“She’s gone.” He grabbed her hand and nearly dragged her across the hall where the young woman had stayed. He slammed open the door.
Abigail gasped. “She’s not in the latrine, is she?”
“No, I checked. There’s no way she could have left on her own, right?”
“No. There’s just one way in and out.” She glanced around the Spartan room. “Wait! Her things aren’t here.”
“What things?” Jonathan pushed past her and paced around the small space.
“Some of the nurses who were her size donated some clothing to her. And a headscarf. And toiletries. None of that’s here. This smells of something.” Abigail dashed down the hall, throwing her hair into a hasty ponytail as she ran. Forget the patrol cap. This wasn’t a formal visit to their host.
With Jonathan at her heels, she burst into predawn darkness dimly lit by a streetlight over the exercise yard. Only a few soldiers on night duty stirred.
She found Major Watson coming out of the mess hall with a steaming mug of something in his hand. “Sir, a word with you, if you would.”
He stopped as if busted for being somewhere he shouldn’t have been. Slowly, he turned. “Captain Bocelli, isn’t it a bit early to be up?”
“Not when someone’s missing.” Jonathan didn’t bother to salute as he glared at the major.
“I’m not following.”
Abigail inserted herself between her brother and their host. “Nabeelah Khan is missing. You want to tell me what you know?”
“That would be nothing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to brief the men who will be taking you to the village.” He began walking toward the command center.
“Major Watson, I think you forgot one thing,” Abigail called. “I’m in charge of investigating what happened in that village fifty klicks east of here. An eyewitness I interviewed has gone missing.”
He stopped.
She squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “From what I remember about Camp Romeo and what you showed me, there’s only one way in and out of here. Meaning you can’t say that she just happened to walk away because I’m not going to believe you on that. Someone in this camp took her away. Now I want to know where they took her.”
He glowered at her. “I can’t tell you.”
“I think you’re forgetting my occupation. CID, remember? You lie to me, you lose your career. Come clean with me now or at a court-martial later. Your choice.”
Major Watson’s gaze shifted from her to Jonathan. “Both of you, this way.” He walked them toward the command tent and to his office. Once Jonathan had shut the door behind them, the major eased onto a chair that groaned in protest. “They showed up an hour ago.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Abigail remained standing.
“I don’t know.”
Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “Bull.”
“Seriously, I don’t.”
“Were they in uniform?”
“No. Civvies. They flashed paperwork stating that they were authorized to remove Ms. Khan from our custody.”
“And you believed them?” she asked.
“Yes, because that authority came from way beyond my pay grade.”
“Like how far?”
“I can’t say.”
“What do you mean, you can’t say? I say you’re lying, and if you are, I’ll—” Jonathan clinched his fists and took a menacing step forward.
“Jonathan, no.” Abigail grabbed his arm. His biceps flexed under her grip as she pulled him away. “It’s not worth it.” She turned to the major. “And you have no idea of where they were taking her?”
“None.” Major Watson held up his hands. “None at all. Believe me that if I could have kept her here, I would have.”
Jonathan slammed out of the office.
Abigail studied the major for a moment. He maintained a steady gaze. Sweat had broken out on his brow despite the chill in the room. No matter how much she wanted to say he’d lied, she couldn’t. “Though I hate to say it, I think you’re telling the truth. But if I find out you’ve lied to me, you can kiss the rest of your time in the Army goodbye. Got it?”
The major pressed his lips into a grim line and gave her a slight nod.
“Thanks for your help. Either Bryson or I will be by to take an official statement after we get back.” She pulled open the door and headed out.
Where could Jonathan have gone? It wasn’t that Camp Romeo was small, but with a contingent of five hundred troops around, there weren’t a lot of hiding places. A scene from the day before flashed across her mind, and she turned her steps toward the air strip.
Cloaked in his jacket, her brother huddled on a crate next to the small hangar. To the east, beyond the concrete wall and barbed wire, the sun struggled over the jagged mountains in a sickly yellow haze.
Abigail approached and eased onto the rough wood beside him.
“She’s gone.” His head drooped. “What if they turned her out because they suspected her to be a traitor? She’d never survive in the village. Not by herself.”
“I’m headed there today. I’ll—”
“No!” He grabbed her arm with crushing force.
“Ow!” She pried his fingers loose.
“It’s not safe, they’ll—”
“We’ll be escorted, okay? I’ll look.” She sighed. “I’ll try to find out who took her. Still, there’s only one thing we can do.”
“What?”
She faced the sunrise. “Pray.”
1
Ghazni Province, Afghanistan
March 2016
Christine Parker cinched the four-point harness tighter around her. She focused on Jonathan Ward, her boyfriend and COO of SecureLink’s Ghazni compound. He stood at the rear of the convoy’s lead vehicle, a four-door Jeep Wrangler with a 50-cal machine gun mounted on the back. Chip Johnson, the protective detail supervisor, kept his helmet tucked under one arm as he chatted with him. Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder and strode toward the armored school bus that would ferry their clients, sixteen doctors and nurses, to a remote village high in the mountains.
Please look at me. Christine’s stomach knotted on itself as she recalled the spat that had replaced what should have been a clandestine bit of romancing.
Curse the no-fraternization policy that prevented them from being open about their relationship.
He gave the driver and bus guard a mock salute and headed in her direction.
His clear green eyes met hers. The corners of his mouth quirked up in the slightest of smiles. Someone called something, and he turned.
Some of her worries eased.
But not all.
Once more, she tightened her harness.
“Any tighter, and you will not be able to breathe.”
At the teasing statement in accented English, she glanced up. Ali al-Saad, an Iraqi gunner who qualified for the sunniest disposition of the group today, grinned. The straps of his helmet dangled along the sides of his face.
“And any looser for you, and your helmet will fall off.”
He laughed and secured the Kevlar. “Not anymore.” He patted her on the shoulder and climbed into his position behind the 50-cal machine gun. The bullet belt rattled as he made one final check of his weapon.
Eddie Horton climbed into the driver’s seat. “Looks like we’re ready to go. You locked and loaded, Parker?”
Ahead of them, the big engine of the school bus groaned to life.
Jonathan approached. “You guys set?”
“As much as we’ll ever be.” At least her voice didn’t shake.
“Head on a swivel, y’all. Godspeed.” His focused on Christine. “I’ll see you tonight.” He mouthed “I love you.”
She released her breath. “See you soon.” She shoved her wraparound sunglasses onto her face before he noticed the tears filling her eyes.
He slapped the front fender of the four-door Jeep Wrangler. “Move out. Chip’ll call us when y’all get there.”
The
lead Wrangler—which held Chip, a driver, and a gunner—led the way through the massive iron gate. The school bus followed, then their Wrangler. Christine gripped her rifle to keep it from bouncing around.
Once they cleared the gate, they picked up speed as they rolled along the asphalt road toward the Kabul-to-Kandahar highway. Eddie handled the vehicle as if they headed to the grocery store rather than the heart of Taliban country.
A stream of cars and trucks became visible as they neared the highway. They pulled up parallel to one another. Christine glanced at the school bus. Gregory Jordan, the guard, stood on the steps. He flashed her a thumbs-up sign.
When Eddie caught a break in traffic, he pulled onto the road first to allow the other vehicles safe entry. Once everyone had come up to speed, Christine’s thoughts turned inward and spun as fast as the wheels of their Jeep. Automatically, her mind ticked to a little over twelve hours before when Chip had sent her to Jonathan’s office to summon him for the security team’s final briefing. He hadn’t wasted words or even a kiss before he’d asked his question.
“What’s going on?” he’d demanded.
And what had she done? Ducked the question. Sidestepped his followup. Tried to pick a fight. And all because she couldn’t figure out why she couldn’t tell him about the secret that now burdened her.
I’m scared, she mentally told him now, as a truck piled high with tires blew past them. I’m scared of what I found. I couldn’t tell you last night because I hadn’t found all of the evidence until after everyone went to bed.
“You’re mighty quiet.” Eddie raised his voice to be heard over the wind rushing through their open-air Jeep.
“A lot on my mind.” Christine rubbed the forestock of her rifle.
“Try me.”
She studied him. “The doctor is in?”
The black man laughed. “Something like that. Try me.”
Christine sighed. You’ve talked to Eddie before about past relationship stuff. He’s talked to you about stuff in his marriage. You two have a friendship. So trust him, why don’t you? “Have you ever been in a situation that you know you have to share something with someone, but you’re too scared to?”
“Why would I be scared?”
“Because you thought you weren’t ready at the time. And now, you realize you should have.”
“Girl, you are so not making sense. Try again.”
“Last night, I was pretty sure something was going on, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Then the person who has the authority to do something about it—who is also someone I really care about—started demanding answers. I couldn’t tell him because I wasn’t certain.”
“Let me guess. Ward’s the guy you really care about.”
The flush heated her cheeks faster than the sun as it rose past the mountains. “Uh, yeah. How did you know?”
“You and I work together. Now the wife would say I’m not the most clued-in guy, but I can tell you’re troubled.”
That got a wry laugh out of her.
He sobered. “That being said, if it’s serious and involves something at the compound, you need to tell Ward regardless of any reservations you have. That good enough for you?”
A smile finally broke through her tension. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“That’s why I’m your driver today. Yes, ma’am. That’s why.” Eddie chuckled.
The hum of the tires dropped as the convoy slowed. They turned from the smooth asphalt onto a rutted macadam surface.
“Okay, guys, look sharp.” Chip’s voice crackled over their comms units. “We’re half an hour out. Eyes out for tangos.”
Christine’s grip tightened on her rifle. Her free hand crept to the emergency release button for her four-point harness. Like she had each mission, she rehearsed the sequence Chip had pounded in their heads. Release, rifle, roll. She scanned the mountainside of scrub, rocks, and other features rushing past as they wound their way higher and farther from the supposed safety of the highway. She glanced at the digital clock on the dash. Ten minutes in. Twenty to go until they reached the village.
An explosion kicked a dust cloud from the sides of the mountain.
Christine jumped.
The bus screeched to a halt, and Eddie barely avoided rear-ending it.
“Chip, what’s going on?” Eddie shouted into the comm.
“IED! Red alert.” Chip’s voice remained even and steady, despite the impending ambush. “Base, this is Convoy Two. Ambush. We caught an IED in the—” His calm words shattered on a scream. A loud rifle report rocketed through the narrow valley.
Christine slammed her hand onto the emergency release. The straps popped free, and she rolled from the Jeep with her rifle in hand. As she hit the ground, Gregory tumbled to the road. He didn’t try to stop his fall.
He was dead.
Sniper.
Another bullet slammed Ali in the chest. He collapsed backward.
She rolled underneath the Wrangler and stayed on her stomach.
A woman screamed.
“Don’t!” Christine shouted, but the dust choked her words so they came out as a whisper.
One of their clients fell to the ground. Then another. The sniper went to work in earnest.
Christine shifted her gaze toward the left-hand side.
Taliban poured over the lip of the road.
She shuddered as their war cries filled the air along with the popping of small arms fire. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her hands felt clammy as they clasped her rifle.
A pair of booted feet crunched dirt mere inches away. A pistol shot echoed above her.
Eddie crashed to the ground. His sightless eyes stared at her. Blood oozed from the hole in his forehead.
“No!” She scrambled forward and drew a bead on the killer. One shot finished him just as surely as he’d taken the life of her friend.
Her cry drew the attention of the others.
She couldn’t even count their number. She rolled to her feet and fired blindly as she dashed across the road. Two more dropped.
Her gun jammed.
She tossed it aside as the slope steepened. She began sliding on the loose gravel and rock surface.
An explosion rocketed through the air.
She skidded as she turned. Her hands touched earth.
Black smoke billowed into the air, carrying with it the screams of their clients. People she was commissioned to protect. She clutched at the rocks around her. “Oh, God! No!”
Robed jihadis jerked toward her voice. With high-pitched war cries they charged her location, the ends of their turbans fluttering behind them.
Her heart lodged in her throat. She couldn’t outrun them.
Not now.
She yanked her pistol from its holster and fired three shots, dropping three.
She turned and ran as fast as she could.
Her quads burned. Her sides heaved. She scrambled against gravity as it tugged her closer to the stream bed at the bottom of the slope.
If she could reach just the stream bed, she could outrun them.
But why weren’t they firing at her?
Her ankle twisted, shooting hot pain up her leg.
She pitched forward, losing her pistol, and skidded down the uneven slope on her belly. Her momentum drove her straight toward a massive rock. She thrust out her hands but still smashed her head against the unforgiving boulder. Blackness oozed through her senses. She tried to shake it away and raise herself from the gravel.
A knee slammed into her back.
Her breath whooshed from her lungs. She sucked in another.
Rough hands pawed at her, and her attacker yanked her knife from its sheath. It clinked onto the ground, oh, so close, yet too far away to do her any good.
He flipped her.
She pushed herself to her elbows. Five gathered around. She could still get away. She could fight them.
Then the small crowd of Taliban parted to reveal an older man. Henna streaked his long beard. His
eyes had that flat, dull look she’d come to associate with evil.
Chills wracked her.
He dropped onto her, pinning her hips to the ground.
He slapped her, and she yelped. His hands fumbled with her helmet strap. It rolled off her head, and he reached behind her.
“Stop!” She flailed beneath him and struck out with her fists, her only weapons at that point.
Two of his men pinned her wrists to the ground. The man grabbed her hair and yanked it from its bun. He jabbered in Pashto too quick for her unseasoned ear to understand.
He fingered her hair as he smoothed it out. A smirk curled his lips, and he directed a question toward a comrade. He cackled when he received an affirmative answer.
She strained against the hands constraining her. “Get your filthy paws off me.”
The leader spat in her face.
“Let me go! Help!” she shouted uselessly.
He hit her again, this time so hard that she saw stars. His image split into two before merging.
Then he spoke in slow, clear Pashto.
Thanks to Jonathan’s careful tutoring over the past eighteen months, she knew exactly what he said.
“She’s the one.”
She thrashed as he reached into the folds of his robe and drew a knife with a blade as long as her forearm. He raised it.
“No, please, don’t.” She yanked at her wrists. Nothing.
The leader closed his eyes. He began chanting in Pashto like he was in a trance. His grip tightened around the handle.
In a flash, he brought it down, straight into her throat just above her armored vest.
Pain arced through her, and the scream that escaped her wasn’t her own.
She couldn’t breathe. Blood filled her mouth. She tried to cough. I’m dying. The thought raced through her mind. God, no. I’m dying. Please. Please! I…
“Jon…Jonathan.” Her back spasmed in agony. Hot tears filled her eyes as blood spilled from her mouth. Her heart thudded in her ears, slowing with each weakened pump. Blue sky turned to gray, then nothing.
2
Ghazni Province, Afghanistan
Smoke belched into the deep blue sky. It billowed in thick black clouds like from a dragon that had finished a hearty meal. The sharp edge of the curve kept its source out of sight.
The Athena File Page 2
