Dutch nodded his head at one of the other chairs. “Have a seat. Let’s negotiate. Maybe there’s a way we can both get what we want.”
Before Dutch could continue, he heard shots ring out. The door flew open and four men clad in tactical gear stormed in.
“Let’s get you the fuck outta here,” said the man whose voice he recognized as Razor’s. As he untied him, Dutch heard more shots fired, and looked over at Zamed’s lifeless body.
“That’s my handiwork,” Razor shouted as he freed his legs. “I told Mantis, it was time to end this bloodline.”
“I don’t think I can walk,” Dutch said when he tried to stand and found his legs had little feeling in them.
“Yeah, I know,” he answered, motioning toward the other men.
Someone else threw Dutch over his shoulder, probably Doc, and carried him out to one of the two waiting vehicles.
“Fucking amateurs,” he heard Doc mutter as he carried him past the dead bodies of every single one of Zamed’s men, echoing what Dutch remembered thinking when they had him held captive back in Germany.
He’d been able to escape on his own then, but this time, they’d made it harder for him. If it hadn’t been for Razor, Doc, and the rest of the K19 crew, he likely wouldn’t have made it out of the hovel they had him hidden in alive.
“Thanks, guys,” Dutch said when Doc, Razor, Onyx, and Monk took off their head gear. “You brought in the big guns.”
Doc nodded. “Gunner is with Striker, Diesel, and Ranger, trying to save your asshole best friend’s life as we speak.”
“What did he do?”
“Made a deal with the devil, otherwise known as Abdul Ghafor.”
“What was the deal?” Dutch asked, already guessing the answer.
“He’s in the midst of offering up his life in exchange for yours.”
Dutch groaned. “Have they intercepted him yet?”
Doc shook his head. “No word.”
“Where are we?” Dutch asked, looking out of the windows but not seeing any identifiable landmarks. “I hate to admit this, but I don’t remember much about the last few days.”
“Head injuries will do that, and we’re just outside Islamabad.”
“Should’ve figured,” he muttered. Only someone has inexperienced as Zamed would take a prisoner to the city he was known to live in. Dutch leaned over to Doc. “I need to ask you about someone.”
“Kilbourne?”
“Yeah. Did she turn on me?”
Doc shook his head again. “I can’t answer that. We haven’t been able to locate her.”
“Shit,” Dutch muttered, almost wishing she had turned, at least then he’d know she wasn’t bound and gagged, fearing for her life like he had been only minutes earlier.
“Doc…”
“I know, Dutch. We’re working on it.”
He rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. “It’s been one hell of a month,” he muttered.
“I’d say.”
Dutch’s eyes flew open and his head popped up. “How’s Alegria? Did I dream getting a message from you saying she was in an accident?”
“No, you didn’t dream it.” Doc scrubbed his face with his hand. “I want to wring her damn neck, but otherwise, she’s okay.”