Kill Me If You Can

hajjis. As soon as we made it to the roof, two of our guys were hit. The rest of us scrambled for cover, but it was only a matter of time before they’d either pick us off or hit the roof with mortar fire.

I was about to give the order to head back down the stairs, when the insurgents stormed through the front door and started heading up.

Pinned down by fire from above and with the enemy blocking our retreat below, we radioed for an evac team. Tank support was still six blocks away, trying to navigate through a maze of IEDs.

We were carrying two wounded, running low on ammo, and didn’t have enough cover to wait for air support.

There was only one way out. Down the stairs through a shitstorm of enemy bullets. I figured half of us would make it out alive. I was ready to go first.

I’d be dead if it hadn’t been for Middleson. Jody Middleson was nineteen, a kid from rural Kentucky who spent most of his free time thumbing through a dog-eared Bible, playing the harmonica, and writing home to his mother, father, and his four sisters. I’d never seen him drunk, never heard him curse, and rumor had it he was still a virgin.

“No, sir,” Jody said. “The squad needs you. I’ll go first.”

“Thanks, but it’s not your call, Private Middleson,” I said.

The kid had never disobeyed an order until that day.

He didn’t argue. He just pulled the pins on two grenades and ran for the rooftop entrance to the hotel.

I screamed at him to stop but he kept running, miraculously making it to the doorway without being hit.

But as soon as he opened the door, five insurgents riddled him with bullets. He dived forward, letting the armed grenades fall from his lifeless hands.

In all my years in combat, it was the finest act of courage I had ever seen.

The explosions rocked the building, and the insurgents were either killed or stunned enough for the rest of the squad to finish the job. An hour later, the tanks got through and cleaned up the snipers’ nest.

Jody Middleson was awarded the Medal of Valor.

I learned a hard lesson that day, one that neither the Ghost nor I ever forget. Consider every possible angle. Think the unthinkable.

Adam was right. It was deja vu. But this time, I was on my home turf, and I had no excuse for being trapped in a desperate situation.

I made a promise that afternoon in Fallujah never to lose another man to poor planning.

The Russians were coming. And we’d be ready for them. We knew we had one big advantage. No matter what Chukov threw at us, we still had the element of surprise.

“I’m not going to second-guess you,” Adam said, “but do you think this is the best idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“You let Chukov know where you are. We’ll win this battle, but these guys are like cockroaches. You squash one, and the next day ten more crawl out of the woodwork. These maniacs will keep after you until they get their money or kill you — or, most likely, both.”

“I have no choice,” I said. “I need to get their focus off Katherine.”

Adam shook his head. “All these years you’ve managed to keep the Ghost off everybody’s radar. But the way this is shaping up, the Russian Mafia will be chasing Matthew Bannon. You’ll be running for the rest of your life.”

“I’m not running anywhere. Not until I can convince the woman I love to run with me.”

“And if she says yes?”

I smiled at the thought. “They’ll never catch me. I’ve got plenty of money and the three best bodyguards on the planet.”

Adam put both hands to his heart and fluttered his eyes at me. “And the woman you love.”

I punched him in the shoulder. It was like hitting granite. I’m sure I felt it more than he did. “Are you making fun of the guy who signs your paycheck?” I said.

“No, sir. Just let me and the guys know if you decide to change your handle from the Ghost to the Hopeless Romantic.”

My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID. It was Katherine.

I grabbed it. “Hello.”

I heard her say my name, but it was a terrible cell connection and she was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Katherine, what happened?”

“Leonard…Leonard Karns. They shot him. He’s dead.”

This was no coincidence. Karns was about one degree of separation from me — the same as Katherine. I had to get to her. “Where are you now?” I said.

“Subway station. I just got off the—”

And then the phone went dead.

“Damn it!” I turned to Adam. “They killed one of the guys in my art class. An asshole, but still. We’ve got to find Katherine. We’ve got to find her right now.”

I started to dial again, when my walkie-talkie crackled.

“Bartender to DJ, over.” It was Ty on the roof.

Adam answered. “This is DJ. Go ahead, Bartender.”

“I’ve got five dancers headed our way, looking to tango. They’ve come to the right place.”

“Roger that. We’ll start the music. Have Doorman let them in. Let’s do what we do best. Over and out.”

Chapter 79

THEY ARRIVED IN three cars — an Escalade, a Crown Vic, and a Mercedes S550—all black. They parked a block away, out of sight, but not out of camera range. Ty had a top-of-the-line Pelco surveillance camera pointed down onto Perry Street.

Adam and I went to the video monitor.

“Let’s see couple number one,” Adam said.

The two men in the Escalade were standing next to the car. Ty pushed the 22x optical zoom in on the first one, a black guy with a scar running from his left ear down past his collar and beyond.

“Umar Clarke,” Adam said. “Jamaican hit man. Operates out of Brooklyn.”

The camera panned to his partner. “Rosario Virzi,” Adam said. “Complete scumbag. And from what I hear, racist. Chukov must be desperate if he threw those two together.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s desperate,” I said. “He owes somebody a lot of diamonds.”

“Couple number two,” Adam said.

“Chukov likes to hire dirty cops,” I said as Ty panned to the two men in the Crown Vic. “The one in the FedEx getup is Nick Benzetti. Partner is John Rice.”

“That’s their play?” Adam said. “Knock, knock. Who’s there? FedEx. That’s a goddamn insult. Do they think you’re a complete idiot?”

“They probably figure all art students are as easy to pop as Leonard Karns. I guess I owe Leonard a debt of gratitude.”

The driver of the Mercedes stayed behind the wheel. The camera zoomed through the windshield, and I saw a familiar face.

“Chukov,” I said. “He must have the entire Russian mob up his ass to show up, but he’s not going to storm the castle. He’ll just sit there and watch.”

“You realize Ty could take him out right where he’s sitting?” Adam said. “Do you have any wiggle room in your don’t clutter the neighborhood with dead bodies policy?”