“A friend of his.”
I don’t think so. “This is a restricted area. How did you get in here?”
He gestured behind her with a slight frown. “The front door.”
Smart ass. She folded her arms over her chest, letting him know that his height and size didn’t intimidate her one bit. He wasn’t getting into Jackson’s room until she was certain he wasn’t a threat. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
He sighed, dropped his hand from the door and faced her fully, even though she knew from his pained expression that this was the last thing he wanted to be bothered with. “Look, I already spoke to one of the docs here. I was in Kandahar with Sergeant Thatcher. I saw you at the hospital down there.”
Well she didn’t remember him. “You got any ID with you?”
He gave her an are-you-for-real look. “No, but—”
“You’re standing in a restricted area of a military medical facility, dressed in civilian clothes, you don’t have ID and you’re trying to get into see one of my patients who needs to sleep. See the problem?”
He shut his mouth, that frown reappearing, this time edged with annoyance. “I just need to…” He trailed off as he looked at something over her shoulder. Erin glanced behind her to see the doctor she needed to talk to about Jackson striding toward them.
The middle-aged surgeon raised his eyebrows at her. “Problem?”
“He wants to talk to the patient, but he doesn’t have authorization or ID,” Erin explained.
“I gave him authorization. Let him in, Lieutenant.”
Surprised, Erin turned her attention back to the stranger. She half expected to find a gloating smirk on his face or a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Instead, he swept her with a lingering, curious gaze before nodding at her once in acknowledgement, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Expelling a breath, Erin turned back to the surgeon. “Who was that?”
He smiled and adjusted his surgical cap as he turned away and motioned for her to follow. Erin trailed after him. “Today you’re on a need-to-know basis, Lieutenant. And that, you don’t need to know.”
* * *
Shutting the hospital room door behind him, Wade met Jackson’s stare and grinned. “You’re looking a helluva lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“Amazing what some rest, fluids and having a few chunks of metal taken out of your gut will do,” the PJ responded in his Texas drawl, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Won’t be doing any core exercises for a while though.”
“No, guess not.” Wade stuck his hands into his pockets. It felt weird to be able to do that again, having lived in native garb for so long. The cargo pants he wore felt oddly restrictive, foreign. Felt weird to still be speaking English out in the open like this too.
“So Erin gave you a hard time, huh?”
“Who’s Erin?”
“The nurse.” Jackson nodded toward the door. “I heard her arguing with you.”
Wade waved a hand. She’d only been doing her job. “Just a misunderstanding. Who is she?” She’d certainly caught his attention with her directness and looks. It felt really weird to notice a woman that way and feel that shot of attraction after all this time being forbidden to do so.
“Roommate of Maya’s.”
“Ah.” That explained a lot, actually. He’d first seen her leaving the recovery room in Kandahar after Maya had been brought out of surgery to repair her fractured wrist. “Speaking of Maya, I wanted to check out something with you.” When Jackson’s gaze sharpened, he continued. “Word is, she saw Rahim on the battlefield as the Chinook lifted off.”
“Yeah, she told me just before we took all that incoming fire.”
Wade’s heart started to beat faster. This could be the break they were looking for. “Did you see him too?”
“No.”
“Did Maya say anything else? About where he was exactly, or what direction he was headed?”
“No, sorry.”
Wade nodded even as his heart sank, disappointed by the response even though he’d known walking in here that finding out anything more of use would be a long shot.
“What about you? I guess now that your cover’s been blown…”
Wade sighed. “Yeah, I’m done over here.” Probably forever. And knowing that fucking sucked. He’d worked so hard, sacrificed so much, both for his country and to execute this ongoing secret mission. For three years he’d lived deep undercover, most of that spent out in the mountains of the tribal region straddling the northern part of Pakistan and Afghanistan. It had a bitter irony to it. He spoke flawless Urdu and Pashto, was an expert student of the Quran, knew all the customs and how to blend in with any of the local populations on either side of the border, knew every major player in the insurgent game over here and a lot of minor ones too. He’d handled his job seamlessly, played his part to perfection…
Right up until the moment when he’d seen the U.S. Sec Def locked in a cage back in that cave in the Pakistani mountains. As of that moment, his fate had been sealed. He’d had no choice but to sabotage everything he’d worked for. Wade was still reeling from it all. “Looks like I’m off the case, for now at least.” He hoped it wouldn’t be for long.
“Sorry, man. That’s rough.”
Wade shrugged. Even if he could go back and do it all over again, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. He’d done his job well, and that was something he could be proud of. “They’re sending me stateside until they can capture Rahim.” Who would be doing everything in his power to find and kill him right now. “Security reasons.”
A man like Rahim wouldn’t get over the insult and betrayal of learning that his most trusted man, a man he’d relied heavily on for the past two years, was actually an undercover CIA operative. No matter where he went in the region now, Wade did so with a permanent bull’s eye on his back. Every hour he stayed here put him at further risk. He’d only taken the chance of coming to Bagram rather than head stateside immediately from Kandahar in the hopes of talking the CIA staff here into letting him stay on the case. Of course they’d flat-out refused him. His last hope had been that Jackson might know something that would help lead to a break in the case, something that might make him still necessary to the hunt. He’d grasped at that last straw and come up empty.
“When’s the last time you were home?” Jackson asked.
Wade had to think about that for a moment. “Almost four years, I guess.” At least a year longer than he’d been undercover.
Jackson’s brows shot up. “Then I’d say you’ve earned an extended holiday anyhow.”
A holiday. Right. More like a sentence handed down to him by Uncle Sam.
“Yeah, guess so.” He rocked back on his heels, pushing aside the anxiety that kept spiking every time he thought about what lay ahead. What the fuck was he going to do with himself now? Not just in the interim, but long term. Go back to babysitting VIPs in the States and Europe as a security contractor? He wouldn’t last a week doing that kind of work now. Over the past few years he’d shed the last of his civilized veneer, and with it, the ability to fit into western society. He’d left it somewhere out in the harsh, snow-capped mountain peaks he could see to the east out the small hospital room window right now. This felt like home now. There was nothing left for him back in the States, no one waiting for him except the estranged siblings he hadn’t had contact with in almost five years, since before he went to Afghanistan this last time.
“They have any leads at all? About where Rahim might be?” Jackson asked.
The CIA wasn’t telling him jack at the moment, but there was one piece of intel Wade did know. “He was wounded. Blood samples on some clothing found in the general area where Maya reported seeing him last came back as a match for him. The amount of it suggests the wound was serious, but probably not fatal if he got the right treatment in time. Assuming they stopped the bleeding and dosed him with antibiotics…” He shrugged, knowing he didn’t have to spell it out for
Jackson. The guy was a PJ, after all, a much better trained medic than Wade had ever been, even back during his SF days. That all seemed like another lifetime ago now, however.
Jackson’s gaze hardened. “Well, let’s hope they find the asshole. Not gonna lie, I’d love to see the bastard hanged for what he did to Maya.”
Wade noticed he didn’t say anything about the beatings he and the Sec Def had both suffered during their captivity. Or that fucking twisted game of Russian Roulette that would have resulted with one of them putting a bullet in their brain if Wade hadn’t been there to intervene at the last second. Wade’s conscience hadn’t bothered him at the time, because he’d been in character as Jihad. Now that he was suddenly back to being Wade again, little flares of guilt pricked at him.
“I hear you.” The beatings and torture had been rough. Although Wade had seen Rahim do and command others to do far worse to people who crossed him or got in his way. Another reason Wade could never fit back in to life stateside. He’d been forced to do things in the line of duty to maintain his cover identity that no one else back home would ever understand, but strangely, the enemy here would. What the hell did that even say?
But there was nothing more he could do for the time being. He’d taken up enough of Jackson’s time and the guy needed to sleep. “Well.” Wade pulled a hand free of his pocket as he stepped close to the bed. “Good to see you on the road to recovery. All the best to you and Maya. Say hi to her for me when you see her.”
Jackson shook his hand, held his gaze. “I will. Take care, man.”
Wade was at the door when the PJ’s voice stopped him. “Hey.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jackson.
Jackson nodded once, a show of respect. “Thanks for everything you did for us. Not that it probably means much to you now, but I know how much you sacrificed to get us all out of there, and I want you to know I appreciate it. All three of us owe you our lives. Make sure you keep that in mind when you get back stateside.”
Jackson had correctly guessed that transitioning into life back home in the States wasn’t going to be easy for Wade. Not knowing what to say to that, he inclined his head and left. When he turned the corner in the hallway, he spotted Erin standing at the nurse’s station, doing paperwork. She looked up and met his gaze, her pen halting in the middle of whatever she was writing on the chart. “He still doing okay?” she asked, all traces of hostility and suspicion gone.
“Fine.” She was a pretty little thing, especially now that she wasn’t scowling at him. Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled up into a tidy bun at the back of her neck, and her bright green gaze met his unflinchingly, which was a shock in itself. Aside from Maya, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked him dead in the eye like this, but he was pretty sure it must have been before he’d gone undercover. Muslim women were forbidden from making eye contact with men outside their family. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until now.
His gaze trailed lower, to the smattering of freckles that marched over the bridge of her nose and spilled across her cheeks. Even disguised beneath those shapeless green hospital scrubs he could make out the shapely curves of her body. Curves that would fill a man’s hands as he stroked them over her naked skin.
Christ, it had been a fucking long time since he’d done that, too. He jerked his attention away from the swell of her breasts, but not before he saw the nametag on her chest. Kelly. Lieutenant Erin Kelly, he mused. Parents must be Irish or something.
She straightened, looking at him expectantly, and he realized he was standing there staring at her like a total fucking moron. But after living for so long in what amounted to the Stone Age and having little to no contact with women the whole time, being at Bagram was proving to be one hell of a culture shock. Meeting a hot, confident woman like her on his first day back was yet another surprise. Stop staring and say something polite. “You have a good day, Lieutenant.”
“You too, Mr…” She raised her eyebrows in question.
“Sandberg.”
She nodded, gave him a pleased smile that made an adorable dimple appear in her left cheek. “Mr. Sandberg. See you later.”
He nodded and walked toward the exit, fully aware that he’d never see her again. Because by this time tomorrow he’d be halfway to Kabul, where he’d catch a flight back to civilization.
He should be feeling excitement or even relief at the prospect of finally going home after all this time overseas. Except all he felt was an increasingly familiar sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know where the hell home was anymore.
Danger Close: Chapter Two
Rahim sat very still on his pallet in the main room of the elder’s mud brick house as the doctor they’d brought in from Pakistan checked the wounds in his left arm. One bullet had passed right through the back of his upper arm; another had pierced the flesh of his shoulder before the ballistic vest had stopped it from plowing into his chest. The left side of his ribs were bruised all to hell, making breathing painful. A cough or a sneeze made him break into a sweat. If not for the Kevlar barrier over his torso that he never went anywhere without, he would have died on that battlefield two days ago.
“You’re not going to be able to do much with this arm for the next week at least,” the doctor told him in Urdu as he injected him in the hip with another dose of antibiotics. His third, and still the fever raged as his body tried to kill the infection.
Rahim suppressed a shiver, aware of how hot his face was, of how badly his skin hurt and his bones ached. All he wanted was to sleep, but he couldn’t afford to rest now. And probably not for the foreseeable future, either. He’d have to leave this place soon. The pressure was on. “Will I need more antibiotics?”
“Yes, but I can give them to you in pill form if you need to travel.”
“Good. I won’t be here much longer.” Even here surrounded by friends and supporters in the remotest part of the Hindu Kush Mountains, he knew he couldn’t let his guard down. Not when he’d just been betrayed by the man he’d trusted more than anyone else since he’d joined the mujahedin and became a soldier of Islam rather than a brainwashed pawn of Uncle Sam’s. Loyalty in this region shifted as quickly as the winds did, and Rahim knew that only too well.
He was still reeling from the blow. He’d suspected there was a mole leaking intel to the Americans, but he’d never for a moment considered it might have been Jihad. Youssef had vouched for him as a reliable informant for the Pakistani ISI. Whatever his real name was, Jihad had played his part to perfection.
The doctor finished and Rahim nodded his thanks. One of the villagers escorted the man outside as Rahim struggled back into his clothing and put a new vest back on beneath his tunic. By the time he was finished he was covered in a film of sweat and the pain in his arm had his stomach churning. The burn of betrayal stung far worse.
He’d made a grave mistake in placing all his trust in a man who’d in reality been a spook for the CIA. But Jihad had served him so faithfully over the past three years, the last two as his second-in-command. It was incredible, actually. The man had never once slipped up. Ever. Not even to accidentally slip into English when he’d overheard Rahim speaking it. No, nothing about him had ever given Rahim a single moment’s suspicion or pause. He planned to rectify that mistake and avenge that humiliation by whatever means necessary.
And yet, although they were now on opposing sides of this war, Rahim couldn’t help but admire the man’s dedication to his cause, all the sacrifices he’d made to give up his old life and transform himself into Jihad so seamlessly. Having guarded Rahim’s life with his own for the past three years, Jihad was now his most dangerous threat.
Rising from the pallet, he swayed a moment and wiped the cooling sweat off his face with his sleeve before calling to the man waiting outside. “Safir.”
A moment later the heavy rug covering the doorway shifted and the twenty-year-old stood in front of him, his dark eyes scanning Rahim’s new bandages. “Shall I a
ssemble the men?”
“Not yet. What did you find out on the phone call?”
Safir stepped away from the door and walked into the center of the room to face him. He had finished school in Islamabad before rejoining his family in the tribal region. Rahim had known the family for more than three years and owed them a great debt. Of all his remaining followers, Safir was the only one whose loyalty he didn’t question, though he’d never fully trust anyone again. Lessons learned the hard way tended to stick in a man’s head. “Our contact got a call from an American source less than an hour ago. Very reliable.”
Rahim paused in the act of sliding his sidearm into the holster at the small of his back. “What did he say?” They’d been looking for information about Jihad. Who he really was, where to find him. Fortunately, Jihad’s betrayal had pissed off a lot of the locals, who in turn were more than willing to pass on the information they heard.
“He gave a name and a possible location.”
Rahim’s fingers tightened around the grip of the pistol. “Who is he?” It enraged him even more to think of the name that traitor had taken. Jihad. Must have loved the irony of that, the bastard.
“Wade Sandberg.”
Rahim stared at him as the name registered. A Jew? A fucking American Jew had done this to him, a devout Muslim and soldier of Allah? Not only betrayed him, but helped the U.S. Sec Def and the others escape and compromise every operation he’d had in the planning stages? A wave of rage rushed through his bloodstream, so strong it stole his breath.
When he calmed enough to be able to pull in a rough breath, his mind was already racing. The only saving grace about this entire catastrophe was that even Jihad hadn’t known the exact details of the last operation Rahim had been working on. He could still go ahead with it once he made a few last minute changes, but he’d have to move the timeline up considerably. “What’s the location?”
“The American said Sandberg is flying out of Kabul International late tomorrow morning. Apparently he’s at Bagram right now.”
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