CHAPTER 22
FAZIL HAD EYED THE GUARD standing over his shoulder for several minutes without saying a word. The keffiyeh the guard wore appeared disheveled to Fazil, who started to wonder what was really going on. According to everything he’d heard about The Missile Man, he greatly valued promptness. Yet, he was more than twenty minutes late. It struck Fazil as odd and disturbing.
Fazil proceeded to ask the man in Arabic if he could use the restroom. The guard nodded but said nothing. However, when Fazil attempted to leave the room, the guard put his hand on Fazil’s chest and wagged a scolding index finger.
Something is not right.
Fazil had sat back and contemplated his next move before getting up and walking confidently across the room. When he tried to exit again, the guard repeated the same non-verbal warning. But Fazil didn’t acquiesce.
Instead, Fazil delivered a swift punch to the guard’s throat, surprising the man. Fazil grabbed the man’s gun and shot him twice before dashing down the dark corridor.
A door opened down the hall, but he didn’t consider it prudent to investigate. It was at that point he began to wonder if he’d made a grave mistake. Surely The Missile Man wouldn’t forgive an attack Fazil initiated on the guard of his host and business partner. But Fazil didn’t dwell on it. Survival was too intrinsic for him. He’d been in far too many life-threatening situations to react passively. If there had ever been a time to aggressively pursue an exit strategy in Fazil’s life, he figured this was it. Those missiles wouldn’t be worth anything if he didn’t emerge from The Missile Man’s hideout alive.
Another guard shouted at Fazil to stop running, but he dove to the ground and fired twice more, hitting the guard both times in his chest. Down the hall, a familiar voice called for him, but it wasn’t a friendly voice if Fazil recalled correctly. He darted around the corner only to hear more clearly the rumbling of military vehicles and another door being broken down.
Fazil ducked into a room off a secondary hallway and looked out the window. At first glance, the scene was confusing. Several guards wearing traditional Saudi attire operated U.S. military Humvees. However, there were also men in army fatigues on other armored vehicles.
What the hell is going on?
Fazil couldn’t imagine a single scenario where he was in a good situation to surrender to whoever held charge of the operation. Perhaps it was a coup—or a set up with the U.S. government working with Saudi officials. Neither of those scenarios held a particularly favorable outcome for Fazil.
He rushed back to the door and opened it, peering cautiously into the hallway as he looked in both directions. They were both clear.
Fazil wasted no time in venturing back out toward the danger. He had little choice given the circumstances.
“Karif Fazil, don’t make another move,” a man yelled.
Fazil froze for a beat before diving to the ground. As he slid across the floor, he contorted his body so he could look back at the man. Fazil started firing his gun again, sending the man dashing for cover.
Scrambling to his feet, Fazil kept running until he reached a pair of glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the valley. Fazil looked around for a way out. The deck soared out over the valley floor by at least five meters and was no less than ten meters off the ground. But Fazil didn’t have time to lament the height. Instead, he climbed over the balcony and lowered himself down as much as he felt comfortable before letting go and dropping to the rocky ground.
Calls of “Karif Fazil” echoed from above less than a minute later. “We’re going to find you,” one of the men said. “And when we find you, there will be no mercy.”
Fazil chose to ignore their attempts at bargaining. It would be a rouse, anything to get him to come out and yield his position.
But Fazil wasn’t falling for it. Instead, he determined to hide out as long as it took before they stopped looking for him.
“Get the drones,” one of the Rangers said to the others.
Fazil swallowed hard. He hated drones, whether they carried missiles or simply cameras. In his limited experience, they could be an effective tool to give someone conducting an operation additional eyes and ears. And if the men chasing him had drones, his time to reach safety was dwindling more quickly than he’d assumed.
He continued to ascend the mountainside, tucked beneath the shade emitted from the overhanging deck. A boulder lodged into the dirt provided a temporary hiding place, one in which he could avoid being captured by any drones.
He worked himself into a comfortable position and waited. It wasn’t more than five minutes before the hum of a squadron of reconnaissance drones covered the mountain. Fazil peeked around the side of a boulder and noticed several flying objects headed straight for him.
For a brief second, he contemplated shooting down the device, though he was certain that would give away his position. All he could do was sit and wait—and hope.
CHAPTER 23
THE MISSION OF APPREHENDING Karif Fazil went on hold when two armored Humvees topped with gun turrets crashed through the gates of Bashir’s compound. Hawk was on the back balcony searching the mountainside for Fazil when the message from Alex came through.
“Our company has arrived,” Alex said. “We need to get out of here now.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Hawk asked. “Besides, Fazil is still out there.”
“We’ve got to forget about him for now and think about ourselves, Hawk. They’re going to lock you up—or worse.”
Hawk felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Thomas.
“It’s time to go,” Thomas said. “We’ve been tasked with getting you out of here.”
“Listen to him, Hawk,” Alex said.
“What exactly do you propose?” Hawk asked.
Thomas grabbed Hawk’s bicep and gave it a tug. “Come with
