He grimaced. “With dread and pleasure. And I’ll get a hotel room or something until this all gets resolved since I don’t think going back to my house is a good idea.”
“Marti and I will head out to Utah first thing in the morning. With any luck, Mitch has the last piece of evidence we need for the Mighty Men case.”
He frowned. “It could be a setup.”
“I know, but I’m willing to risk it. We’ll regroup in Quantico on Monday, place TBD.”
An hour later, after she’d filed the paperwork for the arrest warrant and contacted the pilots of the Gulfstream, she retreated upstairs to the study and began packing her suitcase and backpack.
“Romeo said you’re leaving.”
Nick.
She glanced up.
He leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest.
“His name’s Gabe, and I care about him.”
“More than David?”
Would he stop already? “David and I are done.” Her heart jerked at her pronouncement. “Let’s just say we’re not on speaking terms right now.”
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Instead, he drifted into the room and settled on the desk’s chair. “Gabe says you got some substantial breaks. Tough news about Nate.”
Maybe he’d shore up her waning determination. “Would you do the same thing? Arrest someone who you’ve worked with for the past four years?”
He remained silent. Downstairs, the clock bonged the hour. Finally, he met her gaze. “It’s a hard decision. But remember that we didn’t go into this occupation because it was easy. We went into it because we’re truth seekers. You know what you have is legit, right?”
She couldn’t deny it. The evidence affirmed his statement. “Yeah.”
He reached up and ran some of her hair through his fingers. “Then you’ve got no options but to do so. Run with it. And if I can help you anymore, let me know.”
“Actually, you can.” She powered on her laptop and slid a thumb drive into it. Within seconds, she’d copied everything she, Marti, and Gabe had collected. “This is everything I’ve got. If something happens to Marti and me, make sure this gets to General Gardner, our former CO in Germany.” She shut off her laptop and stuffed it into her backpack. “He’s now at the Pentagon, and he’s totally aboveboard. He’ll know what to do. And make sure he knows about the warrant for Nate’s arrest.”
“You check in with me after tomorrow’s meet-up, okay?”
“I will. And if you don’t hear from me by 2100 hours EDT tomorrow, call him.” She located the general’s number on her phone and scribbled it onto a notepad on the desk. “He always told me to call him for advice if I needed it.”
Nick rose. “You got it.” He briefly touched her cheek. “And you and Marti have each other’s backs, okay?”
“We will.” She watched him go. “We will.”
27
Saturday, April 22, 2017, 1710 hours MDT, near Burning Tree, UT
Nabeelah studied the status updates coming back to her from Bryson. Her call to the Coast Guard had worked. They’d gladly supplied a place for her team to stay, a boat, and the dive gear they’d needed. And they were none the wiser to the fact that her commanders had terminated the mission.
Hopefully Frisco, Sergeant David, and Sergeant Jonathan could snare Stone. Then all that would remain would be for Abigail to arrest Sal and remand him to Nabeelah’s custody. When that happened, what could her commanders do but congratulate her? And she’d be one step closer to destroying Shamal Khan.
Nearby, someone cleared his throat.
Nesbitt stood there. The Delta operator, only one of two willing to stick with her in this lonely battle, had his arms folded across his chest and a pencil in one fist. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Like a balloon leaking air, her smugness faded. “What is it?”
“Kyra Martin’s vanished.”
She cocked her head and waited for the punchline. “If this is a joke, I do not get it.”
“Warren lost her.”
She leaned on the worktable. “How could you lose a civilian like that? She goes to work. She goes home.”
He twirled his pencil between his fingers. “But she lives in a small town, and we’ve kept our distance to avoid arousing suspicion.”
“What happened?’
“When she left, she had her bike on the back of her Forester. She took her children to visit Grandma and Grandpa on their ranch, so I called Docek to get the drone up. He did, and we followed her to the trailhead.”
Nabeelah ran her hands down her braid. “Foolish. She should know better. What did you tell her when you went over there yesterday?”
“What you ordered me to. Her brother and friend were safe. For her and her family to stay safe, she needed to continue acting as a normal civilian. What’d you expect her to do? Hole up in her house?”
She wanted to yell at him for stating the obvious but instead took a deep breath. “You sent the drone up.”
“Yep. We tracked her until it developed mechanical problems. She’d just taken off on her ride.”
“When was this?”
“Fourteen-fifty hours. We wanted to see if we could get the drone repaired. Docek’s been looking at it since then.”
They’d always had backups for this very reason. “What about our other drone?”
Nesbitt’s expression hardened. “When they pulled the plug, we had to give it back, remember?”
He was right.
“You’re done, Khan,” her commanding officer had told her three weeks before. “DEA’s let it rest for now. And we have no way of getting to Shamal Khan or the traitor on our side since we lost Nicole Chardet last year.”
“We were so close with her!” she’d insisted.
“I gave you a year, right? Year’s up. End of March was it. No results. No mission. You’ve got a week to turn in everything.”
Oh, she wound up pulling out all of the stops to convince her crew to remain with her. Frisco had been easy. He’d do anything for her. Smitty and Uhler, the Night Stalker pilots, had fibbed to their COs that the mission was ongoing. So had Rothstein, the medic, Warren and Nesbitt, the two Delta guys, and Docek, her drone operator. And the Delta guys guarding the airfield? It’d taken all of her charm and brains to convince their CO and them that the mission still ran, just scaled back. Catching Abigail, David, and Jonathan in her net had immensely helped.
They’d been so close.
Until now.
Without a word, she turned and marched out the door. A quick walk brought her to the hangar.
Beyond its massive open doors, Docek crouched beside their one remaining drone. He had its engine door open and tinkered with something inside. Smitty and Uhler helped. Without missing a beat, Docek said, “I guess you heard.”
Nabeelah put her hands on her hips. “I did. How soon until you can get into the air?”
“I haven’t stopped since it landed.”
“Ten minutes?”
“Doable. I want to get this done. Especially with weather coming.”
At his statement, she whipped around. Clouds once more massed to the west, just as they had a couple of nights before. Curse the monsoon season. Sudden rainstorms in the desert were much more dangerous than in other parts of the country thanks to the way they blew up so fast.
Another ten minutes passed.
“There.” He shut the panel. “Hopefully, that will hold. If it doesn’t, we’re SOL on using the drone.”
“What was wrong?”
“Engine issues. Smitty, help me out here.” Docek and the one of the pilots leaned into the wings of the unmanned aircraft and pushed it onto the runway.
On the western horizon, black clouds roiled above red rock mesas. A bolt of lightning zinged to the ground over the mountains. They had maybe half an hour before the storm hit. She faced Docek. “We need to get it into the air.”
“We’re working on it. Smitty, when I give the
go-ahead, start the engine.” With that, he dashed toward the Command Center where he could guide the drone.
A few moments later, Nesbitt’s radio crackled. “Get Smitty to start the engine.”
The Night Stalker crouched and pressed a button on the side.
The propeller spun to life. The drone began taxiing, then turned onto the runway and gathered speed. The breeze stiffened. The drone lifted into the wind and turned toward the south before turning east and heading over the airfield as if Nesbitt gained the perspective he needed. It cruised high above the runway.
Go, go, go. Find her! Nabeelah begged as it receded to a small speck. Its engine purred like it had heard her.
It sputtered. Its wings rocked. Most likely a guest of wind aloft had hit it.
Then, as if a hand swatted it from the sky, it plummeted toward the desert floor.
“No!” Nabeelah cringed as Smitty hustled her to the safety of the hangar.
Standing in the hangar’s doorway, Nesbitt and Uhler gasped as it crashed onto the hard concrete and shattered into a thousand pieces.
Breaking free from Smitty, Nabeelah ran toward it, but he caught her. “I’d stay back. Fuel’s everywhere since it was running on a full tank.”
She stared. “What happened to it? Why did it...”
He rubbed his chin. “Sounded like it got mechanical problems. Then a wind gust got it. No forward speed means no lift.”
She closed her eyes. Things had begun falling apart, at least on her end. “This is—”
“We’ll find her, Nabeelah.” Smitty hustled toward the Command Center. “Me and Uhler and the others. We’re not giving up.”
Once inside, she found Docek sitting at the control console, his head in his hands as he stared at a screen full of static. Smitty put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, man. Tough break. I know she was your baby.”
“That ain’t the half of it,” Docek muttered.
“We still got work to do.” Smitty yanked out a chair and hit some buttons on a computer screen. On the opposite wall, a large-screen monitor popped to life. “Docek, what were the last coordinates where we saw Kyra?”
“Here.” An image flashed up, one that showed a parking lot from above with two vehicles in it, a Forester and a pickup. Docek joined them. “Taken two hours ago. Devils Canyon Trailhead.”
“Give us an aerial map.” Nabeelah squinted at the monitor. It flashed up, and she winced. Ten miles southeast of town, the parking lot to the trailhead sat with paths extending from it like multiple arms of an octopus. They seemed to flow everywhere, including very close to the edge of red rock mesas and near streambeds. “We’ll never find her.”
“Not sitting here, since we’ve got no drone.”
“Can we take the helicopter there?”
As if to answer, a massive wind gust rattled the command center’s roof. Thunder growled at them through the walls.
“Not in this weather.”
Nesbitt shifted. “We’ve got the Hummer here. Warren’s got one of the jeeps.”
She returned her gaze to the screen. “Then go and meet him at the trailhead. This is hopeless.”
“We’ll find her. Nabeelah, stay here and wait for word from your crew at the Outer Banks. We’ll call you if we need you.”
“But—”
“Someone’s got to stay here.” Nesbitt pushed through the door and into the blustery evening air.
Nabeelah faced the monitor again. Her gaze shot to the phone she’d laid on the worktable. Dread uncurled within her. What would she say if Sergeant David called? She couldn’t worry about that. Not now. They had to find Kyra. That’s all that mattered.
28
Saturday, April 22, 2017, 2000 hours EDT, Outer Banks, NC
Diving. David’s least favorite part of his training when he’d been in Special Ops. And diving off the coast of the Outer Banks? At night? In murky water? Forget it. Not going to happen. Except when it needed to happen so Nabeelah would keep protection over Kyra and his family. At least he’d get his hands on Randleman. He’d do anything for that, even swim in disorienting darkness.
Queasiness began spreading in his belly. This dang boat bobbed in two-foot swells. He had to get off. He glanced at Jonathan’s comrade. “You sure you don’t want to do this?”
Bryson’s lips twitched in a tight smile. “I wasn’t ever able to dive due to my sinuses. It’s on you, man.”
“Lovely.” David squirmed into his dry suit. Almost instantly, the tight collar around his neck made him feel like he was suffocating. “Let’s get this over with before I change my mind.”
Jonathan, who’d put on his buoyancy control device, nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. Frisco, you ready?”
Frisco fastened the latches on his own BCD. “I’m with David on this one.”
David shrugged into his BCD, which barely fit across his broad torso. Oh, crap. He was too broad to fasten the latches unless he pushed them their max, and then only with a lot of difficulty. Now he felt if he took too deep a breath, he’d pop the whole thing loose. Then he’d sink to the bottom thanks to his weight belt. “Bryson, are our chem sticks on?”
“Relax. You’re good to go after your final checks. I’m headed to shore when you guys are off.”
David slid into the cold water. Better since he wouldn’t overheat in the dry suit. An hour. Then he’d get out of it and be on dry land. A win-win in his book.
Frisco and Jonathan joined him, and Bryson lowered their diver propulsion devices into the water.
The trio slid below the surface. Frisco turned.
David grasped the handles of his diver propulsion device and began the slow ride through murky water toward the compound. He checked the display. Its screen depicted the bottom at thirty-five feet. He had to keep five feet above it. At least he had the easy part. All he had to do was to keep Frisco at his two o’clock and stay close. Frisco had to maintain their due west heading. Not easy in the underwater darkness.
They slowed as they approached the inlet leading to the boathouse on Stone’s property. The outgoing tide buffeted them and tried to push them out. They barely had a net forward velocity. Suddenly, the current stopped. David immediately cut the throttle so he wouldn’t overshoot into the sound. He momentarily hung suspended in the water.
He felt a gentle shift inward. The tide had turned. They had a minute before a sensor at the boathouse’s seaward entrance triggered the estate’s alarm.
David nudged his throttle and followed Frisco under a door and into a mooring area for the two speedboats Jedidiah Stone owned. He powered off his propulsion device and let it sink to the bottom.
Carefully, he poked his head above the water. Dim industrial lights lit the interior and danced in ripples along the plywood ceiling. Water softly splashed against fiberglass hulls of glittering orange, black, red, and yellow. Cigarette boats bobbed at their ropes.
David undid his weight belt. Once it fell from his waist, he let out all of the air from his BCD and undid it. He drew his pistol. Approaching a ladder between the two boats, he hoisted himself out of the water bit by bit.
He peeked over the edge of the wood. No one. Though guards frequently checked various locations through out the compound, according to Nabeelah’s team, they didn’t stop in one place too long. A point in his favor since the last check had been right before their arrival.
He continued onto the dock, knelt, and took a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun from the dry bag Jonathan handed him. His friends joined him as he pulled sentry duty.
Once everyone had shed their dry suits to reveal fatigues of black, white, and gray splotches with no insignia, he covered his face with a balaclava and lowered night vision goggles over his eyes.
Frisco took the lead, and they paused at the entrance to the boathouse.
Wind whipped across David’s face. He tasted salty sea spray, and the noise of breakers filled his ears.
“All clear,” Frisco whispered into the mic near his lips.
David heard him loud and clear through his wireworm earpiece. Butterflies tweaked his stomach as they always did when he stepped into the path of danger.
“Let’s move,” Jonathan murmured.
They stole into the black night.
A wide, sweeping lawn separated the boathouse from the stucco mansion soaring three stories above the ground. David’s lip curled in disgust at Stone’s wealth. What had he expected after seeing the boats? A shack?
They darted from underneath a pergola connecting the mansion to the boathouse and slipped into the shadows. They crept beyond the pools of light illuminating the pergola’s mahogany posts in a bright green blur. The mansion loomed before them, the windows in the side facing them dimly lit on the second floor and dark on the third.
Two guards stepped onto the landing of the double staircase leading toward the patio and the pool glowing azure below.
David froze. He scarcely breathed and let the near total darkness of a waning sliver of moon conceal him. They headed toward the beach. A moment later, at the wall topped with glass and concertina wire, a gate opened. They stepped onto the sand, and it clanged shut behind them.
Frisco darted to a hedge next to the house. David followed with Jonathan hot on his heels, and all three took a knee. They had only a few minutes before the guards came through the gate next to the boathouse. All routine for them—unless they showed up a bit early and saw the intruders.
Frisco patted David on the back and pointed.
He wormed his way through the hedge and into a six-car parking area beneath the house. They moved between Stone’s man toys—two trailers with jet skis on top of them, a Sunfish sailboat on another one, and racks of sea kayaks. They came to the set of stairs closer to the boathouse.
David paused and listened above the hammering of his heart. Nothing but the sound of waves slapping the beach and the noise of a television. A baseball bat cracked, and people cheered. Good. People were home, and hopefully one of those was Randleman. And Stone.
With MP5 raised, David put a foot on the step. No creaks signaled his presence. He made his way up the first flight, then the second.
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