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He was about to make a dash for it when gunfire erupted from inside the cargo hold.

Marcus crouched down and positioned himself behind the left-rear wheel of the refueling truck. Another burst of gunfire. Then a third. And now a fourth. With this burst, Marcus realized that whoever was doing the shooting was not really aiming at him. He was aiming for the storage tank. If he could puncture it and ignite the fumes, it would all be over. Not only for Marcus and Geoff, but for the 130 or so passengers on board the plane and for Kailea and Yigal as well.

Jenny’s voice came over the radio. She and Tomer were finally out of the warehouse and were racing across the tarmac to link up with them. She could see what Marcus and Geoff had just done and ordered them to hold their positions and wait for backup. But Marcus neither waited nor replied. There were lives to save, and every second counted.

Pivoting around the back of the tanker, Marcus fired a quick burst from the M4. Then he sprinted across open ground until he reached the mangled, twisted wreckage of the baggage tractor. His movement drew fire from whoever was hiding inside the jet. That was expected and exactly what Marcus wanted. It alerted Geoff to the shooter’s precise position. And sure enough, Geoff returned fire.

Marcus eyed the elevator truck used to hoist containers and baggage into the cargo hold. It was ten, maybe twelve yards away, but he thought he could make it. Sprinting forward, he again drew the shooter’s attention and fire. But Geoff emptied an entire magazine into the fuselage, forcing the shooter to retreat from the cargo bay doors. Marcus surveyed the bodies around him. He counted five at least, all facedown. As best he could tell, there was only one to go. He hoped it was al-Masri.

Marcus could also see the Toyota racing across the tarmac. What he did not see or hear were any lights or sirens of emergency vehicles approaching. Not yet, but it would not be long. If he was going to move, it had to be now.

Suddenly, however, as Geoff reloaded, the shooter reappeared, unleashing one burst at Marcus, another at Geoff, then emptying the rest of his magazine into the side of the fuel tank. Whoever he was, his plan was succeeding. He might not have blown the truck, himself, and the plane to kingdom come. But his rounds had finally penetrated the reinforced tank. Fuel was spilling down the side of the truck and pooling under it.

Marcus popped up, took aim, and fired. The man snapped back and yelled out in pain. Marcus doubted he had done more than graze him, but it was a start and bought them precious time. Marcus crouched down, caught Geoff’s eye, and signaled him to throw a flashbang into the cargo hold. Geoff responded immediately. The instant the device exploded, Marcus emerged from cover, scrambled up the side of the elevator truck, and raced inside the belly of the plane.

He found a pallet and took cover behind it. Then, risking a quick peek, he saw the shooter stumbling backward, temporarily blinded and searching wildly for cover. Marcus recognized him immediately. It was al-Masri. And even with Jenny’s order to capture the man alive ringing in his ears, Marcus was not about to take chances with a killer of this caliber. He fired two bursts from the M4, then pulled behind the pallet again. Hearing the man drop to the ground, Marcus suspected that he had once again hit his mark. He ejected a spent magazine, reloaded, and came around the corner of the container ready to finish him off. But al-Masri was not there.

Geoff was.

He had followed Marcus’s lead and climbed up into the plane and found himself a position of cover. Marcus pointed to a trail of blood, then signaled for Geoff to throw another flashbang. Geoff did, and the two of them immediately covered their eyes. The moment the device went off, they began their advance. Marcus took the left side of the plane. Geoff took the right. Outside, the rest of the team had arrived. Jenny was on the radio again, demanding a sitrep. Marcus told her only to make sure their escape hatch was ready. They would be out soon.

Jenny began talking again, but Marcus was not listening. He removed his earpiece, shoved it in his pocket, raised his weapon again, and kept advancing.

Slowly—knowing al-Masri was a wounded, cornered animal—Marcus and Geoff moved deeper into the plane. If Marcus could speak Arabic, he would have been shouting for any and all baggage handlers and other airline personnel to bail out immediately. But he could not. He had to trust that the flashbangs, automatic weapons fire, and the crash outside had already done the trick. Any movement he saw now, he figured, had to be al-Masri.

And then a single grenade came rolling down the center aisle of the cargo hold.