Hunt the Jackal Read Online Free Page B

we need to think clearly!”
    Akil partially snapped out of his funk and said, “You’re right, boss. I know.”
    Crocker managed to keep his own emotions in check by focusing like a laser on the tasks ahead. First, he knelt down next to Cal and checked his pulse and vital signs again. They were steady, but weak.
    Next, he got up and grabbed his weapon. “You’ve got light sticks and flares on you, correct?” he asked.
    Akil felt the Flyye pouch on his chest and located them. “Yes. Yes.”
    He wouldn’t let his mind wander back to Ritchie and the consequences of his death. Instead, he said, “All right. Wait here and continue to monitor Cal. I’m gonna place the C-4 on the Predator so we can blow it first. When you hear from me, you’re gonna crack the light sticks and activate your strobe so the rescue pilot can locate you. Leave ’em around here, so he lands near the bodies.”
    “Leave what here?” Akil asked.
    “The flares and strobe. I want the Israeli helo to land on this exact spot. He gets too close to the Black Hawk, a spark flies, and the whole thing blows. You understand me?”
    Akil nodded his big head. “Yes.”
    “And stay near the radio. Listen and be alert.”
    “Got it.”
    “Make sure they load the bodies on board, and take care of Cal. Promise me you’ll do that!”
    “I will.”
    “Then have the pilot fly over the wreck and drop some flares. Make sure it catches on fire. Then get the fuck out of the area!”
    “Got it!”
    “You understand all that?”
    “Yes. I said, I got it.”
    “You have a question, or a problem, you call me.”
    “Understood.”
    Crocker slapped Akil on the shoulder and said, “I’ll see you in a few.”

Chapter Three
    When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.
    —Franklin D. Roosevelt
    H e ran in the direction of the Predator as fast as his legs could take him, fell, pulled himself up, lost his footing again, and put his arms out fast enough to keep his face from smashing into a boulder. But he let go of his HK416 in the process. So he recovered it, and wiped the dirt off the barrel by squeezing his thighs together and pulling it through.
    He took a couple of deep breaths and told himself he had to calm down. The combination of adrenaline coursing through his body and the anger over the deaths filled him with a ragelike, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore kind of energy.
    By the time he had counted to four, he became aware of guns discharging on the other side of the hill. Then Davis shouted anxiously over the headset. Crocker was too crazed to distinguish the words. But when he ran and peered past the edge of the hill, he saw what was going on.
    There were two pickups between him and the Predator, which was approximately a hundred meters away from where he stood. A fighter in the bed of one of the trucks was firing a nasty fifty-caliber machine gun, which made a loud clanging noise and resulted in Davis and Mancini being pinned behind boulders about twenty meters above and to the north of the downed drone.
    In addition to the guy firing the fifty cal, Crocker spotted three others inching toward the Predator with AK-47s, and another two with AKs to the left trying to circle around behind Davis and Mancini.
    Crocker took it all in, and thinking No more dead, bolted into action, running to within fifteen meters of the trucks. He stopped, breathed hard three times, and grabbed two of the four M67 grenades from the pouch on his chest. With the HK416 clutched in his left, he pulled the pins with his right hand and flung one after the other.
    Someone near the pickup shouted in Farsi, and a second later a big explosion lifted the truck in the air. Crocker watched it hit the ground grill first, explode in flames, and turn over. It reminded him of a bucking bronco. He swung left around the truck, firing his HK416. Phit-phit-phit… One enemy cut down. Phit-phit. Two. Phit-phit-phit. Three.
    The second truck caught fire and exploded to his right,