Chapter 211: on the Lam With the Irishman

'What the fuck?" Martin asked in a weak voice.

"Suicide bomber, gone wrong," I replied. It was what I said, but it wasn't what I thought.

"Okay, so tell me how you found me?" he asked.

"The chick that exploded pretty much found you," I said it more than a little angry. "If your friends in the CIA or Swamp Thing had been able to find your coordinates, they wouldn't have needed us. We didn't know it but our job was to get them the targeting information."

"Yeah, when I saw the missiles I realized that," he agreed. "So now what?"

"Now we get our asses into Algeria. Then we spend the rest of our lives making their lives miserable." I suggested.

"Can we really do that?" he asked.

"Good Morning American and about a hundred left wing shows would love this story," I informed him.

"You are just asking to get killed," he said.

"Well hon, I didn't do anything and they were ready to kill me, so now I'm going to do something to make it worth their while," I said. "Bit first thing is to get out of here. We have a

hummer with a heavy machine gun. I will drive till we come to a road block. When we do, I will man the gun and you take over driving.

That is exactly what we did at the first checkpoint. We rained hell on the unsuspecting guards. I didn't give a crap wbetber they were rebel or government troops. It was my plan to kill them all and let God sort them out.

It worked great on the first one. On the second one we didn't ram through as we needed to. Martin was much weaker. He managed to get us through, but his driving was tentative. He was obviously worried that he would pass out and leave me stranded.

After we switched drivers, I did a quick assessment of Martin's condition. I could tell that he was in bad shape. He was fighting to stay with me and not let me down. It might be the only thing keeping him in the game. I knew then that it was time to make the worst deal of my life. I had no choice. It was amnesty or Martin would die. If Martin died, it would have all been for nothing.

The phone I used to guide the missiles into the compound was given to me on the plane by the Admirals envoy. At the same time I had put a piece of paper between the battery contacts and the phone Priest had given me. On the side of the highway I quickly removed that paper and made the call.

"Get Priest on the phone and do it right this fucking minute," I demanded.

It took about five minutes. In the meantime I'm sure they were getting fix on us. I was a second from removing the battery and getting the hell out of there when the, "Hello Max, they told me you were dead."

"Goes to show you can trust intelligent types. Listen up priest you CIA Pukes tried to kill me twice. Once with the predator and once with Lucy. I planned to get back to the states and kill every fucking one of you, but I have a bigger problem. Tell those other pukes that the Irishman needs a Medivac right this fucking minute. You can get the coordinates from the phone. Get a chopper from the navy in here right fucking now." I demanded.