February 5
Al-Hamidiyah Souq
Damascus, Syria
Justin had a split second to react.
With no time to pull his pistol from its holster, he did the only thing he could.
He blocked the knife with his bare hand.
The razor-sharp blade sliced through his flesh causing a deep gash.
Justin clenched his injured left hand, then tightened his right hand into a fist. He threw it against the asset’s head, connecting with his jaw.
The hard blow took the asset by surprise. It knocked him off balance, and he fell against one of the stalls. He tried to grab onto one of the carpets, but his hands slid and he fell to the ground.
“Justin, you okay?” Vale said.
“Yes, abort mission.”
“Roger.”
Justin grabbed a couple of scarfs hanging near the carpet and wrapped them around his bleeding hand.
A bullet whizzed right above his head and pinged against a large copper pot.
Justin crouched behind one of the stalls, almost knocking over the startled owner. People were scattering in panic, hiding behind the stalls or lying on the ground. Bullets shattered pottery, jars, and decorative plates all around Justin.
He pulled out his Sig Sauer P229 pistol and held his breath. He could see neither the mustached man nor the asset. But gunshots sounded nearer, along with heavy footsteps.
Then the asset tackled him from the side.
Justin raised his pistol and fired a round.
But the asset was faster. He speared Justin with a hard shoulder, throwing him onto the ground. The asset jabbed with his knife, but Justin was able to block it with his pistol. He threw his arm back and pistol-whipped the asset across his face. Blood spurted from his nostrils, a clear sign that Justin had broken the asset’s nose.
Justin shoved him away, then crawled under the nearest stall. A man and a child were hiding there, their eyes shimmering with fear. Justin placed a finger over his lips. The man nodded his understanding and held the child closer to him.
Justin slid to the other stall, while shouting, crying, and shuffling of feet came from all directions. He listened for a moment. No gunfire. He stole a peek to the left where he had last seen the watcher.
A bullet almost blew Justin’s head off.
He returned fire. Then he crawled back under the stall and further to the right, away from the incoming fire. Bullets pierced through the carpets and clothes for sale. His hands and arms scraped against debris scattered on the ground. But he kept crawling away from the gunman.
When he had covered about twenty feet, he reached the end of the stalls. He glanced behind him at the narrow alley. People were rushing by, bent at the waist. Justin returned the pistol to his waistband, then glanced behind. No mustached man.
So Justin dashed into the stream of people and entered the alley. He glanced at his hand. The flow of blood had slowed down, but it was still trickling. He could move the fingers, but the pain was excruciating.
He looked over his shoulder, but all he could see was the wave of people escaping the firefight. Once he put some distance between himself and the closest men, he whispered, “Vale, I’m heading south.”
“Copy that. Meet you at the RV.”
Justin nodded. Their rendezvous point was the Ummayad Mosque, three blocks to the east.
He hurried his steps, keeping pace with the others fleeing. He could have bolted faster, of course, but that would have drawn the watchers’ attention. He was not sure if he had lost the mustached man or the woman, or if there were others Justin had not spotted. Even if it took longer, he could not afford to stick out right now.
He followed a small group that cut to the left, and they meandered through the narrow streets. A couple of men glanced at him, but Justin looked down and away. If the GID interrogated these people, Justin did not want them to remember him.
He re-tied the scarf around his hand and was able to stop the blood. The wound did not seem as deep as the jolts of pain spearing through his arm would cause him to believe. But he would need some serious medical attention. As soon as we arrive in Italy.
He reached the end of the alley and turned left, along with a small group of people. A few of them slowed down. There had been no more gunfire echoing from the bazaar. Perhaps they felt safe.
Justin pressed on toward the mosque.
He turned into the next alley.
The female watcher was waiting for him.
She fired a round that hissed near his head. A few inches to the right, and he would have been dead.
Justin dropped behind the wall of the nearest house.
Another bullet struck the other side of the wall, sending shards toward his face.
Justin stepped back and pulled out his pistol. He glanced behind him. None of the group of people was following him. Justin had no place to hide.
He checked the nearest gate, but it was locked. His eyes went to the eight-foot-high wall crowned with sharp glass pieces. He removed his jacket and rolled it around his right hand. He placed his foot against the gate and scaled the wall. The jacket protected him from most of the glass, but a sharp piece cut along his forearm. He bit his lip and dropped onto the yard, making as little noise as possible.
Justin took small shallow breaths and stood there in silence. He held his pistol near his face and glanced at the gate.
Light footsteps came from the other side, followed by a low whisper of a female voice.
The watcher.
Justin took a step back along the wall.
The gate rattled as someone—most likely the watcher—tried to open it. Then a kick. And another.
The gate held.
Justin aimed his pistol at the door. If the watcher’s next kick shoved the gate open, she would be met by his bullets.
She did not try a third time.
Her light footsteps grew distant then disappeared.
Justin heaved a breath of relief and looked at the gate. Then he turned his head toward the house’s entrance. An old man perhaps in his seventies was giving Justin a curious glance.
He lowered the pistol to his side and stepped closer to the man. “Salam alaikum,” he greeted the man in Arabic, then added, “I come in peace. Security service shooting, killing people at the bazaar.”
The old man nodded. “Alaikum wa salam. I heard the gunfire. You need a place to hide?”
“No, but very grateful for your offer. And your silence.”
“May Allah be with you.” The man gestured toward the back of the house.
“And with you and your family as well.” Justin dashed in that direction.
He came to a smaller gate and stopped and listened. A rush of heavy footsteps came from the alley. He was not sure if it were people still fleeing the gunfire scene or watchers looking for him.
So he waited another long moment.
When the noise died down, Justin unbolted the gate very slowly. There was a loud creak from the rusty hinges, so he readied his pistol. He pulled the door hard and jumped out in the alley.
The female watcher was waiting for him.
But Justin was prepared for her.
He fired a round at about the same time she did.
The watcher’s bullet singed Justin’s hair.
Justin’s bullet caught her in the right side, just above the waist. She collapsed to the ground and tried to reach for the pistol that had flown out of her hand.
“Don’t do it,” Justin shouted in Arabic and took a few steps toward the woman.
Her stretched hand made another attempt to grab the pistol.
Justin fired another round that struck near her hand. “Don’t make me kill you.”
The watcher gave him a defiant look. “Go ahead,” she said in a firm voice.
Justin glanced deep in her big beautiful black eyes. They were full of wrath and hate. In another life, in another place, the watcher could have been a highly paid model, maybe even a movie star. She definitely had the right facial features and body form.
“No, I’m not here for you.” Justin picked up her Beretta 92FS pistol.
“You’re here to overthrow my government. Same thing to me.”
Justin shrugged. “Can’t argue with that, but I’m gonna let you live.”
The watcher shook her head. “A mistake I’m not going to make the next time we meet again.”
“I hope that never happens.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Justin frowned. The women’s cold tone gave him the chills. Maybe I am making a mistake. He pointed his pistol at her head. He had never killed an innocent person in cold blood.
And he was not going to start now.
Justin shook his head and lowered his pistol. “Live, and forget about me.” Justin bolted down the alley.
“I won’t. I’ll find you,” the woman shouted.
Her threats reached Justin’s ears.
“I’m going to kill you, Justin Hall.”