Zeb looked around on the ground.
There, that was a cigarette stub. It would do.
He picked it up, wiped it, and put it in his mouth.
Stepped out from behind the vehicles, his phone held to his ear, patting his pockets.
A smoker searching for a light.
He strolled down the length of the parking lot, and when he saw the driver in the SUV, stopped.
Approached, still talking, still searching for a flame.
Knocked on the SUV’s window.
It rolled down.
Dark hair. Dark beard. Black eyes.
Could still mean nothing.
He could be a highly respected community member.
‘Where’s Abbas?’ Zeb asked irritatedly, in Arabic.
‘Abbas?’ The man’s brows drew together in astonishment. ‘He’s dea–’
Realization flooded through him.
His hand snaked towards the empty seat.
Started bringing up an HK.
Stopped abruptly.
Because Zeb’s Sig had crashed into his mouth, broken a couple of teeth and was jammed tight.
‘Where are the others?’
The killer’s eyes were wide. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.
He swallowed audibly.
His hand twitched on his weapon.
‘Where are they?’ Zeb snarled.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
The killer moaned, but still didn’t speak.
Zeb moved in a flash.
Still pressing the barrel against him, his left hand darted.
Grabbed the blade.
Sank it into the terrorist’s shoulder.
Withdrew the gun.
Smashed the barrel against his throat.
The killer’s scream choked away.
He doubled over. Heaving. Retching. Tears streaming down his face.
His HK forgotten.
Zeb pulled out the knife. Sheathed it in one motion.
Grabbed his hair. Yanked him upright.
‘Last chance. And I hope you don’t answer. I hope you shout. Or yell. Or beg.’
He smiled menacingly when the shooter looked at him uncomprehendingly, still in shock.
‘Because I know what you were planning to do to the girl.’
‘Five. Inside,’ the killer’s hands rose in pleading.
‘Namir?’
‘Sayidi not inside.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Nooo,’ he moaned when Zeb twisted the barrel into his shoulder. ‘Don’t know. I swear. Only five.’
‘Why?’
Broken sentences came out from his mouth.
Zeb put them together.
They were to start firing at eight-thirty am. No agreed signal. Just shoot at that time.
Then rush out.
The driver would bring the vehicle to the front.
They would climb in.
And get away.
‘What about Namir?’
‘Sayidi said he will join us.’
‘Where?’
‘Don’t know,’ the terrorist groaned. ‘I told you.’
‘Not Namir. The five men.’
The killer told him where they were located in the church.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Why?’ The terrorist tried to be defiant.
Zeb slapped him hard.
‘Tell me.’
‘Tahir.’
After which Zeb slashed his neck.