Chapter Twenty-Four
Saturday, March 12, 1988
Jalalabad
“You keep trying the door,” Johnson said to Vic and Elam. “See if you can find something to smash it open. I’ll give you some cover.”
There came the brief sound of footsteps echoing from the far end of the warehouse; then they stopped.
“Just kill him,” Elam whispered.
Johnson hesitated. “You just keep trying that door.” He sprinted to the corner of the L shape and scrambled behind one of the metal tables, all of which had shelving underneath made from solid steel sheets, giving him some protection.
He wriggled to the corner of the table and peered around, his Beretta at the ready. Blood from his injured ear was continuing to drip down his face, drenching the top half of his shalwar kameez.
The building was suddenly silent, but
