In unison, we both turn to kick our respective doors in.
I snap my foot out with such force, the wood cracks beneath it. The door flies open, bouncing off the wall and ricocheting back, but I catch it with my free hand to keep it from hitting me. Then I quickly scan the darkened room, which holds a sagging bed and rickety set of drawers. The room looks empty at first inspection, but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t hiding inside.
Moving slowly, carefully, I creep into the room. My gaze jumps between the bed, the dresser, and a narrow door I assume leads to a closet.
In my ear, Ace says, “Found him. He’s alive.”
Oh.
Malik.
With every cell in my body, I want to race into the other room to see him.
But I can’t. Not until?—
From behind the dresser, a man appears.
He starts firing at the same time I do.
One bullet burns along the slide of my sleeve. Another digs into the wood above my head.
I fire off a volley of gunshots in his direction, but he drops back down.
Ace shouts, “Yara! Get back!”
For a moment, I’m torn.
Retreat, wait for backup, potentially giving the tango a chance to escape? If he gets away, he could sound the alarm that would bring attention we don’t need. Attention that could keep us from escaping, ourselves.
Or hold my ground? Take down this asshole who’s been holding my friend captive for years? Make damn sure he doesn’t get away?
Is there any question? It would be one thing if it were just my emotions talking. But his escape could mean the failure of our mission, and that I can’t allow.
That doesn’t mean I want to make myself an open target, though. So I take a quick step back into the hallway and to the side, letting the wall shield me for a second. I hold for a count of two, then dart back into the room.
At first, there’s nothing. No gunfire. No movement. I glance at the lone window in the room, but it’s still closed.
He has to be behind the dresser still. There wasn’t enough time for him to hide in the closet. There couldn’t have been.
In Farsi, I say, “You’re outnumbered. Just put down your weapons and come out. We’ll show mercy if you do.”
I’m not sure what the mercy would entail. But if he agrees, I’ll make sure we stay true to my word.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he starts firing again.
I fire back.
Another bullet whiffs past me, catching my other sleeve this time.
I keep firing.
In my ear, there’s shouting.
Then.
Something hard and heavy slams into my chest.
