Rex Dalton Thrillers: Books 1-3 (The Rex Dalton Series Boxset Book 1)

by JC Ryan

  If there’d been only four, or even six, considering Digger was a help, he’d have been able to put them down with enough savagery that they wouldn’t get up again. As it was, too many went down, recovered, and rejoined the fight.

  Rex couldn’t hope for anyone to call the police. There were no houses with views of this stretch of road, only compounds with high walls. It wasn’t lost on him that the closest one was Mutaib’s, and the fight was moving inexorably in the direction of a gate in the wall. At the rate the fight was going, he’d be dragged into the compound and beyond any expectation of discovery within a few minutes.

  His hands, elbows, head, and feet were fully engaged in defense, and although he was causing damage the overwhelming numbers of fighters were still standing and attacking, too many for him to turn his actions into a proper offense to disable them. He realized he needed to get Digger away. But he couldn’t use a hand signal; there was no time, and in any case, Digger wasn’t looking – he was busy attacking whoever he could.

  “Digger, run! Hide!” he yelled. The dog barked, a sharp sound that echoed off the surrounding compounds’ walls. To Rex, it sounded like ‘no’. He yelled it again, louder, he wanted Digger out of there. Just then he went down with four of the attackers hanging onto every limb.

  He heard a yelp of pain from the dog and another from some human, and then someone slammed a fist into his temple which dropped him to his knees, a kick in the back of his head turned everything black.

  ***

  AT THE SECOND command, Digger had disengaged. Someone had kicked him before he got clear, and he yelped. Then he turned and tore at the retreating leg with his bared teeth, laying skin open. He tasted blood, which roused his instinct to kill and feed, like his wolf ancestors. But his discipline was stronger.

  He’d been commanded to run and hide, even though his alpha was in danger of being captured or killed. He fought his nature to protect, obeyed the clear command and reluctantly ran to hide.

  From beneath the car that had blocked them in the rear, he watched as his alpha went down in a crowd of enemies. He growled, low in his throat. He’d know these enemies again if he met them. He would kill them. But for now, he’d obey. He stayed hidden.

  ***

  ISKANDAR WAS THE only member of the team of the original three henchmen to remain standing after the fight. Toad was dead, his throat ripped out by the demon dog. Gara would recover, but not for a few weeks. He had a broken arm, a mangled right hand, and a soft-tissue injury that was causing him to cough up blood. He’d been taken to the hospital along with five other seriously-injured foot-soldiers from Mutaib’s staff.

  Iskandar had directed the others to carry Rex into the compound, secure him with ropes and handcuffs, and guard him while he, Iskandar, let the prince know of their victory. He then doubled security within the compound and outside. He thought the dog would have fled and would not return, but after seeing what it had done to Toad and some of his men, he didn’t discount his thought that the dog could still be lurking somewhere, ready and able to do severe damage to get to its master.

  “Shoot that dog on sight,” was his order.

  He was looking forward to the interrogation of the prisoner. Not only did this man insult him more than once, but Gara and Toad were also his closest associates. Friends. Now Toad was dead and Gara incapacitated for the near future. He was hoping, might even request, that he be the one to perform the interrogation. No doubt Mutaib would wish to deal the death blow. That was his privilege. Iskandar just hoped he’d get an opportunity to deal a few of his own before that.

  “Your Highness, the prisoner is secure,” he reported. Normally, he would not have been so formal. However, his disheveled state and the necessity of reporting that six of the prince’s security force were dead or disabled made him nervous to assume any familiarity with the prince. Messengers with news such as this often bore the brunt of the prince’s displeasure.

  Chapter Twenty

  REX REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS slowly enough to suppress any groan or movement that would telegraph it to whoever was guarding him. He was lying uncomfortably on his back, his arms and hands under him and secured with handcuffs. His legs were tied together at the ankle. He opened his eyes just a slit and surveyed what he could see of the room. No one was within his field of vision.

  He shut his eyes again and quieted his breathing. When he didn’t hear anything to indicate he was being observed, he made one more test. He made a gagging sound deep in his throat and then held his breath. He’d been trained to hold his breath for up to five minutes with little effort. It would be enough for anyone who might be watching him to become alarmed and check on him. But when the five minutes passed with no effect, he breathed again, opened his eyes fully, and started to sit up.

  That’s when he heard a familiar voice.

  “I am glad you could join us my friend,” sarcasm was dripping from Mutaib’s voice. “It’s almost time for the party.”

  Here it comes.

  He sat all the way up and placed his bound legs on the floor. He wouldn’t give Mutaib the satisfaction of seeing him worried. So, he smiled. “Thanks for the invite.”

  Mutaib’s face darkened with rage. “Bring in the women,” he commanded.

  Someone outside opened the door and thrust Zoya and Hande inside. After them came someone Rex had never met, but he knew who she was. Rehka looked exactly as she had in her picture. Her almond-shaped eyes were dark with fear, her face paler than he’d expected but understandable — the fear would have robbed her of her normal complexion. Her dark brown hair was straight and hung to her waist unbound. Her full lips were also bloodless.

  All three women were naked, and their hands were bound in front of them. Rex’s heart beat faster with the fear of what would happen to them and what he’d be forced to watch.

  Did Zoya or Hande tell Rehka why she’s here? Does she know it’s my fault? Mutaib will want to know who sent me, and there’s no name to give him. I better think of a name quickly.

  Iskandar followed the women into the room, closed the door and leaned with his back against it, his arms crossed over his chest in triumph. He carried a short-handled whip with several thin, plaited leather strands attached to it.

  Rex averted his eyes from the women, unwilling to add to their degradation by looking at their nakedness. Instead, he focused a fierce glare on Mutaib.

  “They are innocent. Punish me. I’m the one who seduced them into my plot.”

  Mutaib’s lips curled in a cruel smile. “All in good time. You will be punished, make no mistake. But first you will watch their punishment. You will watch, or it will go worse for them. Look at them!”

  A snap of the whip against flesh, followed by a sharp cry, forced Rex to comply with Mutaib’s demand. He swung his head back toward the women and saw Zoya’s arm bleeding. The cuts would scar. Rex despaired at the thought of what he’d brought on these poor women.

  “Tell me who sent you,” Mutaib demanded.

  He blurted out the name of Rehka’s creditor, Dhruv. Rehka flinched when she heard the name and Mutaib noticed. He addressed her directly. “You are the reason for this rebellion?”

  She didn’t understand all the words, but she understood ‘you’. She paled even more and shook her head mutely in denial.

  Mutaib nodded and Iskandar laid the whip vigorously across her back. She cried out and fell to the ground.

  Rex saw that her back was bleeding and gritted his teeth in rage. “I’m sorry,” he half-whispered. “Rehka, I’m so sorry.”

  “Which one of you showed this camel dung the courtyard?” Mutaib asked.

  Hande gasped. Iskandar’s whip snaked out and cut her, but she didn’t fall.

  To Rex’s surprise and admiration, she turned a contemptuous look on Mutaib and pressed her lips together.

  Mutaib made a gesture to Iskandar to move towards Rex. “Your fists only,” Mutaib said. “I want this to last.”

  To Rex, he said, “Who is this Dhruv
you speak of? I do not know him. Is he the girl’s father? Her husband? A boyfriend?”

  Rex stayed silent and stared at Mutaib in defiance. He’d done Rehka enough harm by opening his mouth. Mutaib nodded again and Iskandar stepped forward. He yanked Rex to his feet and slammed his fist into his stomach as hard as he could.

  The blow would have doubled a man in worse physical shape than Rex. Rex, however, tensed his stomach muscles and absorbed the blow.

  “That’s it,” he said, smiling. “Pick on someone your own size, not defenseless women. How about you take these restraints off and the two of us have a go at it? Just the two of us. The winner gets the women. Or are you a yellow belly who can only hit women and men who are tied up?”

  The interrogation went on for several hours. Mutaib would ask Rex something, and each time the answer or lack thereof would earn a blow whether it was truthful or a lie, answered straight or with sarcasm. Iskandar had learned to hit him where he couldn’t defend himself with clenched muscles, so he was covered in bruises, maybe a few cracked ribs, one eye swollen shut and blackened, and his nose was bleeding and interfering with his breathing.

  Iskandar’s beatings shifted between Rex and the women. Soon they weren’t in much better shape than Rex. Though Mutaib had Iskandar leave their faces alone, perhaps intending to sell them after the beatings, the enforcer was allowed to hit them anywhere else. Their torsos and breasts were covered in bruises and not one of them could stand when Mutaib called a halt when the sound of the Imam’s voice over the loudspeakers at the nearby mosque calling the faithful to evening prayer reached their ears.

  Rex couldn’t help but marvel at the hypocrisy of a man who would degrade a woman by having her stripped and beaten, and then turn around and pray to a deity he thought of as merciful and just.

  A just god would strike him with lightening and that would’ve been merciful compared to what I have in mind for you scumbag.

  As Iskandar led the bleeding and bruised women away, Rex made a vow. If he survived this and escaped, and he had every intention of doing so the moment he was given the opportunity, Mutaib, Iskandar, and any man left in this compound would die.

  Meanwhile, while Mutaib and Iskandar were appeasing their pious consciences, he had a bit of time to plan his breakout.

  He wouldn’t be left alone for long.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  JOSH AND MARISSA had exhausted their investigative leads in Afghanistan without discovering anything new.

  Visiting the site of the explosion convinced them there was no point in taking samples, even if they could have done so without starting another riot. They reported to Brandt that it was a very real example of scorched-earth philosophy on the part of the Afghani rabble that had rioted after the explosion.

  When he asked what they meant, they said, “The place is literally scorched. We asked a few people who were guarding the place, not allowing anyone to enter the property, what had happened there. They said they and others had burned a place where infidels had attacked them.”

  “That’s the same party line we got at the time. And it’s bullshit,” Brandt said.

  “Doesn’t matter, we can’t take samples. We can’t get in, and even if we could, they won’t let us take anything out. Also, the scene’s been compromised. Evidently, they dumped tons of flammable material on it before they set it on fire. No telling how far down we’d have to dig to get to any human DNA. And then we’d probably have to remove a hundred or more cubic yards of material and ship it home to even have a hope of finding or not finding human DNA.”

  “You’re saying it’s too big a job for you.”

  “I’m saying it’s too big a job for CRC, or anyone, for that matter. It would require invasion and occupation by military force, massive effort, and months if not years of analysis. Let it go, boss.”

  “I understand. But we still need to exhaust all efforts to find Dalton if he survived. Go ahead and hunt down the remaining Phoenix Unlimited employees. I’ll email their dossiers.”

  They’d been a tight group in the first place, and more than half, including Frank Millard, the CEO, had been killed in the explosion. The others, only six, had left Afghanistan to find employment somewhere else. To find them, Josh and Marissa would have to travel to at least four hot spots in the Middle East and Africa. They discussed the options to determine which outfit they’d visit first.

  Whether Rex was dead or not was only one of two major questions Brandt had. The other one was who had betrayed him. Obviously, Bruce Carson had been the final messenger in the chain. Brandt didn’t think he was the primary source of the kill order.

  With Carson gone and out of Brandt’s immediate reach, Josh and Marissa would have to unravel the threads of the conspiracy from the other end. That meant they had to at least consider the notion that one or more of the former Phoenix Unlimited employees could have been part of the treachery. They needed to find them and look into their eyes when they questioned them to judge whether they were telling the truth or not.

  Two of them had gone together to a logistics provider in Egypt. The crisis there that had begun three years before was winding down with the coup d’état and subsequent stabilization. However, there was still some unrest, attacks and bombings against the police to protest the imprisonment and death sentences of members of the Muslim Brotherhood.

  Some of Egypt’s troubles spilled into Iraq’s, with Muslim extremists joining ISIL at the beginning of the Iraq war. That was still very much a danger zone and expected to remain so for some time to come. One member of Millard’s remnant team rejoined the US Army, said to have been absorbed into Delta Force and acting as an advance observer. If that proved true, they had little hope of tracking him down and even less hope of getting within a country mile of his location. For the Army to allow that would be to compromise his mission.

  Another buddy pair’s last known movement had been to the Sudan, where they could be anywhere. Marissa argued that it could take years to track them down and it would be extremely dangerous to do given the ongoing civil war.

  The last member of Millard’s surviving group had simply vanished. They had no information on him at all. Brandt suggested they look for him in Afghanistan first, among the other paramilitary organizations active there. If that didn’t prove fruitful, they could go on to try to find the others. At the end of their discussion of the options, Josh and Marissa agreed that might be the best use of their waiting time.

  Josh had been right about his safety argument. Every time they questioned a local, they risked blowing their cover, which in Afghanistan was already thin. They could point to no articles coming out of their ‘journalistic’ research. If anyone questioned them, they’d have to explain they hadn’t completed their research, but if anyone dug deeper they’d find that these journalists made no notes and took no photos.

  Falling afoul of any law, and there were many that they were sure they just couldn’t even anticipate, would get them thrown out of the country or worse. The further they dug, the better they understood what Rex had been up against when he’d been assigned there for over a year. Eventually, though, they asked the right person the right question.

  It was in a coffee shop in a poor quarter of Kabul, on the edge of a teeming marketplace. Unbeknown to them this was the market which Rex frequented to pick up on gossip and befriend informants. Marissa overheard someone sitting at a table next to theirs with some men, talking about a friend he thought was dead. He was explaining that he’d given the friend a lead on a job loading a truck, but the truck had exploded the next day. Fearing his missing friend was the one who had caused the explosion and that the subsequent investigation would lead back to him, the speaker, he’d fled Kabul and only just returned.

  To Marissa, who understood every word the man was saying, the story sounded vaguely familiar. She translated for Josh. When they’d come to Kabul, they had a full briefing on Rex’s mission and his reports, and they’d seen how frustrated he was at the inaction he�
��d been under orders to maintain. Observe and report – that’s all he was supposed to do. But Josh had known of Rex’s reputation, and he knew Rex had a reputation for being a rebel at times, an agent who sometimes followed his own council, not the orders he was given. They’d also been briefed by Brandt about the mysterious bombings and other raids against the opium industry, which Brandt thought was the work of Rex Dalton. With the wisdom of hindsight, Brandt speculated it was probably what led to the false flag mission ordered by Carson that killed the mission team and maybe Rex. Or not.

  The truck bombing described by this man to his friends at the table sounded like one of those that could have been pulled off by Dalton, though it took place in Kabul rather than in the opium fields and factories around the country. But it was no secret that the truck was loaded with drugs at the time of the explosion.

  Marissa eavesdropped until the man she overheard expressed the opinion that he’d always been suspicious of his friend’s sudden appearance in Kabul. He was explaining that the friend had a story about where he’d been before, but the accent was slightly off, as if he’d been brought up in Kabul instead of where he said he was from. And the man would disappear for days at a time, then show up again asking questions about drug trade jobs.

  “If you ask me, he was an undercover policeman,” the man finished. “I liked him, though. I wonder where he’s gone now. It’s been weeks since I saw him.”

  One of the other men at the table wondered if his friend could have been vaporized in that explosion. It was a really big one. He’d seen the wreckage afterwards and said no one who was close would have been left recognizable.

  Marissa had quieted Josh’s prattle with a firm hand on his wrist. When the man stopped talking, she nodded toward him and squeezed Josh’s wrist.

  “Follow my lead. I’ll explain later,” she said in English.

  Josh nodded once.

  Marissa got up and went to the table where the man was still sitting. His companion had left, leaving the coast clear for her questioning.