Scrambling to his feet, he stepped across CYCLONE, trampling the HIG commander’s toes in the process.
“Wait, Abu al-Iraqi,” CYCLONE said. “Help me.”
Rapp ripped opened the canvas flap at the rear of the truck. A gust of wind stirred the stagnant air, carrying with it the echo of gunfire, screams, and dying men. The breeze combined with the sounds of the battle catalyzed the prisoners. Shouts and pleas for help rang through the cargo area.
“Can’t save everyone,” Rapp said. “Sorry.”
“I am not just a common soldier,” CYCLONE said. “I command fighters along the border. Many fighters.”
A barrage of automatic weapons sounded from just outside the truck.
“Truly?” Rapp said, yelling to be heard over the din.
“I swear it by Allah,” CYCLONE said. “Hizb-i-Islami Gulbuddin. You have heard of it?”
Rapp had certainly heard of the HIG.
“Perhaps,” Rapp said.
“I lead the HIG in Pakistan,” CYCLONE said. “Free me and my organization will be in your debt.”
Letting the tarp fall back into place, Rapp turned to CYCLONE. Ignoring the pleas from other prisoners, he grabbed a handful of the HIG commander’s hood and ripped it from his head. “If I help you, you will honor your vow,” Rapp said. “I am not a man to be trifled with.”
“Of course, Abu al-Iraqi,” CYCLONE shouted. “Of course.”
Rapp didn’t know whether it was the authenticity in his voice or the sound of chattering M4s that did the trick, but the warlord’s eyes shone with fervor. The ability to decipher truth from bullshit was a prerequisite in Rapp’s world, and his internal lie detector was telling him that CYCLONE was telling the truth.
For now.
Loyalty in this tribal nation couldn’t be bought, but it could be rented.
Rapp was about to rent a dump truck’s worth.
Grunting, Rapp pulled the warlord forward so that he could get at the man’s hands. He was none too gentle, but CYCLONE didn’t complain. Once again, Rapp plunged the handcuff key into the grimy lock and twisted, this time with better results. He didn’t know whether his success was because he could see the manacles or because the raging gunfight prompted an adrenaline-fueled response of his own and he didn’t care.
With a rasp, the restraints opened.
Grabbing the warlord by the back of his neck, Rapp manhandled the scrawny man toward the rear of the truck. Then he slid the canvas out of the way and jumped to the ground. Rapp landed in a crouch, letting his leg muscles cushion the five-foot drop.
His companion wasn’t so graceful.
CYCLONE caught his leg on the tailgate and tumbled to the gravel.
Rapp ignored the warlord in favor of searching the ground for a weapon.
He found one.
An AK-47 lay next to the truck’s right rear wheel. Rapp grabbed the rifle, ejected the magazine, checked its load, reseated it, and cycled the weapon’s bolt. CYCLONE tried to stand, but his dismount from the truck must have been even worse than it looked. The warlord was favoring his ankle.
Badly.
Rapp was moving to help CYCLONE when he caught motion in his peripheral vision. Turning, Rapp saw an American coming around the side of the truck. Releasing the safety, Rapp brought the AK-47 to his shoulder and fired.
The rifle barked, and the American spun to the ground.
Rapp sighted on the limp man’s chest, but his crimson-stained shirt didn’t move.
Rapp turned back toward the warlord.
“You are very good, Abu al-Iraqi,” CYCLONE said.
“We need to get to the Hilux trucks,” Rapp said, pointing toward a bend in the road. “My brothers will—”
A giant flash followed by a pair of thunderclaps interrupted Rapp. The explosion echoed from where Rapp had been pointing.
“Alqarf,” Rapp said.
“I’m assuming those were your trucks?” CYCLONE said.
Rapp didn’t reply, but the murderous look he directed at the warlord was probably answer enough.
CYCLONE smiled. “I know this place. Head for the trail leading into the trees over there. Quickly, while the Americans are still occupied.”
Rapp turned toward the dirt trail but hesitated.
“Your brothers fought valiantly, but they cannot be saved,” CYCLONE said. “Don’t dishonor their sacrifice by needlessly martyring yourself. I have people in the next village. Get me to them, and I will repay my debt. With interest.”
With an utterance that sounded more like a growl than speech, Rapp dropped his rifle, lifted the warlord into a fireman’s carry, and ran for the trail.
