He held it and said, “I am not some criminal to be trifled with. I am the Islamic State. I will meet Allah. You will not.”

Eyes rolling wild, Gap-tooth shook his head, trying to talk, drool running freely. Omar pushed the detonator deeper, breaking Gap-tooth’s jaw and wedging it in the soft palate at the back of his throat. He let go of the button, then leapt up, backing toward the door. Gap-tooth frantically sat up, and even managed to get his hands on the device before there was a flash, then a pop, like a large firecracker had gone off. His lower jaw exploded downward, and a jet of molten flame severed his spinal cord at the neck.

59

Relaxing on the marble, watching the children play, and getting regular updates from his two men, Rashid heard the first gunshot and bolted upright. Everyone around him was looking left and right, just as confused as he was. He tried to identify where the shot had come from, but it was impossible. It reverberated off of the hills, confusing his ears. He knew it was close, though.

He stood, bringing his phone up and straining to hear something that would tell him what was happening. He dialed, getting Hashim. “What was that?”

“I don’t know . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t here, at the amphitheater. It’s farther away.”

“What’s going on at the amphitheater?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. The meeting’s still going on.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than another crack split the air. From the amphitheater.

Hashim shouted, “Shooting! Shooting from inside the building!”

Rashid whipped his head, but saw the door was still closed. Hashim said, “Two men just came forward. Both have pistols drawn. They’re running toward the building.”

Rashid started walking toward the theater, torn between fleeing and his need to kill Omar. He saw the door open, and Omar came spilling out, leaping down the stairs and disappearing from view because of the slope of the hill.

Then gunfire erupted: multiple snaps of noise from at least four shooters.

While the locals began running away, he sprinted toward the firefight, drawing his own weapon. He reached the top of the hill, the bowl of the amphitheater below him, full of children ducking and screaming. He saw Omar rapidly shooting, hitting two men within five feet of him. He scanned the stage area, and saw Hashim rise up from between the concrete seats, squeezing the trigger. He saw a child go down, blood spraying from his back, the mother screaming maniacally. Omar ducked, then returned fire.

Rashid knelt down, getting a bead along the sights of his pistol, Omar right below him, the blood lust raging, then a bullet smacked the concrete pillar next to his head, spraying him with spall. He fell flat, searching for the shooter, confused because he’d heard no sound. He saw a black man deeper in the bowl, behind the stage, and he held a rifle with a fat barrel, pointed right at him.

He saw the muzzle flash, then felt rounds driving around his head. He ducked down, panting. He heard Omar’s pistol spit fire, then another burst of gunfire from multiple locations, sounding like firecrackers on a patio. He peeked over and saw Hashim shooting at Omar. The black man swung his weapon as if it were on rails, then surgically put two rounds into Hashim. He saw the light leave Hashim’s eyes as he fell face-first into the concrete seats, his arms splayed forward as if he were trying to catch himself.

There was a flash of movement from the other side of the amphitheater, and Rashid heard a yell. Kamal leapt onto the stage, screaming and shooting. He took two steps before his body jerked, hit from bullets that made no noise. Rashid looked at the black man, but he wasn’t firing. He was aiming his weapon dead center on him, without squeezing the trigger. Someone else was shooting. Someone with the same skill. The sight of Kamal sliding, lifeless, onto the concrete stage made up his mind for him. Omar would live another day. All that remained now was escape.

He snapped two hasty rounds toward the black man, getting nothing but a small duck in return. He saw Omar sprinting, running away from the amphitheater to the east, and rolled into a small hollow in the ground, preparing to do the same.

He heard stomping feet and turned, seeing Albanian police swarming down the flagstone path. He jammed his weapon into his waistband and lay flat, screaming for help.

They went past him without pause. He lay still for a split second more, then jumped up and began running the way he’d come, passing the monuments. He crested the hill, diving behind the concrete wall and trying to maintain his balance as he tumbled through the woods downhill.

*   *   *

My radio crackled. “Shots fired, shots fired,” then nothing else. I rolled down my window, straining to hear and wanting like hell to break into the net, but not wanting to step on any of my team’s radio transmissions. I waited for an eternity, which was really probably five seconds, then Knuckles came on.

“Pike, Pike, we have a situation. I don’t know what it is, but I heard a shot at the amphitheater. Rashid’s on the move that way. We’ve got him in sight.”

An attack? Was I wrong?

Brett came on. “Pike, this is Blood. Two new guys to my west with pistols, running to a concrete blockhouse here at the amphitheater. UNSUB one still in sight, and he’s got a pistol out as well.”

“Is this an attack?”

“No, I say again, no. It looks like they’re all confused. The place is full of kids, but the gunmen aren’t shooting targets of opportunity.”

“If you’ve got the UNSUB in sight, who’re the guys with weapons?”

“Don’t know. . . . A man just broke out of the building. He’s firing on the run, and he’s good. Just took out the two runners. UNSUB one is firing at him. What’s the call?”

I needed more information. “Knuckles, what’s the target doing?”

“He’s headed towards the gunfight. He’s got something to do with it, but when he left, he looked as confused as I am.”

“You still got eyes on?”

“Yeah, well, no, he’s below the crest, but I know where he is.”

“Koko, Koko, what’s the status with UNSUB two?”

“Break, break, Pike, this is Blood. We’ve got a shootout going on. Kids are everywhere. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

Shit.

“Break out. Leave the area. Break contact and return to the hotel. Knuckles, can you maintain eyes on?”

“I think so. He’s out of sight now, but Blood’s right. It sounds like Fallujah now.”

Brett: “Pike, they just hit a kid. He’s down. These guys can’t shoot worth shit. They’re spraying lead all over the place. I got eyes on Rashid. He’s on the high ground, and he’s got a weapon. He’s going to start shooting too. Let me do something.”

I paused, knowing what the right answer for the mission was. But, fuck, they were killing kids. I said, “Okay, okay. For the record, it’s my call. Blood, discourage Rashid, but remove anyone else with a gun.”

His voice grim, I heard, “Roger all.”

60

I sat in the car with my fists clenched, wanting more than anything to be up on the hill, directing the fight. I waited, knowing the team would give me a call when they felt it necessary. Which didn’t make it easier, I’ll tell you that.

I pulled out a small set of binoculars and focused on the entrance to the park, seeing uniformed police running about, with many headed up the path.

Won’t be long now. Clock’s ticking.

Finally, Knuckles came on. “Target is fleeing. Back the way he came. He’s avoiding the path and the police. He’s coming down through the trees.”