“On your feet when you report to me!” The guard was as young as the bulk of the men under Ghafur’s command. Young and stupid, Ghafur thought as he watched the man stand up, scrambling to grab his rifle when he suddenly realized he had left in on the deck behind him.

  “Nidal suddenly cried out and fell to the deck.” The sentence came out in a rush. “I heard a number of gunshots—one of them hit just below this rail…” He pointed to the cover at the front of the deck.

  “Did you see the assailant?”

  “No, Amir.” The man shook his head. “I saw nothing. I took cover as I was taught.”

  “You are a fool.” Ghafur glared at the youngster. “It was a single man—one man!” He shook his head. “Go downstairs—get everyone out of bed.” Ghafur wiped dripping rainwater from his eyes. “We must kill that man before he can do us any further harm.”

  “Yes Amir!” The youngster sketched out something halfway between a bow and a salute—and was on his way.

  The guards at ground level will be dead, of course. Ghafur looked down over the ship’s side, saw the supine body below, and nodded glumly, then turned to study the wooded area to his left. The man had gone that way as if he knew what he was doing…

  It cannot be anyone from the American military—they have no way of knowing we are here. Ghafur shook his head. It must be someone who lives on this rock! He had sent men out to search for inhabitants—but they had clearly missed this man. We must find him this time. Ghafur’s eyes went hard. Find him and kill him.

  He waited for his men to join him on the deck.

  ***

  Okay. Flame stopped a hundred yards or so from the beach and got under cover so he could watch the action on the tanker’s deck through his binoculars. I guess that’s their leader. He took a good look at Ghafur. I don’t recognize him—but that doesn’t mean much. The man’s glare told Flame what he thought about the men under his command. He’s an experienced old professional fighter, that’s for sure. Flame smiled. It’s too bad he’s got so many youngsters to shepherd.

  Flame took a moment to consolidate his equipment. The AK-47 he’d used to shoot the deck guard had fired fairly straight—and hadn’t blown up in his hand. That made it his weapon of choice. He removed the magazines from the other two weapons, and then slung the second-best rifle across his back—he might need it later.

  The clips slid into his pockets where he could reach them easily. He started to dump the dirtiest and loosest of the weapons—then thought better of it. I might be able to use this…

  As he thought, he used the binoculars to keep a watch on the deck. Men had begun appearing, each of them carrying an AK just like the ones he had already seen…

  Let’s see how many of them there are, Flame told himself. He had killed four. There was one man still on duty at the stern, one on the bow which left…

  Looks like six more—plus the leader. Flame nodded slowly. I’ll never get all of them at once. I’ve got to be smart about this…

  He began to plan his next move…

  ***

  “We must find this man who has killed your brothers!” Ghafur walked back and forth in front of his depleted troop of fighters. “Find him and kill him!” He held out his hand and his old comrade, Sakhr, placed a rifle in it. “Come!” He gestured for the others to follow. “The American must die!”

  It would have been nice if he could have charged down a staircase or ramp—but with the ship grounded, the only way to reach the ground was to climb down the long rope ladder that his men had attached to the ship’s bow. Ghafur knew he had to go first—it was the only way to get the others to follow.

  He also knew that the American was out there somewhere—and he felt the man’s eyes on him all the way down.

  ***

  Flame watched as the jihadi leader climbed down to the beach. He’d considered shooting the man as he hung on the shaky rope ladder—but decided that doing so would drive the others into hiding on the ship, and he knew he couldn’t ferret them out before the ship floated on the storm tide.

  No, he had to get all of them on the ground where he could reach them—and if that meant letting the leader live (for the moment)—so be it.

  He waited and watched as the other men climbed down—one by one…

  ***

  Madani watched as Ghafur took the remainder of his force down the ladder to the windswept beach below. The rain had let up a bit—enough to provide at least the illusion of visibility through the bridge windows. Ghafur will find the American, Madani thought. He’ll kill him before he can do us any harm…

  He saw the six men form into a rough line behind their leader and head for the heavy cover on the ship’s port side. I have every confidence in Ghafur. He nodded at the thought. He is the most experienced fighter I know…

  Madani shook his head and left the bridge. He wanted the crew to be ready to start the engines at a moment’s notice. He was going to get off this rock as soon as he could—and if Ghafur and his men got left behind…

  “Insha'Allah,” he muttered. It would be the will of Allah.

  ***

  Kimberly lay on the wet sand and prayed. It wasn’t something she did too often—in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried to ask a higher power for help.

  But if I’m ever going to do it, she thought. It has to be now.

  She’d heard gunfire in the distance. A number of shots with that strange sort of clattering sound that Flame had told her came from an AK-47.

  And she knew Flame had no such weapon.

  She’d considered leaving her hiding place so she could find Flame and bring him to safety.

  And realized just how stupid that would be.

  Come back to me, Flame! She interspersed that thought with her rambling pleas for help from above. Don’t leave me!

  There was a sudden burst of gunfire—a lot of gunfire.

  Kimberly began to sob.

  ***

  Flame watched as the old leader broke his six men into two teams of three—a good way to hunt down a foe. He knows what he’s doing, Flame thought, grinning. But I’m a bit more than an ordinary opponent. He looked at the little trap he’d set at one side of the ragged trail that led through the little wooded area.

  He’d wedged the worst of the AK-47’s into the fork of a tree, then tied the dead guard’s scarf to one end. The rest of the scarf was spread to give it as much area as possible. All Flame had to do was loosen the rifle’s positioning just a bit and let the wind do the rest.

  He waited until the three men assigned to this little area of wood headed toward him…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ghassan Al-Jazari was older than most of the men under Abdul-Ghafur. He’d already proven himself in battle, fighting against American troops in the tribal areas of Afghanistan. When he’d been offered the opportunity to take the battle to the American heartland, he’d jumped at the chance.

  Now he was wondering if it had been such a good idea.

  Soaked to the skin and trying desperately to see something—anything—through the rain that never seemed to stop, he kept the interval that had been drilled into him in the Al Qaeda camps as he followed Adel Barakat and old Sakhr in the search for whoever it was that had killed the guards placed around the big tanker.

  He wished the three had been placed closer together. He’d seen the body of Murad—his head had been hanging from his body by a thread.

  What kind of man are we looking for? he asked himself. A man who kills without sound, not even giving a fighter such as Murad a chance to cry out! He knew the Americans had such men. But why here? He looked around at the sand and scrub brush. Why in this place?

  He would never find out the answer to his question. Just as it crossed his mind, there was a clatter from somewhere further up the trail and just to the left. Sakhr was already firing at the sound, and Barakat’s rifle was moving that way, his finger on the trigger …

  Before Ghassan could bring his own weapon to bear, a giant of a man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him off balance to one side.

  As he tried to get his feet under him, Ghassan felt something icy cold enter his chest—he knew it was a knife.

  I cannot die like this. He fought to bring his AK around. I can’t let this man kill me so easily…

  His hands were numb, unable to fire the rifle. Ghassan could do nothing but pray as the world went gray around him.

  He was dead an instant later.

  ***

  Another one down. Flame pulled the body under cover and withdrew his knife. Now, if I’m lucky…

  He was. The second man in the little group turned, looking for his comrade. Failing to see him, he began walking back.

  Toward Flame.

  And instant later, Flame had that body under cover as well, and was preparing for the final man in the patrol.

  ***

  Sakhr Rahal had been surprised by the clatter of sound in front of him. He didn’t think an opponent as wily as this one would be so clumsy but prudence dictated that he fire toward the noise. After all, it was possible the other man had just had some bad luck, perhaps catching his rifle in some branches, or tripping over a stray root—anything was possible in this damned rainfall.

  He fired several bursts in the proper direction, nodding when one of the men behind him did the same. That was Barakat, I think. Sakhr would have expected Ghassan to fire first, since he was the more experienced of the two men. Perhaps he didn’t have a clear field of fire. The old fighter nodded at the thought. It is good that he knows enough to hold his fire if he is unsure of his companions' positions.

  He would talk to the young man later, and make sure that his assumptions were correct. For now…

  The older man held his Kalashnikov at the ready as he pushed some large leaves aside and found…

  Nothing! He bent to touch the AK-47 whose fall had created the sound, found the scarf tied to it.

  Nidal’s scarf. Sakhr’s eyes narrowed. That noise was no accident—it was a ruse! His hand tightened on his own rifle as he realized that he had fallen into a trap. I must leave this place—quickly!

  He turned toward the pathway—and saw a large redheaded man standing there, smiling.

  Bastard! Sakhr tried to raise his weapon, tried to fire at this foe that had seemingly appeared from nowhere…

  But even as his finger touched the trigger, he knew that he had lost this fight.

  And that it would be his last.

  ***

  Ghafur signaled his men to stop when he heard the gunfire from somewhere at the other side of the wooded area. Two rifles together, he told himself. Those are my men. He motioned for the others to follow and hurried to extract himself from the trail he had chosen to follow. As they hurried forward, he strained his ears to hear what came next—it was difficult to make anything out as the wind moaned through the trees while the constant rainfall made the world seem dull, packed in cloth. It will be fine, he told himself. Sakhr is a good man. He can handle any threat…

  There was a second burst of gunfire. A single weapon this time.

  There! He reached the beach, and hurried to the path he had assigned to his old friend. Sakhr has found the American and finished him off!

  He waited for a shout of triumph, a call for him and the others to look at the enemy’s body.

  There was nothing save the patter of raindrops on the sand.

  Shit! Ghafur motioned for the others to follow him up the second path. He slowed their pace, making sure their weapons were at the ready. Where are you, my friend?

  They found the body of Adel Barakat first. It had been dragged to one side of the path and tossed into the scrub. Ghafur took a moment to examine it, saw that the throat had been slit.

  Whoever did this is very strong, he realized. This cut goes deep—I can see the bone…

  He saw a second body, too—that of Ghassan Al-Jazari. He too had been slain with a blade—one thrust deep into his heart. Dead, he too had been dragged off the trail and dropped under cover.

  This one died first, Ghafur realized. Then Barakat came back to investigate his silence and…

  He wondered what happened to Sakhr. My old comrade would not have doubled back as this one did. Ghafur stood up, and checked once again that his rifle was ready to fire, the safety off. He would have gone forward, gone for the target that must have presented itself. That would explain the gunfire they had heard a few minutes earlier—the gunfire that came from two weapons. That was Sakhr and Barakat. He nodded as he pictured the situation. They saw or heard something and fired toward it. He signaled to his men, and began a slow advance up the little trail. Afterwards, Barakat doubled back to see what happened to Ghassan and Sakhr…

  Ghafur shook his head, heart suddenly heavy. Sakhr kept searching for the target he had fired at, leaving only one unanswered question. Ghafur's eyes searched the trees around him: Who was the target—and who was the hunter?

  Ghafur sadly realized that he already knew the answer to that question.

  ***

  Flame watched as the leader of the jihadists led his men up the wooded path that he had abandoned just moments earlier. He’d decided that it was smarter to leave the area as soon as he’d finished off the senior fighter. He’d taken a moment to grab his AK (he was accruing quite a collection) and ammo belt before hotfooting it to a position further up the beach. From there, he’d used his binoculars to follow the movements of the remaining fighters, shielding the lenses from the rain as best he could.

  I might have tried an ambush, he thought. But this bunch is going to be a lot more alert than the others and if I screw it up… He shrugged. There was no way to know if he’d made the right decision or not—he was going to have to live with what he did, not what he might have done.

  They should find the first body right about… He smiled as the last man froze at the edge of the trail. Now. Flame pulled back a bit, giving himself a little more cover as he unslung the older fighter’s weapon and examined it. Thank God, he thought as he ran a hand over the rifle. This one is not a cheap Chinese POS. He smiled as he checked the barrel. This is Russian-made and seems to be in pretty good shape. He slung the AK he’d originally picked for his own use over his back and prepared this one for action. Maybe I should have tried an ambush…

  He kept his eye on the wooded area, content to let his opponents find their dead. They’ll go back to the ship to talk things over, he told himself. Then come back out to find me. He nodded slowly. That’s when I kill the rest of them. He checked the ammo in the senior man’s pouches and found three full magazines and, surprisingly, a number of candy bars. This guy really was experienced! Flame peeled the foil back from one of the chocolate bars and put it in his mouth.Experienced and smart enough to keep some food where he could reach it in a hurry. He grinned. Too bad he didn’t have a canteen—I could use a drink!

  Flame shrugged and ate two of the three bars in silence, watching as the four remaining fighters emerged from the brush and headed back toward the ship, two of them carrying one of the bodies between them. They’re going to give him the sendoff he deserves. Flame nodded. And so they should; he was a good man. He nibbled on the last of the candy bars. He’d considered saving one for Kimberly but decided it would be best if he kept his own energy at maximum—at least until the last of the jihadis had been accounted for.

  His eyes fell on the leader as the depleted group approached the ship. The man’s entire posture showed that he was alert and ready for anything. The dead man was good. Flame shook his head. But that guy sure looks as if he might be better…

  ***

  “How many men have we lost?” Madani’s face was flushed with anger as he glared at Ghafur. “How many?!”

  “Seven have been killed.” Ghafur kept his tone calm. “Five with the knife, two others—including Sakhr—with a rifle.”

  “Five of our men were killed by a single American who didn’t even have a gun?”

  “So it appears.”

  “How is this possible?” Madani slammed a fist into the chart table on one side of the bridge. “I thought our men were well-trained! Ready for anything!”

  “They are young.” Ghafur shook his head. “No matter how carefully they were trained, they will be outmanned by a truly experienced foe.”

  “And Sakhr?” Madani’s eyes caught his underling's. “Was he not ‘truly experienced’?”

  “Sakhr made a mistake.” Ghafur was beginning to get angry, although he did not let it show. “Such a thing could happen to anyone…”

  “It seems to happen to your men far too often.” The Saudi’s eyes were hot. “What will you do now?”

  “This man must be found and killed.” Ghafur shrugged. “There is no other way.”

  “Could we not just stay on board this ship—make him come to us?”

  “I only have five men left—not one of them has ever fired a weapon in anger.” Ghafur shook his head. “I’m not sure they would stand their ground in an attack by this man.”

  “What is your plan, then?”

  “I will allow the men to eat and rest for one hour. Afterwards…” His own eyes caught those of his leader. “Afterwards we will hunt down this enemy and kill him like the animal he is!”

  “Good,” Madani nodded. “Very good.” He turned back toward the big windows at the front of the bridge. “But if you fail this time…” He glanced at the old fighter. “Do not come back.”

  Ghafur nodded and turned to leave the bridge. He would not allow himself to fail again.

  ***

  Flame watched as the last of the fighters climbed the swaying rope ladder to the deck of the tanker—and pulled the ladder up behind them. I have a little time, he decided. Kimberly is probably really worried by now, he grinned. Not to mention cold and wet. He broke cover and headed for the wooded area where he had left the two dead men. I can fix part of that.