Page 32 of Stand Fast

“All of them.”

It confirmed what Zaid already suspected, and what Jaliya must have as well—that The Jackal had his hooks into the majority of officials in Kabul and beyond. It was the only way he could have pulled off smuggling operations on that scale without anyone stopping him. Corruption was rife in this country. It was one of the main factors hampering their efforts at uncovering and locating The Jackal.

“Who is The Jackal, Barakat?” Jaliya’s voice was hard as iron.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I only heard rumors in the last few days.”

“I want names. Whoever you heard about, give me their names.”

A long, tense pause followed. “I don’t know if any of it’s true.”

“I’ll find out whether it is or not. Theirnames, Barakat. The more you give me, the more I give you in terms of money and protection.”

“Hey, two o’clock,” Prentiss murmured to him.

Before Zaid could answer, a small, beat-up pickup zipped out into the intersection ahead of them and stopped perpendicular to them, blocking the road. Zaid hit the brakes, a warning prickle lifting the hairs on his nape. He glanced in the rearview mirror but there was no one behind them.

Prentiss sat still beside him, his attention riveted to the pickup.

“Barakat, did you tell someone you were meeting me?” Jaliya demanded, her voice stern.

“No, I swear.”

Zaid paid only partial attention to the conversation, half-turning in his seat to look through the rear window. The street behind them was clear and there was no one on the sidewalks. When he looked frontward again the pickup driver had turned the truck to face them head on, and was speeding toward them down the center of the street.

Prentiss was already lifting his M4 from the foot well.

Shit.

Either the kid was lying, or someone had followed him here without Barakat knowing. Either way, Zaid was getting them the hell out of here.

“Hang on,” Zaid muttered, swiveling in his seat to look over his right shoulder as he hit the gas. The engine responded with a throaty roar and shot them backward.

Prentiss peered out the windshield. “He’s gaining on us.”

Zaid didn’t answer, all his concentration on reversing to the nearest exit off this street as fast as possible without getting into a wreck. His boot had the accelerator pinned to the floor. The SUV’s engine screamed as he raced through the darkness, turning the wheel sharply to avoid cars parked along the curb.

“He’s pulling a weapon. Down!” Prentiss barked.

Zaid vaguely saw his teammate reach back to push Jaliya downward, but she was already shoving Barakat flat onto the back seat. Zaid scanned for an exit, but the nearest street to turn onto was still at least forty yards away.

“Shooter,” Prentiss warned.

A heartbeat later bullets pinged off the front end of the armored SUV. Sparks flew, little flashes of light in his peripheral vision.

Dammit…

A round struck the windshield, cracking the glass but not punching through it.

Screw this.

“Hold on tight,” Zaid warned as the upcoming street loomed closer.

A moment later he hit the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the right, swerving them backward in a tight arc onto the cross street. He didn’t have time to shift into drive and pull out to get ahead of the pickup—it was nearly on top of them.

“Want me to take out the driver?” Prentiss asked.

“No.” If it had been just the two of them Zaid would have driven straight at the fucker so Prentiss could smoke him, but he wouldn’t put Jaliya and her informant at further risk. The safest option was to lose the shooter.

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