Bunny said, “Got it.”

Immediately the street out front and the alley behind were torn apart by bullets fired from three separate positions. Men screamed and shouted. The Sabbatarians tried to return fire, but they were being ambushed by Echo Team, and that is a bad place to be.

“Violin!” I barked. “Cease fire. My team is outside. Hold your position.”

There was no answer, and when I risked leaning out to look, her shooting position was empty. Ghost stood panting in the hallway, but beyond him there were only dead Sabbatarians and a floor littered with bullet casings and blood.

Then it was over.

The gunfire stopped. There were no more screams, no shouts. Just the sound of running feet as Echo Team swarmed into the store from both sides, weapons out, eyes blazing with anger.

“Clear!” called Khalid as he checked the small rooms downstairs. He and Lydia ran for the stairs and cleared the second floor. No one had tried to come in that way.

Bunny’s monstrous form filled the front doorway, a combat shotgun in his hands.

“Hostiles are all down,” he reported.

Top Sims helped me up off the floor. He looked me up and down. “I can’t leave you on your own for five minutes without you getting into some shit, can I?”

Chapter Seventy-eight

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Mustapha’s Daily Goods

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 7:49 p.m.

“Did you see her?” I demanded as Echo gathered around.

Bunny frowned. “See who, Boss?”

“The woman. Violin. She was fighting them from the store.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t see anybody but the bad guys. Lot of hostiles down out there. Saw a couple stiffs with their throats cut, too. Whoever she was, chick can fight. Who was she?”

“Long story.” I hurried into the store and checked the bodies, and though one of them was female, it wasn’t Violin. “Check everyone. Do we have anyone with a pulse?”

“Got one here,” said Lydia, who was crouched over a slender figure. Jamsheed.

“He’s one of ours,” I said. “Khalid—?”

“On it.” Everyone on Echo Team was a certified medic, but Khalid was an actual medical doctor with a specialty in traumatic injuries. He went to work on Jamsheed.

Top said, “This was a pretty noisy frat party, Cap’n. We’re going to be ass deep in police real soon.”

We listened for sirens but did not hear any yet. I wasn’t certain how reassuring that was. Special Forces and military SWAT units don’t roll with sirens.

“Who’s watching the street?”

“John Smith and he’s got night vision.”

I tapped my earbud. “Cowboy to Chatterbox. What are you seeing?”

“Nothing.”

He wasn’t the most talkative guy on the team.

“Stay sharp. You see so much as an old lady with a shopping cart give a yell.”

“K.”

I turned to Khalid. “Talk to me.”