Andrew Britton - The American

“I swear it’s the truth!”

“I don’t believe you.” Ryan’s finger tightened on the trigger as he pressed the cold metal harder against the man’s head. “That’s the only name he’s ever used with you?”

“I knew his father personally. You can look for yourself. Jesus, look… Look, just let me up. I’m not going anywhere.” Any distraction would do, Gray thought to himself. The gun is loaded, I know it is. If I can just get to it, I might have a chance.

Ryan grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up roughly. Immediately, Gray moved for the desk. “It’s right here, I have a file on him-”

The fist tightened around the back of Gray’s shirt, pulling him back and away. “Sit down,” Ryan said. He moved to the desk and started opening drawers. Turning to face the other man, he held the Smith amp; Wesson revolver up toward the light. “Is this what you were looking for?”

Opening the cylinder, he spilled the bullets out of the gun, the rounds rattling and rolling away across the polished floor. Casually tossing the revolver onto the desk, he moved forward in a smooth motion and slammed the butt of his own pistol into Gray’s face. The impact reverberated along the length of his arm. As Ryan pulled back to deliver a second blow, the radio tucked into his pocket bumped the corner of the desk, inadvertently pressing the transmit button.

“No, I have absolutely no idea,” Naomi was saying. “I think I made a wrong turn coming out of the Malay Quarter… I’m just trying to get back to the Commodore. Can you point it out to me? I mean, if you don’t mind.”

The doubt had faded slightly from the man’s blunt features. Leaning forward and through the window, he began to trace a line along the map, snapping out directions in heavily accented English. His finger was tracing through the map and along her leg… She held the map tightly in both hands, her arms straining so that she almost ripped the thin paper in half. Her mind was moving at the speed of light. Keep him occupied, Naomi.

She placed her hand on the man’s forearm and gave him her best smile. “I can’t thank you enough. You’re a lifesaver.” She hit the tone perfectly, and watched the grin spread over his face as his eyes scoured her body for the first time…

There was a burst of static from the radio.

The driver saw something change in her face and he pulled back quickly, the lascivious smile fading fast, replaced by a sneer as he dug for the weapon in his jacket.

Naomi’s hand moved down in a blur to the space between the seats, pulling up on Ryan’s Beretta. She got there first. Her mind was blank as she pointed the gun at his chest and fired twice, the shots ringing in her ears as she watched him fall back, shock carved into his face.

She stumbled out of the jeep, the radio forgotten behind her. She was reaching down, searching for the man’s keys, only to realize that they were in the still-running Mercedes. Naomi didn’t notice the lack of blood on the driver’s chest as she pulled the keys out of the car and ran to the front door of the warehouse.

The shots were audible from inside the building. Stephen Gray looked up and smiled in Ryan’s direction, a bloody, awful smile. Something feral slithered into his eyes as he spoke. “You may know his name, but it won’t change anything.”

Ryan stepped back, still aiming the Walther at Gray’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

“The shipment has already landed in Washington. It’s too late to stop him. Do you understand what I’m saying? He’s going after all of them. He already has what he needs.”

Ryan was about to respond when the door burst open. He swung his pistol and then stopped when she moved into view. Naomi ran into the building… All she could see was Ryan.

Gray reacted immediately. With astonishing speed he turned the corner and hit Naomi head-on, the pistol flying out of her hand and across the floor. She was stunned by the blow, struggling to stand when Gray reached past her, his fingertips brushing against the Beretta. Then it was in his hand, and he was turning up and around…

Kealey shot him twice in the chest. Stumbling backward, Gray hit the wall and slumped down against it. He glared up at Ryan, a thin trickle of blood running out of his mouth and down onto the clean white cotton of his shirt. He summoned the last of his strength and lifted the pistol in Naomi’s direction.

Ryan had no choice. Taking two steps forward, he leveled the Walther and fired a third bullet into Stephen Gray’s forehead.

He breathed a soft curse. This was going all wrong… His first priority was to get out of the building. Moving forward, Ryan lifted the Beretta out of the dead man’s hand and slid it into his coat pocket. Naomi was crouched against the wall, staring up at him with horror in her face. Leaning down, he grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly to her feet.

“Where’s the driver?”

“I shot him,” she said in a low monotone. Ryan’s eyes were moving fast around the room. There was a wall full of file cabinets and papers strewn across the man’s desk. He thought about sending Naomi out to the boat while he looked through the papers. He thought about the probable response times for police units heading out of the commercial district, and about what they would find when they arrived. He knew instinctively that Gray wouldn’t keep records of any illicit dealings in these file cabinets.

His deliberations had taken three seconds. It was too much of a risk. Besides, he already had what he came for. He grabbed Naomi’s hand and pulled her hard toward the open doors leading out to the bay. A scuffling sound behind him, movement on unsteady feet. A moment of shock as he considered… No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t turn to look.

They were running hard, out through the back as a long burst of automatic fire followed them, ripping through the French doors and sending jagged splinters of glass and wood spinning out onto the beach. Ryan felt like he was barely moving as his feet pounded over the sinking sand, Naomi like dead weight behind him, her hand tightly gripping his. Another long burst of fire, and then a shouted curse in Afrikaans as the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. Ryan pushing the dinghy out over the rocks, pulling her roughly in and the engine roaring to life. The boat was going hard over the waves, slapping against the rubber floor as they jumped each swell. Two minutes later they were out of range of the driver’s submachine gun, and Ryan cut back on the motor as they eased up to the rear of the catamaran.

Ryan finally forced himself to turn and look at Naomi. He was almost certain that she had been hit. He felt an overwhelming wave of relief when she didn’t appear to be wounded, but it was difficult to tell; he could see only her back as she crouched facing away from him, her upper body leaning over the side as she was violently sick into the black waters of Table Bay.

TAJIKISTAN, CAPE TOWN,PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA

The journey had been long and arduous, but they were now closing in on their final destination.

The most difficult part for al-Adel had been in securing more auxiliary tanks for the helicopter. It had taken shouted curses and threats of retribution in fractured Farsi over the encrypted radio, but the promise had been made and kept. The fuel tanks were waiting in a covered truck bed just off an abandoned highway north of Repetek. From there, they were free to continue on the third leg of the flight. The sky began to darken once again as the Mi-26 headed northeast, skirting the jagged western edge of Tajikistan that led toward the lush and fertile floor of the Ferghana Valley.

Saif al-Adel noticed that the American had not spoken for the entire duration of the flight. He wondered whether this was a sign that the man regretted his earlier demands, but soon dismissed the notion when he examined the other passenger’s face and saw nothing but quiet confidence. Clearly, the American had unshakable faith in his own abilities.