Page 75 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

“I love a man with a plan,” MacD said.

They watched eleven of the jihadis race west, away from the camp, following another track into the forest with a collective shout toward the gunfire and explosion. But the two men in the cave only stood, clutching their rifles nervously.

“Like stealing candy,” Raven said as she raised her pistol.

MacD gripped his weapon. “I could use me a handful of pralines right about now.”

Seconds later, the two jihadis dropped their rifles as they crumbled to the dirt.

MacD and Raven bolted for the cave, each clutching a tranq pistol in their hands. More gunfire and shouting echoed from the west and down the mountain.

Max said they couldn’t shoot anybody. He didn’t say anything about doping them.

Raven and MacD each grabbed a fallen jihadi by the shirt and dragged them farther inside the cave and out of sight. They didn’t bother zip-tying the two men. They’d be out for hours. The Gundogs also grabbed the jihadis’ phones and pocketed them before driving deeper inside.

There was enough light from the cave’s wide mouth to illumine the few crates stacked inside. Two dozen more were already broken up and stacked like firewood on the far wall. Whatever they contained was long gone.

“Slim pickins over here,chère,” MacD said.

Raven pulled open one of the crates. “Night vision goggles,” she whispered. She took cell phone pictures of the night vision goggles and their serial numbers.

MacD did the same with another crate, snapping a photo of a Claymore mine and the iconicfront toward enemyembossed on the front.

“But nasty business, this.”

The gunfire tapered off. Both operators noticed it.

“We better get a move on,” Raven said as she stuffed a pair of goggles into her pack.

MacD cinched up his pack. “Let’s vamoose.”

Raven dashed for the cave mouth with MacD hot on her heels. As she raced into the light, automatic-rifle fire opened up. Bullets raked the cave wall, but one round hit Raven in the thigh and spun her into the dirt.

MacD grabbed her by the pack straps and dragged her back inside as bullets smashed into the rocks just above his head, the shards of stone clawing at his face like fingernails.

Raven grimaced in pain as she gripped her leg just above the wound.

MacD yanked an Israeli bandage from a pouch on his belt. “Bullet pass through?” He tore open the sanitary wrapper, keeping one eye on the cave entrance.

“Think so,” she said through gritted teeth. “Hard to tell.”

MacD slipped the wide bandage around her leg, cinched it down, then reversed it through the closure bar before securing it with a twist of the handle. Raven yelped.

“Sit tight.”

“Mac!”

One of the jihadi’s crept into the cave, his head swiveling.

The Cajun unholstered his Walther 9mm lightning quick and put the red dot in the center of the man’s forehead.

But he didn’t pull the trigger.

Ramadani’s big hand wrapped around the jihadi’s mouth, jerked his head back, and slit his throat. The jihadi dropped in a spray of his own blood.

The mountain man wiped his blade on his pants and sheathed it, motioning for MacD and Raven to follow him—quickly.

MacD dashed over to the corpse and snatched his cell phone before hoisting Raven onto his back in a fireman’s carry and charging out of the cave.