Backblast

by Candace Irving

  "Am I interrupting? I can always return tomorrow."

  She knew his answer. As did he.

  Still, the doc waited for several moments, then glanced up as if he'd just finished reading a lengthy passage and politely shook his head. "Not at all, Agent Chase. I have been biding my time and my patience with the words and wisdom of Allah."

  Yeah, she doubted that.

  Had that print been larger or the book closer, she still wouldn't have bought it. Not when this man had clearly managed to skip over most of the words in that tome. Particularly those pertaining to understanding, coexistence and peace.

  "Would you like me to move the Qur'an to your rack?"

  "No, but thank you."

  She shifted her attention past Durrani's head, toward the entrance to the cell where Vetter was patiently marking time. Riyad had ceased pacing. He stood well behind the Marine and to his left, watching.

  She ignored the spook in favor of the Marine. "Go ahead and enjoy your coffee, Corporal."

  "Ma'am, I'm not sure if you're aware—"

  "Of the incident earlier? I am. And I'll be fine. I can take care of myself, even when I'm the one who starts out cuffed." The placid glance she flicked across the table rivaled Durrani's. It landed on that three-inch pink scar. She'd assumed it would look better without the stitches. It didn't. He really should've waited until the corpsman had applied that cream before he'd taken out his temper on the woman. "Right, Doc?"

  Durrani's smile held. Barely.

  Vetter's deepened. "Yes, ma'am. I heard that about you." He tipped his head toward the duty desk as he backed out of the cell. "I'll be right here if you need me."

  "Sure thing." But she wouldn't.

  Nudging the Qur'an into a less precarious location, she set her manila folder on the table and seated herself in the only remaining chair. Since her favorite recorder was running low on power, she retrieved her phone and switched on her backup recording app, quickly running through the standard who, what, when, where and why.

  The formalities out of the way, she leaned back, taking in the full measure of the remainder of those deceptively tranquil features seated across from her, just as their owner took in hers.

  "I trust your meeting went well, Agent Chase."

  "It did. Thank you."

  "And your flights? Were they uneventful?"

  She nudged a slight curve to her lips. "What makes you think I left the ship?"

  "Please, I am not a stupid man."

  True. But he was arrogant. And worried.

  It was in his hands.

  They'd been decidedly loose and relaxed during their previous meeting. They weren't now. Oh, his shackled wrists were resting on that steel bar lightly enough. But his palms were pressed a bit too closely together. His index fingers were also steepled toward her, with his remaining digits knitted up as if ready for prayers.

  Except, Muslims didn't pray like that. Sunnis or Shias.

  And their fingers generally weren't taut.

  The doc was worried. About Hachemi. About the current state of the translator's potentially precarious health. About what his cohort had and hadn't given up today. And, more importantly, to whom Hachemi might or might not have not given it.

  In light of everything that had happened aboard this ship since she'd arrived, and everything Durrani had to have overheard, she was fairly certain the man believed the CIA had finally been called in. That she'd taken his cohort to another ship to be "questioned". And since Durrani hadn't seen John or Agent Riyad all day either, he probably assumed the men were with the translator, assisting in his "questioning".

  "So, where are your two friends this evening?"

  And that confirmed it.

  "Oh, here and there."

  "And how is my friend?"

  She shrugged. "He's been better."

  She refined her assessment as the knit to those fingers tightened. Yeah, the doc was definitely worried. But not for his cohort. In fact, Durrani didn't give a damn about Hachemi. He was concerned for himself.

  Durrani believed he was next.

  She offered the bastard her first sincere smile of the day. "I understand you've been anxious to speak with me."

  "I would not use the word anxious."

  Yeah, she'd received the reports from Chief Yrle and Corporal Vetter. Heard the bellowing over that sound-powered phone herself. "I would."

  He matched her shrug. "I have been…concerned about you."

  "Concerned?" Now there was a first.

  But he nodded solemnly. "Indeed. For many reasons."

  Many?

  Why not? She had the rest of the night.

  She bit. "And those are?"

  He tipped his head toward the manila folder. The one she'd tucked in front of her to keep it from sliding onto the deck. "How is your hand?"

  For once the appendage in question complied with her will and remained motionless. Thank God. "It's fine."

  "And the tremors?"

  What the hell. He might be the devil incarnate, but he was also a Harvard-educated physician. It wasn't as though he wouldn't know. Plus, he'd been playing with that diabolical psycho-toxin for a while, recording his observations and his notes. The ones they'd found in that safe house in Charikar, and others they might not have.

  "They come and go."

  This nod was sage, compassionate even. So much so, she might've actually believed he felt the emotion behind it…had she not seen the photos of those pregnant women and their innocent babies in all their mutilated horror. Walked that cave where it had all gone down. Dodged those murky pools of frozen blood in the flesh…and in her current, all too crystal-clear nightly dreams.

  The faux compassion strengthened. "It has not been long since your coma, Agent Chase. These things take time. You will heal."

  She didn't doubt it.

  Okay, she did doubt it. Particularly in the darkest, loneliest part of the night. Right around the time when she began to wonder if she'd be able to control those tremors long enough to pass her looming weapons qualification without one hijacking her grip and knocking her aim off at the last millisecond.

  And if she couldn't control them?

  Her undercover career had already been demolished. Thanks to Germany and Evan LaCroix, being an investigator was all she had left.

  If she couldn't pass her quals, what would that do to the remainder of her career with CID? Any future livelihood?

  The possibility of a real relationship with John?

  Not only did she not have the answers. She wasn't even sure she wanted them. But there was no way she was confessing any of that to this asshole, let alone seeking medical advice from the man. For a career obliterating and potentially permanent neurological condition he'd caused, no less.

  Even so, his reassurance wasn't what intrigued her. It was the effort behind his phony concern. The doc was genuinely attempting to connect with her.

  Why?

  What did he have up his sleeve? "You said many reasons. What else bothers you…on my behalf?"

  "How well do you know the men with whom you work?"

  Ah, so that was where this was headed. Divide and conquer. He planned on impugning her colleagues' integrity. Shaking her faith. It was a solid, time-tested tactic. But it wouldn't work. Not only was that tactic an Army CID agent's bread and butter, she knew John. Warts and all. Accepted them.

  Riyad, however…

  But while she admittedly knew the spook a fraction as well as she knew John and trusted him even less, her so-called partner still ranked above the bastard seated across from her. The one still gauging her micro-expressions and reactions just as closely as she was gauging his.

  Durrani was definitely trying to get into her head, any way he could. And she was more than curious to see just how far the doc was willing—and able—to go.

  Know thy enemy, know thyself.

  Sun Tzu had been dead on with that one. Even if Durrani wasn't a proponent of ancient military philosophy, she suspected
he'd taken the Chinese general's advice to heart years before. How else had the doc succeeded in decimating nearly all of Captain Mendoza's A-Team and slaughtering the women in that cave, and then nearly succeeded in blaming the entire, grisly crime on Captain McCord and his men?

  Not that Durrani's implied offer wasn't tempting. If Agent Riyad had made it onto Durrani's radar before she, John and the rest of John's men had managed to take the doc down in Charikar, there was an outstanding chance Durrani had dirt on the spook. Unfortunately, anything Durrani placed on the table would, at the very least, be tainted by association and definitely suspect, especially since the man was clearly intent on trying to use it against her.

  So…why had the spook tensed? And why was Riyad shifting closer to the entrance to the cell? It couldn't be in an attempt to hear better. Not with the recording app on her phone still ticking away, sucking up their conversation for posterity.

  Good Lord, Riyad was in the doorway now. For a moment, she actually thought he was going to stalk all the way inside.

  Evidently Corporal Vetter thought so too, because the Marine came to his feet and moved up to grip the spook's arm and pull him back.

  Riyad jerked his head to his left. He stared at the Marine. Hard. For a split second, she suspected he was going to take the corporal down, right then and there. Even more startling, in that moment she had the distinct impression Riyad was more than capable of doing it. Despite the fact that the Marine had a good two inches and roughly forty pounds of honed muscle on the spook.

  Just who the hell was he?

  To her shock, the Marine backed down—and off.

  Riyad remained in the doorway, once again utterly focused on the man within.

  "Agent Chase?"

  She snapped her attention back to the table and fused it on the lying, pretty boy seated across from her and not the one lurking just outside that door. Waiting.

  For what?

  "Is something amiss?"

  It took every ounce of discipline she possessed to keep her thoughts from seeping through as she shook her head. Smiled. "It's nothing."

  "Are you certain?"

  Not by a long shot. "Absolutely."

  Was it her imagination, or had the ship's motion grown worse while she'd been watching the corporal and the spook square off? Even the creaking in the venting and pipes was more pronounced. The Qur'an slid into the upper edge of her folder, jamming in firmly enough that a folded-up sheet of paper jarred loose. It was now peeking out from between the pages at the back of the book.

  Curious, she tugged the square free and unfolded it.

  It was the photo of the seventh woman from the cave.

  "I placed it there to keep it safe. After all, it is far too easy to lose that which is important to us, is it not? Especially equipment."

  Equipment? This was an image. Of a murdered woman with someone else's child lying atop her violated abdomen, no less.

  What on earth was he alluding to? Because he was definitely alluding to something. That word was not a missed attempt at a thought lost to translation. Nabil Durrani's store of English nouns was as vast as his overblown ego. Unless—

  Shit.

  Apprehension prickled up her spine. Had the doc heard Riyad earlier, before she'd arrived? Did Durrani suspect the spook of remaining in the outer compartment? Or was he simply hoping Riyad would review the recording on her phone later? Was that odd phrasing meant to convey something known only to the two of them?

  If so, what?

  She was about to expose Riyad and invite him into the cell, if only to study the interplay between the two men, when a powerful wave hit the ship, jolting the entire compartment upward, before causing it to plummet straight down, along with the table between them. The Qur'an went flying over the edge, landing with a thud on the deck beside the metal legs of her chair, along with the manila folder and her phone.

  Regan grabbed the folder before the contents could spill out, then the phone and book. Fortunately, the recording app was still running. She set the phone and the Qur'an on top of the folder and laid all three on the table between them.

  "I apologize." That tome might not be holy to her, but it was to a significant percentage of the world's population, including the monster seated across from her.

  To her surprise, the monster shrugged. "All is well—and as Allah wills."

  Whatever.

  She wasn't impressed with his take on anything with respect to that book, any more than she'd been with her grandfather's rigid interpretation of the Bible, let alone how dear ol' papaw had used that interpretation as an excuse whenever he'd decided to take out his anger and frustration on her backside.

  Neither her grandfather, nor this man, was truly religious. Both simply used whoever was upstairs for their own rationalizations and ends.

  "And how is your lover faring?"

  Her stomach lurched—and it had nothing to do with the newfound rhythm of the ship.

  Durrani didn't know she and John were involved, did he? Much less that John was still aboard the Griffith and confined to his quarters?

  "Pardon?"

  That irritatingly smooth smirk returned. "I was given to understand that you and Major Garrison had renewed your relationship. Am I incorrect?"

  So he did know. But he was also fishing for more.

  Neither was surprising.

  Durrani had chosen two of John's captains and their respective A-Teams for his heinous plans. He would've been a fool to skip investigating John as well. And though the doc might be a monster, a fool he was not.

  Sixteen months ago, the salacious relationship she and John shared in Hohenfels had made the international news. CID and all of Special Forces had been privy to details that even the media hadn't managed to ferret out. As an Afghan translator employed by the US Army at the time, Hachemi might have known some of her fellow agents, and Hachemi had definitely worked closely with SF. Hachemi would've eagerly shared any dirt he'd gleaned on John with Durrani as the men had plotted that two-pronged terror attack on those pregnant women and John's men.

  And then there was her presence with John on that mission to flush out Durrani in Charikar. The bastard was simply connecting the dots.

  Hoping she'd choke on them.

  She matched that smooth twist with her own. "The major's fine."

  "Excellent. I offer my congratulations on repairing an…unusual relationship. And my sympathies, of course. To have called you a whore in that parking lot. Well, a Mata Hari, but—" That twist of his finally shifted into a deep, disapproving frown. "—it was clear what he really meant, was it not? And so…humiliating. But you two have managed to work through your differences, yes? He trusts you in his bed now? This is good. Still, the major's mood has been dark this past week. Are you completely certain he has forgiven you?"

  Okay, Hachemi could have shared a lot of the above. But not that name.

  Mata Hari.

  There'd been two people in that parking lot outside CID that night—John and herself. And John wouldn't have spoken about what transpired. Ever. She sure as hell hadn't told anyone, not even Mira or Gil. Which meant someone else had been there.

  Watching John. Listening. Deliberately gathering intel on him.

  Sixteen months ago.

  The traitor she was after?

  Riyad?

  She had no idea. But two things were clear, and the second was even more chilling than the first. One, whoever had overheard the conversation in that parking lot had shared it damned near verbatim with Durrani. And two, given what she'd just learned, there was an excellent chance that Durrani and their unknown traitor had been plotting that cave massacre, the chimeral attack on John's men and whatever was still to come for a lot longer than anyone suspected.

  But what Durrani failed to realize was that here, now, he'd tipped his hand. If she continued to play her cards right—and kept her own bent and battered aces out of sight—she just might be able to use the first mystery to solve the second.

/>   She deepened her smile until she could feel it. "As I said, the major and I are fine, as is our relationship. Though I do appreciate the free shrink session."

  "Ah, you have been checking up on me. Investigating my life."

  No. But she'd read the reports during the flight to Al Dhafra from the agent who was. Nate Castile had included quite a bit of truly intriguing information.

  "I admit, I was curious, Doctor. Especially with regard to your academic studies, given that chimera you injected into me. Though I'm not sure I feel comfortable with your mental assessments." She held up a hand as his mouth opened. "I know, I know. You got your bachelors in psychology. But really? With those grades?" Her pointed tsk, tsk briefly overtook the rolling and creaking of the ship. "They weren't the best, now were they? It's a wonder they awarded you that degree at all, much less let you into medical school. You must have licked and polished the boots of just the right admissions administrator."

  Lord knew, it wouldn't have been a woman's.

  The smile evaporated. The thin line left behind was as acerbic and as pissed as Durrani now was. "Perhaps I would have fared better had I had you to study back then. For you, Agent Chase, are a truly fascinating subject. While I suspect there are several detectives within your army with police officers for fathers, how many have fathers who were so dishonest, they were murdered by a fellow policeman? And your mother?" This tsking was his and considerably louder than hers had been. "The shame of it. It is no wonder she committed suicide. In front of the family's final Christmas tree, no less. As a child of Allah, I sympathize with her. And you?" No tsk this time. Just the return of that chilly smile and his phony compassion. The latter of which was fairly oozing from the man now. "How do you bear the pain and the disgrace of both of them?"

  Really? That was all he was going to lob at her?

  While she wasn't thrilled with having this particular conversation with this particular man, let alone in this particular place with none other than the spook listening in, it wasn't nearly enough.