Marked Man Read Free Page A

heavily-armed and well-studied Islamist marksmen had materialized out of nowhere.
    Corporal Ross felt the Sedan buckling beneath the weight of all that led and he had no choice but to flee for his life. He swung the M4 around in an arc and fired a few bursts aimed at the rooftops, then took off running away from the south part of Pizza Hut where the mortar round had come from.
    By some unhappy happenstance Ross found himself out of breath and low on ammo at the entrance to the Al Shahari compound. Corporal Ross paused and considered the options. On the other side of the door there could be a trap just waiting to be sprung, that was a distinct possibility. And yet if he lingered outside for another minute he would be cut down by a hail of .762s guaranteed. The choice was not so difficult after all.
    Ross made a Hail Mary motion with his hands, which he was surprised to find trembling. Even in the thick of a battle, his hands never shook like that. This was not fear. It was genuinely cold. Ross blew on his hands to warm them and slung the M4 over his back. He filled his left hand with his side arm and his right hand with his Yarborough knife and then he kicked the door in.
    The foyer of the compound opened into a wide, dome structure. An impressive marble fountain in the middle of the room pumped chlorinated water into a circular pool, its floor dotted with rupees, dinars and quarters. Miraculously, the place seemed deserted. Outside the echo of gunfire had ceased. Corporal Ross swung his side arm over every inch of the room and found nobody hiding. An ancient looking polished stone staircase wound up and around the dome, leading to upper levels. From the briefing Ross knew that Al-Shahari had likely barricaded himself in a bedroom on the second floor.
    Corporal Ross brought his boot up to the first step and was shocked at how little noise it made. Then again, his senses could have been playing tricks on him. He easily could have lost half his hearing in that cacophony, and there was no way the temperature could have dropped so rapidly. Clearly something was amiss with his body, but Ross had neither the time nor the gumption to check for potentially fatal wounds.
    The st airs looped lazily in a spiral, ever upward, ever tighter. After four times hiking up around the fountain, Ross found a landing with a pair of doors. The first was locked. The second doorknob gave in, screwing aside and opening the way into a dark hall. He cracked the opening just far enough so he could see in.
    A short man in a white turban and a black robe had his back turned to the doorway. Based on the intelligence, this had to be el- Balavi, trusted courier and bodyguard for his boss. He wore the same tunic and turban combo in every single surveillance photo they had gathered over the months. Ross knew that el-Balavi would likely be the last line of defense, and if he could get past him the target was virtually his.
    Corporal Ross tucked away his side arm as quietly as he could manage. Before making his move, he whispered the old Special Forces motto and mantra.
    “De oppresso liber.”
    Ross slid the door open and caught el- Balavi before he could turn around, slashing the Yarborough through his throat in one clean stroke and painting a Nike swoosh of red on the taupe wallpaper. The body dropped to the floor with a muffled thud. After checking to make sure there was no pulse, Corporal Ross sheathed the sticky knife and took out the sidearm again. He aimed straight and walked forward through the hallway.
    From all the reports the drones indicated that the room was the third on the right. More than once they had photographed Al- Shahari at the window, clad in nothing but boxers and a long shaggy beard, blowing cigar smoke outside.
    Corporal Ross slunk past the first door, inching along with his back to the wall. In the middle of the hall a window opened out with a view onto Pizza Hut Boulevard. It took a moment for his mind to process what he saw. A