CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
The single blast from Reid’s Glock 19 thundered in the empty storage facility, sounding three times louder. Its jarring report startled even him, every muscle tensed as he waited for the subsequent explosion—the bomb strapped to Assad ibn Khalil’s chest.
Khalil’s face contorted into abject confusion. His thumb was firmly pressed against the green button. Then the phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. His other hand touched his stomach, just above the navel, as blood ran over his knuckles.
Reid had aimed for the transmitter on the vest. His bullet had found its home and rendered it useless an instant before the Imam’s thumb found the button.
Khalil fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.
“Jesus, is that a bomb?” Watson asked incredulously, his
