She huddled them together as the gunfire continued to ring out around them. At some point, someone would come looking for them. Then what? She didn't know. She didn't want to think about it right now. She needed to keep the children quiet. Their parents had put their lives on the line to help her, and she had a duty to protect them.
Maria flipped on the light of her phone. Juan sat beside her, his little body shaking as the ravages of the infection worked through him. She could only hope they wouldn't be down there long so she could get him back on the antibiotics and the pain meds. Beto lay sleeping in her arms while Isabella held her arm to her chest. Shit, the cast. She must have dropped it during the commotion. When they got out of there—if they got out of there—she'd put the cast on her arm and give her a small dose of pain medicine. It was the least she could do after dragging her away from her mom.
For now, she was thankful no one made a sound, which also broke her heart. These children, even the youngest of them, already knew what to expect when these...men showed up to deal with whatever was going on out there. How did anyone live like this? Then she reminded herself of the children in Aleppo, dying in bombings day in and day out. The youngest had been four months old.
She gathered Isabella to her side and put a protective arm around her. They had provisions if they needed them. They could hold out. She wouldn't give up the kids without a fight. She'd die for them. It was part of the job and part of how her parents raised her. Save those weaker than she was. Give them a chance to thrive and survive.
“It'll all be over soon and we can all go home.” But what home would be left? She didn't know where their parents had gone, or if they'd survived. “You're safe. I will not let anything happen to you.”
“I'm thirsty, Dr. Rae.” Isabella glanced up at her.
“Lucky for you, I have some water right here.” She shifted the little girl onto her lap, then reached into the container next to her and pulled out a bottle of water. “There you go.”
She didn't know how long they sat there. They were safe, though.
Or so she thought.
Feet stomped and shuffled above them and she placed her finger to her mouth to keep the kids quiet. The muffled conversation above them didn't make sense to her until the trap door opened and two men stared down at them.
The man held his hand out to her. “You're safe now. You can come out.”
Oh, hell no. They were wearing the same uniform as the man who tried to kill her. “No.”
The men exchanged glances. “Ma'am, you're safe, I promise.”
“Sure, we are,” she snapped. “That's why one of your men tried to shoot me.”
“Ma'am, I assure you, they weren't with us.”
She pushed the kids farther into the dark. “I'm sorry, we're not coming out. You're going to have to kill us.”
The man stood. “Go get Asher. She won't budge until she sees we're the good guys.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guy crouched. “Are any of you hurt? Do you need medical attention?”
Rae shuffled the kids closer to her. “We're fine,” she lied. Juan continued to grow sicker by the second. He needed fluids. He needed pain meds and antibiotics. “Mostly.”
Maria elbowed her in the side. “We need an IV down here and antibiotics. I have a child who's been snake bitten and another that has pancreatitis.”
“Shit. I'm coming down. I'm not armed.”
She was going to kill Maria if they got out of this alive.
Chapter Two
“Who fired?” Asher Rainer barked into his Tac-Com device as the first shot rang out from the village below at the base of the mountain. It was followed by short bursts of fire from a distinct AK-47. The only one on his R.O.O.T.—Running Out of Time—team who carried that particular weapon was Alex Schoell, their weapons expert. “Schoell!”
“Nope, not me, Commander,” Alex's Texan drawl cracked over the com.
Moving from his position on the ridge, he focused on the village. He followed the small trail to another vantage point. From what he could make out, two different groups were battling within the village. And the locals were caught in the crossfire. Or were they being cut down on purpose as well?
“Fuck me.” The raspy voice of the second-in-command (2IC) of their team, Jake O'Malley, voice filled his ear. Jake was much farther down the mountain and had a clearer view of what was going on. “Do you see this shit, Commander?”
“I see it.” The question had become, did he believe it? Death and carnage had followed him his whole adult life while he fought in the military. But this. This was fucking genocide.
Every man, woman, and child was being exterminated and there was nothing his team could do since they were too far away. Farther down the mountain, O’Malley and Schoell tried to position themselves to take advantage of the chaos. But he knew even if they double-timed it, they'd only get there in time to save a handful of the villagers, if that.
R.O.O.T.’s overall goal was to police those in the world who legitimate law enforcement agencies couldn’t touch. That often required off-the-book missions, hours of recon, and evidence collection.
This mission had come down as a last-minute recon, observe the local cartel, and report back. Usually when they went into the field, a dossier would have been put together detailing the parameters of mission specifics and what they were expected to find or corroborate.
Unfortunately, they weren’t given particulars except for the initial request, which irritated the piss out of Asher.
Being out in the jungle like they were, gunfire all around them, only added to the list of questions he had. The biggest one being, who tipped them off? Followed by, what did their tipster know and was not telling?
“We've dropped our packs,” O’Malley informed Asher. “We’re not going to make it.”
“Roger that. Hanover, grab their packs and follow. Callahan, you need to get your ass down there now.” Callahan was the team’s linguist expert. If there were any survivors, they’d need him. Following his team, he dashed recklessly through the jungle.
“On it, boss,” Callahan acknowledged.
Ignoring the brush and trees as they smacked his body and face, he broke through the dense forest seconds before Callahan. His team member didn't even acknowledge him as he ran to the packs Hanover had dropped and provided cover. They weren't out of the woods yet.
“Boss!” Schoell’s voice boomed through the now silent village as he came running around the corner. “2IC needs you. Survivors.”
Nodding, he followed Schoell back the way he had come, ignoring the mass carnage he walked through. Bodies covered in mud and blood were strewn everywhere. Camo-dressed cartel members, ragged-clothed locals, and unidentified uniformed men mixed together. Who were these men? Guerillas in new uniforms?
“In there,” Schoell palmed his AK-47 as he guarded the door. “Following the yelling.”
He walked into the clinic with confidence, knowing his team would've already cleared the building before they searched out any friendlies.
“Lady, would you relax? I'm trying to help you, not hurt you. Can you please stop kicking me?” O’Malley yelped. His voice sounded even rougher than normal. “Fuck! That hurts.”
“O’Malley?”
“Thank fuck. Down here, Asher.” His second-in-command must have been in a panic. He rarely, if ever, called him by his first name.
Walking deeper into the room, he noticed the opened trap door.
“So, I see. Problems?” He bent down to peer into the small hidey hole in the floor. Six survivors. Two female adults and four young children, plus a pissed off Jake.
“They won't come out.”
“Why?”
“Because you're murderers!” the young woman in the back, who clutched an obviously sick boy in her arms, yelled.
“O’Malley.” Working together for so long meant they all could read each other and their actions. Jake nodded and Asher ignored the woman's outburst. Jake scoope
d up and handed him a young girl. Not sure of the reason she was in the clinic, he gently placed her on the floor before turning back to Jake to gather the next child, until it was only the two women and the sick little boy.
“Now, you can either get out on your own or Jake can help you out. Don't be stupid. The boy needs medical help. All these children do.”
Doubt and fear washed over the young woman's face before her shoulders hunched in defeat and she climbed out on her own. It was then he noticed the white coat. She was either a doctor or nurse. She took the sick boy from Jake, who then helped the other lady up before hopping out without using the steps. Show off.
“Commander Asher Rainer.” He didn't bother to offer her his hand in greeting. He suspected she'd turn her nose up at the offer, anyway. “The good guys.”
“Funny, you look exactly like the bad guys,” she snapped.
“Yet, we're trying to help you and this village.” He left off if they had been the bad guys, they'd all be dead by now. No reason to scare the young ones. “You might want to think about that. Is there anything my team can do to help with the boy’s care? I don't have a medic readily available, but all my men are trained in basic first responder skills.”
O’Malley, not wanting to deal with one, let alone two pissed off females, left the room. Pussy.
“I am capable.” She reached down to lift the sick boy into her arms.
“All right then. I'm going to suggest you all stay inside while my team continues to search the area. It would be best for everyone.”
“What about—”
“Doctor or nurse?”
Her forehead crinkled at his question. “Doctor.”
“If my team locates any survivors, they will bring them directly to you.”
She nodded.
Turning, he walked back the way he had come, then stopped to talk to Schoell. “Keep close to the clinic and watch them.”
“Got it, boss.” Schoell pushed off the wall he had been leaning against. He'd patrol the area around the clinic and help where he could.
“Report,” he snarled into his Tac-Com as he followed the trail of dead bodies forward.
“We've located more friendlies. Looks like anyone in the center of the village was murdered,” Noah Hanover, the team’s sniper answered.
“We've counted close to a hundred dead,” Drew Callahan replied.
“Document as much as you can. Locate a building we can use to temporarily store the bodies.” Later, they'd help the villagers both identify and bury their dead. For now, they had to follow protocol. “I'll advise control of the situation once I feel it's secure.”
One by one, his team replied with an “affirmative.”
“Schoell,” he called out.
“Yeah, boss.”
“As soon as the kids are taken care of, have them get ready to go to our control site.”
“She ain't going to be happy about it. She's been bitchin’ up a blue streak since you left.”
He’d only stepped out of range three minutes ago. How much shit could she talk? “Not my problem. They all need to be debriefed in a safe and controlled environment. That ain't here in this mess.”
“She's also asking a lot of questions. Well, more like demanding. Wants to know who and what we are.”
“She can demand all she wants. You know protocol.” They all did, and they knew he was a by-the-book commander. No breaking the rules, ever.
R.O.O.T. was black ops, military based, but thankfully not run by the military. The men had strong military backgrounds from different branches of the armed services. Those on his team had been together since the inception of R.O.O.T. and had a reputation for doing the toughest missions.
Every one of them was missing the “fear” gene—adrenaline junkies who fought with dignity and honor for their country. They were willing to stand up for the oppressed and weak. He believed in R.O.O.T. Its ideals. Because he lived and breathed them every damn day, taking assignments no one wanted or, more accurately, were afraid to take.
For the most part, they observed, but on days like this they got involved, figured out what happened, and presented the case to the Senate and the House’s security councils. This had been the first time a job had gone this wrong.
“You or O'Malley going to have a conversation with our new guests?” Schoell asked.
“It'll depend on O'Malley's mood when we get back.” He couldn't have asked for a better second-in-command than Jake O'Malley. But there were times the man could be a moody bastard. They all knew to stay far away when he lost his shit.
“For their sake, hope it's you, boss,” Schoell muttered.
He couldn't stop the smirk on his face even if he tried. “I'll tell him you said that.”
“I'm not afraid of 2IC.” He didn't doubt his weapons expert’s words. The soldiers of R.O.O.T. feared no man, and considered each other not only teammates, but family.
“Commander,” O'Malley’s voice filled his ear through his Tac-Com. “We've located a secure building toward the center of the village. We're moving the deceased with help from several villagers.”
“Roger. On my way to assist.” He headed toward the coordinates O'Malley gave him.
Fifty-five minutes later, the team headed toward the temporary camp setup on the edge of the decimated community. The doctor, or Dr. Rae Kenzie, as he found out, was securely tucked away in a tent with her little group, awaiting his arrival.
He'd shower first. Hell, they all needed to. They smelled of blood, and death clung to them. Afterwards, he’d grab a quick meal, talk to headquarters, then see the good doctor to find out what she saw today.
“Commander, I have a message for you,” one of the younger aids called out. “Brigadier General Blackwell has requested you contact him the moment you arrive at your quarters.” Brigadier General Blackwell was one of his superiors who worked hand in hand with Asher’s uncle. If he needed either of them, he only had to make one call.
“Thank you.” Didn't surprise him one damn bit to hear the general had given up trying to reach him directly. He had ignored every incoming communication request while they had been in the field. He had work to do.
The shower would have to wait. Before dismissing his team for the night, he informed them to shower, eat, and relax. They'd process the evidence and witness accounts tomorrow morning.
Bright and early.
Wanting to at least remove his boots and his filthy ACUs before he spoke to the general, he headed into his quarters for the foreseeable future. What the fuck happened out there? He plopped into the lone chair in his tent and removed everything but his briefs.
As he added his shirt to the pile of clothes to be burned, the satellite phone on his small table began to peep.
“What the fuck? Does he have a video camera in the room or something?” he snarled as he stood. Snatching the phone off the desk, he activated the call. “Commander Rainer.”
“I've been waiting for your call, Asher.” He winced at the general's reprimand.
“I've been busy, General.”
“Is it bad, son?”
“I've seen a lot of shit, sir, but never anything like this.” Men dying in wars, skirmishes, and disputes was nothing new to him, but the bodies of the women, children, and the elderly had affected him. Hell, it had affected them all.
“Status?”
“All the deceased have been moved to a central location. Guards were placed around the building and we'll help the villagers identify and bury. We have civilian eyewitnesses and I’m told we have three enemy men in custody. They'll be debriefed first thing tomorrow morning. Reports of it, along with all the evidence, will be forward to you once we are done reviewing.”
“Your impression?”
Rubbing his hand across his unshaven jaw, he wondered if he should let the general in on his initial thoughts. He didn't want to light a match under the old man's ass unless he absolutely had to.
“You suspect something, Asher.”
Shit. The old man knew him too well.
“I'm still in the early stages of my hypothesis.” A partial truth was the best he could do at this moment. Better than a lie.
“Commander Asher—”
“Pushing me or issuing me an order isn't going to get you what you want. You know this. We've done this dance too many times, General.”
“The council is aware you blew your mission. They are going to require answers.”
Fuck the council. They were twelve men and women who happened to oversee R.O.O.T. They sat back in their cushy chairs, in their plush offices, and talked about his job like they did it day in and day out. They didn’t know shit about his unit or what they did. Of course, he couldn't say it out loud to the general. Nope, he had to tone it down.
“For our mission to be blown, sir, it had to start. As far as I'm concerned, the parameters of our mission changed the moment over a hundred villagers were slaughtered.”
“I'm not sure they'll understand.”
“Not my problem. However, if you'd like, I'll be more than happy to forward you the photos we took of every single man, woman, and child who lost their lives today, perhaps then, the council will get it.”
“Son, I have a job to do, just like you.”
“I'm aware, sir. Hence, I toned down my replies.” The general's chuckle had the corners of his lips turning up.
“So, when the Chairman of the Council calls, should I direct him to you?”
He snorted. “Feel free to. He doesn't scare me as much as he seems to frighten you.”
“Perhaps it has something to do with him being your uncle?”
Senator Jackson McNamara, Chairman of the Council, directly oversaw the day to day operation of R.O.O.T., and was in fact, his uncle. Asher started R.O.O.T., and a couple years later, his uncle joined him. Few knew they were related. Neither of them spoke of it in public, nor did they acknowledge it if they went to Congress. So far, only the general knew as did the twelve members of the council.
“He's tougher on me. Tell him I'm hard at work, and you'll be the first to know when I have all my ducks in a row.”
“We need to discuss the original parameters of your mission, too,” the general stated.
Rule Breaker (Project ROOT Book 1) Page 2
