Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
The Ground Branch team opened fire.
Clap fired half a dozen rounds into the Nissan’s engine compartment. The CIA contractor on his right shot out the sedan’s two left tires while the man on his left fired three rounds at the driver’s chest. The rest of the team targeted the right-side tires and rushed the back seat doors, where Jake was being held.
But the Nissan’s driver mashed the gas pedal to the floor. The white sedan shot backward, pushing the SUV back a few feet and sending the Ground Branch men scrambling for cover. Clap fired off another five rounds, but the unobtrusive sedan was armored all around, from the engine compartment to the windows, including run-flat tires. Nothing seemed to affect it. The driver shifted back into first gear and clipped the minivan as he sped away.
Clap ordered the CIA men back to their vehicles. The minivan was heavy and slow, so the gray SUV took the lead spot in the pursuit, ramming the sedan twice and trying to spin it out of control.
But Nacay’s wheelman knew his car and he knew the roads. He quickly opened up the distance with his pursuers and floored it down a bumpy alleyway before disappearing down another side street. The Agency vehicles followed.
The road was a single lane wide, with two-story buildings on each side and strings of power lines up above. The Agency SUV had closed to within a few car lengths of the white sedan when it made a sharp right turn and stopped.
Blocking the intersection ahead was a technical, a pickup truck with a light machine gun mounted in its bed. The improvised guntruck had become a staple of the Somali civil war, and the site of the ambush had been chosen well. The tight quarters made it nearly impossible for the Americans to reverse to safety.
The gunner opened fire with long bursts from the machine gun. Its heavy 7.62mm rounds tore through the Americans’ passenger compartments.
Clap took a round to the shoulder, and the man next to him was hit twice in the chest. The Agency SUV was peppered with bullet holes and shattered glass. The Ground Branch contractor in the front seat was killed instantly when a round tore out his throat.
Another operative leaned out his window and smoked the technical’s gunner with three quick rounds to the face.
It bought the two CIA vehicles enough time to back out of the alley, but Jake was gone.
SIXTY-ONE
THE WHITE SEDAN swerved around a corner and accelerated. Pocked with bullet holes, it made close to seventy miles per hour through the narrow streets as it sped across two intersections and turned into a junkyard. Workers unloading bags of trash from a garbage truck pretended not to notice Nacay and the two gunmen who stepped out of the back seat.
It was safer not to notice a lot of things that happened in Mogadishu.