by Ronie Kendig
After a shower, she donned her pants and tank top. She brushed out her hair then tied it back with an elastic and rolled it into a tight knot at the base of her neck. Adding deodorant, she mulled what she should do about the lies her handler had spun around her. Options were few: confront them. Play along. Ignore it.
She was too mad to play dumb, and she had too much invested in making a reputable name for herself. If only she could ask Burnett. He wasn’t her CO, but he’d always shot straight. Given her the facts, whether she wanted them or not. He was about the only person she knew who would.
So they wanted to play with her life? Treat her like some dimwitted blond? Well, time to let them know she was on to them, wise to their scheming. And maybe, just maybe, she could turn this for her benefit. Yes—she was friends with Kiew. Yes, they had a connection. So her bosses wanted her snooping in Kiew’s business. No doubt because of Daniel Jin. And though the U.S. government wanted to use their friendship for their means, Cassie had another plan. Help Kiew escape.
It would give Cassie a lot of joy to help her friend, whom she suspected was innocently involved with the wrong man, but also on the receiving end of his anger and fists. Cassie had seen her own mom take more than her hits from losers. She wasn’t going to watch a woman she once considered closer than a sister suffer that horrible fall into victimhood. Kiew was too strong. Too smart.
It just didn’t make sense. What had happened in the seven years since they’d seen each other to make Kiew so subservient? What was she doing with Daniel Jin anyway? Maybe it was his power. Weren’t Chinese girls pretty much auctioned off at the whim of their fathers? Mrs. Tang had always pushed Kiew toward the sons of the rich and powerful. Was this what was happening with her and Daniel Jin?
What if Cassie failed—then Daniel Jin would be ten times worse the abuser. She stuffed her feet in her boots and laced them up. When she straightened, Cassie felt a warning prickle her neck—someone was watching! She lifted her shirt from the locker and slid her arms through it, glancing around.
Brown eyes collided with hers. Sal stood on the other side of the showers, staring at her. His head cocked to the side. Brow knotted.
Cassie slid her shirt over her tank. “Something wrong?”
He scratched his thick black beard—she still wasn’t used to that thing—then swung around and left.
What was that about? She added a light touch of makeup while at the mirror. Then her reflection screamed back at her. Not just her reflection, but the one in the other mirror that exposed her shoulder tattoo.
Oh no…
Sal would’ve had a perfect angle to see the heart-shaped tattoo with Mila’s name in it. Dread spilled through her stomach. She was being careless and that could open the box of secrets too-many years in the making.
But right now, she had bigger fish to fry. And Sal… he hated her too much to even consider the possibilities.
Back at her desk, Cassie grabbed her phone and headed for the bathroom. Concealed in a stall, she coded in. Demanded a meeting.
NOT POSSIBLE.
Frustration tightened her muscles. The response even seemed to speak the truth—she’d been used. If they could play this game, so could she.
NOW OR I’M DONE, she texted back, her fingers nearly pushing the keys through the phone.
The phone rang.
Her heart thudded as she answered and pressed the device to her ear. “Hello.”
“I think we need to establish some rules, Walker. You work for us. We don’t work for you.”
Hearing his flat, curt tone chased away her courage. What if she was wrong? They’d fry her and her career. She couldn’t let that happen. No way would she be like her mom, working at Pick N Pack and the Bueno Nacho just to pay the bills and put food on the table for her kids.
“I thought something was urgent. You were ready to quit,” his voice jogged Cassie out of her thoughts.
“What do you know about the asset?” It was the closest she could come to the mention of Kiew without divulging her suspicions.
Hesitation thickened the line. “I gave you the information on her.”
Yes, they had. They’d provided a dossier that included Kiew’s birthplace, family, violin training, university years, and degree path. But why didn’t they mention Cassie living with the Tangs for almost a year? They would’ve known, right? If they had all this other information on her, and the records existed that Cassie had lived there, why hadn’t that been brought up?
“Just seemed to be missing… things.”
“Your voice is stressed, Cassandra. Would you like to explain why?”
Right. Of course. Stress-analyzing phone calls. Using her first name in a condescending tone. She shouldn’t be surprised. This type of invasive monitoring and psychological conditioning had been SOP for the last year. “I just want to make sure I have all the facts.”
“You have what you need to complete your assignment.”
The line went dead, and so did her hope of a legitimate mission. One rightly earned. Cassie sat down, contemplating the meaning. The implications. They were using her to get to Kiew. Using a decade-old friendship.
I’m nothing more than a means to an end. They wanted to get to Kiew. That’s what all this was about. The cushy—in terms of notoriety and level—assignment with top-tier brass and soldiers, in the thick of one of the deadliest attacks. They’d pulled her from analyzing phone records and digging through endless waste piles of computer traffic…
Why hadn’t they just come clean and told her?
Because they knew I’d say no.
They were right, too. She’d never violate her friendship.
Her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and saw a text message: FOCUS ON YOUR ASSIGNMENT. AND BE CAREFUL WHERE YOU STEP. WOULDN’T WANT YOU TO GET HURT.
CHAPTER 15
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
31 March—0945 Hours
Sleep pulled on his limbs. Pushed his eyelids. Burned his eyes. Plucked a yawn from him. The powerful enemy of vigilance warred against Sal’s effort as he sat in the metal folding chair, fighting off the sandman. The world faded to black—and Sal jerked straight.
Yawned and punched to his feet. Paced in front of the cell holding the prisoner he’d shot off the fence. Stifling another jaw-stretching, eye-blurring yawn, he shook his head.
“You been here all night?”
Sal pivoted toward the voice he knew well. “Wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.”
“DIA let you stay while they questioned him?”
“Didn’t really give them an option.”
“Good.” Dean nodded as he looked into the cell where the prisoner, stripped of pants and sporting bandages on both legs, lay on his side, facing the wall and supposedly asleep. “Doubt he’d get far with those injuries.”
“Hey, I let the doc clean the wounds.”
“Did he tell DIA anything?”
“Nothing. Not to our analysts, not to the ’terp.”
Dean studied their prisoner. “If he won’t talk, what do we do?”
“Let him go.” Sal had worked through the scenario all night long.
Scowling, Dean said nothing but shot a questioning look to Sal, who eased closer. Leaned in toward Dean’s ear. That prisoner might not have answered questions, but that was no guarantee he couldn’t speak English.
“Let him go and follow him,” Sal whispered.
Gaze back on the prisoner, Dean’s expression waxed thoughtful. “Get you and Knight outside the wire in a native vehicle…” He nodded as he spoke.
“Have the doc change his bandage again and put the tag there. Tell him he’s being let go because we treated him so bad.” Anticipation of the hunt thrummed through Sal. “We follow him, find out who he contacts or who contacts him.”
“You could end up waiting a long time. Remember—they have time on their side. We don’t. We can’t afford to just sit around with our thumbs stuck—”
“And we ca
n’t afford to take the risk that this guy”—Sal stabbed a finger toward the cell—“vanishes or ends up missing a few quarts of blood.”
“And if they catch you?”
Sal shrugged. “I become God’s messenger, delivering them to their virgins a little ahead of schedule.”
“This sounds a lot like a death wish. Is that what this is about, Sal?”
Stepping back, he frowned at Dean. The one man he considered his closest friend. How could he think that? “This is about me sick and tired of them being a step ahead of us. I’m ready to turn the tables. Get in their faces. Shove some trouble up their—”
“What’s going on here?”
Sal jerked around, ready to unleash on the intruder, when he made eye contact with General Ramsey. “Sir.” He pulled up straight and took a step back from Dean.
“I hope you weren’t giving Captain Watters any trouble, soldier.”
“No, sir.”
“That looked like a mighty intense conversation, Russo.”
“Discussing the future of this prisoner.”
“And disagreeing?”
“No, sir.” At least not about the prisoner.
Ramsey motioned to the guard. “Unlock this door.”
Sal looked to the cell, to Dean, then back to the general. “Sir?”
“I have experts coming in to talk to him.”
“Experts in what?”
Ramsey glowered. “Are you questioning me, son?”
Whoa. Sal hesitated, surprised at the venom dripping off the general’s words. “No, sir. I—”
“What do you hope to find out, sir?” Dean stepped into the thick tension that had erupted out of nowhere.
Ramsey gave him a stern look. “Same thing you want—answers.”
Wow, that was the opposite of enlightening. Sal scratched his beard. “If you don’t mind, sir, we’d like to stick around.”
“What for?”
Dean squared his shoulders. “We already lost one possible witness to the CECOM attack. This man was caught with a military-issued weapon and ammo. I’d like to know where that came from, and if he gives any intel, I’d like to hear it firsthand and immediately rather than in a report two days later.” He indicated with his head toward the soldier. “They’re messing with a lot of intel. What if they get private, personal data on the teams, on the personnel in the area?”
“What are you saying?” Ramsey frowned.
“I’m saying personnel data would include private information—addresses, next of kin…”
“You’re thinking they’ll go after your families?”
“Yours, too, sir. It’s a possibility.” Dean shrugged. “I’d like to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” The voice that boomed down the hall belonged to none other than Lieutenant Commander Riordan, who had two SEALs flanking him. He strode toward them and threw a cocky grin at Sal. “What are you growing in that rat’s nest you call a beard?”
“Something you wouldn’t know anything about—manhood,” Sal shot back.
Riordan laughed then slapped Sal’s shoulder. “Challenge accepted, Black Beard.” He nodded to the prisoner. “Good job chasing him down.”
Surprise held Sal’s response hostage. The guy was telling him he did a good job? Since when?
“Now, let the real men work.” Riordan delivered the slam.
“Down, boys.” Ramsey chuckled. “Look, none of you need to be here. We have professional interviewers coming to talk to him.”
Professional interviewers. The same thing had happened to the first prisoner. He’d been a professional all right. A professional assassin. There was no way Sal would walk out of here, not now. Walking out of here meant this prisoner could end up six feet under just like the previous one. He shot a look to Dean, who bore a similar expression.
“Sir,” Dean said. “DIA already tried without success. The prisoner wouldn’t talk.”
“I’m sorry, did I give you the impression this was up for discussion, Captain?” Ramsey’s dimpled face resembled hacked-up granite, and it’d gone stone cold with his words. “When my team gets here, I want you all to clear out.”
Something was wrong. This was wrong. And Sal would be buggered if he would let someone walk in and slice this man’s throat. If that spook got back on base and killed another asset in stopping this attack…
Grinding his teeth, Sal waited for Dean to object. Call the general on this stupidity. But Dean didn’t do anything. He nodded. Caved. Futility coated Sal’s muscles with adrenaline and a need to punch some lights out.
“Sir, I need to talk with you about contingencies for a mission,” Dean said, swiftly changing tracks.
Unbelievable. Where was his sense of honor? Duty? His… Something in Dean’s eyes stilled the anger swelling through Sal. But the captain didn’t argue or stop Ramsey.
“Remember, clear out and let the team do their work.” Ramsey’s thick fingers wagged in Sal’s face. “Clear, son?”
“Sir.”
Sal flared his nostrils. Balled his fists. Told himself to wait. To not lose it. Fire spiraled through his veins as Dean walked behind the general, following.
You sorry—
As Dean walked past him, he turned his face into Sal’s and breathed the words, “Do it.”
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
31 March—1320 Hours
Uncertainty flooded Cassie as she stared at her monitor. She wasn’t uncertain about being used. Her handler’s cryptic response to her questions left no doubt that they were using her. But with that knowledge came a flood of awareness that she might not be cut out for this. She might be in over her head. Right now, she couldn’t even get Sal to talk to her.
But Kiew… she remained tight-lipped because Daniel Jin was around. And if he caught wind of Cassie’s probing, Kiew could end up dead. No doubt that man would go to such extremes to protect his interests. He’d already shown his willingness to beat Kiew. Killing her was only a more extreme version.
She’d have to be careful. Execute the plan to save Kiew while Daniel wasn’t around to stop it. So, first things first—discover Daniel Jin’s whereabouts and planned trips to target the right time.
To shield her location and identity, Cassie used a ghost program to show a million different IP addresses. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she worked to figure out Jin’s travel plans. A few technology conferences listed him as a guest speaker, but they were months out. She needed more immediate dates and times.
With her secure sat phone that would also ghost her location, Cassie punched in the numbers and waited.
“Takkar Corp.,” a woman answered in several Arabic languages then English. “How may I direct your call?”
“Daniel Jin’s office please.”
“I’m sorry, who?”
Cassie cleared her throat. Tried his other name. “Meng-Li Jin, please.”
“One moment.” A few seconds later another voice carried through the line. “Meng-Li Holdings.”
Interesting. His own company within Takkar’s. Cassie put her covert skills to work. “Yes, my employer is supposed to be doing remodeling in the building, and I’ve been informed that Mr. Meng-Li does not appreciate loud noises.”
“Yes—”
“So, if you could let me know—”
“It is no problem. Mr. Meng-Li will be out of the country for the next ten days.”
Air whooshed from Cassie’s lungs. “Oh, that is good news.” And much easier than she’d expected. “My boss will be so glad. Thank you.” She hung up before a trace could be activated or she accidentally revealed her hand.
So, he’d be gone long enough for her to put together a plan to rescue Kiew. Now she had to find a way to get there, recover her, and get out. Alive.
If she could somehow convince Raptor to help…
She laughed. Like that would ever happen with Sal as team leader. But Raptor wanted Daniel Jin. And Hawk had said Kiew held a gun to his head—som
ething Cassie struggled to believe. Maybe if she presented an opportunity for them to capture her… but have an asset in place to grab Kiew first.
Risky business, Cass.
First step: Think up an explanation for Raptor. For Sal, because he’d see through her like Saran wrap. Okay. Well… well…
Her desk phone rang. She grabbed the handset and answered. “Lieutenant Walker.”
“What do you think you are doing?”
The icy tone froze Cassie but more so the voice it belonged to. “Kiew?”
“Are you so foolish you don’t think he monitors all calls?”
“I—”
“Why do you want to know when he will be here?”
“I don’t.” I want to know when he’ll be gone actually.
“You may think you are the smart one, Cassandra, working for the military intelligence division, but do not think so little of me to believe your lies.”
Wow, Kiew was competing with Elsa from Frozen this time. “I don’t understand.”
“That is more than clear. Stay out of it. Stay away.”
“Not if he’s hurting you.” Her heart pounded, remembering the marks. The timid actions of her friend. Classic abuse signs. “I won’t let that alone. I care too much about you.”
“You do not even know me,” Kiew said, her words thick with chilled venom. “I will not warn you again. And your soldier friend can tell you what I’m capable of, I believe.”
Accosted by the animosity, Cassie stared blankly. “You’re threatening me? I just want to help.”
The line went dead. Cassie let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. After a disbelieving glance at the phone, she returned it to the cradle. Quickly, she mentally catalogued the words, the inflections to include in her report to her handler.
Who’d be ticked as all get-out about this development.
Kiew was giving her a kick to the curb. Cutting her off. “She threatened me,” she whispered around a weak laugh. Was it real? Was her warning about taking care of Cassie real?
What else could it be?
I got too close to the truth.
Why else would Kiew threaten her like that? Resolution carved a hard line through her soul. She had to do this—had to get her out of there. Of course, she couldn’t do it by herself. If Kiew was in such danger that she resorted to scare tactics, Cassie would need an army to help get Kiew out alive. She had to convince someone.
