He moved like a sprinter; dodging and weaving across the open ground, and although three rifles targeted him, they all missed. Ryder didn’t miss. He swerved the wheel over, bumped over the rough ground where the insurgent was running, and hit him with a glancing blow on the front fender. He performed several somersaults and lay on the ground stunned. Ryder jammed on the brakes, and they leapt out of the truck. Nolan ran up to check out the victim.

  “He’s still alive,” he murmured, “Thank Christ for that.”

  “Why do we want him alive?” John-Wesley sounded puzzled, “I was aiming to kill him.”

  “To confirm where Abdullah is headed. When we know that, we can go in and finish this. No more mistakes.”

  As he spoke, he gave Ryder a hard glance, and the Louisianan nodded. “No mistakes, copy that, Boss.”

  The Arab was unwounded although badly stunned when the truck rammed him. Nolan asked him about Abdullah. He shook his head and spat out several words in Arabic.

  “He doesn’t speak English.” Will said in disgust, “They never do these bastards, unless they want something.”

  He focused his gaze on the captive. “You’d better remember a few words of English mighty fast, pal. Otherwise I’ll put a bullet through your head myself.”

  He still looked vacant, and Nolan began to suspect he was telling the truth. Which meant another dead end, until the girl climbed from the cab. She’d been listening, and she spoke to the Arab in his own language. He looked up in shock and surprise, and then snarled out a few words that sounded like a threat. Her expression clouded in surprise, and a range of emotions passed across her face. A second later, Ryder’s huge combat knife was under his chin, and Nolan had to put up a hand to restrain him.

  He looked at the girl. “What did he say?”

  “I’m… not sure.”

  “Try him again.”

  She spoke a couple of sentences, and his reply was no less savage. She seemed to be undergoing an internal struggle, and he asked again what he’d said. Something felt wrong. Her body language, her gestures, he couldn’t work out what was going on inside her head. Yet the target was getting further away, and they had no time to play games with a terrorist captive. And then Ryder asked for a few minutes to make him talk.

  “How will you do that? You don’t speak Arabic, and he doesn’t speak English.”

  “He’ll talk, I promise you. Five minutes is all.” His voice was hard. The Arab had obviously threatened the girl.

  Nolan recalled the girl in Louisiana who’d been threatened by the cop, and wondered if he should let him loose. But there was too much at stake, and he nodded his agreement. Despite his thin, wiry frame, John-Wesley was immensely strong, and he dragged the man behind the truck. They waited and worked to ignore the muffled cries and groans. It took less than four minutes, and the SEAL emerged alone.

  “It’s Turkey, Gulbaba, the mosque in the center of town, that’s where he’s meeting this Mullah. It’s about two klicks from here across the mountain, but ten klicks if you use the roads. You cross the border into Turkey and hit D410, the Gaziantep Road, the main artery that runs through Turkey. If we don’t stop them at Gulbaba, it’s all over. He could go anywhere.”

  “How long will this meeting in Gulbaba take? How long do we have?”

  “The guy said he’ll be there about an hour. He’s got a head start, so we don’t have much time.”

  Nolan nodded. “In that case, we’ll get moving now. Talk to him again, see what he knows about that route over the mountain.”

  Ryder met his gaze. “Boss, he ain’t going to be answering any more questions. Not now, not ever.”

  “Understood. We’ll take the mountain route. Let’s go.”

  He went to climb into the truck, but Will stopped him. “Lt, if this mountain route is a bust, we could lose him.”

  “And if we take the long way around, we won’t get there in time. We don’t have a choice, Will.”

  He frowned. “I guess you’re right. Jesus Christ, if we had to come back and do this again, I think I’d resign and buy myself a pizza shop.”

  “I’d be there with you. Partners.”

  The two SEALs grinned at each other as they swung aboard the truck. Ryder took the wheel again, and gravel spewed up from the back wheels as he floored the gas. Nolan avoided looking at the body lying in the dust as they went past.

  The route uphill was a winding, crazy fairground ride of steep climbs, suicidal drops, and pathways narrow enough to make a mountain goat nervous. Ryder slowed for nothing, and he kept the Toyota flat out over the precarious terrain. At some stage during the mad drive, they crossed an unmarked border. Turkey was spread out before them, a rugged, mountainous landscape, and in the distance, barely one kilometer away, the town of Gulbaba.

  If the mad journey uphill had been bad, the plunge down the mountain was worse. Ryder drove like a man possessed, as if he blamed Abdullah for his imminent exit from the SEALs, the closest thing he had to family. It should have taken an hour to thread the way downhill, and he made it in ten nail-biting, terror-filled minutes. They drove into Gulbaba, and it was not so much a town as a toss-up between a garbage tip and an industrial wasteland. Empty storefronts, abandoned factories, most of it partly destroyed and burned out. The blackened skeletons of the buildings were stark against the sky, like mad works of modern art. In the center of town, they came across the mosque. Nolan heaved a sigh of relief. Abdullah’s Mercedes was parked outside. He was still there.

  They stopped, and he sent Bryce and Merano to cover the back, while he and John-Wesley went to the front. Rana stayed with the truck. The town was quiet, with a few people around, sitting outside their houses, smoking and chatting. The two soldiers approaching the mosque attracted a few glances. The Turkish army didn’t play around where homegrown terrorism was concerned, or even imported terrorism from Syria. Soldiers patrolling the towns and cities were not unusual in the part-Islamic, part-secular nation of Turkey.

  They had their handguns out as they entered the building, and their eyes flicked from side to side, looking for Abdullah. The building was small, a large, single room, and in the center, a small group of men sat on the floor conversing. At first, they didn’t see the newcomers. Nolan gestured to Ryder, and they slipped behind one of the many pillars that supported the roof. When his eyes were accustomed to the change from blinding sunlight outside to the darkness of the interior, he squinted at the men. There were four in all, and he recognized Abdullah with another man, no doubt a guard, armed with an assault rifle. There was another Arab wearing the distinctive robe and turban of a Mullah, and a younger man in a similar robe who had to be his assistant.

  What clinched it for Nolan were the weapons. Abdullah and the guard carried AKMs. If this were a genuine act of worship, the Mullah would have insisted they left their weapons outside. Abdullah took out a phone and said a few words to the Mullah, who took out a sheet of paper and scanned it. He spoke to the Prince, who began to press buttons to make a call.

  He murmured to Ryder, “You see that? Abdullah and the Mullah. They’re about to make the money transfer. We’re almost out of time.”

  “How do you want to play this?”

  “I’ll take Abdullah first, and you hit his buddy. After that, it’s goodnight to his pal the Mullah. Bastard’s in it up to his neck.”

  “Copy that. I’ll wait for your shot.”

  Nolan unslung his Barrett, and Ryder the Heckler and Koch. They eased them into the firing position, and the shot would be almost too easy. At short range, missing them would require a conscious effort of will. He took up the pressure on the trigger, pausing as a figure rushed through the front door shouting, “Prince Abdullah! They’ve come to kill you!”

  He whirled and looked at Rana, who’d rushed into the mosque, waving her hands and shouting.

  Ryder looked devastated, but he recovered fast. “The treacherous bitch. I should have left her to those guys out in the desert.”

  Abdullah reacted like greased lightning, diving behind a pillar, out of the line of fire. The guard brought up his AKM and fired a long burst that chipped marble from the pillar next to them. Nolan cursed and started to run, charging toward the Arab who was the immediate threat. He fired from the hip, using the Barrett as if it were a lightweight assault rifle, instead of a .50 caliber. He let fly a half dozen rounds before one smashed into the target, and he went down. But Abdullah was still somewhere inside the gloomy place. As were the Mullah and his assistant who’d both slipped away, and there was Rana, who’d disappeared. Ryder had gone looking for her, and it was all unraveling fast.

  If they get together and make that call, there’ll be four almighty bangs in four major capital cities. It can’t happen. I can’t allow it to happen. But where is Abdullah?

  He went from pillar to pillar, searching for him, and there was nothing. Until he heard a rustling noise a few meters away, and then a click. Nolan jerked the barrel around, and he was standing there, in front of the muzzle of the Barrett. Prince Khalid bin-Abdullah, member of the Saudi royal family, the man planning to hit the West a blow so devastating it would take them decades to recover. He had him bang to rights. It was all over, but someone else was shooting at him.

  He whirled, and Rana was there, blasting away with the fallen AKM she’d picked up.

  Rana! What the fuck!

  A bullet whacked into his armored vest, and the next tore a chunk out of his left leg. He swung the Barrett around to return fire, but she took cover behind yet another of the many pillars and continued firing at him. He still couldn’t believe it. Rana, the girl Ryder had rescued. The girl they’d brought with them to keep her safe. Saved her from a brutal mass rape and death. In return, she’d chosen to try to kill them. To save Prince Abdullah, so he could initiate his killing frenzy. She’d joined the ranks of the bombers and the murderers of innocents. There was a single explanation. Islam. It had a vise-like hold on her she couldn’t shake off. Only death would loosen that hold. He’d make damn sure he obliged her.

  The pillars prevented an unobstructed view across the prayer room, so he waited. When he heard the shooting stop and her reloading, he slipped away, moving from pillar to pillar in the direction he assumed the Prince had gone. Then he saw him, and the girl had joined him. They were working their way toward the entrance, and he fired a single shot from the Barrett. The big round punched all the way through the marble pillar, and he heard a cry as the bullet emerged to slam into the girl. He’d probably just winged her, but a .50 caliber bullet was enough to put anyone out of action for a good, long time.

  Abdullah opened fire with the assault rifle on full auto, forcing him to step back behind another pillar as bullets whistled past him. They were getting closer to the exit, and if he didn’t do something fast, they’d escape and unleash havoc.

  Where is Ryder? If ever I needed him, it’s…

  He emerged through the gloom, sprinting through the mosque toward Abdullah. Before he could line up a clear shot, Abdullah spotted him and opened fire, forcing him to duck back. Nolan ran at him. There were no other choices. He charged him down, firing the cumbersome Barrett for effect, not hoping to score a hit. The Saudi fired back, forcing him to duck behind cover yet again. But he was close.

  He waited for the Arab to move and saw him flitting from pillar to pillar. Nolan gave chase and began to gain, but he slipped and landed on his ass, less than two meters from Abdullah. His lips parted in a cruel sneer, like he’d just won the lottery.

  “This time, you die, American pig. You should beg for the mercy of Allah and his Prophet Mohammed before I kill you.”

  “Which one is best?”

  “What?”

  “Mohammed or Allah. Which one is best? Who would you choose, I mean, which one isn’t a murderous piece of scum?”

  The brow furrowed in astonishment. “You…”

  Nolan tensed, ready to spring as his fury overtook him, but running footsteps sounded on the floor, and Ryder was there, running, rifle spitting fire. Abdullah drew back while the bullets smashed all around the pillar, and the barrel of his weapon remained fixed on Nolan. He couldn’t move, could only wait for the shot to come. Then Ryder made his final dash. The Arab swiveled the AKM around to aim at him. A break in his concentration, and all the chance Nolan needed. Still lying on the floor, he snatched out the Sig, aimed, and fired. And fired again.

  The Saudi was down, dead or dying, and he relaxed. It was done. A bullet fired from somewhere close creased his arm, and he turned in the direction of the shooter. Rana was still alive, and somehow she’d managed to crawl toward him, trailing blood and gore behind her on the carpet of the mosque. She was almost close enough to touch him, and her rifle pointed at Nolan’s face. He froze, waiting for the moment.

  “You should have stayed home, all of you. Then I wouldn’t have to kill you.” Her voice was filled with agony, but also determination to do this one last thing before she died.

  He kept his voice level. As long as they talked, he was alive. “You’d prefer to live in the company of rapists and murderers? Why, Rana?”

  “I prefer to listen to the word of the Prophet rather than an infidel. That is our way.”

  “Your way is the way of death. Don’t do this, Rana. Think about the Muslims who wanted to rape and kill you. All we did was save you from that fate.”

  Her voice crackled with venom, “You should have left me. Now you will reap your reward and die, like all infidels should die.”

  She was shaking, and the first shot whistled past his neck. She touched the barrel to the pillar to give her stability, aimed, and this time the muzzle was steady. And then Ryder raced out of the gloom, and his hand moved to the knife. He grasped the hilt, the arm came up, and the knife hurtled at the target. The wide, black blade spun once in the air and buried itself in the girl’s neck. The weight of the heavy knife and the force of the throw slammed it deep. She fired a single shot as she fell, but it zinged harmlessly through the roof. Blood spurted out from the terrible wound, and in her final dying moments, she made a huge effort to look at Ryder.

  Nolan could swear the religious hatred had disappeared, replaced in those final seconds of life by regret. In the seconds when he thought he would die, he’d worked out what had happened, why she’d changed.

  “That man you talked with, I got the idea you knew him.”

  “I knew him.” The voice was a dying whisper.

  “He said something to you that made you change your mind.”

  “Yes.” She was almost gone, and he put his ear to her mouth to listen.

  “What was it?”

  “I had a child, a son who died. That man was the brother of my husband. He said if I helped you, Allah would ensure my son burned in the fires of hell. I’m sorry.”

  Nolan shook his head in despair.

  The Islamic world floats on a turbulent, storm-filled sea of pain. When will they learn it doesn’t have to be that way? Probably never. There’ll always be work for people like us. Special Forces. Navy SEALS. Killers. People like John-Wesley.

  Then she was gone, the body stretched out on the wet, bloody carpet. Ryder went up to her, pulled out the knife, and wiped the blade on her robe. Then he stretched out a hand to help Nolan up.

  “You okay, Boss? She didn’t hit you?”

  “I’m good. I thought I was a goner that time. Thanks.”

  A shrug. “No sweat. Any time.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Hurt?”

  “Her betrayal, and having to kill her.”

  His expression darkened, and Nolan felt he was watching a re-run of Ryder’s dark days in Louisiana. Finally, he answered, “People die.”

  “That’s it? People die?”

  “Right.”

  But Ryder’s face betrayed the way he felt inside. Everywhere he’d gone, bodies lay strewn in his wake. Some good, and some bad. There was also Grace, a girl he’d loved beyond life itself. And when she died, something inside him had died. A tiny spark had briefly flared when he went to save Rana. And flickered out when she betrayed him.

  Each time he acts to save a life, like he just saved mine, doesn’t that count for something? Yes, it does. We’re fighting a war against a brutal, medieval enemy, and we need every weapon we can lay our hands on. Weapons like John-Wesley Ryder.

  Both SEALs swung around as light streamed into the darkened room. They relaxed as Will Bryce and Vince Merano walked through the door toward them. It was then he remembered the Mullah and his assistant.

  “Will, two guys went out the back way, one was a Mullah. Did you see them?”

  A smile, and his teeth flashed white in his black face. “We saw ‘em. Saw the guns they had underneath their robes. Weird, I don’t recall priests going armed. Must be something new.”

  “Will, they were terrorists. They were linked with Abdullah.”

  The big Master Chief glanced down at the bodies of the Saudi Prince and the Arab girl. “Yeah, the guns were a teensy giveaway. That’s why we killed ‘em.”

  He sighed. “That’s it, then. We’re done.”

  Will grinned. “Damn right, it’s time we all went home. What’s up with John-Wesley? He don’t look good. Hey, Ryder, what’s the deal? I thought you liked a good killing.”

  He looked like a man who’d found something precious and then lost it. He shook his head, and without a word, walked slowly to the front door and out into the fresh air. Nolan was about to follow when his foot kicked something hard on the floor. He picked up the cellphone, and the guy at the other end sounded worried.

  “Hello, are you there?”

  He put it to his ear. “Who is this?”

  “This is the Commerce Bank of the Turks and Caicos. Am I speaking to the account holder? You were about to make a transfer.”

  “The transfer is cancelled.”