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?
Emblazoned on its side was the name and logo of the popular Caafi brand of bottled water. It was one of the largest suppliers in Mogadishu—and it was owned by a Hawiye businessman. Even a few cases tainted with a weaponized virus had the potential to spread it throughout the entire country.
Strapped to Jake’s pack was a rocket-propelled grenade launcher and two warheads. He’d originally set up one hundred yards from camp, but the patrols and the terrain had forced him back another three hundred yards. It was technically within range for the RPG-7, but Jake had never fired one, and anything less than a direct hit on the bioagent would simply disperse it into the atmosphere, leaving the men in camp, including Pickens, to become the first victims in a cycle of infection that would spread throughout the country once they’d returned to the capital city of Mogadishu.
Using the RPG from four hundred yards was off the table. He needed to be closer.
—
IT WAS NEARLY three a.m. by the time he reached the dirt bike.
The motorcycle started after a few kicks. Jake rode under night vision goggles, with the rifle strapped to the bike, his pack on his back, and the pistol strapped to his thigh. High grasses brushed against his legs and rodents scurried from his path as he navigated a series of game trails to the paved road on the outskirts of Dujuma.
Jake stopped to check his map and cross-check his wrist-mounted GPS. The dirt road to Yaxaas’s compound was a mile north of his position. He sat for a moment, caught a whiff of the motorcycle’s two-stroke engine idling beneath him, and visualized the plan he’d devised. It was a plan born of increasing desperation, one that would depend on skill, determination, and a tremendous amount of luck.
He set off, riding no faster than fifteen miles per hour to minimize the noise. While the grassy hills would absorb much of the sound, Jake was going on the offensive, and that necessitated complete tactical surprise. He needed to hit his enemy when they felt safest, when their guard would be lowest, and to have any chance of success, he would have to achieve his objective before Yaxaas’s superior forces could organize and react.
Jake stopped at the entrance to the camp’s access road. The main gate was a mile in, at the end of a twisting single-lane road that had been cut through the valley. The road was a death trap, with steep sides and the machine gun nest covering the final approach to camp.