The first man out the door sprinted across the street and stopped between two parked cars. By the time he reached his position the second man had already made it to his spot on the near side of the street. He hefted his RPG onto his right shoulder, took aim at the grille of the lead SUV, and fired. The 85mm rocket-assisted grenade belched from the smooth-bore tube and screamed its way down the street. The shaped-charge warhead slammed into the engine block of the Toyota, sending a fireball skyward. The vehicle swerved to its left sideswiping two parked cars before it was completely disabled by a second RPG.

Of the four men who had been sent out first, only three were standing. The last man had been knocked to the ground by one of the RPG blasts and was slowly struggling to get to his feet. The other three men already had their backpacks off and were moving between parked cars toward their targets. Each backpack contained a shaped satchel charge designed to breach the underbelly of armored vehicles. In unison, they each pulled the fuse cord on the charges and sent the backpacks sliding across the pavement. Two came to rest under the first black Suburban and the third stopped just under the front bumper of the second Suburban. All three men turned and ran for cover.

Mukhtar watched as the double blast of the first two satchel charges lifted the lead Suburban clear off the ground. Virtually every sheet of bulletproof glass on the vehicle was blown free, as well as one of the doors. The vehicle landed with a metal-crunching thud on its side. The blast stirred up so much debris that Mukhtar could not see how the second black vehicle had fared. He resisted the urge to rush outside and find out. They were not done. Mukhtar watched as the last satchel charge was thrown under the first vehicle, the one that had already been hit by two RPGs. The vehicle and everyone in it appeared to be out of commission, but the man was going to carry out his orders. The explosion ripped the Toyota to pieces.

With the column stopped and the lead vehicles destroyed, Mukhtar felt it was time to move. He turned to the Quds commander and said, “Let’s go see what is left.”

There was still a lot of gunfire. Dadarshi said nervously, “I would feel better if we waited a little bit longer.”

As Mukhtar put on his black hood he asked, “Are you afraid to go out there?”

Dadarshi grinned and shook his head. “I was ordered to make sure nothing happened to you.”

Mukhtar remained unflinching as he walked past Dadarshi. “Nothing will. Allah has plans for me.” He stepped outside the building and began walking calmly up the sidewalk. The five men around him were all moving in a crouch. Gunfire was everywhere, but not so close that one could hear the supersonic snaps of bullets whistling past.

Through the settling dust, Mukhtar glimpsed the other truck. Its hood was blown off and it looked to be resting on its fender, but other than that the passenger compartment looked intact. Mukhtar allowed himself a smile as he savored what was a sure victory.

Bullets thudded into a parked car in front of them, and before Mukhtar knew what was happening he found himself thrown to the ground.

He twisted his neck and found the dark eyes of Dadarshi peering through the two slits in his mask. “Get off of me,” Mukhtar ordered.

“In a minute.” Dadarshi grinned. “Allah wants me to keep you safe until things have settled down a bit.”

In spite of himself, Mukhtar laughed loudly. There weren’t many men who would have dared to defy him.

The Quds commander ordered his men ahead to clear the way. Mukhtar looked at his watch. Only a minute and forty-one seconds had passed. They were making good time, but they could not afford to get bogged down. Finally, after another twenty seconds they were up and moving. Mukhtar was even more pleased when he finally got a clear glimpse of the second Suburban. It was disabled, but not destroyed. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, but the man in the front passenger seat was moving.

Mukhtar approached the vehicle to get a good look. Right there, in the middle of the back seat, he locked eyes with the director of the CIA.

“She is alive,” he said loudly as he stepped aside and pointed at the driver’s side passenger window. “Take it out.”

One of Dadarshi’s men shouldered a.50-caliber rifle and took several steps back. Everyone, including Mukhtar, covered their ears. The first shot splintered the glass and left a small hole the size of a quarter. The second shot took out a fist-sized hole. Mukhtar held up his hand, signaling the man to stop shooting. He approached the window with a smoke grenade in one hand and his Markov in the other. He pulled the pin with his teeth and stuffed the grenade through the hole. Another man was standing ready with an industrial saw in case they needed to cut into the vehicle. Mukhtar didn’t think they would need it. These men would choose survival, even if it were only for a few more seconds.

As they waited for the smoke to build up, two cars skidded to a stop just short of the Suburban. These were meant to transport Mukhtar, Kennedy, and a security detail.

“Remember,” Mukhtar yelled, “nothing happens to the woman.” He stepped closer to the truck and made sure he stayed away from the opening in the window in case one of the bodyguards decided to fire out the hole. “Come out and no one will be harmed!” He waited a few seconds, checked his watch, and started to get nervous. He was about to tell the man with the saw to go to work, when the rear passenger door opened.

One of the security men stumbled out of the vehicle with his empty hands above his head. Coughing, he was immediately thrown to the ground. The director of the CIA came out next. Mukhtar grabbed her roughly and pulled her away from the smoky vehicle. Two more men came out of the truck also gasping for air and coughing. They were thrown to the ground next to the first one.

Mukhtar yanked the hijab from Kennedy’s head and slapped her across the face. Her sunglasses went flying. She staggered for a moment and then slowly turned to face him. The man from Hezbollah looked into her eyes relishing the fear he would find, but instead was confronted with the blankest expression he had ever seen. There was no emotion in her eyes. In fact, she looked as if she had been drugged. Mukhtar slapped her again. She lowered her head for a second and then slowly regained her posture, standing up straight and staring back at him with the same flat, brown gaze.

Mukhtar forcefully grabbed her hair and dragged her back to where her bodyguards were lying on the pavement. He pointed his Markov pistol at the first man and squeezed the trigger. With all of the explosions and heavy machine-gun fire that had been going on, the relatively light report of the 9mm seemed ridiculous. The damage it caused, however, wasn’t. A pool of blood began spreading beneath the man’s head. Mukhtar forced Kennedy to look at the dead man and then held her firm while he shot the next two men in the head.

“You,” Mukhtar growled in Arabic, “will do exactly as I tell you, or you will suffer the same fate.”

Before Mukhtar could pull her head up to see if he had finally gotten through, two explosions rocked the intersection just to the north. Mukhtar looked up to see one of the police vehicles aflame and another car burning.

The Quds force commander grabbed Mukhtar by the arm and started pulling him away from the dead bodyguards. “We need to leave,” he yelled over increasingly loud gunfire.

Mukhtar did not disagree. He grabbed Kennedy and began dragging her toward one of the waiting vehicles.