"But-"
"But nothing. I heard you were in trouble and I came to get you. Case closed."
Schmidt fiddled with the gun he held in his hand. It was pointed at the ground, completely nonthreatening. Every once in a while he tapped it on his hip, absentmindedly, like he forgot it was even there. "I thought you were retired."
"I am. But all that changed when I heard about you. I came to get you out."
"We came to get you out," said Jones, who emerged on the other side of the plaza. Far enough from Payne that they had Schmidt hemmed in, just in case their words didn't work. They figured, with the bombs under control, it was worth a shot. "We flew all night to get here."
"D.J.?" he said, even more confused. "I don't understand. How did you know where I was?"
"The Pentagon figured it out," Payne fibbed. 'They said something about evidence you left in South Korea. One thing led to another and they asked us to extract you. Just like old times."
"They know I'm here?"
"Hell, yeah," Jones said. "And they applauded your initiative. Killing all these Arabs is a stroke of genius in their minds. Unfortunately, some politician found out about it, and the shit hit the fan. You know how it goes. If they sent a team of soldiers to help you out and they got caught? Think of the ramifications. That's why they asked us to help. Total deniability."
Schmidt shook his head. "But I don't need help. Everything's under control."
Payne disagreed. "No, it's not. There's a problem. A big problem."
"Sir?"
"After you went dark," Payne lied, "the CIA received some terrible news. An Islamic group got their hands on some nukes, and we think they have them in Mecca. Probably somewhere near the mosque. Our guess is they're participating in the hajj, cleansing all their sins, in hopes of striking soon."
"Then what's the problem? Let's wipe those fuckers out."
"We wish," Jones said. "But that's not the problem. The problem is the wind."
"The wind?"
Payne nodded. "This time of year the wind blows to the east, right across the friggin' desert. If we launch an assault and the nukes go off, guess what happens?"
Schmidt paused, trying to figure it out. "Shit."
"Shit is right," Jones said. "The radioactivity will blow right across the peninsula. Within hours, it will blanket Taif Air Base, Al-Gaim, and Al-Hada Hospital. We're talking hundreds of dead Americans, all of them loyal soldiers. Hell, we probably know half of them."
"Fuck!" Schmidt screamed, still tapping his gun on his hip. Much harder than before. Like the constant pounding was helping him think. "Then we gotta hurry, because I already planted the charges. They're set to blow any minute."
"Relax, man, relax." Payne's voice was calm, not showing any stress. "Were there two?"
"Yeah, in the eastern towers."
"Then I got you covered." He pointed toward the bags at his feet. "We found the explosives before we found you."
"On the tanks? You found them on the tanks?"
Payne nodded, confident. "Someone taught you how to do this shit. And it sure wasn't D.J."
"Screw you," Jones teased, trying to keep things light. He figured the more banter there was, the less time Schmidt would have to think. "I taught Trevor plenty of things. I took him to his first strip club."
Schmidt frowned. "No, you didn't."
"Well, I would have. And that's what's important."
Payne cut him off. "If you don't mind, can we talk about it later? Right now we need to get out of here. The sooner, the better."
"Back through the tunnel?" Jones asked.
"Yeah. We need to keep off the streets as much as possible. Especially with all the pilgrims arriving. I already sent Trevor's crew ahead." Payne turned toward Schmidt. "Unless you have a better plan."
"You talked to my guys?"
"Someone had to," Payne lied. He remembered Schmidt's troubles when he first spotted him, repeatedly calling to his men, asking for their positions. "They said they tried but couldn't get through to you. Is your earpiece working?"
Schmidt shrugged. "Apparently not. I haven't heard a damn thing in fifteen minutes."
Jones laughed. "Talk about deja vu. Remember that time in Asia when we had to go looking for your ass? You couldn't hear a thing all night, but you stayed in the bushes for six hours even though the mission should've taken five minutes."
Embarrassed, Schmidt nodded. "I was just thinking of that."
"The next day we bought him a case of Q-tips to clean out his ears and a Dumbo watch to help tell time."
"His trunk pointed to the hour," Schmidt recalled. "At six o'clock it looked like his dick."
Payne smiled at the memory, glad to see the old Trevor was still in there.
During the past several hours, Payne had had his doubts, worried that he was going to find some kind of lobotomized zombie he would be forced to put down because nothing human remained. In fact, if Payne had stumbled across him earlier when the clock was still ticking, when he had no time to waste, he would have done just that. No regrets. No remorse. Anything to save the lives of all those people Schmidt wanted to harm.
But now, how could he do that?
The threat was over, and Schmidt trusted them enough to follow them back to their truck. From there, they'd sneak across the border and return to Taif, where he'd let Colonel Harrington deal with him. Whether that was prison, psychotherapy, or a combination of the two, Payne figured it was better than putting a bullet into an old friend.
Sure, he realized Schmidt wouldn't see the light of day for a very long time, if ever. And the truth was he didn't deserve to-not after all the pain and suffering he caused.
However, in his heart, Payne figured his best choice was bringing Schmidt home alive.
Unfortunately, he never got the chance.
50
The bullet was fired over Payne's shoulder. It whizzed past his ear and struck Schmidt in the throat. One second he was laughing about the past, the next he was taking his last breath.
Blood gushed from his carotid artery, leaking through his pale fingers as he frantically clutched his neck. No words were spoken, no last-second good-byes. He simply dropped his gun and slumped to the ground as a puddle of red formed around him.
Payne spun and saw two Arab men, both of them armed, wearing dark uniforms that prominently displayed the emblem of Saudi Arabia. The patch had a green palm tree underscored by two crossing scimitars, a curved sword popular in the Middle East. A second insignia, beige and encircled with Arabic script, was sewn on their chest. Payne didn't need a translator to read their badges. He knew all about these men and their barbaric ways.