Siren in the Wind

by Louise Dawn

  “Twenty minutes ago, a private jet matching Khalid’s rental made an emergency landing at Kimberley Airport.”

  Max turned slowly. “What kind of emergency landing?”

  Donnie placed a hand on his shoulder and Max shrugged it off.

  Making his way past Max up the stairs, Mandla called out, “I’ll explain onboard. With luck on our side, we may just get to the Cape before Khalid does. This is the delay we need.”

  “Why aren’t we heading to Kimberley?” Ignoring the throbbing ankle, Max motored up the stairs. “What the fucking hell happened?” He wouldn’t pander to Mandla and his goons. Max was grateful for their help but needed intel, and if Mandla wasn’t a team player, then he was dead weight.

  “Grab a drink of water, you need hydration, and we’ll need to patch up that foot.”

  Max wasn’t interested in grabbing a drink. For the first time in his career, his skin crawled with panic. If Khalid or his fucked-up band of merry men had harmed Abby in any way, Max would gut them alive. Roman worried him most, they needed more intel on the sick bastard.

  “SITREP now! What the hell happened in Kimberley?”

  “I have an informant who’s a Chief Engineer at Kimberley Airport,” Mandla said.

  Max cut in. “You have informants everywhere. Get on with it.”

  Mandla raised an eyebrow at Max’s rude tone but continued, “A Gulfstream matching the description requested an emergency landing. After landing, the pilot wouldn’t allow airport personnel to board the jet. My man, however, got close enough to hear the altercation between airport security and the people on board. It looked like a decompression. A blown-out cabin window. Someone caught a glimpse of blood in the cabin.”

  Max’s stomach dropped.

  “Was anyone injured?” Slater asked.

  “They couldn’t get close enough to confirm injuries, but my informant detected a nasty smell wafting through the door. The telltale mix of blood and feces.”

  Signs that a recent death occurred. Someone died onboard that aircraft, it could very well be his beautiful Abigail.

  “What’s the flying time to Kimberley?”

  Mandla raised his hand, but Max barreled on, “What are you waiting for? Let’s fucking move!” If he raised his voice, he didn’t give a flying fuck.

  Johnny tried to calm him back into his seat. “We’re too late for Kimberley, by the time we get there, Khalid will be gone. Cape Town is the only option, and if we leave now, we might just beat them to it.”

  “Tell the pilot to get us the fuck out of here,” Max snapped. Ignoring his men’s careful glances, Max clipped the belt, hands shaking. It wasn’t going down like this. Worry combined with a lethal need for vengeance seared a hole in his gut.

  Mandla spoke carefully. “If Khalid gets there first, I could give my unit the green light to engage. Or I could have a welcome party meet them when they land.”

  “And if Evans gets killed in the crossfire? There is no way that you’ll be risking hostages’ lives without MIT2’s boots on the ground.”

  “They’re an excellent team, all former SF boys.”

  “If that little boy or his mother gets hurt because some cowboy operator is trying to save the day, I’ll kill him, and you’ll be next on my hit list. Your men will stand down.”

  Mandla nodded before turning to the cockpit.

  Donnie slipped into the adjacent seat. “Stop shitting blood, buddy. You can’t run around like a Rambo banshee on meth. We need to take Khalid alive.”

  Max gritted his teeth so hard, he thought his jaw would crack. “Someone died on that aircraft. One unarmed woman against five armed thugs. You do the math.”

  “It wasn’t Evans.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Our girl has spunk and moxie and an incredible brain. I think she caused the decompression. She knows we’re on their tail and that was no accident.”

  “What if it got her killed?” Max’s eyes burned.

  “It may have. But we can’t let her down. She’s doing her part, and it’s now our turn. Mr. ‘Cool as Ice’ Max needs to come out and play—if for no other reason than to save that little boy.”

  “I fucked everything up, saying stupid-ass things to her that were untrue. She went with Muller to save me, and I basically told her that she was a selfish bitch looking after her own ass.”

  “That’s fucked up. Why would you say that?” Donnie asked.

  “In our line of work, we’re used to seeing people screw others over to save themselves. We deal with selfish cowards all the time who sell out and betray their loved ones. I jumped to conclusions, thinking she chose Kris over me. He has a measure of control over her.”

  “Abby would never do that. Especially knowing what Muller’s capable of. She’d never choose his black soul over the ones she loves.”

  “I know that! Being chained to the floor made me go insane. I couldn’t stop her hurt or the fear and instead of making it better, I made it worse. Stupid jealousy could’ve got the woman I love killed and God, do I love her. I love her so damn much.”

  Slater squeezed Max’s shoulder from the seat behind. “We’re here for you, brother. The first step is getting to Cape Town. After that, when we’ve kicked dickhead ass and she’s safe and sound, then you can grovel for forgiveness, Finnish style—build her a longboat or a sauna or something.”

  “Screw off, Slater,” Donnie said. “Find a bottle of Axe spray to drown in.” He opened his laptop as the plane took off. “Let’s get to work. I’m pulling up an aerial view of the address.”

  Max closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Time to do his job, and failure would not be an option.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The landing was rough. Fourteen miles per hour winds rocked the aircraft. A Cape windstorm descended on the city, and fifty mph gusts were predicted within the hour. Thanks to Mandla’s contacts, they’d secured a private landing strip on a wine farm near Sir Lowry’s Pass—thirteen clicks out. With lights and speed on their side, they were looking at a nine-minute drive. Khalid’s jet had landed at Stellenbosch Airfield twenty-eight minutes before them but had a longer commute of twenty-one kilometers.

  Praying that Khalid hit traffic, Max’s team raced for Somerset West.

  Mandla gave Max the stink eye. “Never mind a windstorm, we’ll be driving into a political shit-storm if you get exposed. There’ll be more than just my reputation on the line if you go berserk.”

  “We look like berserkers?” Slater smirked.

  “Not so much you, but the look in his eyes tells me otherwise.”

  Max didn’t like the jab and told him so. “This is my operation, my men, and Khalid is my responsibility. If you get in my way, a political shit-storm will be the last thing you’ll worry about.”

  “Easy, sir. We’re on the same side, but my men’s safety is my first priority, and you’ve had a taxing twenty-four-hours.”

  “I’m just peachy.” Max gave him a feral grin.

  Five minutes out and they received the news that Khalid had arrived ahead of them. Frustration at the setback had the men on edge as Mandla called his team.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Salty winds whipped Abby’s face as Roman shoved her through the front door. The sparsely furnished safe house still spoke of home comforts. Two sofas stood in the right corner with a brightly covered handwoven throw draped over the side. An old wooden wall unit held a small television and a couple of knickknacks. Drawn curtains added to the ominous tension. A humble dining table sat on the left side of the open-plan living area, where Noleen sat with Gabe in her lap. Two burly men stood guard on either side. Two more men were watching soccer on the telly in the dim living room.

  Ignoring the guns pointed her way, Abby rushed to her confused son’s side. Gabe stared up with wide eyes. She’d sworn she’d kill Khalid before he touched her son and she’d failed. He buried his head in Noleen’s shoulder, clinging like a crab. It was a natural reaction. Noleen had been his
entire world for the last six months. Still, Abby felt the pain of rejection.

  Khalid knelt in front of the pair, reaching out to his son and stroking Gabe’s face. He spoke softly to the terrified kid, who hid his face in her friend’s shirt. Eventually Khalid gave up, joining the squad of terrorists and issuing commands in Arabic.

  Abby ignored them. “Have they harmed him? What about you?”

  Noleen shook her head. “We’re fine, but sweetie, look at your face…” She reached out to touch Abby’s torn-up cheek.

  “My ribs are even worse, but I have a lot of fight left in me. Khalid won’t take him away.”

  “No, Khalid won’t.”

  Their exchanged look indicated that the emergency plan was now in effect. Khalid assumed that Noleen was just a nanny, an intentional mislead on Abby’s part. Noleen was a highly trained bodyguard, an expert in hand-to-hand combat and a kung fu master. One level away from the title of sifu.

  With a snuffle, Gabe finally reached out to his mommy and Abby pulled him in. He’d grown so much in the past months, no longer a baby but now a little boy. Rocking her son and kissing his neck, Abby knew she’d die rather than hand him over. When the time came, she wouldn’t have a choice. Having faith in Noleen’s plan was one of the toughest choices she’d ever made. Her life for Gabe’s.

  Khalid switched to English as they discussed their plans with the rest of the guards. “We’ll take the trawler northwards, up the coast to Lambert’s Bay. Is the plane ready for us?” he asked one of the local mercenaries.

  “Yes, sir. It’ll take you over the border into Botswana. I have men waiting for your arrival at a private landing strip, a hundred miles from Gaborone.”

  Khalid turned to Roman. “You’ll remain behind to do cleanup.”

  Abby knew what that meant. Eliminating the women.

  Roman stroked himself. “The bitch will pay for killing my brother-in-arms. I’ll drive over the border and meet you in two days. Sameer will stay with me.” He gestured to one of the bodyguards, the one who’d been eyeing Noleen furtively.

  “Fine, but don’t attract attention. The less time we spend in this country, the better.”

  Roman’s obscene grin signaled the moment of reckoning. “It’s time to say goodbye to the brat.”

  Abby fought like a tigress, but the trained thugs made quick work of prying Gabe out of her desperate arms and smothering her high-pitched wails.

  “Shut her the fuck up. The neighbors will hear.” Khalid now held her little boy.

  Roman landed quick blows before clamping a brutal hand over her mouth. She was no match for his practiced strength.

  “Play some music and drown the bitch out.”

  Sameer selected a music channel, pushing up the volume. Heavy metal blasted through the speakers. Khalid took the remaining men with him.

  Sameer slammed the door shut and turned to Noleen. “Time to draw my sword. Wanna taste?”

  Roman chortled as he dragged Abby down the passage, spotting a bedroom to the left and tossing her onto the bed. Agony spiraled through her side. Regardless of whether Max came, it was a fight for survival, and she’d save Gabe or die trying.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Max grabbed Mandla’s shoulder. “Do they have a visual of Evans?”

  “Affirmative. Along with Khalid and three of his men.”

  Max huffed out a breath. Abby was alive.

  “She’s been injured,” Mandla continued.

  “How badly?” Max waited impatiently for Mandla to relay information.

  “Mobile but hobbling, she also has a facial injury.”

  Sons of bitches. Max knew in his gut that Roman was responsible. He’d pay. They pulled into a side road, grabbed the equipment and hustled the two blocks to the back of the house, where Mandla’s men were squatting.

  Max took charge. “Let’s get comms set up. Khalid won’t be staying long. Three hostages and nine targets. USSOCOM wants him alive, but if he poses a direct threat to any of the hostages, he’ll be eliminated. Hostage rescue is our first priority. Khalid Al Juhani will eliminate the two women—Abigail Evans and Noleen Keller—and take Gabriel Capello with him.”

  The teams worked together seamlessly, running through schematics and breach scenarios. As it was an urban environment, they chose to use suppressors to keep from attracting attention. Mandla’s team would serve as backup, forming a cordon around the house to stop squirters—targets trying to make a run for it. Heat signatures indicated eight bodies in the front area including the hostages. Two targets in the backyard and two more flanking the building.

  The tempest howled angrily, echoing the restlessness rippling through Max as he shouldered a Vektor R5 rifle. Gale force winds could pose a problem for Slater’s skill set when taking out targets on the perimeter, and the sniper set up as close as possible without attracting attention. The teams moved in position just as Abby’s frantic screams cut the air. Max’s heart clenched as he surged forward. Death metal music suddenly blared from the house. The thumping music whipped through the turbulent air as the front door swung open.

  “Move now. Go, go, go.”

  Ten steps down the path and Khalid walked into an ambush.

  Slater’s sniping skills took out two of the three targets flanking Khalid with potent accuracy. Anton took out the third. The slit-slit sound of his suppressed weapon was lost in the wind. Confirmations via the headset told Max that the four men on the perimeter were taken care of. Abby was still in the house with Roman, and the thought made Max ill.

  Desperation had Khalid immediately shielding his head with Gabe’s tiny form, a knife to the baby’s throat. Max was closest to the pair. Gabriel’s big brown eyes found his, and Max’s heart lurched. He shut down the rush of emotion at the child’s strange calm. His immediate connection with the tyke added to his resolve.

  Khalid kept shifting position, waving the kid in front of him like a basketball.

  Max craved a clean shot. “It’s over, Khalid, your men are dead. Hand the kid over.”

  Slater’s voice came over the comms. “Wind is screwing with accuracy. No shot.”

  “Get out of my way or the boy is dead!”

  “You’d kill your own son?” Max shouted over the wind.

  “If I have to, he’ll be a casualty of war, and I will be in Jannah.”

  Max doubted the terrorist would grace the pearly gates in any realm after the atrocities he’d caused.

  “Murdering your child won’t get you there.” The fucker wouldn’t stop moving, and sand whipped at open skin. Gabe squeezed his eyes shut against the blustery assault and started to cry.

  Gothic music expanded for a beat as the front door opened. Max tensed as a flash of grey drew his attention. An agile-looking woman crept down the stairs towards Khalid’s back. This had to be Noleen, a younger version of Halle Berry with long hair pulled back into a braid. Interference could get Gabe killed, yet she moved with the grace of a big cat, a wicked knife clutched in her right hand.

  “Still no shot,” Slater muttered. Max had the same challenge. Both men were accurate marksmen—you had to be at their level of training—but weather conditions combined with Khalid’s smart shielding efforts were delaying a trigger pull.

  “Who’s the wannabe Sarah Conner? Is that Noleen Keller?” Johnny muttered.

  “Affirmative,” Donnie growled.

  Gabe’s cries were lost in the wind as Khalid chanted, psyching himself up for death. This was getting tight, and Max lasered in on any opening. Noleen stepped to the right and defanged the serpent, expertly slicing through tendons and ligaments above Khalid’s elbow. His knife hand dropped uselessly as he lurched, still trying to hold onto Gabe with his other arm.

  Slater pulled the trigger, marking Khalid with a clean shot to the head as Max lunged to catch the kid. Little hands clung as Max rushed the toddler out of harm’s way, shielding him as he ran. Donnie stepped forward.

  Max thrust the tyke at him. “Get him in the Toyota.”

&
nbsp; Donnie secured a crying Gabe in the back of the fully armored vehicle. Max grabbed Noleen’s arm. “I need Abby’s exact location.”

  “Back bedroom, second to the left. I don’t think he knows you’re here.”

  None of the tangos got a shot off, and the team’s suppressors combined with howling winds gave them the surprise factor.

  “I’ll find her. What about the other target?”

  “Sameer. If he’s not dead, he’s close to it. I sliced him up and knocked him out, in the front room, to the right.”

  Max spoke as he ran. “Donnie, cover the kid. Johnny, I need you to have my six, Abby’s injured, she’ll need a medic.”

  The pounding music provided cover as Max eased open the unlocked door. He forced himself to stick to training protocol and not charge down the dark passage. Movement to his right confirmed the second target was still alive. A crimson trail marked the asshat’s progress towards the door. Sameer’s bloody hands fumbled for an ankle-holstered weapon, his hatred evident as he spotted Max. A bullet to the throat silenced the fucker, the soft thump of his head hitting the floor the only indication of Max’s presence, just as an agonized moan rose above the music.

  Abby. Murderous rage fogged up Max’s focus as he cleared the passage, heading towards his woman.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The only makeshift weapon in the austere room was a clay bowl situated on the bedside table. Abby lunged for it, as Roman pounced onto the mattress. Grabbing the lip of the bowl, Abby smashed it into the side of his head, causing him to collapse as the ornament exploded.

  Roman moaned as Abby scrambled off the bed. Due to her injuries, she moved far slower than she’d have liked, as though she were wading through quicksand. She crawled to the door, the swaying room and the hammering music added to the disorientation. She had to get to Gabe.

  “You fucking bitch.”

  Pain ran through her scalp as Roman grabbed her hair, swinging her towards the bed. The defensive skills Noleen taught her were no match for combative training, and before she knew it, Roman straddled her on the bed, blood dripping onto her chest from the slash across his temple.