Page 76 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
Ramadani had already disappeared over the crest and out of sight.
MacD heard angry shouts in the distance. He didn’t see anything, but they were close. He grunted with effort as he broached the rocky crest with Raven on his back.
Ramadani was waiting for him there, his eyes wide with urgency. The jihadi voices were louder—and closer.
“Let’s go,” MacD said.
Ramadani turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Ramadani stopped in his tracks and turned around.
“Take her—”
“Mac,” Raven grunted. “What are you doing?”
“Too many of them.”
“Put me down. I can shoot—”
MacD ignored her as he shifted Raven from off his back and onto Ramadani’s shoulder like a sack of Idaho potatoes.
The two men exchanged a look.
“Go,” MacD said.
Ramadani bounded down the trail with the wounded Raven bouncing on his shoulder and wincing with every jarring step.
MacD dropped his pack and pulled out the Claymore he’d stolen for evidence. He backed down the mountain a few feet and planted it withfront toward enemypointing back up the narrow trail. He covered the mine with leaves, stretched the trip wire across the path, and jackrabbited down the mountain with the shouts of the Salafists cresting the hill high above him.
Automatic-rifle fire cracked behind him and bullets splintered the trees as he ran past them.
WHOOMP!
A dozen screams pierced the mountain air as several hundred steel balls tore through flesh and bone.
Ten minutes later, Raven was stretched out on the ground as MacD properly dressed her wound. The bullet had passed through cleanly without shattering bone or cutting arteries.
Ramadani stood watchful guard over them with a smoldering Marlboro draped on his lips, his AK aimed back up the mountain. It was only a precaution. There were no more pursuers.
“I thought we were under orders not to kill anybody,” Raven finally said.
“Max didn’t saying nothing about letting them blow themselves up with their own kit. I just obliged ’em.”
MacD helped Raven to her unsteady feet. She turned to thank the Kosovar mountain man for his help.
But he was already gone.
38
The Island of Sorrows
The Celebes Sea
When the plane landed the night before, the only lights on the island were on the airstrip and in the two-story cement-block control “tower” that guided them in.
Waiting for a bus to pick them up from the tarmac, the only thing Juan and Linc could discern about the place in the harsh glare of the runway lights was the tang of salt in the air and the sound of the crashing ocean waves somewhere out in the dark.
