been replaced by a steel behemoth. The door’s lock would have better suited a safe. The hinges were internal, and the door was set in a concrete frame. “Alex, can you open the door on your side?”
“It’s locked and sealed.”
“Stand back. I’m using compression grenades. Clear the area!”
Guns were now going off in every direction. Duboe and Hamid and his men were clustered at the alley’s opening beside the cottage, firing at unseen targets. “Josh! A little help!”
“On it!”
The sky overhead became laced with tracer fire. Marc settled two compression grenades at the bottom of the door, raced back, crouched with the other men, and yelled, “Cover your ears!”
The alley bellowed and enveloped them in a cloud of dust and debris.
Marc draped his mouth with the black kerchief and moved forward. The door hung on one hinge. Marc used his boot to hammer the point. Again. A third blow and the door crashed inward.
“Alex!”
“We’re here.”
He ran forward and grabbed his coughing friend in a dusty embrace.
Only then did Marc hear the children.
Chapter Forty-Eight
M arc emerged from the house with a boy clinging to his neck. At that moment, the building’s corner evaporated in a cloud of gunfire. The shots came so rapidly it made for one whining drill.
Hamid’s team was crouched along the alley, firing blindly through the dust. Hamid yelled, “They are flanking!”
“Josh! We’re taking heavy fire down here!”
Josh shouted in his ear, “We found the mother lode! You guys take cover!”
Marc shoved the victims back inside the building, flattening those he could reach to the earth. “Down! Everybody down!”
Screaming ribbons of light laced overhead. The floor beneath him bucked. Again. A third time. A fourth. The sound was so fierce it felt to Marc as though the air crumpled.
Over the comm link came the sound of hooting. “Awesome,” Josh shouted. “Frank, break open another crate!”
“Ready!”
“Lock and load, gentlemen! Fire when ready!”
The child had his mouth pressed against Marc’s left ear. The boy wailed one endless note, as though he had reached the level of fear where he did not need to draw breath. Marc held him close and let the kid scream for them both.
Overhead there was another series of roaring whooshes, and the floor bucked again.
Then came Duboe’s voice, oddly calm. “Choppers inbound.”
Marc forced himself to his feet. “Duboe, get in here and help carry the kids! Hamid, stay on point. Josh!”
“We got your back, baby! Looks to me like the whole place is running for the hills!”
“Alex!”
Marc heard a cough in reply.
“Everybody needs to make for the field. Taufiq!”
“Here.”
“Translate that we have three helicopters coming in to pick us up. Everybody needs to help the young and injured.”
Marc stood and waited while Duboe and Hamid’s men entered through the smoke and scooped up wailing little bodies. “Hannah Brimsley!”
A woman covered in a dusty loose gown of indeterminate color and a headscarf was helping another woman stand. “That’s me.”
“Josh is here.”
Her smile brightened her whole face and shone through sudden tears. “I knew he’d come.”
“Josh!”
“Yo!”
“Hannah sends her love. She’s looking good.”
The shout over the comm link nearly took Marc’s head off. He heard some chuckles from the team.
“Claire Reeves?” he called.
A short woman, also in hijab, was tending an elderly lady on the floor. She waved and smiled, but her words were cut off as another trio of rockets screamed overhead. Marc endured the compressive blasts, then asked, “Josh, can we move?”
“It’s looking good from this angle. I’m watching a whole mess of pantless, bootless, gunless recruits legging it for the exit.”
“Hamid!”
“We see the same thing. Is very much beautiful.”
Marc asked Taufiq, “Everybody knows to make for the helicopters landing in the field?”
“I have said. They understand.”
Alex appeared beside Marc. He was holding a young girl who shrieked in time to Marc’s boy. Alex’s week-old beard was scruffy, and his clothes were in tatters. His eyes were red-rimmed over hollow cheeks. But his smile was familiar and all the reward Marc would ever need. “Good to see you, brother.”
“Everybody here ready? Okay, let’s move out!”
The incoming choppers added their own thunder to the chaos. Marc emerged from the house to find Hamid crouched in the alley’s mouth. “We clear?”
“I am seeing nothing!”
“Everybody run! Go, go!”
They rushed out of the alley and sprinted for the trail opening on the lane’s other side. The kidnap victims were unsteady on their feet, and the children were all screaming the same fearful tune. Hamid took point, his rifle up and ready.
And then Hamid was caught by a sniper, a lone gunman who cracked off a shot that took Hamid high on the shoulder and flung him around.
Marc was on the police major before he could fall. Hamid huffed painfully as he collided with Marc’s chest.
“Josh! Sniper!”
The sky overhead immediately was streaked with tracer fire. Marc yelled, “Everybody keep moving!”
The boy was crushed in between Marc and Hamid, shrieking louder still. Hamid huffed again as the kid clawed at the wound. There was nothing Marc could do about that. He held both boy and Iraqi police major in the same fierce grip, and focused on the choppers, seventy yards out and closing. “Duboe!”
The CIA agent moved up on Hamid’s other side. The Iraqi grunted as Duboe grasped him and took his weight.
The six of them, Duboe and Hamid, Alex and Marc and two screaming children, took the trail at a stumbling jog, causing Hamid to groan with each step. Tracer fire overhead lit the day. The wonderful sound of the choppers filled his senses.
Welcoming arms reached out and pulled Hamid into safety. Marc deposited the boy, then helped Alex and the child into the chopper.
“Josh!” he called as he turned to help others.
“On my way!”
“Royce! Marc Royce!” A new voice called over the comm link.
“Yo!”
