“I’m waiting.”
“Just take the truck and get out of here. What’s in that truck is not worth dying for, is it?”
“Maybe it is.”
“You’ve got a family back in the States.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. And I have to believe you want to get back to them.”
“And how do I explain losing the cargo?’
“You won’t have to, trust me.”
“That’s the problem: I don’t trust you.”
“Then we’re all going to die right here in this shithole.”
He eyed the pickup truck. He didn’t believe anything he had been told. But he desperately wanted to get out of this alive, if only to make things right later.
The cred man said, “Look, we’re obviously not the Taliban. Hell, I’m from Nebraska. We’re on the same side here, okay?”
He finally said, “So how about I withdraw quietly from the field?”
“That was my offer.”
“How do you propose doing this?”
“First thing, don’t push the button.”
“Then don’t pull your triggers.”
He edged toward the pickup truck, keeping his finger close to the button. The men parted to allow him passage.
He reached the truck and eyed the ignition. The keys were there.
The cred man said, “What’s the range on the detonator?”
“I think I’d like to keep that to myself.”
He threw his knapsack on the front seat, climbed into the truck, and started the engine. He kept his free hand ready with the detonator.
He shifted the truck into gear. All guns were pointed at him.
The cred man said, “How can we trust you not to detonate when you’re well away?”
“It’s a question of range,” he replied.
“And you haven’t told us what that range is.”
“Would you? So you just have to trust me, Nebraska. Just like I have to trust you that this truck isn’t wired to blow up as soon as I’m out of here.”
He pushed the gas pedal to the floor and the truck roared out of the stone building.
He expected shots to be fired at him.
None came.