The Athena File

by Jennifer Haynie

  Jonathan’s heart hammered against his ribcage as the SecureLink Humvee jerked to a stop at the old armored personnel carrier blocking the two-lane road. Two soldiers from the Afghan army stood in front of it.

  “Jonathan Ward.” Captain Sayad Rasheed’s voice reached him from the right.

  His head snapped toward the sound.

  Sayad didn’t wear his usual welcoming smile.

  Today was not a time for the usual greetings.

  Jonathan adjusted the bulletproof vest he wore and stuffed his Kevlar helmet onto his head. His Pashto words almost tumbled over one another. “What’s the status?”

  “We have the scene secured at both ends of the road. Come with me. You and your men.”

  Jonathan gestured toward the two vehicles that had pulled up behind his. Nine guys piled onto the hot pavement. “Any initial assessments?”

  “Not good, my friend.”

  Christine.

  Her name hit him square in the heart. Jonathan started toward the source of the smoke, but Sayad caught his arm, forcing him to slow.

  He shook his head. “Jonathan, no running ahead. Please.”

  Jonathan had to settle for a brisk walk as they rounded the bend.

  “Oh, my…” The words died from his throat.

  Three motionless vehicles stood before him. The armored school bus in the middle, which had held their clients, blazed as the fire fed on the interior and diesel with an insatiable appetite. And the rear vehicle? Punctured with bullet holes. A body lay beside it.

  Detached professional interest gave way to raw, personal fear. “Christine!”

  Breaking Sayad’s grip, he rushed toward the front passenger seat of the Wrangler.

  She wasn’t there.

  “Christine!” He whirled on Sayad. “Is she with your men?”

  “No. When the distress call came across the radio, we were only five minutes north of here. They were gone by the time we arrived.”

  Five minutes.

  Three hundred seconds.

  An eternity in hard combat.

  “Sir!” Roy Wildman’s Aussie accent sounded behind him.

  Jonathan whipped around. “What is it?”

  “I think I know what happened.” Roy stood nearby.

  Jonathan glanced at the Afghan army captain. “Sayad, can your men keep the perimeter secure for a bit?”

  “As long as you need. Though I recommend leaving by sunset at the latest. Ghazni is not secure at night.”

  Jonathan nodded. He pulled out a small digital recorder and and made a terse, introductory statement into it as he joined the Aussie. “What do you have?”

  Roy shook his head. “Bad stuff. They picked the perfect spot for an ambush. Twenty minutes north of the highway. Winding mountain road.” He broke off and gestured toward the front of the convoy, his mouth set in a grim line. “Come with me.”

  Jonathan followed him to the front of the lead Wrangler.

  Roy pointed to the crater under the front wheels of the Jeep. “This started it. IED. Whether or not they set it off too early or right on time, we don’t know. The blast took out the axle. I think they were lying in wait either just below the lip of the slope or around the curve. They also had a sniper up top.” He jerked his head upslope, which was on the convoy’s right side.

  Jonathan nodded. The outcropping of rock up there would have provided a perfect sniper’s hide. “Could be.”

  “Judging by where the blood and guts are, the sniper got Jimmy.” Roy nodded at the gunner, who slumped over the 50-caliber machine gun. Blood and gore spattered the interior of the left side of the vehicle. “Had to be armor-piercing since the bullet penetrated his lid.”

  They paced around the Jeep to the right-hand side. “Chip tried to get out. Didn’t get far.” He nodded toward the passenger’s side.

  Chip’s body lay collapsed against the wheel with blood running from underneath his helmet.

  “Sniper got him too.”

  Jonathan grimaced when he saw the protective detail supervisor. “He’s the one who called it in. He said they were ambushed. Then came a scream. Then… nothing.” He lowered his head and muttered a cuss word under his breath.

  Roy took his arm and walked him to the other side. He pointed to where the driver crumpled over the steering wheel. Scarlet soaked the man’s front from the bullet hole in his face. “Jericho didn’t even get to undo his harness, which is why I think they were right below the lip of the slope. That shot came from almost point-blank range.”

  A headache kicked up behind Jonathan’s eyes. “The bus…”

  “That gets even better.” The Aussie jerked his chin toward the armored bus, one in a fleet of ten that they used when transporting clients. They crossed between the vehicles to the right side.

  A body lay crumpled at the foot of the steps. “Gregory got popped by the sniper when he got off. Double tapped in the chest. Mickey? Well, they got him with a head shot to the face through the driver’s window. Close range. Most likely a pistol.”

  “They tried to get out.” Jonathan stared at where the three bodies of their clients piled up on the steps.

  “Three of ’em did through the front. The sniper got them.” Roy grimaced. “Close as we can figure, someone tossed a grenade through the driver’s side window. Scored too, since only four made it out the back.”

  “Lord, help us all.” Jonathan’s stomach twisted on his breakfast of eggs and bacon. “So what the grenade didn’t get, the fire did.”

  “Pretty much.” Roy marched to the back, where the emergency door to the bus hung open.

  Two women lay on the ground, clinging to one another in death with a path of bullet holes across their chests. Their head scarves had fallen off. Beyond, the bodies of two doctors sprawled, the bullet holes in their backs screaming how they’d died.

  A puff of wind whispered along the mountainside and caressed Jonathan’s hot cheeks. It kicked up the smell of burning plastic and diesel fuel—and something else. He moaned as his stomach heaved. With hands braced against his knees and his head hung, he said, “Get someone to put out that fire.”

  “Roger that.”

  Jonathan barely heard his order. Finally, he lifted his face. “The sniper got them.”

  “Pretty much. He had himself a field day. Including Ali.” Roy moved to the last Wrangler and the body of the driver sprawled on the ground. “And Eddie.”

  Jonathan couldn’t help it. He swore under his breath, then nearly choked as he inhaled. “Christine…”

  “She’s not here.”

  His head snapped around. “What?”

  “She’s nowhere around here.” Roy escorted him to the other side and pointed to the front passenger’s seat.

  The uncertainty in those gray eyes of hers as she’d gazed at him before the convoy had left this morning gnawed at his gut. Tension from the night before had riddled her body. As he’d mouthed his affection to her, he’d silently promised to make it up to her when she returned. “What do you think happened? Do you think she escaped?”

  “Could be.” Roy nodded. “I think she got away. Or got captured trying to escape.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She’s not here, and this guy is dead.” Roy nudged the body of a Taliban fighter with his foot.

  Jonathan’s heart did an awkward thump. “Sayad said she wasn’t with his men. Could she have gotten away?”

  Roy didn’t answer.

  Suddenly feeling faint, Jonathan clapped his hand over his mouth as his breakfast tried to come back up. Hope battled against panic. Could she have really slipped from the Taliban’s grasp? They needed to find her. Now. Because if she’d escaped, the Taliban would be hot on her trail. He lowered the hand which held the recorder. “We’ve got to do something. She could be in danger, and—”

  Roy reached up and hit a button on it, making it pause. He crowded close to Jonathan and in a low voice asked, “Are you romantically involved with her?”

  What co
uld he say? No? Not when his reaction screamed otherwise. “We are.”

  “I suggest you tamp that down. We’ve all got work to do that needs a clear head, especially if we’re to have a shred of hope of finding her.”

  Jonathan took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across Roy’s lips. He reached up and restarted the recording. “Let’s see what the rest of the group found.”

  They walked around the rear of the Jeep.

  Two of the men doused the flaming bus with fire extinguishers until the spray silenced the crackling beast. The remaining six huddled at the edge of the crumbling macadam. Bryson Bishop, the man responsible for maintaining law and order at the compound, didn’t. He braced his hands on his knees and threw up. His groan reached Jonathan. The other five fixated on the wreck, knuckles white where they gripped their rifles. A few had fingers lightly resting on triggers.

  Jonathan doubted the safety switches were on.

  They wanted a fight, a chance to avenge the deaths of comrades, friends, and roommates.

  Roy was right. Investigating the crime scene and finding Christine were the top priorities. Panicking over her whereabouts wouldn’t do anyone any good. Not when he needed to take charge and talk some of his men down.

  “Guys, I know we’ve all lost comrades, friends, and roommates.” Jonathan cleared his throat as Sayad joined them. He fixed his eyes on Bryson, whose roommate was among the dead. “But one of us is still out there. We think Christine either escaped or was taken by the Taliban. Roy, you and Sayad take Marco, Bruno, and Cal and fan out. My gut’s saying they probably escaped along the creek bed.” He nodded toward the toe of the slope. “Be back by 1600 hours.”

  “Roger that.” Roy took Sayad’s arm, and the small group stepped onto hard dirt.

  “Bryson, stay here and help me investigate the scene. Work with Kimbo, Craig, and Mark to get a total body count once the bus cools enough.” He focused on Bryson. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.” His reply came out more as a croak. “Certain smells make my stomach turn.”

  “You spent how many years working with Abigail as a CID investigator and have seen how many bodies in various stages of decomposition?”

  “Too many.” His attempt at a smile twisted into a grimace. “Go ahead. Laugh. She certainly did.”

  “Not now.” Jonathan peered at the wrecked vehicles. White dust coated the bus, and it feebly put out faint contrails of smoke. “Look. I know Eddie was your best buddy and roommate, but I need you to focus. The Afghans have secured the scene. Take pictures of everything here because once we leave, we’re gone. I’ll ensure that Sayad and his men get the bodies to us for positive ID and notification of next of kin. Before we go, we’re going to torch our vehicles so the Taliban can’t use them. While you do that, I’ll check out that sniper’s hide.”

  A terse nod answered him.

  Jonathan began his climb, scrabbling with both his feet and hands to keep his balance. Halfway up, several rocks broke loose, and he slid downward. His fingers clawed the hard soil as he eased to a stop. Once more, he picked his way upward until, at last, he arrived at the outcropping he’d seen earlier and rested his feet on a small ledge. It was maybe two yards wide, barely enough for a pile of rocks and someone to remain concealed.

  He peered over the rocks. A mat lay on the ground, as did a canteen, and several small objects scattered across the mat. He sucked in a breath and released it on a growl as he recognized the pieces to a Mark 300 rifle, the same brand used by SecureLink. It lay partially disassembled with one of the pieces being a scope.

  But why would the sniper have left it behind?

  He snatched the small UHF radio from its clip at his waist. “Bryson, get up here.”

  “Where’s here?” Bryson’s reply crackled.

  Jonathan rose and waved.

  The small figure at the edge of the burned bus began its climb.

  Jonathan surveyed the rugged terrain as he said into the recorder, “The road curves well to the right in a blind curve. To the left too. Excellent fields of fire from the sniper’s nest approximately two hundred fifty yards upslope of the ambush site.” He paused as he noticed Roy and the small group that walked along the stream bed. “A dry stream bed is located at the bottom of the slope, which would be a perfect way for egress by the ambushers…”

  Five minutes would have been all it took. Twenty-three dead. Maybe twenty-four. Chip’s frantic radio call echoed in his mind. He had burst into the Skype session Boss Man had been holding with the transition team. The news had sent the compound into Red Alert.

  Bryson finally reached him, and he extended a hand to help him onto the narrow shelf. “What’s up?”

  “Check it out.”

  “What?” Bryson’s voice faded. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Looks like one of our weapons, doesn’t it? Or at least pieces of it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bag and tag these, okay? And see what you can find out.”

  “Will do.” Bryson knelt and placed a placard with a number beside the rifle before making a notation on his clipboard. He took a picture.

  Jonathan’s radio squawked, drawing him out of his contemplation. “Ward, Wildman here. We found something.”

  His heart hammered. “Christine?”

  “You need to get down here. Now.”

  His gaze flew to the stream bed. From his angle, he couldn’t see his crew. “Bryson, finish up here. Then follow me. Roy found something.”

  He didn’t wait for his friend’s reply. His heart hammered as his momentum nearly knocked him off his feet. He skidded downward, his feet and hands fighting for purchase. When he hit the road, he tumbled forward, skinning his palms. He swore beneath his breath and staggered to his feet as he crossed behind the last Wrangler.

  For the first time, he noticed the robed bodies of two more Taliban near the far edge of the road. He raised his radio to his lips. “Where are you?”

  “Ten o’clock from your position.” Roy’s reply came through sharp and clipped.

  Jonathan scanned the ground to his left. A rifle caught his eye. One of theirs. Maybe Christine’s? Scuff marks told him all he needed to know. He wove his way among boulders until a small cluster of men came into view. His hands began shaking as he forced himself to slow to a walk. “Roy?”

  “We found her.”

  Sayad looked away.

  “Oh, no…” He locked his knees to keep his legs from buckling. He clamped his jaw tight against the bile flooding his throat as he studied the still form of the woman he loved.

  Christine lay on her back, the handle of a knife protruding from the hollow of her throat just above the armored vest she wore. Blood, quickly going from red to brown, coated both sides of her neck. Her gray eyes were open, and the breeze blew wisps of dark brown hair across her face.

  He clenched his fists. God help him, he’d find whoever did this—and they wouldn’t have a prayer against his fury.

  Ghazni Province, Afghanistan

  “I want your butt here tomorrow at 0700 hours, you understand me?” The CEO’s words blistered the raw wounds in Jonathan’s soul.

  Jonathan glared at Harry Bossman, better known as Boss Man at the compound. His headache, which had started as they’d returned from the convoy, amped up. As COO, Jonathan was just one level below, but he didn’t feel like playing the subordinate right now.

  The former Marine colonel matched his gaze with a flinty blue one of his own.

  “Sir,” Jonathan measured his words carefully, “Bryson is finishing his investigation. I’ve also lined up a time to talk with Jeb, and—”

  “You are to stay out of it.” Boss Man pointed his pen at him. “You took yourself out of the equation the moment you admitted romantic involvement with Parker. You understand?”

  “Sir, I haven’t I—”

  “Enough! I don’t want to hear it.” Boss Man jumped to his feet. With both hands braced on
his desk, he leaned forward. “Let me get one thing straight. You clearly violated SecureLink’s policy of no fraternization with those in your chain of command.”

  Jonathan’s fists tightened at the insinuation. As if he, a retired, highly decorated Green Beret sergeant, had no clue of what that meant.

  “And because of that, you are too personally involved in the investigation. Stay out of it and let Bishop handle it. You hear me? Your job is to brief me. That’s it. No more.”

  Jonathan glared at him. To argue any further wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. “All right.”

  “What’d you say?”

  What was he? Some sort of green private fresh out of boot camp or something? “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed. I’ll see you in the morning.” Boss Man muttered under his breath and turned toward the coffeemaker sitting on his credenza.

  Jonathan marched into the hall and slammed the door behind him harder than he intended. For a few moments, he leaned against the cinder block wall and willed himself to calm down. He glanced at his hands. They shook, from shock, anger, agony, or all of that, he didn’t know. He flexed his fingers and pushed away from the wall.

  Like an ant drawn to sugar, he headed toward the building that housed the brig and offices for Bryson and Jeb, the Chief Weapons Officer. Lights blazed from the building in the fading dusk, meaning that Bryson, the head lawman, was hard at work processing all that he’d learned.

  “Jonathan, hey.” Bryson blinked from behind his glasses.

  “Anything yet?”

  “Not yet.” He remained guarded, and Jonathan wondered if Boss Man had already gotten to him. “Look. I know you want to know, but officially, you’re not part of this investigation.”

  Check the box for Boss Man having already paid Bryson a visit.

  Jonathan swallowed hard. “I know. I could ask. Just…let me know what I’m supposed to pass on to Boss Man.” He stood there for a few seconds as he struggled for something to say. “I, um, well, I’ll see you later.” He turned to go.

  “Jonathan,” Bryson called in a low voice.

  Slowly, he swiveled so he faced him.