MAC WALKER'S BENGHAZI: The Complete Collection by D. W. Ulsterman

team no more than ten seconds to kill the five men from the other van.
    Walking back to the side of their own van, Mac saw Angelo’s body crumpled against the rear tire, his chest heaving for air. Given the blood soaking through the front of his shirt, it appeared he had taken a bullet from one of the men firing from one of the other vans. Mac leaned down and looked Angelo in the eyes before delivering a hard slap across the man’s face.
    “I need you to focus Angelo, ok? Who did you make this deal with?”
    Angelo’s stared back at Mac, his face expressing the shock over the realization he was dying.
    “Angelo – who are you working for?”
    The Italian found a fragment of whatever courage he may have once lived his life with, raising his head from his chest and sneering back at Mac as he spit out a response in Arabic.
    “Fuck you American pig. There’s nothing you’ll do to change any of this…it’s already done. We win – you lose.”
    Angelo’s last breath was cut short as his lungs filled with his own blood, and a gurgling rasp wheezed from his throat as his body slumped to the side and onto the street.
    Mac stood up as his mind raced to assess the situation. The safe house was not an option – Angelo clearly had no intention of taking them to any such place, and besides, they had no idea where it was. Angelos’s final words were spoken in perfect Arabic, though the accent was not Libyan. Mac had spent years learning that language, and had worked throughout the Middle East. The accent was unmistakably Turkish, which though somewhat similar to Arabic, was its own language. What that meant as far as who Angelo may have been associated with, Mac had no idea and at present, it didn’t really matter. His job now was to relocate and keep his men as safe as possible until further options presented themselves.
    “Benny, Minnick, check the bodies. Look for any identification – and be quick.”
    It took no more than a minute for Minnick to report back.
    “Nothing Mac. The van is the same as ours, but there’s nothing in it, and no identification on any of the bodies. I took their weapons. They were all carrying brand new, matching Makarovs. What are a bunch of Libyan thugs doing carrying Russian handguns Mac?”
    Mac didn’t know, and at that point, he didn’t care. His job was to get him and his men the hell off this street.
    “In the van – let’s go.”
    The other three in Mac’s team followed the order without speaking. Like Mac, they too already fully understood how dire the situation already was, and the fact that in their immediate future, it was likely to get much worse.
    As he drove slowly back onto the main road, Mac could hear Jack’s sarcastic remark from behind the driver’s seat.
    “Are we enjoying our stay in Benghazi yet?”
    Mac ignored Jack’s words, his mind struggling to come up with a viable plan, though each time he returned to a question that remained blaring back at him, its implications chilling the former Navy SEAL to his core.
    Can I trust Tilley – or was he part of this? And if he was, then why?
    Without Tilley’s help, his team’s chances for getting out of Benghazi alive were greatly diminished. Tilley was the one who lined up Angelo, but that didn’t mean Tilley was involved in whatever Angelo was. He could be though.
    “Shit.”
    Mac didn’t intend to say the word out loud, but after he did, Minnick, who sat in the passenger seat, nodded in response.
    “Yeah – shit. That about sums it up doesn’t it? And you’re probably thinking the same thing I am, aren’t you? Can we trust Tilley to help bail us out of this mess, or was he part of it?”
    Benny leaned forward, his head emerging from the darkness of the van’s back seat.
    “Bullshit. Tilley had nothing to do with this. I heard that Angelo speaking to Mac in Arabic. He wasn’t Italian, or if he was, he was a Muslim first. Tilley got burned by whoever Angelo really is the same as we did. We can’t