaves. I would prepare for a lengthy visit.”
“I don’t think so,” Rapp said.
“You doubt me?” CYCLONE said.
“Not in the least,” Rapp said. “I just have no intention of going to prison.”
As if on cue, Rapp felt the truck slow.
Then, the world exploded.
CHAPTER 23
TO be fair, it wasn’t the entire world that exploded.
The thunderclap originated from somewhere outside the truck, but with nothing but cheap canvas standing between Rapp and the concussive blast wave, it sure felt like the world was ending.
Suddenly, shooting started.
For anyone who’d been on the receiving end of either firearm, the chattering of an M4 carbine firing sounded decidedly different from the barking of an AK-47 rifle. The HIG commander seemed to fall into that category.
As did Rapp.
“Brothers are attacking the convoy!” CYCLONE shouted.
“Quiet,” Rapp said, leaning closer to the other man. “It’s not an attack. It’s a rescue.”
“How do you—”
“I said quiet.” Rapp emphasized the command by slamming his shoulder into the HIG commander. “If you want to live, be still.”
To his credit, CYCLONE fell silent even as screams echoed around them.
Rapp and his fellow prisoners were secured by a single chain that ran through the manacles binding their wrists. The chain was fastened to eye bolts sunk into the truck’s chassis at regular intervals, preventing the captives from moving. As such, just one guard shared the cargo area with them. Though the Afghan was outmanned twelve or more to one, the manacles and black hoods restraining the captives meant that he had nothing to worry about.
From his prisoners, anyway.
An AK-47 sounded to Rapp’s right. The report was deafening in such close confines and the muzzle blast buffeted his chest and face. A scream morphed into a gurgle as bullets presumably found their target.
“Here!” Rapp shouted in Arabic. “I’m here.”
“What are you doing?” CYCLONE said.
“Leaving,” Rapp replied as nimble hands pulled the hood from his face and pressed a key into his fingers.
“Hurry,” Rapp’s rescuer said, “the Americans are coming.”
“Help the brothers,” Rapp said. “I’m right behind you.”
Rapp worked the handcuff key into the crusty lock, fighting an accumulation of rust, grit, and probably blood. In what should not have been a shock to him, the Afghans in charge of transporting the prisoners hadn’t dedicated a lot of time to ensuring the restraints actioned smoothly. Then again, these men were probably not the cream of the crop. The role of prison guard was universally assigned to people who fit a demanding criterion: sick, lame, or lazy.
The key began to turn.
He carefully applied more torque, trying to split the difference between overcoming the debris jamming the locking mechanism and snapping off the key’s plastic grip. After a final twist, the manacles opened with an audible click.
“Allahu Akbar,” Rapp said as he stripped off the restraints and let them clatter to the floor.
Though he had spent more than his fair share of time in restraints of one sort or another, Rapp didn’t have to fake his relief. After years of working as a counterterrorism operative, he’d developed a pretty accurate assessment of his abilities. While he wasn’t Superman, Rapp had no issue putting himself up against anyone.
As long as his hands were free.
Properly restrained, Rapp was no more dangerous than a cubicle dweller.
