Dead Reckoning

by Ronie Kendig

  Ali bent forward, straining to hear what his man mumbled into the phone over the din of the storm. “What did he say?”

  “We’re clear.”

  The car pulled into a tunnel. Silence devoured the interior, a startling difference after the driving rain. In black, two guards stalked toward the vehicle and opened the door. Uzis rested against their arms.

  Ali climbed out. Dust seemed to cling to the air, thickened by the rain. A former factory with an open train tunnel, the building had ceilings that soared upward a hundred feet. Walls climbed three stories. Trusses hung open and rusted. He coughed and glanced at the two thugs. “Where are they?”

  “This way,” the bigger of the two grumbled and led him through a doorway.

  Ali found himself in a narrow hall that led to at least twenty offices. Straight ahead, the hall dumped into a smaller open area. Black film covered the windows lining both sides. Rain thumped against the glass.

  In the center, ropes restrained a woman slumped over in a steel chair. Blond hair escaped the brown hood covering her face. With a wicked grin at Ali, one of her captors rammed his fist into her head. She groaned.

  “Do not kill her,” Ali growled.

  “She is not cooperating.”

  Clothed only in a blouse that had been ripped to shreds, the woman had red burn marks that marred her arms and legs. Disgust swept through Ali. “You raped her?”

  The man sneered. “I was told to break her.”

  “You fool!” Ali whipped out his cell. “No doubt you have left DNA for the Americans to collect. And what good will this do if you are found and taken into custody? Do you really believe you could survive their interrogation methods?”

  The sneer lost its gleam.

  Turning away, Ali waited for the call to connect.

  “What do you know?” a voice asked.

  “Your fools are not effective.”

  “Tell them to do whatever is necessary. I must know who that girl is and what she knows. She has contacts. I want names. We will make these American infidels pay.”

  “We are endangering our operation. The longer she is here, the more chance they have to find us.”

  “I do not care how long it takes. If you must move her, do so. Then kill her when you have what I need.”

  Ali held his breath. This entire operation worsened with every day.

  “Do you understand, Abdul? Do you understand what this means to your family and to our country?”

  Treats. Always the way of his contact. “Yes.”

  “Good. I would not hesitate to make an example of you.”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “Then get what you need and kill her.”

  Sheets of rain blurred his vision. Reece squinted low against the Ducati as he roared toward Mumbai. He activated the infrared vision on his helmet's visor and increased his speed, but not nearly as much as he wanted. He’d never get there if the rain didn’t let up. The mission had a short timetable, and the elements were fighting him. With every mile, his foul mood increased.

  The oil-slick roads slowed him to a crawl at times. His back wheel slid to the side. The bike wobbled. Heart crashing, he accelerated in the hope of regaining control. Finally, the bike steadied out.

  The call for the mission had come less than fifteen minutes after he’d nearly shattered protocol on his primary objective. He hated the look in Shiloh's eyes as he left. He wanted to tell her why he was leaving, that it wasn’t her.

  Shiloh's face flashed into his memory. He revved the engine and left her image behind. Refusing to be distracted, he mentally went over the Intel relay. An internal contact had notified the American embassy of a potential hit. Without intervention, they’d lose an asset. The dangers for covert operatives never went away. He glanced at the GPS. Less than ten miles out.

  Father, protect me and give me wisdom.

  Lightning knifed the sky, and bright white exploded through his field of vision. The helmet immediately compensated. He silently thanked the engineer who had designed the technology. Otherwise, he’d be smeared across the pavement.

  Following the rail tracks would lead him to the last known location of the asset. Unfortunately, because of the remote site, Reece doubted he’d find anyone worth interrogating. He knew exactly what he’d find out here—grunts, pawns, and a lot of brutality. Tension wound a tight coil in his gut.

  With each layer of this game peeled, the complexity grew. He’d had enough. Enough circles. Enough targets.

  A couple of miles out, he downshifted and aimed for the small house in the middle of a field. Behind it sat a large steel building, like a garage turned workshop. Dodging puddles, he took care in not getting stuck. His visor gave him thermal readouts. One signature. He rolled to a stop ten meters from the door and waited.

  A tall, lanky man emerged from the house. “’Bout time you showed up.” Heath Whitcomb, an operative he’d worked with on many missions, carried a sniper rifle.

  Grinning, Reece climbed off his bike and walked it toward the house. He stowed it inside, shut the door, and jogged toward the shop. Sheltered from the rain, he still felt a chill seeping through his wet clothes. At the tailgate of a black Humvee, they strapped smart armor onto their chests and wired themselves for the operation.

  “Hop in.” Heath closed the rear hatch. The thick, reinforced windows thudded hard against the ten-inch hull.

  As they tore out of the garage and down the jarring road, Reece checked his Glock. “What's the word?”

  Heath shook his head. “Spotter just got there. Once he's set up, he’ll report.” His gloved hand squeezed the steering wheel.

  “You have the extraction point?”

  “Wired in just minutes—” Heath held up his hand and pressed it to a remote hanging around his neck. “Go ahead,” he whispered into the mic.

  Field after boring field of grain and fruit orchards whizzed past. Low clouds danced along the horizon, rolling and tumbling. Thunder shook the vehicle.

  “He's in place,” Heath said to Reece. “Seven tangos. Tree outside, one in a vehicle, three inside. Target's inside and bound.”

  “Point of entry?”

  “Best possible is the side. One door. In and out.”

  “Worst?”

  “Front—wide opening, bottlenecked hall leading to destination.”

  Reece assimilated the intel. What were the chances they’d get the easy route? Would this be the last mission he worked with Heath? Or would they succeed and part ways until another hot spot erupted? He prayed it was the latter.

  “Just play it smart.”

  “Smart gets people killed.” Reece grabbed the paint crayon from his pocket and greased up, drawing long, black lines over his forehead and down his cheeks. He smeared the OD-green greasepaint over his face.

  A block later, they turned into a building. Once they removed the weapons from the hold, they climbed two flights of stairs, then up a metal wall-mounted ladder to an opening in the ceiling. On the roof, they lay flat at the edge of the building next to Whitcomb's spotter.

  “Two more vehicles just pulled up.” The man peered through his binoculars. “They’ve added five more to the game.”

  Reece took the high-powered lenses and focused on the building across the tracks. He made out four tangos in a small room anchored between two large, open areas. In the area to the right, two stood with weapons aimed at the objective. He scanned the perimeter.

  “We need to hit them hard and fast.”

  “No time for quiet.” Heath tossed Reece the keys to the Hummer. “Pick us up at the cross-street one mile away.”

  Back downstairs, Reece climbed behind the wheel of the armored SUV and stuffed his M4 next to him. He positioned the vehicle so he could rocket onto the street. The revving engine made him wish this thing handled like the Ducati, but he needed the reinforced steel and glass, or nobody would come out of this alive. Tires squalling, he held the Hummer in place. Finally, he let her rip.

 
The SUV lunged out the open-bay door, hit a ditch, and flew over the tracks. Landing with a jolt, he steadied the M4.

  An explosion inside the building turned darkness to light. Reece hoped they’d hit the location where the four had assembled. He punched the pedal and aimed for the open room. The Humvee barreled through the wall. Metal folded like an accordion. One panel spiraled ahead of him. Guards dove to the side.

  He whipped the vehicle to the right of the asset, circled, and squealed to a stop on her right. With a punch, he shoved the door open, grabbing his M4.

  Thud. A body fell into view from behind the SUV. Reece knew the guy probably had one sniper bullet through the skull.

  Clearing the room, he felt every nerve tingle. Where was he? Where did the other one go? A whimper dragged his gaze to the bound-and-gagged woman. Her half-naked body bore witness to the hell she’d endured. Reece jerked open the passenger door.

  “Tango at your seven,” Heath warned.

  Reece snapped to his left and fired. The second guard slumped to the floor. Smoke snaked into the area behind the body. The moorings groaned against the fire ravaging the building.

  “Move it, move it! They’re heading your way.”

  He tugged the hood off her head. Angry welts and grossly swollen eyes marred her once-beautiful face. Kneeling at her side, he monitored the environment while reassuring her. “Everything's fine now.”

  With his folding Emerson knife, he sliced through her bonds. Hurrying, yet taking care not to aggravate her injuries, he scooped her into his arms and shuttled her into the back of the Humvee.

  “Package in custody.” Just as he stuffed himself behind the wheel, Reece spotted three armed men in the doorway.

  A ball of fire torpedoed toward him, felling the enemy.

  Reece gunned the engine. His stomach clenched as they bolted through the flames that danced over the armor plating.

  Ping! Ping-ping!

  “Shooter spotted … neutralized,” the voice in his headset said.

  A mile later he flickered the lights and pulled to the edge of the road. Heath and the spotter emerged and climbed into the SUV. By the time they returned to the house, a Little Bird waited, rotors whirring.

  Heath raced to the back and removed his gear, leaving Reece to take care of the former hostage. He hopped out of the SUV and opened her door.

  Her head lolled toward him.

  “How you doing?”

  She gave a soft snort and shook her head.

  “That good, eh?” Reece lifted her into his arms again and transferred her to the bird. A medic immediately slid an IV into her arm. She’d spend a few weeks at Landstuhl Air Force Base in Germany recuperating before she returned to the action. She’d survived, and that impressed him. “Take care. We need you back in the field.”

  Through gritted teeth, she braved a smile despite her split lips. “How's Shiloh?”

  “Wondering about you.”

  “Take care of her.”

  “Will do, Edie.”

  18

  SERENITY SOAKED INTO HER MUSCLES AS SHE GLIDED THROUGH THE QUIET lake. Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the sky, still veiled in pre-dawn hues. Nothing imbued her with peace so completely as swimming. The tension of the water pressing against her, then relinquishing to her movements. The cooling touch of the liquid caressing her aching limbs and heart.

  Turning onto her stomach, she swam out to the buoy. Holding onto the side, she remembered the way she’d nearly beaten Reece. He always challenged her, left her wanting to be better, smarter, faster.

  Prettier.

  She flinched. Would he have withdrawn his kiss if she’d been prettier? Is that what made him hold back? Or was it his job—dedication to the call and all that?

  Self-hatred chided her for pining after a man she barely knew. Yet she felt as though she had known him forever. He definitely knew everything about her. And it hadn’t taken him ten years to develop that uncanny ability to counter everything she said or did before she could speak or act. Still, while she hadn’t learned to read him, she did have a good sense of what to expect from Reece. For example, if he had returned by now, he would probably be standing on the shoreline watching her.

  She let herself look. Idiot. Of course he wasn’t there. Lowering herself into the water, she stared down at the glassy surface, surprised at how much she’d hoped to see him. He said he’d be back today, but it could be midnight before she heard the purr of his Ducati.

  Laughter filtered through the early morning quiet. Gita must be whipping up breakfast. With a push, Shiloh glided toward shore in a backstroke. The luminescent moon seemed transparent as the sun pushed it from its high orbit. In the six months she’d spent in India, she had come to love the country, with its ancient history and majestic views. There was something to be said for the slower pace of life. Sure, there were hot spots in the city, but she savored the tranquility that fed her soul in this country.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted wide brown eyes amid a furry face floating toward her. She giggled. “Hello, Aras.” The monkey clambered onto Shiloh's stomach. “Looking for a free ride, huh?”

  She kept her strokes even as they came to shore. Easing back, she dragged herself to where the water lapped against her legs. With Aras on her knees, Shiloh stroked the monkey's fur.

  “So, what do you think? Will he come back this afternoon or tonight? I want him back now.”

  Aras's head tilted as her eyes locked on something behind Shiloh. The monkey let out an intermittent screech.

  “What?” She glanced over her shoulder and jolted. “Reece.” She stood as Aras scampered off . Flustered that he’d snuck up on her, and yet thrilled at seeing him again, she yanked her towel around herself.

  “Monkeys are not known for cooperation during interrogations.”

  “Ha. Ha.” She started toward the camp.

  “Shiloh, let's talk.”

  Nerves buzzing, she didn’t trust herself standing alone with him and so kept plodding up the path toward camp. “So, talk.”

  “We have to go back to Mumbai Harbor.”

  She stopped, the wind knocked out of her lungs.

  “You’re the only one who knows where the cylinder was, and it could contain very important clues to the case.” Pebbles and dirt crunched as he joined her on the path. “We might be too late to retrieve it, but we have to try.”

  He wanted her to return to where Khalid had been murdered. To where he’d killed Baseer. Where Mikhail drowned. Her breath shuddered as he came into view next to her.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Listen,” he said, positioning himself in front of her. “We’ll leave at dusk and be back before sunrise.”

  She dragged her gaze to his. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to go anywhere but hom—” The words lodged in her throat. I have no home.

  “Want to try that again?”

  Why did he always have to know what she was thinking? Glowering, she turned and paced the path to the lake.

  “With the cover of Miller's team, we’ll make the dive, grab the cylinder, and be out before anyone is the wiser.”

  Shaking her head, she sighed. “Going back is stupid. They know who we are, what we look like.” She whirled toward him. “Won’t they be watching the site?”

  “Yes.”

  Shiloh studied him. Not a single line of concern or crease of worry on his rugged face. Blue eyes betrayed nothing but confidence. Insecurity scratched at her, especially with Reece and his unwavering, undaunting, un-everything personality. Like a brick wall. Nothing got past him or affected him. Why couldn’t she be strong too? She didn’t want him thinking she was weak. But honestly … she wasn’t sure she could pull this off .

  He held out a pill.

  She huffed. “Buying my cooperation?”

  “Wouldn’t want anything to happen in the bay.”

  Pill in her hand, she stared at it. Another sign of her weakness. An inability to even control her own
body. “I’ve never had a seizure in the water.” Should she ingest the miracle cure? “The neurologist thinks the combination of water pressure and how much it relaxes me prevents the tangling of the electrical signals that seize my muscles.” Did he have more confidence in her if she took it? Would he believe in her then? She stuck the white tablet in her mouth and swallowed. “There. Happy?”

  He closed the distance between them and tipped up her chin. “I’d never put you in jeopardy.”

  Cotton coated her tongue as sky-blue irises glistened back at her. “I-I thought anything could happen—that's why you’re always prepared, expect the unexpected.”

  His eyes traced her face. “Exactly.”

  Stomach swimming at being so close to him, Shiloh pulled away. “You know what? You’re arrogant.” She stepped around him and continued up the path.

  “Confident.”

  “Same thing.” She trudged toward camp with him right behind her. All right, Mr. Confidence. After a glance back to gauge his proximity, she dropped to the ground. Fingers planted against the dirt, she swung her legs around to sweep his feet out from under him.

  He leapt into the air and as he came down, he pinned her shoulders to the hard earth. Immediately, he snatched her wrists and held them over her head with one hand.

  Shiloh gasped, stunned as a jolt of pain shot down her back and through her shoulders. Dirt and her own stupidity ground into her face. What was she thinking?

  A chuckle—a deep one. “You’re too easy.”

  Mind racing, she thought to whip her leg up and smack him in the back. But with one leg, he had both of hers secured. Teeth gritted, she chose to feign surrender. “Fine. You win.”

  Amusement trickled through his eyes and into his lips. “I don’t think so.” His grip on her hands and legs didn’t lessen.

  Angry—yet wanting very much to laugh—she let out a half groan. “Okay.”

  He didn’t budge.

  “Get off me, you big oaf!”

  Reece chuckled again and scooted back onto his haunches.