“Yes, but I can move. He broke my collar bone again.”
Storm swung and planted his right fist squarely in the torturer’s jaw, cracking it and causing Hasan to spit out a tooth and cough blood as he staggered sideways.
“How gallant,” Casper deadpanned.
Dilya said, “There’s no time for this! Let’s go!”
Casper aimed his shotgun at Hasan.
“You just can’t shoot him in cold blood,” Showers said.
“Wanna bet, sweetheart?” Casper replied.
“He was torturing you,” Storm said.
“Just handcuff him,” she pleaded.
Storm reached for the handcuffs that he’d tossed on the concrete floor, but before he could retrieve them, Casper unloaded a round of buckshot into Hasan’s head, literally causing his face to disappear.
Showers gasped.
“We won’t be needing those handcuffs now,” Casper said, grinning.
Storm flashed Casper an angry look.
“Now, now, now,” Casper said as if he were lecturing a small child, “let’s not get your panties in a wad. Remember Jones put me in charge of this rescue.”
“Time to move,” Dilya yelled. They ran from the room, down the short hallway, and outside into the parking lot where a nervous Oscar was pacing with his gun drawn. Dilya took the wheel while Casper jumped into the front seat. Both handed their weapons-the AK-47 and the shotgun-to Oscar, Showers, and Storm, who were in the back seat.
“There’s a medical kit in the rear compartment,” Dilya announced.
Oscar put the rifles in the back and grabbed the kit. “I have first aid training.”
“Finally, something you’re good for,” Casper.
“Give her morphine,” Dilya ordered. “For her shoulder.”
As their vehicle began to exit the lot, a blast of bullets peppered the car’s front hood, blowing out the SUV’s front tires and causing steam to burst from under the hood.
“Who’s shooting at us now?” Oscar yelled.
“On the roof!” Storm replied. “Another tango!”
Casper shoved open the front passenger door and leaped out shoulder first, twisting in the air so that he was now facing the building behind them with his handgun raised. He’d emptied the semi-automatic clip by the time he hit the packed ground.
Casper’s shots, however, sailed by the lone figure on the roof, completely missing him. The shooter aimed his AK-47 at the helpless America prone on the ground. Just as he was about to unleash a fatal burst, Storm emerged from the SUV with his Glock drawn. Firing upward, his first round struck the tango’s chest with such force that it lifted him off his feet, causing him to instinctively squeeze the AK-47’s trigger.
Bullets smacked into the ground around Casper, but the shooter’s aim had been misdirected and the worst that the CIA-trained killer suffered was the sting from bits of flying dirt popped loose from the hardened terrain.
The rooftop assailant fell dead.
Casper rose slowly, with a torn shirt and a bleeding scrape on his massive shoulder but no busted bones. Their vehicle hadn’t fared as well.
“We’re done with this ride,” Dilya declared as she stepped from behind the wheel. “Nice shot,” she added.
“He saved your life,” Showers hollered at Casper as she exited the rear seat, followed by Oscar.
Reloading his handgun and brushing off his arms, Casper looked at Storm but offered him no thanks.
“Grab the gear,” Dilya said. “We’ve got to keep moving.”
“Let’s take their vehicle,” Oscar said, pointing to a new Range Rover parked by the slaughterhouse.
“No!” Storm objected. “It’s too easy to track.” Eyeballing the street, he spotted a half dozen Russian-made, Lada 4 x 4 SUVs parked about a block away. They were part of a delivery fleet for a national chain of Uzbekistan bakeries.
Storm ran to one, forced open its door, and hotwired the ignition. “She’s ugly,” he yelled, “but the engine sounds solid.”
They carried their weapons and equipment to the well-worn Lada.
“I should’ve known better than to trust INTEL. Every time I do, it nearly gets me killed,” Casper complained. “If I’d had my shotgun, that son of a bitch on the roof never would have gotten the drop on me.”
“It’s not the size of a gun that matters,” Flowers said flatly, “but the man using it.” She smiled appreciatively at Storm.
“You’re just damn lucky someone was willing to save your ass,” Dilya added.
Storm took the wheel. About a mile from the slaughterhouse, a white police car with bright green and blue stripes came speeding toward them on the opposite side of the two-lane road. Once again, Casper drew his Glock but the car zipped passed without slowing.
“They didn’t give this old truck a second glance,” Storm said. “Must have figured we were making a morning delivery.”
“Good choice of getaway vehicles,” Dilya said.
Addressing Showers, Casper said, “Now you know why I didn’t leave any witnesses behind, sweetheart. The cops won’t have any idea what happened and probably will blame it on terrorists. If there was a witness, they’d know it was Americans.”
Showers didn’t reply. The morphine was taking hold and her eyes were growing heavy. She began to nod off. Somewhere in the distance, she felt a man’s hand move her head onto his shoulder. Storm had moved into the backseat, turning over the driving to Dilya.
She leaned against him and slept.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They drove South from Jizzakh toward the Molguzar mountain range, with everyone except Showers taking turns behind the wheel, so the others could sleep. Daybreak found them still traveling, following directions on the handheld GPS navigation device that had been programmed with the coordinates that would take them to the gold. Their course eventually brought them to a gravel road that snaked up the mountain. Eventually, they were forced to leave it and make their own trail. The ride was slow and jarring as the four-wheel delivery truck climbed over the rough terrain, often being forced to detour because of boulders that had fallen and downed trees that blocked their route.
As they came nearer and nearer to their destination, they began to feel a sense of anticipation. It was hard to imagine so much gold bullion in such a desolated spot, hidden for more than twenty years.
Dilya stopped the vehicle at what looked like a landslide about a tenth of a mile from where the cavern of gold was reportedly stashed. They would have to walk across the rocks. They exited the old truck.
It was now Oscar’s turn to be in charge, and he grabbed his backpack of geological gadgets and demanded the GPS from Casper, who had been navigating as Dilya drove. Casper relinquished it begrudgingly and fell in step behind him, with his shotgun slung on his shoulder. Dilya went third, while Storm held back with Showers.
“You feel okay to walk?” he asked.
“Just point me to the start line.”
They began crossing the rocky terrain together. “I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me,” Showers said.
“Nothing I won’t be bringing up in front of you every day of your life,” he said.
“So what do I have to do to pay my debt?” she asked.
Storm thought for a moment about how she’d tricked him in London after they’d been drinking in a pub. He’d believed they were going to spend the night his hotel room bed, but she’d innocently asked him to fetch her a cup of coffee, and when he stepped into the hallway, she locked the door.
