The Invisible

an overwatch position to begin with, but he had been too caught up with Fitzgerald’s agonizingly slow recovery—as well as the preparations being made in the barn—to deal with security around the house. That had been a mistake, he realized, but he didn’t see how the Americans could have tracked him down so easily. And if it was the Americans, why were there so few of them? It just didn’t make sense. . . .

Lifting the radio, he said, “Qazi, tell me when you have acquired a target, but do not fire until I give the order.”

“Yes, General.”

Mengal was about to say something else when Amari Saifi stumbled through the open doors. Mengal raised his weapon in alarm, then stopped when he saw who it was. The Algerian was bleeding from a small hole in his left arm, his right hand clutched over the wound. Despite the obvious injury, he was smiling madly, his face drenched with sweat. The AK-47 was still draped round his neck on a black fabric sling.

“What the hell happened?” Mengal hissed, his eyes fixed on the other man’s crazed face. “How could you let him escape?”

“The Americans are here,” Saifi gasped, ignoring the question. Somehow, he was still smiling, even though he was clearly in a great deal of pain. “We have to leave. If we wait, they will have us surrounded, if they do not already . . . We have to leave now. ”

Mengal stood frozen for a few seconds, but he knew the other man was right. Perhaps Craig’s escape had caught the Americans off guard while they were still moving into position. Perhaps his men had eliminated more of them than he’d initially thought. Either way, Mengal knew he was only seeing the first wave. If the Americans knew that Fitzgerald was in the barn—and he assumed they must—

they would risk as many lives as it took to get her back. They certainly wouldn’t be put off by the resistance they had encountered so far.

Pulling a small knife from his belt, Mengal unfolded the blade with one hand, then moved behind Fitzgerald. Crouching behind the chair, he began cutting the ropes that bound her. Glancing over her shoulder, he snarled, “Get away from the door, and pull the plug on those lights. You still have the keys to the van?”

“Yes,” Saifi said. He pulled the plug on the halogen lights, and the barn was plunged into darkness. “I have them.”

“Good,” Mengal said. Still cutting fast, he felt the last of the rope fall away. Placing both hands under her arms, he pulled Fitzgerald roughly to her feet. He heard her scream through the tape that covered her mouth, then start to fall as her legs gave way. She was still weak, too weak to walk on her own. Pushing the muzzle of his pistol into the base of her spine, he said, “You had better start moving, woman, because I’m warning you, if you pass out now, you will never wake again.”

He felt her stiffen; then the weight on his arms began to lighten somewhat. Clearly, she was trying to move under her own power, though it still took all of his strength to move her while keeping the gun wedged into her back. He had just reached the door when Qazi’s voice came over the radio. Pushing Fitzgerald against the stone wall, he kept the gun in her back with his right hand and used his left to grab his two-way, which was hooked to his belt. Lifting it to his mouth, he said, “What is it? What’s happening?”

“I have a target, General.”

“What about Amir?”

The second sniper’s voice came over the radio. “Still moving into position.”

Mengal didn’t reply right away. He knew he should wait until both snipers were in place, but the window for escape was rapidly closing. Looking through the open doors of the barn, he could see the Toyota van on the drive in front of Qureshi’s house. The vehicle was parked directly behind the surgeon’s Mercedes, which was closer to the house. If they could get to the van, they might have a chance. It all depended on whether or not the Americans were approaching from the front as well as the back. That was all that mattered; if they had the house surrounded, then it was all over, anyway.

The Algerian was standing just inside the doors, a black silhouette against the light leaking in from the back garden. Looking over, Mengal said, “When I give the word, step outside and start firing toward the field. Don’t worry about hitting our men; just keep moving toward the car. Don’t stop for anything.”

The Algerian murmured his consent, and Mengal lifted the radio to his lips once more. “Qazi, are you there?”

“I’m here, General.”

“We’re ready to move. You still have your target?”

“Yes.”

“Then take the shot.”

CHAPTER 44

SIALKOT

There were 3 guards left in the field. Kealey had taken down 2 of the original 8, not including the man he’d killed with his knife, and now, as he snapped a fresh magazine into place, he could hear the elevated voices of the surviving men over the falling rain. Although he didn’t understand the language, he could tell they were arguing, probably about whether or not they should return to the house. At that moment there was another burst of automatic fire, and as the sound faded away, Kealey heard panicked voices shouting in Urdu. Fewer voices this time. Raising the rifle to his shoulder, he peered through the scope and saw that whoever had fired had taken down the man to the left, leaving two guards standing between them and the barn.

“Got him,” Manik said in a tight, excited voice. “Two left.”

Kealey acknowledged this silently as he found his next target. His finger slipped into the trigger guard, and he let out a long, slow breath, preparing to take the shot. His finger was tightening on the trigger when he heard the supersonic crack of a high-powered rifle, and the two guards dropped into the waist-high grass. Kealey froze, marking their approximate locations in his mind. He didn’t think either man had been hit; they had simply dropped of their own accord, which probably meant that the shot had been intended for somebody else.

“What the hell was that?” Owen demanded a few seconds later.

“Who’s doing the shooting?”

Kealey was wondering the same thing. Deep inside, he felt a sense of rising unease. The single shot sounded unlike anything he had heard so far in the short battle. The guards they had seen so far were all carrying AK-47s, so it couldn’t be them; besides, they were all accounted for. A cold wave of fear clenched his gut when he hit upon the only other possible explanation: someone else had joined the fight, and if the weapon he was using was any indication, he was not to be taken lightly.

Kealey was about to relay this thought when he caught a sudden movement up by the barn, followed by a prolonged burst of automatic fire aimed in their general direction.

“Mengal is moving,” Massi reported urgently, his voice crackling over Kealey’s earpiece. “He just came out of the barn, and he’s using Fitzgerald as a shield . . . It looks like he’s trying to run. Saifi is covering them.”

“Do you have a shot?” Kealey demanded.

“No, he’s too close to Fitzgerald. Fuck! ”

“If they get to a car, they’re gone,” Owen said urgently. “We’ve got to get up there.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t run unless he was covered,” Kealey replied. “I think there’s a sniper up there.”

“What makes you—”

“You heard the shot, Paul. That was a long gun, so just hold your fire . . . Is anyone hit?”

Owen and Walland came on and reported in the negative, as did Massi. He could hear the same nervous tension in each man’s voice, and Kealey knew where it was coming from. The prospect of a sniper lying in wait was enough to inspire fear in any man, even a hardened combat veteran. Husain Manik didn’t respond, even after Kealey tried numerous times to raise him.

“Where the fuck is he?” Kealey finally demanded. “Can anyone see him?”

“Negative,” Owen said. Walland and Massi echoed the single word. Then Owen said, “Did anyone see where the shot came from?”

Again, they all replied in the negative.