“Over there,” he pointed. “The Rover.”
Turning, they started toward it, carrying Tariq between them. As they reached the driver’s side, Corbett opened the rear door and helped Tariq crawl inside. At the same time, Ella started for the passenger side only to cry out as she pulled up short. Hearing her, Corbett moved quickly to her side. There on the ground lay Gorka, his eyes fixed, mouth caught in the rictus of death, his carbine still clutched in his left hand. Feeling a twinge of emotion, Corbett knelt beside the old Basque, saying a silent prayer as he lowered the old man’s eyelids. A familiar rush of vertigo swept over him. The searing memory of his sister’s anguished cry. Denying himself the need to mourn, he forced his mind to focus.
“Gotta move,” he firmly urged Ella as he picked up the carbine. There was an edge to his voice. Removing the bandolier of ammunition from around the old man’s neck, he stepped to the driver’s side door.
At the same time, another Jihadi named Rahim came running out between the burning tents. Spotting them near the Rover, he called out in Urdu as he raced toward them: “They are over here…!” he shouted. “I have found them.”
Turning toward the sound of Rahim’s voice, Corbett raised the carbine and shot him dead in his tracks. Glancing back toward the spot where the river emerged from the mountain, he could see yet another Jihadi stagger out of the water, an Uzi clutched in his fist. No time to waste. They had to go now.
Opening the door, Corbett tossed the carbine and the bandolier between the seats. Then slipping behind the wheel, he checked for keys as Ella climbed into the front seat beside him. Locating the key behind the visor, he jammed it into the ignition and cranked the engine. The Rover coughed without catching as they came under fire. Without warning, the driver’s side mirror was struck by gunfire, exploding as he turned the key again. The engine struggled then roared to life. Leaving the lights off, Corbett dropped it in gear and stepped on the accelerator. Fishtailing toward the gravel path, they headed down the mountain.
*****
Finding himself propelled through the black water, Jarral had gripped the Uzi with both hands as it if were a lifeline. Emerging from the channel with the brackish taste of the river filling his mouth and nostrils, he gasped, sucking in the cool night air as he washed up along the rock-strewn riverbank. Pulling himself out of the water, he started to crawl over the stones only to discover Raif’s body, his head protruding at an unnatural angle, neck broken from striking a boulder.
Moving onto all fours, he managed to stand erect just as a voice in the darkness shouted in Urdu that he had found them, followed by the crack of a rifle. Instantly, Jarral turned his attention toward the sound of gunfire. There in the darkness he could just make out what appeared to be the American as he slipped behind the wheel of the Land Rover. Tariq was getting away. He had to be stopped.
Rushing forward, Jarral raised the Uzi in rage, wildly spraying the vicinity of the Rover with bullets as the sound of the starter motor continued to grind without catching. Dropping to one knee, he took more careful aim and opened up again sending another barrage. As the driver’s side mirror exploded, the sound of the engine finally roared to life. Seeing the Rover’s darkened silhouette swerving across the empty field, he watched with mounting rage as it reached the gravel path and headed south. No time to waste. “Quickly, quickly…” he began to shout, rallying the others to follow him back down the slope to where the pickup and Jetta stood waiting beside the darkened farmhouse.
TWENTY-EIGHT
T hey drove in silence down the gravel road toward the highway. Troubled by a capacity for violence she never knew she possessed, Ella had been clearly shaken by the ordeal. Staring into the darkness, she said nothing as the Land Rover finally left the gravel path behind and made its way onto the paved surface of the roadway.
But this time, instead of taking a left and following the blacktop back down to the village of Xeria, Corbett turned right and headed for the sea. Finally snapping on the headlights, he put his foot to the floor, guiding the Rover through the first series of switchbacks, its tires protesting.
“You all right?” he asked, stealing a glance at her as he downshifted then accelerated out of the last turn. Obviously upset by what she had been forced to do, Ella managed a nod.
“Back there…,” she began, but lapsed into silence.
“It’s okay. Just take a breath. You only did what you had to,” Corbett attempted to allay her troubled thoughts.
“I couldn’t help myself, Michael,” she whispered. “I wanted to kill him…”
“I know.”
Turning, she watched him drive in silence, still unable to come to terms with a part of herself she had not known existed. “How can you be so calm…? You just killed a man.”
“He didn’t leave me a choice. He was going to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Staring at him, she realized: “That’s it, isn’t it? This wasn’t the first time. You’ve done this before.”
Corbett said nothing.
Hearing Tariq groan, Ella turned in her seat. Seeing him begin to stir, she glanced at Corbett: “Back there he said they were after him. Why? And why did he come to you?”
“Too many questions,” Corbett glanced in the rearview mirror. “How’s he doing…?”
Climbing into the backseat, Ella slipped down beside Tariq. Checking his bloodied and bandaged head, she attempted
