Chapter 80
I THINK I found it, Irene,” Rapp said as he guided the van into the burn lane. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll leave the line open.”
“Wait, I—”
Rapp dropped the phone onto the console and shook the Kurd. “Azad. Azad!”
The man slumped against the passenger door.
Rapp checked his pulse.
Slow.
Very, very slow.
Rapp smacked him across the face. Hard. The Kurd groaned. “You want to avenge your people?” Rapp dug into the man’s wound. “This is your chance. I need you for five more minutes. Just five more minutes. Then you can rest.”
Azad’s eyes fluttered open. “What?”
Rapp opened the driver’s-side door, pulled the Kurd across the seat, and buckled him in. “I need you to drive us to that truck. Pull up next to it so my passenger door is against his driver’s door. Can you do that?”
Azad murmured something unintelligible, but he wrapped his uninjured hand around the steering wheel.
That would have to be good enough. Rapp backed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door closed.
Then he raced to the passenger side, climbed in, and grabbed the Glock.
Azad was still holding the steering wheel, which he took as a positive sign.
“Let’s go,” Rapp said.
He ejected the magazine, confirmed it was loaded, and reseated it. Then he press-checked the pistol to ensure a round was chambered and crouched below the window.
The van wasn’t moving.
“Can’t… shift.”
Rapp looked over and cursed. The Kurd had the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. Clearly, he was afraid to let go in case he couldn’t summon the strength to grab it again.
“No problem,” Rapp said. “I’ll shift for you. Ready?”
“Yessss,” Azad slurred.
Rapp popped the transmission into drive and again hunched below the window. The vehicle began to move. Slowly at first, but then with increasing speed. Rapp tried to estimate the time it would take them to travel the hundred yards, but decided his effort was better spent on keeping the Kurd alert.
“Almost there,” Rapp said, squeezing Azad’s leg with his left hand as he held on to the pistol with his right. “Remember, just pull even with the driver’s-side door. I’ll do the rest.”
The Kurd didn’t reply.
Instead, he opened his mouth and began to take short, shallow breaths.
“A little bit longer,” Rapp said. “Just a little bit longer.”
After what felt like an eternity, the Kurd suddenly jerked the wheel to the right.
A metal-on-metal screech filled the cabin.
Rapp popped up to see the surprised visage of a thirtysomething man of Middle Eastern descent seated in the truck’s cabin.
For a millisecond he considered what would happen if he was wrong.
Then he began pulling the trigger.
The driver toppled over and Rapp panned the front sight post to the truck’s passenger and continued firing. Two seconds later, the pistol’s slide locked to the rear.
He was out of ammunition.
And the van was still moving.
Turning, he saw the Kurd slumped over the wheel. Rapp scrambled across the cramped cabin, stomped on the brake, and threw the transmission into park. He pressed two fingers to Azad’s neck.
He was gone.
Rapp opened the driver’s-side door and climbed over the dead Kurd. He dropped the empty pistol into Azad’s lap and shut the door. Then he stumbled around the front of the truck. The two men inside were dead. Climbing onto the running board, Rapp peered over the metal divider into the trailer bed.
Death stared back.