Free Hard Man to Kill (Dark Horse Guardian Series Book 4) by Ava Armstrong

Safi. 
    In the crowded street filled with vendors and hooligans, they ceased arguing but feigned conversation with one another.  Ben moved cautiously behind the man as he rapidly strode along the dirt road.  Occasionally, Ben squatted to pick up trash in the street.  He whispered the target’s code name into his com, “Snake eyes, send a Jeep.”  He gave the coordinates.  Elvis followed but broke away from Ben.  Mohammed Al Safi moved through the throng of people swiftly, but Ben kept his eyes on him.
    It was almost too good to be true.  Mohammed Al Safi was walking right in front of them in broad daylight, alone and seemingly unaware they were stalking him.  They kept their distance and watched him turn into an alley far ahead.  Ben motioned to Elvis without looking at him, and he moved along parallel to the alley.  Ben was now behind the target and reaching for his knife.  He was so close he could smell the hookah smoke that permeated the man’s clothing and skin. 
    Ben whispered in the com, “Take him alive.”  
    Al Safi turned as he heard Ben speak, but Elvis surprised him by stepping in front of him.  He brought him to his knees with one swift kick.  Ben grabbed handcuffs from his backpack and stuffed a sweaty rag into Al Safi’s mouth.  As he bound his feet, Moshe’s men were not far behind with the Jeep. 
    Tossing Al Safi inside the Jeep as it pulled into the alley, Ben grabbed a hypodermic and injected his thigh as he struggled.  Ben and Elvis hopped into the Jeep as it sped away to a steel corrugated building on the edge of town, a ramshackle place in the middle of nowhere.  The door opened and the Jeep slipped inside.  Ben took the limp body of Al Safi and dragged him to the interrogation room, a dug basement beneath the building where the loudest screams could not be heard. 
    The musty odor assaulted his nostrils as they made the quick descent down the wooden ladder to the dirt below.  It was claustrophobic but utilitarian.  There was one light dangling from the ceiling and a steel chair beneath it.  In this tomb, two rudimentary air vents were installed in the wall, one brought air in and the other sucked it out with a tiny fan.  The diesel generator was the only sound in the distance behind the building.  Ben quickly strapped the target into the chair and removed the cloth from his mouth.  Breathing heavily, Ben drank a bottle of water as Al Safi opened his eyes.  Yes, it was good to see panic in the eyes of a man who had wrought terror on many an innocent person.  Now, it was his turn.
    Rendition was authorized, but no records were to be kept.  Ben understood what he had to do, and it could be a long involved process or a quick and dirty one.  Before he decided on a strategy to garner information, he had to gauge how much this guy had to give.  More than anything, he needed the location of the two terrorists who had fallen off their radar.  He began with a series of questions and tried not to appear hostile, at first.  He always preferred these things to go the easy way.  But, if he didn’t get the information he suspected the target had, he was prepared to do anything, including shooting him point blank.  The fact that Al Safi lost control of his bladder during the first five minutes of questioning gave Ben a hint that this would be easy work. 
    At first the bastard prayed to Allah for ten minutes after pissing himself.  Then the crying began. 
    After an hour, Ben had his fingers around his throat and was hissing in his ear in Arabic, “Tell me now, where are the others?”  No answer.  Ben stuffed the rag back in his mouth and took out the knife.  He ran the blade along the man’s neck and looked into his eyes.  “You want to see Allah?  I'll send you there now, you son-of-a-bitch!” 
    Instead of sticking the knife in his neck, Ben punched him in the gut as hard as he could.  Al Safi choked on the rag and had trouble breathing.  After gasping and