by J. L. Saint
Fahran grabbed her hand. “Forgive me. Father is wrong. I am wrong. Allah hasn’t forsaken you. You were about to die and you were unafraid. His peace is in you. How did you find it?”
Mari drew a sharp breath. None of this could be real, but it was. Fahran looked as if his soul hung in the balance of her answer. How could she explain something she hadn’t even been able to understand herself? Had the spirit of Allah, the spirit of Roger’s God touched them in their need? She clasped Fahran’s hand and told him the one thing she’d learned from Roger and the one thing she’d just realized herself. “Allah doesn’t forsake someone because they are not perfect or because they fall in the eyes of men. He looks upon the heart and the love inside it. Only love can bring peace.”
“Go,” Fahran whispered. “Stay away from the roads and tell your husband that they will kill his cousin at the funeral.”
Mari reeled at the impact of what Fahran revealed. His cousin? The President? She’d suspected her family was here to do harm, but to know the extent of their plans was horrifying. What funeral? Roger’s? Had they planned to kill the President at Roger’s funeral?
Setera pulled on Mari’s arm. “Hurry. We must go. Give her your gun and your knife, Fahran.” Mari took the weapons from her brother.
Setera ran ahead. “Men will come at any minute.”
Mari stood, her heart torn, but knew she had no other choice. She had to leave her brother and sister this way. She caught up with her mother. “Let me have the gun, Mother. If they catch us, I don’t want them to blame you either.”
Setera handed over the gun even as she shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter if they did. My life has been well-lived and these last years a burden too sad to bear. To know you are alive and free with my grandchildren far away from the poison in our homeland brings me peace at last.”
Mari swallowed the lump of thick emotion clogging her throat. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hold her family close and save them and couldn’t. They had to get to Roger before it was too late. Her mother led her to the back of the cabin and they climbed out a window into the cover of trees. Keeping to the shadows edging the camp, they walked softly. Men were shouting back and forth, asking if all was in order for Mullah Meshood’s arrival.
With every step, Mari expected disaster to strike and when it did, she still reeled with shock.
“Bring them to me and kill them now!” Her father’s roaring scream of rage cut through the camp like a giant scythe. Chaos broke and men ran every direction like headless chickens. Mari watched as two guards dragged Roger from a building not more than fifty feet away from her. Roger was fighting them tooth and nail. He head-butted one guard under the chin and the man fell over backward as if a knockout punch had been delivered.
“It is time this ended,” Setera said. Leaning close, she kissed Mari’s cheek then took her gun back. “Save your man and make sure your babies know their grandmother loves them.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Distract your father from his madness. Now hurry and save your man before more guards come.”
Setera ran back toward the other end of the camp and Mari rushed from the trees toward Roger, Fahran’s gun aimed at the guard. “Drop your gun and let him go or I will shoot.” The gun was heavier than anything she’d held before. Her hands were swollen and felt like two left feet, but she kept her grip firm and her finger on the trigger.
Both Roger and the guard looked up, shocked. Mari realized half a second too late that she probably should have just shot the guard without warning. The hardened gleam in the man’s eyes told her he wasn’t going to drop his gun or let Roger go, but he was going to shoot her. He swung his muzzle at her in the space of a heartbeat.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Outskirts of the White Aryan Vipers (WAV) Militia Training Camp
Harnett County, North Carolina
1800 hours
With the explosion still ringing in his ears and dirt from the near cave-in shaking down to where the sun-don’t-shine, Jack followed Beck in the race to the Viper Camp. They headed for the road rather than cutting back through the rugged terrain.
Even then, Jack couldn’t run fast enough to ease the urgency eating at him. Dugar had to be stopped before he brought tragedy down on all of them. “You know,” he shouted at Beck, “if I’d been in the ATF’s shoes, I’d have hauled Dugar’s ass to jail and then located the explosives.”
“Might have never found them if we hadn’t trailed him to the cave.”
“Maybe.”
“And what if some kids stumbled on his booby-traps beforehand?”
“Could have happened anyway,” Jack pointed out.
“Yeah, but could you sleep with that weight on your chest?” Beck grunted his point.
“Okay, so maybe I’d have watched him too. But damn, they must not have been watching him close. He had everything he needed in that cave to wage a major war on us all.”
Beck suddenly veered to the opposite side of the road.
Jack slowed down. “What are you doing?”
“Come look.” Beck squatted.
The patch of oil Jack thought Beck was checking turned out to be blood with a trail leading toward a ravine. A dirty boot sitting upright and unlaced on the roadside marked the spot. They both moved to the side, looking over.
The red dirt bike at the bottom had them hurrying down, looking for its rider.
Could they be so lucky? Had Dugar somehow crashed? Halfway down the incline, hidden from the road by a large bush was a man in his underwear, knife wound to the heart.
Jack checked for a pulse. The man was dead, but hadn’t been there for long. “What you want to bet Dugar has new wheels and new duds?”
Beck scrambled to the dirt bike. “Engine’s still warm. That guy’s wearing a combat-medic tattoo on his left arm and is ripped from head to toe. Bet the only way Dugar took him out was by playing opossum on the side of the road next to that lone boot.”
“Good Samaritan reward these days. Until we ID him then we’ve no BOLO vehicle for Dugar.” The dirt bike wasn’t much, but it had been something. Dugar could now park his ass practically anywhere and take out God only knows how many innocent people.
Up on the road, several ambulances whined by, but were too far away and going too fast for Jack or Beck to wave them down for a ride. Jack reported their discovery to the police and to his team at the Viper camp as they climbed to the road and started pounding the pavement again. With each step, the need to figure out Dugar’s next move mushroomed bigger and bigger.
As they came down a hill, Jack saw a police roadblock set up, controlling access on the highway to the Viper camp. A circus of news crews had gathered. “Sharks are already looking for blood.”
“Nah,” Beck said. “Animals like Dugar are the sharks. Those folks are the vultures that feed on the carrion left behind, and are unfortunately necessary these days.”
Coming from Beck, an intensely private man, the statement surprised Jack. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’s that?”
“They expose the sharks hiding among us.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said. Think about it. Since Lebanon I’ve concluded the world rarely gets the truth. There is always another story behind the Kool-Aid served.” The bitterness was back in Beck’s voice.
Jack’s temper, already on edge, slipped. “What the hell’s your real problem? Shit happens, bro. FUBARs aren’t flukes and life’s never fair. We’ve known that for years. So what is it? You don’t think the commander is torn up about it? You don’t think everyone’s hurting like hell over Neil?”
Beck didn’t answer but ran harder.
Jack kept pace and smacked Beck on the shoulder, feeling too pissed to let this go. He wanted to know now. “So what the hell is it? Why is your ass so hung up?”
Beck shoved Jack back. “You want to know what? It wasn’t just the team in there. He didn’t just write you all off as being dead, but decided th
at Amanda James and Prime Minister Shalev’s daughter were dead too. Amanda, a gold-medal gymnast, is crippled. And Shalev is still in a coma. What the fuck were we in there rescuing them for? Why the hell even bother when eliminating a high-value target takes priority over everything else? I don’t care if all the signs said the team was dead. My gut said differently and the commander knew it.”
“Okay, I buy that. You’re pissed and have a right to be. But Muhammed al Qassem had already masterminded the death of thousands of Americans and the Lt. Col. chose to eliminate the risk to thousands more at the cost of six he thought were dead. If your finger had been on the button? If the future outcome rested on your shoulders? What would you have done?”
“Waited.”
“How long? Five minutes? Ten? We were already over our time.” Jack sucked in air and forced out the truth. “The reality of it all is that I don’t even know if we had two minutes left. The takedown went south from the get-go. Our time was up and we hadn’t even made it to the third story. Fire was eating the floor from under us. We could barely breathe. Rico and I had taken hits. Neil’s hold on the insurgents in the stairwell was slipping. There were too many coming too fast. With our planned exit blocked, we only had seconds to escape out the window. Someone was going to have to stay behind for the rest of us to have half a chance and we both know how that would have ended. That missile just might have saved us all from slaughter.”
“You sure about that? Maybe your mind is bending the facts so you can deal with the collateral damage.”
Jack didn’t think so, but he held back his response as an ambulance whizzed madly onto the highway from a crossroad twenty feet ahead and flipped on its siren. The cops at the roadblock waved the vehicle through without even checking it.
Jack stopped in his tracks. “That combat-medic tattoo screaming at you, Beck?”
Beck looked at him oddly for a split second, then understanding hit. “Shit.”
Beck took off at a dead run for the cops and Jack dialed Mac as he ran. Quite a number of combat medics came home from the war and continued on in emergency rescue. Some as EMTs. What if Dugar had carjacked an ambulance?
Who would stop him? Those jokers ahead would have flagged the SOB through. Right into the midst of a conglomeration of FBI, ATF and local authorities, as well as military investigators, men from Bragg and secret service agents. The jackpot of targets.
Jack caught up to Beck, who was on the warpath, his steely gray eyes as sharp as daggers as he blistered the shell-shocked cops for not checking the emergency vehicles. The APB on Dugar had been out long enough for his mug to be recognized—if they’d bothered to look.
“We’ve got to move. Mac’s passing the word. If Dugar is there, it won’t be long before he suspects something is up.”
“If?” one of the cops cried. “If? You said he—”
“No ifs.” Beck moved in closer. “With a body not more than a mile behind us, the SOB is there or has been there. Count on it. We need your keys. And you’d better pray like hell we neutralize him before he takes any more good men down.”
The cop tossed Beck the keys to the patrol car. Beck dove for the driver’s seat. Jack went shotgun. Fast just wasn’t fast enough for Jack. It was less than two minutes before they screeched to a halt. The scene before him couldn’t have been more strategically set up for disaster if he’d written a script. Flanking both sides of the road, official vehicles were stacked end to end. Closer to the Viper camp, vested agents and a mix of authorities in various uniforms stood in groups close to ambulances with lights flashing. EMTs with stretchers stood at the ready. The only good thing about the situation was a steep ravine twenty yards to the right.
Jack didn’t see Mac or Surf. Up toward the front, CID’s Sergeant Vance stood next to bull of a man bellowing on a megaphone.
Jack piled out of the car. “Why the hell is everyone still centralized?”
Beck followed. “Wasn’t Mac spreading the word?”
Jack redialed Beck, his spine crawling. “No answer.”
“Think Dugar got Mac? Do we scream ‘bomb’ and force his hand, or do we find the bomb?”
Jack dialed Mac again, not wanting to believe something had happened. “Dugar had only timers on the workbench. No cell phone components. No RF devices. He was in a hurry. I’m willing to bet he can’t detonate it remotely.”
Beck grunted. “You’re assuming there’s only one bomb. It’s been at least twenty minutes since the last explosion and almost three hours since I followed him to the camp. He took enough C4 to crater the area. You think he’s been twiddling his thumbs all this time?”
“Shit.” Jack ran for the men. “Bombs. Get away from the vehicles.”
“Head for the ravine!” Beck shouted. “Bombs!”
For a moment most of the gathered men just stared. Only a few started moving. But then they didn’t know him or Beck from Joe Blow. Jack saw the ATF agent Beck had captured and made eye contact. “Dugar is here! Get them to the ravine!”
“Run!” the ATF agent screamed. Everyone moved then.
Jack went for Sergeant Vance at the head group, who had yet to catch on to the situation. “Bomb! Run for the ravine!”
The bull with the horn scowled. “Who the hell are you?”
“Our savior,” Sergeant Vance said, heading for the ravine. “When a soldier says bomb, move first, ask later.”
Wood splintered from a tree trunk near Jack’s head a split second before automatic gunfire split the air. Jack dove for the ground. He had no doubt Dugar was fit to be tied to see his plans going south and had started shooting. Neither he nor Beck had considered that.
“What the hell, DT?” Surf appeared from the woods then dove near Jack as another round of gunfire peppered the area.
“Dugar’s here with C4 and firepower. Where’s Mac?”
“He’s not back yet? He went to the car—”
Jack didn’t wait to hear more. The vehicles were opposite the safety of the nearest ravine. If Mac was there and unconscious, Jack had to know. Staying low, Jack ran. Surf moved in behind him. Gunfire followed. Several agents running for the ravine fell.
Jack looked for Beck but didn’t see him and knew that his friend had gone after Dugar. Likely a split second after the first shot.
He and Surf passed the ambulances and headed for the vehicles, his gut telling him they were all on borrowed time. Up ahead, at the end of the line of cars, was Mac’s Mustang. Jack ran faster, harder, his body screaming in protest as he demanded more. Surf kept pace.
The blast his sixth sense had known was coming blew him into the air, wrangling him end over end until he hit the asphalt and made a flesh-eating slide across the road. That’s when Jack saw a body underneath Mac’s car. He didn’t look back, he didn’t look up. Any second debris would hit. He struggled to rise, surprised to find Surf tugging on his arm. Surf’s mouth was moving but Jack couldn’t hear.
“He’s under the car.” Jack pointed at Mac’s body and gained his feet, feeling like a drunk in an underwater ballet as he stumbled forward. Ten steps later the first, second and third cars lining the road exploded. Armageddon had come.
His gaze met Surf’s. They both knew Mac’s car would blow, yet neither of them stopped. They reached the Mustang, each grabbing one of Mac’s legs sticking out from beneath the car and ran for the ditch, dragging Mac’s body. They didn’t know if he was alive or dead and it didn’t matter. No man left behind.
The car blew. The last thing Jack felt as hellfire and brimstone rained down was the diamond ring in his pocket.
Chapter Thirty-Five
River of Blood Camp
Union County, Georgia
Mari dove to the side as the guard’s muzzle moved her way. Any damage he planned to do, Roger’s rage brought to a screeching halt.
Mari wasn’t sure how, but in seconds Roger had the guard on the ground and his legs locked around the guy’s neck. The guy twitched several times then went lax, his gun falling to the dir
t. She didn’t know if the man was dead or not and wasn’t going to ask. She slipped Fahran’s knife out and freed Roger’s wrists.
He had to be in as much pain as she had been, even more so. The tape on his wrist must have been tighter or he’d fought the bonds more. His wrists oozed blood and his swollen hands were tinted blue. He didn’t groan or even flinch. He snatched the tape from his mouth, grabbed for the guard’s gun—had to do it twice before his fingers worked—then spun around, looking for danger.
She heard a gunshot, but didn’t even get the chance to gasp before Roger pushed her for the trees. “Run as fast as you can and don’t look back. I’ll catch up,” he whispered.
She didn’t want to run ahead without him, but he looked at her as if his life hung on her decision and she did as he asked. Gun in hand, she dove into the cover of the trees and ran. Thankfully it was downhill, letting her gain more distance from the camp with every step. At least she’d worn tennis shoes that morning rather than slippers.
So much had happened in just the space of a day. From the despair and the terror of being taken by her brother, to seeing the madness in her father, to discovering her family had not completely forsaken her in that cell. Her heart ached to go back to say something, to do something to let them know she loved them. She might never see them again and she hadn’t even said good-bye.
Distracted, she tripped and nearly fell down the hill. If she hurt herself, she and Roger would be killed. She forced family from her mind. She’d have to think about them later. For now, she had to focus on survival for her growing child, for herself, and for Roger.
Minutes later, shots rang out from the camp and men started screaming. Mari stumbled again as she wavered over what to do. She almost stopped running, almost turned back, afraid that Roger had been caught. Her mother and brother had sacrificed everything to help her and Roger escape. There wouldn’t be a second chance.
She ran ten more feet, forcing herself to go on and to trust that Roger would come back. Then she stopped suddenly as rocks clattered behind her.
