“Not this time,” whispered Kyle. He pulled the trigger. The.50 caliber weapon fired with a jarring BOOM, and the recoil kicked his shoulder as the big bullet slammed into the engine block hard enough to make the vehicle jump. A second round then went through the windshield and shattered the head of the bodyguard as the out-of-control car swerved sharply and slammed into a parked truck with the crunch of metal and glass.

“Target down. Other one getting out.” Sybelle’s voice was perfectly calm, a monotone devoid of emotion.

“Confirm the other one is getting out.” Kyle took his time racking in a third round, giving the man a moment to open the door. Al-Masri was alone in the empty street. His men were all dead or captured, and he knew that an American sniper had him in plain view. It was time to quit. He dropped to his knees and held his hands high over his head.

Kyle shot him through the chest, and the al Qaeda officer flopped over on his side. A final shot went into his head.

“Both targets down,” said Sybelle.

Kyle grabbed his rifle and pack, and Sybelle picked up her scope and gear and called out the signal for the controller to send in the TAXI for pickup. They hustled out through the gate and back to the landing zone, where the little bird arrived two minutes later. They jumped in and were gone.

The fighting was over in the house. The nest of terrorists had been wiped out to the last man, and the Marines would secure the area.

“Was he trying to surrender?” Sybelle asked, wiping some camouflage greasepaint from her face. “Might have given up some intelligence.”

“I saw a weapon,” Kyle said.

“Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”