Dalton felt his finger freeze just millimeters from his trigger. His target held Jaz tight to his body, a sharp knife pressed into the flesh of Jaz's neck. Dalton fought to keep himself steady as he felt the panic start to take over him.
The target was shouting at the team as they advanced on him. "We have already won," he screamed in Arabic. "We have already won! You cannot stop us!"
Dalton's feet were steady, his aim never wavering as he stepped closer and closer. He could feel his team moving in the same methodical pattern. "No joy," he heard McG in his ear.
It would have to be a kill shot to keep Jaz alive. "No joy" Preach repeated. No one had it.
"Let's talk about what you want," Dalton answered in the target's language.
"We want nothing from you!" the target yelled. Dalton saw a glint of light move on the blade of the knife. "Allah 'Akbar!"
It all happened so fast. The knife moved, Jaz was falling, and he heard the shots, four of them, as the target's head exploded, shot four times, Preach, Amir, McG. Where was the fourth shot? He felt the kick of his weapon press into his shoulder. It had been him. He had fired the fourth shot. He hadn't even realized he had pulled the trigger. The target had been obliterated, not just neutralized, but it was too late. "Jaz," he called and with what seemed like one stride he was at her side, blood pouring from the slit in her neck. Her lips were moving, but there was no sound. He could hear the hissing of air through her slashed throat. Her eyebrows were knit tight together, but her eyes were open wide. She reached out to him. She was dying, the color draining from her face and blood pooling in her mouth. "Hold on," he told her. "Just hold on." He felt McG pushing him out of his way, saw him pressing something to Jaz's neck, but it was too late. The light in her eyes was fading. She wasn't moving, and then he saw it, that moment where everything stops. Her eyes were frozen and lifeless. She was gone.