Bryson’s gun was within reach. He grabbed it off the suitcase in the back and checked to make sure it was loaded. He had no doubt that Asher and Antonito were both carrying, but he wasn’t going to step out there without having another gun for backup.
“Azadeh, stay in the Humvee no matter what. If something goes wrong, drive away. Don’t stop until you get somewhere safe. Here.” He pushed his brother’s number into her hand. “Call him for help.”
“Won’t leave you.”
Bryson pinched the bridge of his nose. “You need to stay safe. If it gets bad, leave and call him.” He waited for her to climb into the front of the Humvee. Her feet barely touched the pedals, and he felt pretty sure she had no clue what to do. He showed her how to put it into gear and brake.
When he jumped out of the vehicle, he heard the doors click behind him. At least she listened to one of his demands. He hoped if things went south, she would listen to the other demands. As he got closer, he heard the four men arguing in Urdu. Over the years, he had picked up a few words here and there but not enough to understand them at the rate they were speaking.
In the backdrop sat a sleek plane with an AR symbol on the side. Bryson knew it was the Ross brothers’ plane, but the guard wasn’t letting them near. With each step Bryson took across the tarmac, the conversation got more heated until the two soldiers pulled their guns and pointed them at the guards.
Everything happened so fast: the sound of squealing tires, followed by more shouts, gunfire, and Asher throwing his body into Bryson. Bryson’s head hit the hard ground, and everything went black.