We’ve been hired to kill Nur, the leader of this particular cell of Boko Haram. He’s been running rampant over Northeastern Nigeria, trying to block democratic elections and install his own theocratic state. With him at the head, of course.

He’s taken hundreds of hostages, then murdered them when towns refused to open their gates to him or pay the outrageous ransoms he demands.

Well, that ends tonight. Boko Haram is a hydra with a hundred heads, but I’m gonna hack off at least one of them.

I wish I had my normal crew with me. This job is dicey. I’d rather have Ghost by my side, or even Psycho. But the Black Knights are currently occupied in Ukraine. Bomber was the best option I had on short notice.

“I have to pee so bad,” he mutters.

“I told you not to drink so much water.”

“It’s fuckin’ hot, though . . . ”

“Shh,” I hiss at him.

I can hear at least one other person helping Kambar unload the cart. The last thing I need is for the insurgents to overhear Bomber whining.

I hear Kambar chatting with somebody a dozen yards away. Then a pause. Then the three swift knocks on the side of the cart that tell us the coast is clear.

I reach beneath me, flipping up the latch that holds our little compartment in place. The doors swing open, dumping Bomber and me out in the dirt underneath the cart. I see the bullock’s hooves up by my head, and two rickety wheels on either side of me. Bomber and I roll between the wheels, hiding ourselves behind a pyramid of oil drums.

Kambar doesn’t even glance back at us. He climbs up in his cart again and flicks the reigns, whistling for the bullock to get going.

Bomber and I hide behind the oil drums for another two hours. Bomber digs a channel in the dust and releases his aching bladder, which I wish he wouldn’t do two inches from my elbow, but there aren’t any other options. I hear the cooks rattling around in the kitchen, making the dinner meal for the fifty or so soldiers inside the compound.

I smell the mouthwatering scents of sizzling lamb and bubbling tomato sauce.

“We could sneak in and grab a bite . . . ” Bomber whispers.

“Don’t even think about it.”

At last it’s dark, and I’m pretty sure everyone is done eating. I see the glow of lantern light up in the window at the southwest corner of the compound. The room Nur is using.

“Let’s go,” I mutter to Bomber.

I don’t want to wait until the night watch comes on. I want to act now, while everyone is full and drowsy, while the soldiers who watched the compound all day long in the hot sun are counting down the minutes until they can go have a cigarette and a drink, play cards, or go to bed early.

We’ve been watching the compound for days. I have a fairly good idea where the guards are posted, and what their patrol pattern looks like.