Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3

by Ronie Kendig

  Ashamed as he was to say it, he didn’t even feel that level of loss when Vida died. Regret, yes. Guilt—heckuva lot. But all-out grief? No. He’d mourned her. They’d been together for years, but more like friends.

  Truth was, he was experiencing more grief right now, thinking of Cassie. Wondering what happened to her. Feeling as if his chest had been ripped open, knowing full well what jihadists and terrorists did to captured American females.

  “There aren’t any female journalists in the region,” Dean said. “At least, none on record.”

  “It’s possible,” Titanis began slowly, “that these villagers thought Walker was a journalist.”

  Sal sat. Listened. Worked through the churning ache in his chest. He threaded his fingers and squeezed them, turning, rubbing. Fighting hands that had warred on behalf of innocents for years. But now he couldn’t do a thing for Cassie. Yeah, he’d given her heck for the situation at the Towers. For lying to Dean. But he didn’t mean it.

  He wasn’t sure what he meant. What he wanted.

  No, that wasn’t true. He knew what he wanted. And it scared him.

  He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he wouldn’t mind a chance to see if he could fix things with Cassie. Even though he’d thrown her own desire to fix things back in her face.

  Why?

  Didn’t make sense. She was right there. Willing and open to him.

  And Mila—man. Every time he thought her name, he saw Fariz’s bloodied, dying little sister.

  “Sal?”

  He looked up, surprised to find the team’s eyes on him. He straightened. “Sorry?” Planted a hand on his leg. Played off that he’d been distracted.

  “Want to go out and recon?”

  “Recon?” He straightened. “Cassie’s missing and you want to recon?”

  Titanis grinned. “Yeah.”

  But then… everyone was grinning. What’d he miss?

  “Thought we should check out some villages. Do what Ramsey ordered—play nice with the locals. See if they’re okay on supplies.”

  “See if they need a brute squad,” Schmidt said.

  They wanted to sit in a field and converse with locals while Cassie was God-knows-where. Whoever had snatched her probably holed up in some—wait. Out there. “Yeah.” His brain finally caught on. “We should check some villages. Make sure they’re okay.”

  After the way Ramsey had breathed down their necks, and with them on the verge of busting his infidelity and collusion with an enemy into the open, they needed a wide birth around the brigadier. “I’m more than ready to get out of here and stop sitting on our thumbs.”

  “Hooah!”

  The heat annoyed him almost as much as trouncing in the Humvee for three hours over unfriendly roads and with men who chatted—which required a hefty amount of shouting over the din of the vehicle—and taunted Dean for finally proposing to Double Z. But right now, Sal figured pretty much everything would annoy him. Cassie was missing, and somehow, that tormented him.

  Probably because he knew he’d treated her wrong. He’d placed blame on her that belonged right on his own shoulders.

  “Heads up,” Dean shouted over his shoulder. “Village is less than two klicks north. Five mikes.”

  The men donned their helmets, double-checked their weapons, and tightened up the loose camaraderie that’d existed for the last few hours. Sal bounced his legs, anxious to get out there and track down any sight of Cassie.

  Dean headed into the village and Riordan’s team pulled up the rear.

  “Nice and easy,” Dean said before he pushed open the door.

  “I’ll just take a stroll.” Sal climbed out, patted his brain bowl, then drew his weapon around in front and held on as he walked a circle around both vehicles. Watching how the locals reacted to their presence should tell them a lot. Nervous was one thing. Silent was another—indicated defiance. And trouble. Clamoring would tell them the people were angry about something and needed help.

  His boots crunched over the rocky road as he paced.

  “Ghost town,” Harrier muttered as he sidled up.

  Sal nodded. “Too quiet.” None of the people had come out, though he knew plenty were here. A ball rolled along a side alley though there was no wind. Where was the kid who’d been playing with it before they rolled in?

  “Eagle,” Sal subvocalized as he made his way back toward the Humvee. “What’re you seeing? Where is everyone?”

  Dean’s expression mirrored the unease roiling through Sal.

  “Thermals show a full house—but that’s it. They’re all inside.”

  “Let’s round ’em up,” Riordan said as he trudged over.

  Sal nodded.

  “Ok—”

  An expletive shot from the coms.

  Sal stopped, listening. “Eagle?” He shared a look with Dean that said this was bad. Eagle was the strongest Christian he’d known. For him to curse, things had to be bad. Sal pivoted, stalked back down the road, weapon up and ready, as he looked toward the mound Eagle had set up on. “Eagle! What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t see them. Have no idea”—huff, pant—“where they came from. Or”—pant, pant huff-—“Augh! They’ve got me.” The words sounded grimaced.

  Sal knew a painful truth in that second. Eagle had run not only to save his life, but to buy time to tell the team they were in trouble. No sooner had Sal made it to the last hut than he saw it. Air trapped in his lungs. He stared at the line of SUVs barreling at them from the north side of the village. Were there more? Either way, Raptor was in trouble.

  “Incoming!” Sal spun back and sprinted toward the vehicles—and running with all his gear proved as difficult as trying to run in water. “Three SUVs headed our way.”

  The team scrambled and took up defensive positions, avoiding the vehicles that could become boiling cauldrons if hit with an RPG or an IED.

  Sal threw himself around the corner. Past Dean, who knelt with his weapon trained out. He whipped around and went to a knee, covering Dean’s six.

  “This smell like an ambush to anyone else?” Riordan shouted. “Thinking they grabbed your girl, Falcon, because they knew we’d come after them.”

  Your girl. He wouldn’t dignify that with a response. Because he wasn’t sure if he liked it or resented it.

  “Well, lookee here,” Harrier said. “Suddenly the locals come out to play.”

  True enough, a half-dozen men and boys peeked out the door. They were talking and pointing. Nodding. “They know something.” Sal shimmied closer, wanting to hear.

  “Yeah, like we’re all about to get blown sky-high.”

  But the locals didn’t look afraid. They seemed… curious.

  One of the men said something about a girl. That made Sal’s pulse surge. They were in the right place then! But then he said something about “same one.”

  “What’re they saying?” Riordan asked.

  “Not sure,” Sal shouted. “Said something about a girl and the same one. But I can’t hear or make out the rest.”

  “Sounds like we’re in the right place, then,” Titanis said.

  “Right place, wrong time?” Harrier asked.

  The vehicles lurched into the U-shaped village and swung their big black SUVs around. And not just the three he’d seen, but five. Before they came to a full stop, men were falling out, weapons up, faces dark with forbidding intent. Shouting, they rushed toward the team.

  “Get down, get down!”

  The men wore keffiyehs and standard dirtied tunics. There had to be twenty or twenty-five. Outnumbered and outgunned, Raptor hesitated. Looked to Dean, who waved for them to cooperate.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Schmidt muttered.

  “Easy,” Dean said.

  Sal tensed as two men came toward him. His nature was to resist. Fight these terrorists off with everything in him. But he saw something in Dean’s expression that restrained him.

  A lanky Arab stalked toward Dean with a burlap sack. He met Dean’s gaze
evenly, calmly.

  Dean stared at the guy. Nodded.

  Nodded? Why was he nodding?

  The man stuffed the sack over the captain’s head, secured it, then turned to Sal. He scowled at the man. “Who are you?”

  The leader shouted at Sal then jerked him forward and bagged him, too. Darkness swam and the heat of the desert smothered him with the burlap over his head. Somewhere he heard the squawking of brakes and the crunch of an axle. The grumbling noise of a diesel engine growled to a stop nearby.

  Iron grips clamped around his arms and yanked Sal forward. Dean didn’t want them to fight, so he wouldn’t fight. He’d learned to take the lead from him, but this… Walking himself to his death?

  “Just move,” came a heavily accented voice near his ear. “Soon it be okay.”

  It’d be okay? In what way?

  He heard the pleading in the voice but couldn’t piece together this puzzle. Maybe Dean had seen or known something. Sal’s foot hit something. But the men urged him forward still. He found himself climbing an incline of some sort.

  A ramp into a truck!

  No no no. He’d seen this before. Men herded like cattle off to a butcher shop.

  The thought put a boulder in his path. Sal hesitated. His muscles twitched in resistance. One of the goons hauling him off shouted at him.

  Which only made Sal more resistant.

  Pain exploded against the back of his shoulders, pushing him forward. He stumbled. Used the momentum to dive to the left. Into the man who’d struck him.

  Men pounced on him, wrangling him. The more force they applied, the more it forced Sal to apply pressure, too.

  His feet went out from under him. He fell forward, pain scoring his palms and knees.

  Darkness thudded into the back of the truck.

  Sal froze. Was this it? He’d die in the desert? What about Cassie? And Mila—she’d never get to know him. He’d never find out if she liked ice cream.

  The truck shook back and forth, bouncing.

  Sal bumped against something solid.

  “Sorry, mate,” came a grunt.

  “Titanis?”

  Light snapped through the bed of the truck.

  Sal stilled. What the…?

  “Forgive us for the roughness,” came the thick voice who’d reassured him earlier.

  Someone fumbled with the sack over Sal’s head. Then ripped it off. Light blinded him and he blinked feverishly to gain his bearings.

  A man stood at the front of the truck. With Dean.

  Sal came to his feet, the vehicle trouncing them. “What’s going on?”

  “I am Waris. My friend invites you to his home for a meeting.”

  “A meeting?”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Your friend has a sick way of inviting people over for tea and scones.”

  Sal made his way to Dean. “You knew…?”

  Dean shook his head.

  “But I saw you—”

  “I recognized Waris.”

  Wait. Waris. Right hand of— “Takkar.” When Dean nodded, Sal felt sick. They’d infiltrated the man’s building. Left it heavily damaged. And left Hawk, too. “Think this is about payback?”

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  8 April—1215 Hours

  “I’m proud of you.” Delicate arms wrapped around his waist as he stood in the kitchen getting a glass of water.

  Sajjan encircled her small waist, tugging Nina closer. “And why is that, my bride?”

  Nina wore elegance like a fine diamond. With her platinum blond hair and expertly applied makeup, she was in a class all her own. “You are extending patience and peace when your hand has been slapped by these men.”

  He gave her a quick squeeze and nodded. “They will know of my displeasure.”

  She smiled up at him, with eyes that had dazzled him since they first met at a premiere for his friend’s movie. “Ah, but not your rage.”

  He kissed her. “You make me too soft, Nina.”

  “No, my love, you have a good heart and you know when justice must be meted out. You are a fair and honest man. It is why you are so well loved and respected wherever you go.”

  Her words were as honey on his ears. But Nina only saw the side she wanted to see. The side she’d fallen in love with and married. He must also be the strong arm of a law bringer if he was to be taken seriously. Swift justice showed those who only spoke with bullets and swords that he knew how to play that game as well.

  It was why he did not fit completely in either world—not the civilized, nor the barbaric. It was why he had gained this position. He knew how to deal political cards with a quick hand.

  “I must go.” He kissed her again.

  “Timbrel’s not happy that you’ve involved Tony.” Disapproval hung on her lips.

  “He hasn’t involved me in anything,” Tony said as he appeared from the hall. Then nodded to Timbrel who had followed him. “She’s ready to head to Dubai for that trip.”

  “How did you convince her?”

  “Promise of a vacation alone, just the two of us.”

  “Far away from anything combat.” Timbrel shot Sajjan a fiery look.

  As Nina’s son-in-law joined him, Sajjan walked toward the elevator and gave her a good-bye look over his shoulder. They entered the elevator and he pressed his access button.

  As the car carried them to another level, Sajjan shifted roles. Shifted his mind-set. “You sure you can handle this? They are your brothers.”

  “They won’t understand at first, but in the end…” He nodded, his beard once again scraggly. “They’ll know they would’ve done the same.” He shrugged. Then he cast a speculative look back. “You going to tell them?”

  “About my guest?” When Tony nodded, Sajjan almost smiled. “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “On how receptive they are to my demands.”

  Head throbbing from the whack they’d given him, Sal strode with the team through the parking structure and into the steel trap. Waris had said little since his brief apology and seriously lacking explanation of what was going on. Did Takkar plan to chew the team out? Take the damages out of their backs? Or turn them into slave labor to repair the building?

  None seemed likely, and yet, knowing the elusive and mysterious Takkar, all were likely. The guy hadn’t earned a reputation by being soft. Show favoritism to one side and another rebelled.

  That was why Sal hated politics. Action—give him action over cheap talk any day. Crammed into the elevator like cattle, the team said nothing. Tense shoulders and wary glances spoke enough. Half unsettled, half angry, they all wanted answers just like Sal.

  But Cassie.

  Pinned at the back of the steel box, he wondered where she was. Where the kidnappers had taken her. There’d been no word of a ransom video, so he had no choice but to believe she was still alive. And he was glad to believe. Wanted to believe 100 percent.

  Mila needed her mom. She didn’t even know her dad.

  My fault. Totally his fault. But it didn’t change the fact that life would be really hard for a little girl put in that situation.

  Why on earth did he keep thinking about Mila? Why… why was she so important? He didn’t know her. Hadn’t met her. Hadn’t even spoken to her. Yet somehow… she seemed like the most important thing. An urgency filled him to fix the things he’d just mentioned—talking to her, meeting her in person, getting to know her.

  But not without Cassie.

  “Holding it together?” Dean asked as they filed down a long hallway with no doors and too many flickering lights. Like some really bad horror flick.

  Sal tried to nod, but he wasn’t sure it happened. “I don’t have time for this. Cassie—”

  “We’ll work it out,” Dean said. “I promise.”

  A set of double white doors swung open. They stepped into an entrance with some serious security protocols. Fingerprint, eye, voice. All coded in before what Sal thought was a wall whooshed up out of t
he way.

  Waris held a hand toward the opening. Sal noted the others hesitating. He didn’t blame them. That area beyond the vanishing door looked an awful lot like the often-nondescript warehouses where men are tortured and left for dead. Or worse—left alive with festering wounds that turn septic and kill them slowly and excruciatingly.

  Sal moved forward, the nerves in his body thrumming in anticipation of an attack. Of finding himself waking up hours later with a few body parts missing. But inside, he only found moderately cooled air, a half-dozen bulbous cameras dangling from the ceiling. But no chairs. No people. Just an empty cement area.

  A clink sounded beneath his boot. He lifted his foot and stared at the hole with a metal ring encircling it. His gaze rushed the room, noting a dozen more. Evenly spaced. He looked up and his power bar curdled in his stomach.

  He swung around—right into the others filtering into the room—and took a step toward the door. “Hey! What is this?”

  “It’s a freakin’ torture cell,” Schmidt announced.

  As if answering Sal’s question, the door whooshed back down, sealing them in. Waris hadn’t joined them.

  “Son of a—”

  “No doors.” Dean noted as he joined Sal. “Think they plan to have some fun with us?”

  “You know what they say about payback,” Riordan said. “And I can promise Takkar didn’t take our incursion into One lightly.”

  “So, what?” Schmidt turned a slow circle. “He’s going to punish us?”

  Dean muttered, “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “He should talk to us, find out why—”

  “I agree, Mr. Russo,” a mechanical voice boomed through the cement prison. “But you did not extend me that courtesy when you and these men raided and damaged my property.”

  Sal held up his hands, acknowledging the point but not agreeing or apologizing. War was tricky territory. Admitting to a grievance like this could get the entire U.S. military hung up for weeks. Limit their operational capabilities. Raptor had bypassed Command for a reason.

  “We appreciate your position,” Dean said in a clear voice. “Unfortunately, we are on an urgent mission. One of our own has been taken hostage. We do desire to sort this incident out with you, but we request—”