55. Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter fifty-five
Noble had seen movement, brought the rifle up and eased his finger back on the trigger in one fluid motion.
The bullet had hit Zeqiri’s man in the throat, knocking him off his feet and putting him flat on his back.
He’d laid there in the dirt for several seconds, clutching his neck while blood boiled out, with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping.
Noble hadn’t bothered to stick around. Without an emergency medical team on hand, a bullet through the neck was a death sentence.
He had kicked the man’s rifle away and moved deeper into the scrapyard, expecting the captain to come investigate.
Noble waited, but Zeqiri never showed and instead, Noble had gone looking.
Zeqiri must have run the numbers and didn’t like the sums. His men had been picked off one by one and the Captain, now alone, had decided to retreat.
Noble spied him just as he reached the opening in the perimeter fence.
He brought the rifle up to his shoulder, but he was too late to get off a shot.
Zeqiri disappeared into the thick stand of trees that marched right up to the property line.
Taking a knee, and keeping the rifle aimed, Noble watched the spot where Zeqiri had disappeared.
His back was one big mass of hurt. His left leg ached whenever he put weight on it and his right shoulder throbbed.
The tumble had left him bruised and battered.
While sweat beaded on his forehead and streamed down into his vision, Noble waited several minutes to make sure Zeqiri wasn’t trying to pull a fake.
When he was sure the Captain had actually fled the junkyard, Noble sat down and exhaled while he let his limbs rest.
It was probably a mistake. Soon as his butt hit the ground, Noble wanted to pitch right over in the dirt and go to sleep.
If he closed his eyes, even for a second, he’d likely be out cold until the sun came up.
He flexed his right arm, trying to ease away the pain in his shoulder, and stretched out his left leg.
The adrenaline was wearing off and the true extent of the damages was setting in.
How far had he fallen? Ten feet? Maybe fifteen? It didn’t seem like much. His body was telling him it was a hundred-foot fall into a pit full of sharpened stakes.
A warm breeze whispered through the piles of scrap and rifled Noble’s hair, cooling the sweat on the back of his neck.
He passed a hand over his face, then gripped the old Soviet rifle in both hands and pushed himself to his feet.
It took a tremendous concentration of effort, along with several grunts.
But he managed to stand. He limped on the left leg.
It wasn’t broken; at least, Noble didn’t think it was broken. But he’d come down on it pretty hard. He’d possibly pulled a muscle or tendon. He could walk on it, but not without pain. It would probably be sore for several days yet.
He found his captive right where he’d left him.
The Albanian commando had made good progress in his escape, having managed to push one of the tires up over his shoulders.
His legs were still secured by the metal coil and the second tire still sat around his elbows, but he wriggled and jerked on the ground, like an electrified worm, in an effort to get free.
Noble stumped over.
The soldier craned his neck up at the sound, saw Noble and put his head down in the dirt with a sigh. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“No,” Noble agreed. “But I do have to punish you.”
“Naturally.”
Noble slammed the butt of the rifle down on the commando’s knee.
He did it hard enough to make sure it hurt, but not hard enough to break anything.
Noble needed Zeqiri’s man to know he meant business.
The rifle butt landed with a healthy crack.
The Albanian commando jerked, his body stiffened.
An agonized groan of pain escaped from clenched teeth.
With his arms still trapped at his sides, he did his best to hold up one hand. “Please. I have a wife and daughters.”
Noble propped the rifle against the wall of castoff tires. “Guess who has two thumbs and doesn’t give a damn?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know what Zeqiri is up to. Why did he kidnap Bill and Milena? Why roll up the ICTY investigator?”
His phone vibrated in his pocket again. Burke was obviously desperate to speak with him, otherwise he would have left a message and waited.
“You mean you don’t know?” the Albanian said. His face was still stretched in pain and beaded with sweat. He looked up at Noble with confusion written on his brow.
“Not yet, but you’re going to tell me.” Noble reached into his pocket for the phone. “My apologies. I have to take this call. Can you hold on a minute.”
“By all means,” the Albanian said. “Take your time.”
“Thanks.” Noble put the phone to his ear.