The truck comes up on them fast. It’s a full-sized Toyota pickup 4X4. Sam can see that it’s not only got one hell of an engine, it’s also armed with a tripod-mounted .30 caliber machine gun in the back bed. He spots the terrorist manning the machine gun—a small, compact man dressed in black with a black scarf wrapped around his face, exposing only dark eyes. He’s c*****g back the machine gun’s housing, taking careful aim. He’s pressing the trigger. Sam sees and hears the fiery rounds spraying out of the machine gun barrel.
What’s left of the back windshield blows out. Rounds ricochet against the metal. Anything made of plastic explodes and shatters.
“Get down, Cindy!” Sam screams as he hits the gas, the wheels beneath them spinning until they catch on hard gravel.
“I am down,” she barks
