The dark-haired men directed most of their fire at Farag, to their left. Crocker saw that he was pinned and jumped out from behind the gate to try to pick off the shooters.
Headlights blinded him.
Akil shouted, “Boss! Get back!”
He saw the Nissan sedan speeding toward him on its way out of the compound, its rear tires kicking up dirt. He jumped behind the gate and didn’t see Farag rise and toss something in the direction of the pickup. The two men kneeling behind it dove for cover.
Meanwhile, the Nissan fishtailed out, men shouting and firing from the front and back seats. He heard it hurtle out the gate, then brake, followed by the sound of metal smashing into metal and shattering glass.
Automatic fire ringing from the street behind him and in front of him, Crocker had taken two steps into the compound when a big explosion rocked the area in front of the building and threw him back against the wall.
He came to gasping for breath, his head spinning, thinking Jesus Christ, they killed Holly!
Everything started to break up inside him, but when the smoke and dust started to clear, he saw that the building in front of him was intact. The pickup lay on its side, and flames were shooting out of the hood.
Akil screamed into Crocker’s radio, “Boss! Boss, you okay?”
“What the fuck just happened?”
“Farag threw a grenade.”
“He could have fucking warned me,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. It was now 11:56. Four minutes!
Akil reported, “Manny and Mohi are pinned down in back.”
“There’s another shooter in back?”
“Roger. Two at least.”
“Cover me,” Crocker said urgently into the radio. “I’m going in.”
He ran in a crouch past the burning pickup and saw Farag finishing off one of the downed men with his knife. He continued through the smoke and ran up six concrete steps into the building, which was a mess—bare concrete columns covered with graffiti, broken furniture, pieces of discarded cloth, plastic bags filled with garbage.
“Holly!” he called.
No answer. Just a hollow echo of his own voice, and gunfire.
Something was burning near the back of the building. Ferocious fighting continued from both the front and back. He ran up a set of stairs to the second floor. Saw mattresses, empty tin cans and bottles. A filthy bathroom with a toilet filled with shit.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he readied his MP5 and turned. Saw two feet through the drifting smoke. He was about to squeeze the trigger when he caught a glimpse of the wild tangle of dark hair.
“Farag! I almost shot you.”
“Your wife?” he whispered back.
“I haven’t found her, no.”
The Libyan pointed to the stairway and motioned upward. “I go.”
“Go ahead. I’ll join you.”
After he finished checking the second floor, Crocker hurried to the stairway, which was clogged with smoke.
Akil shouted over the radio, “Boss, we can’t get in. Too much fire on the first floor. Something big is burning, sending up a lot of black smoke. Where are you?”
“I’m on two, on my way up to three.”
“Get out before you’re trapped!”
“Fuck that.”
“The fire’s spreading. We’ve got no way to put it out!”
Crocker continued up the stairs two at a time. At the third-floor landing he heard Farag shout: “Crocker! Mista Crocker!”
“Where are you?”
“Here!”
“Where?”
All he could see was smoke and trash. He hurried to the back of the building and found Farag kneeling near a column. Tripped over a piece of thick rope and saw two backpacks lying on the floor. Another rope led to a digital timer that was counting down in hundredths of seconds—4:01.98, 4:01.97. Small green LED numbers descending fast.
This floor is rigged to blow!
Running out of breath, he reached for Farag’s shoulder. “Farag, we gotta get—”
On the other side of the column he saw someone with long hair. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. It was Holly! She was taped to a metal chair, with thick silver tape covering her mouth. As soon as she saw Crocker, tears started to fall from her eyes.
“Holly, sweetheart! Oh, my God…”
Farag opened a pocketknife and started trying to cut her free.
Crocker squeezed her arm. He wanted to hug and kiss her, but there was no time.
Emotion coursing through him, he saw Farag struggling with the tape and pushed him away. “Forget it! We’re running out of time!”
He handed him his MP5 and picked up the chair with Holly in it. “Let’s get the hell out of here! Follow me!”
He ran to the stairway with the chair and Holly in his arms. Thick black smoke curled around their heads. They’d made it down to the landing, eyes and throats burning, when Crocker saw flames shooting up and realized they couldn’t get through.