by Misty Evans
Bourean was smart enough to use a fortress that had stood for centuries, enduring wars and attacks from countless armies. Out by itself, the castle compound was still close enough to the city to support his business. Jax had found a spot that on a normal night would have offered the team the best vantage point. Unfortunately with the snow, visibility was slim to none.
Miles saw the meeting spot through the snow and pulled the Land Rover in next to a large cargo van. The van was totally kitted out with oversized tires, a lift kit, a satellite dish, push bar and spotlights.
Miles unhooked his watch from the sat phone and put it back on before securing the hood on his parka and pulling on gloves. Visibility might be low for them, but it was also nonexistent for security guards and cameras. They could use that to their advantage.
He knocked three times on the van’s set of double doors at the rear and was admitted by Jax. Jax and Miles did their normal handshake-slap on the back greeting and Miles surveyed the interior.
A surveillance and security computer hub was built into the van’s side, the desk littered with headphones, files, and blueprints. Morris “Moe” Bouchard was hunched over a computer screen, headphones on. Jax tapped his shoulder and Moe startled, looking up and giving Miles a nod. “Poison,” he said in greeting.
“Henley.” The two of them had worked together on the Savanna Bunkett case and were used to using each other’s Rock Star code names, although no one understood why the Brit-sounding operative had chosen the Eagle’s front man as his. Everyone knew the Eagles were country, not rock. “How ya doin’, man?”
“Freezin’ my arse off. You?”
“Been better.” His temple pounded and his side ached from his fight with the assassin. “We have to find missions in warmer places. I thought D.C. was bad. This is worse.”
“Second that, mate.”
Miles dropped into a chair near Moe and looked at Jax as he flipped his hood back. “Just the three of us, then?”
“Nah, man. Beatrice sent us a whole crew. A couple of newbies, but they’re solid.”
Moe leaned forward and grinned at the computer screen, slapping the desktop. “She’s in!”
“Who?” Miles studied the screen, seeing nothing but a lot of falling snow. “Charlotte?”
“Parker, mate. I freakin’ love her.”
“Parker Jeffries?” He cut his attention back to Jax. “Savanna’s sister?”
Jax shrugged, pouring a cup of steaming liquid from a thermos and handing it to Miles. “CIA, NSA, the girl’s got a resume longer than any of ours.”
“She’s an expert sniper,” Moe added. “Sneaky little minx, too.”
“She’s part of our team?” Miles was still trying to wrap his head around it as he accepted the cup from Jax. The scent of fresh coffee filled the air. “But she’s not SFI.”
“She is for now,” Jax said. “And she’s inside Bourean’s compound.”
Three knocks sounded on the van’s back door before it flew open. A man in full winter gear, including a ski mask, jumped in and slammed the door behind him.
Snowflakes skidded off his hood and coat and landed on the van floor. “Dirty ass weather out there, boys,” he said, flipping off his hood and peeling the ski mask up. “Ah, Duncan. Glad you made it.”
“Zeb?” Miles couldn’t contain his shock. The man was old enough to be his grandfather. He shot Jax another look. “Seriously?”
Zeb reached out in the close quarters and smacked Miles upside the head. “Show some respect, boy.”
“Ow.” The lump over his temple wasn’t ever going to go down at this rate. He set his cup down, the liquid untouched. “You’re part of this rescue team? You and Parker Jeffries.”
“Parker’s in,” Moe told Zeb. “Piece of cake.”
Zeb nodded to Moe, spoke to Miles. “Yes, Duncan. For your information, I’m in charge of this sad little team, so pull your panties out of their wad and deal.”
In charge? “In charge?”
Zeb shed his gloves, dug out a phone from inside his coat. “Your girl caused quite a distraction in front of the main gates. Gave Parker time to breach the southeast wall and get inside the compound.”
He punched the screen of his phone a couple of times and held it up for Miles to see. “This is her—Carstons—ain’t it?”
The photo was grainy but it made Miles’ heart drop into his stomach. A Jeep lay on its side, a couple of men—Bourean’s, no doubt—extracting two bodies from the interior. One body was a man in black clothes and a knit hat. The other was Charlotte.
“Is she…?”
“Alive?” Zeb grunted and flipped through a few more shots showing Bourean’s men hauling Charlotte and the man onto a couple of four-wheelers. “From all accounts, I’d say yes. My Romanian’s rusty and it was hard to hear the discussion over the wind, but sounded like she was breathing. Norris, too.”
“Norris? Wait. CB Norris, her handler?”
“You know the guy?”
“No, but I take it you do.”
Zeb grabbed Miles’ cup and downed the coffee, then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “We brushed shoulders back in the day. He was CIA until he rubbed their noses in their own shit and they kicked him out. Guy’s cagey but damn smart. Obsessive, too. Give him an assignment and he locks onto it like a gater on fresh meat. He likes hunting people, and once he knows his target, he’ll use anyone he has to in order to get to that target and take it out. But I’ll tell you boys something. If Norris had been in charge before 9/11, those towers would still be standing.”
“Why’s that?” Moe asked.
“He knew more about Osama bin Laden than Osama himself. I saw some of the guy’s reports, heard talk about his ‘crazy’ ideas. Given the right tools, Norris would have found bin Laden and taken him out long before 9/11. He’s one hell of a mastermind.”
Jax leaned against Moe’s workstation. “What’s he doing in Romania running an MI6 agent?”
Zeb shook his head. “He’s not after Bourean, I assure you. Small potatoes. Bourean has to be a stepping stone to a bigger player. Someone Norris believes is on his level. A mastermind like himself.”
“The USB,” Miles said. “Charlotte had video of the plane crash and the helo attack. Bourean was working with a terrorist to supply him with RPGs. They were testing the equipment.”
“That’s Norris’ target then. He was using Charlotte and Bourean to get to that guy, and I have a hunch I know who he is. This is big, boys.”
Big or not, Miles wanted that terrorist. No way was Norris getting the man before he scored some revenge.
“It’s gotta be Blackwater,” Zeb said.
“Who’s Blackwater?” Jax asked.
Zeb handed him the empty coffee cup and Jax poured him a fresh cup from the thermos while Zeb filled them in. “Blackwater was just a teenager when bin Laden planned 9/11. The guy has blood ties to him, some distance cousin or something, but he was destined to take over the bin Laden empire down the road. Asshole taught the kid everything he knew. In the ten years after 9/11, Blackwater grew up. His fingerprints were on a lot of small, subversive jobs all over the world. Some say he’s the one behind ISIS, and that’s probably true, but he’s behind a lot of radical groups all over Europe. He’s been in the wind for years, recruiting, setting up cells everywhere.”
A crackling noise came from the computer along with a woman’s voice. “Control, this is Jett. Do you read? Over.”
“It’s Parker,” Moe told Miles. He was grinning again from ear to ear. “She got to pick her own Rock Star name and she’s got a thing for Joan Jett.”
He went back to the computer, tapped a key on his keyboard. “Jett, this is Control. Go ahead.”
“Heat signatures suggest our target is on the ground floor of the main building, northwest side of main castle turret in the rear. Room contains at least four other heat signatures, two appear to be guards. Interactions have the appearance of an interrogation.”
Interactio
ns? As in beatings? Miles’ stomach tightened.
“Roger that. Security?” Moe asked.
Parker rattled off intel on how many warm bodies she’d seen, where cameras were located, and the best places to breach. “Orders?”
“Tell her to sit tight,” Zeb said. “We have to give Coldplay a little more time.”
Moe relayed the instructions. Miles looked at Zeb. “Coldplay? He’s here too?”
A knock sounded on the door and Jax opened it, allowing Trace Hunter—Coldplay—to enter. It was like the guy had heard his name and simply materialized out of thin air. “Colder than a sow’s tits out here,” he complained as he squeezed into the van.
The quarters were tight on a good day. With five of them—four former SEALs—crammed into it, they were shoulder to shoulder.
Trace nodded at Miles. “You owe Savanna flowers and a nice chardonnay when we get back. She’s very unhappy I’m here.”
“Not too happy about it myself.”
Zeb chuckled. “Wait till she discovers her sister is on this mission. Then you’ll really have hell to pay.”
“She doesn’t know?” Miles asked.
Zeb gave him a don’t be a dumbass look, then said to Trace. “Did you get the stash?”
Trace blew on his hands through his gloves. “Eleanor is outside. She’ll do you proud.”
“Eleanor?” Miles almost hated to ask.
Zeb threw open the door and Miles peered over his shoulder. A long black case lay in the snow. “One?” Zeb looked incredulously over his shoulder at Trace. “That’s it?”
Trace lifted his palms skyward. “What? I may be Superman, but breaking into a crime lord’s compound, stealing an RPG, and lugging it through enemy territory back to you is not exactly easy. Damn thing weighs a ton.”
Trace had gone in and stolen one of Bourean’s own weapons to use against him? Miles just shook his head. The former SEAL had been part of a secret government project to enhance the natural abilities of soldiers. Since Trace’s natural abilities had already been close to superhuman, it was no surprise he was now nearly unstoppable.
Good thing he was on their side. “Eleanor, huh? You name your weapons?” Miles asked.
“Of course.” Trace looked at him as if he was a moron. “Don’t you?”
Zeb pulled the doors closed. “Guess one will have to do.”
“Oh,” Trace pulled something from his coat pockets. “I picked up a few of these too.”
He held up a handful of grenades.
One side of Zeb’s mouth quirked. “Nice.”
“Shouldn’t they be taking Charlotte and Norris to a doctor?” Miles tapped his thumbs against his thighs. He wanted to get moving. Get into that camp and pull Charlotte out. But if she was severely injured, her evac would take finesse and timing. “No telling how many injuries she and Norris have if the Jeep rolled.”
“It rolled, in fact, three times.” Zeb unzipped his parka. Even with the doors flying open, the van was warm from all the bodies. “I saw it. Both of them could have broken bones and internal injuries, but Bourean won’t care about that. Why did Norris kidnap Charlotte? She still have that video?”
Miles nodded. “We had just returned from the mountains—she’d hid it there with some Gypsies—and we were on our way to clear her name when we were jumped.”
“Clear her name?”
“MI6 thinks she’s a traitor. That she went dark side with Bourean.”
“Right. Beatrice mentioned that.” Zeb sipped his coffee. “It’s Norris. He set her up.”
“Sorta figured that out.”
Zeb gave him a hard look. “Injuries aside, Charlotte was unconscious when they picked her up, and we have to assume she may still be when we get to her. An exfiltration from behind enemy lines with a conscious subject is difficult enough. An unconscious subject is dead weight and no help at all.”
“Parker’s a doctor, right?” Miles said to Moe. “Is there any way she can get to her and give us a status report on her state of consciousness?”
“She’s a brain scientist, dude.” Moe looked away from the computer screen. “Not a medical doctor.”
“She ran Project 24.” Miles glanced at Trace. Parker had been the scientist who developed the drug concoction for Project 24, not realizing what the president wanted super soldiers for. Trace Hunter was the only survivor of that little experiment. “She must have some familiarity with medical evaluations.”
“I’m a doctor,” Jax said from the corner. “Sort of.”
All eyes swung to him.
“I left my residency to join the Navy. Ended up in SEAL training, and the rest is a clusterfuck. I always planned to go back to the medical field. Never got it done.”
Zeb nodded, touched Moe’s shoulder. “Tell Parker to hold position and keep eyes on Charlotte. Jax and Miles are going in.”
Finally. Miles was about to crawl out of his skin. “What’s the plan, old man?”
The remark garnered him another swat upside the head, but Zeb was smiling. “We’re going to do a little thing I like to call the Zeb Special.”
“And what is that?” Jax asked, exchanging a worried look with Miles.
“Gather round, boys.” Zeb motioned them to the blueprints lying on the table next to Moe’s elbow. “This old man is about to teach you young’uns a thing or two.”
Chapter Nineteen
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Bourean Compound
Sansa Citadel
“WAKE UP, BITCH!”
A sharp slap to her cheek snapped Charlotte’s head sideways. Her whole body ached and her brain was fuzzy again. Not like in Norris’ truck. This was a different fuzziness. Like she’d been spun in a dryer.
Or rolled over a couple times inside a Jeep.
Her eyelids fought against her opening them, but the sting in her cheek radiated through her jaw and up into her temple. An already pounding headache beat there, like someone was using a hammer against her skull.
Her body felt twisted, broken. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered a couple of times, bringing the man hovering over her into view.
Narrow face. Beard. Dark eyes filled with cold, calculating acumen. His black hair was tied back in a high man bun, his skin pocked. Light from the overhead chandelier glinted off the knife in his hand.
Charlotte moaned and closed her eyes. Nightmare. This has to be a nightmare.
Maybe if she kept her eyes closed, the nightmare would disappear. She’d wake up back in the cabin with Miles, not lying helpless under Nicolae Bourean.
Miles had to be dead by now, left in the frozen forest on the side of the mountain. No one would find his body. No one would ever know what happened except her.
And she wasn’t going to last long at the hands of the man standing over her. I’m so sorry, Miles. I should never have asked for your help.
“You’ve got what you wanted,” another voice said. Norris. “Now give me the girl.”
From the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw CB leaning on a nearby table. He was holding a handkerchief covered in blood to his nose, his pants ripped at the knee where more blood dotted his skin. He’d at least had the airbag when they’d rolled. She hadn’t.
Nico nodded at a man standing guard at the door and the man slipped out. “You kept your bargain. I keep mine.”
He turned his attention back to Charlotte. Grabbing her by the top of her head, he yanked her hair straight up and gave her head a shake. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he sneered. “I own you, posh ratt.”
Her neck cried out in pain, her scalp too. Spittle landed on her cheek. Charlotte had sworn she’d never lay underneath Nico again. Never let him hurt her. Yet, here she was at his mercy once more. Her body battered and bruised, her heart shredded.
It was tempting to just lie there and let him do his worst. Torture her. Kill her. Whatever. Without Miles, she just didn’t give a damn.
Nico raised her head up off the floor, bringing her face close to his as he towered over her. When her gaze met his and she narrowed her eyes at him, he smiled.
“There she is. My Gypsy half-breed. Come on, bitch, fight back. You know you want to.”
She did, in fact. She suddenly wanted to twist his balls off and stuff them down his throat. Her hand felt heavy, but she made a fist and punched straight up.
Her fist connected with Nico’s balls but lacked force when he shifted at the last second. He lashed out with the knife, still holding her head in place, and Charlotte’s next swing deflected it from cutting across her nose.
Her arm caught the blade though, cutting through her coat.
She grabbed Nico’s wrist, the one holding her hair, and used it as leverage to kick up, nailing him in the buttocks. He toppled over her, releasing her hair, and rolled up to his knees.
Charlotte came to all fours, breathing heavy, waves of pain keeping her riding the edge of adrenaline. Nico smirked, jiggling the blade in his hand.
He lunged.
Charlotte tried to whirl out of the way, but the knife caught her other arm as Nico drove it into her flesh. His body weight took her flat to the floor.
He flipped her over, his knees coming down on her abdomen and forcing the air out of her. His laughter echoed through the room as he slapped her face again.
When you had nothing left to live for, you might as well go down fighting.
So she smiled back, blood pooling on her tongue. Her bottom lip was swelling; she hadn’t noticed until she’d spread her lips to smile. Ignoring the tightness, she spit in his face, spraying him with blood.
He jerked back, cussing, and released her as he stood. Continuing his string of curses, he used his forearm to wipe the blood and spit from his nose and lips. He shook the knife at her, that cruel, calculating smile of his spreading his lips as he laughed without humor. “It is good to have you back, half-breed. You know I like strong-willed women who like to fight.”
