by Ronie Kendig
Shouts below.
Her eyes snapped open. Straight down, she saw men.
They’d been discovered.
Tempted to hurry, she knew they couldn’t. One wrong toe placement …
Then again, if the Chinese started shooting again, toes wouldn’t matter.
Darci rammed her foot into a hold. Used all her remaining strength and threw herself toward the upper ledge. She caught … then slipped.
Rocks dribbled down.
“No,” she ground out as she scrambled. Her fingers clawed dirt.
Rocks.
Sliding debris.
Gravity snatched them.
Thirteen
2 Klicks outside FOB Robertson
Cold poured into their Humvee without mercy. Dull and aggravating, a throb annoyed Heath as they trounced over the hard-packed roads through the training area. He should’ve eaten a good meal before heading out. If the headache continued to increase, he—
No. He wouldn’t go there or let that happen. He freed his CamelBak straw, clamped down on the bite valve, and inhaled. The water felt good, but the throb didn’t ease. Probably because the pounding wasn’t from water deprivation. But from stress. From the TBI. He had to make it. Couldn’t go south now with his health.
A wet nose nudged his cheek. Then a wet tongue.
“You want some, girl?” Heath aimed the valve at Trinity and squeezed. Water squirted her nose. She jerked back but then lapped the liquid, half of it splashing on him at first. He chuckled as she settled next to him and seemed ready for a nap.
Heath swiped his arm over his face and mouth as he squinted out the windshield at the maneuvers. He’d seen a sniper take out a target without being spotted. He’d seen a Ranger battalion on the range, and he’d seen tanks and MRAPs practicing.
“Where are the dogs?”
“Come again?” Watters steered around an incline, then ramped up another.
“Specialist Farley said there were some working dogs out here.”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah.” Watterboy adjusted his weapon strap. “Command ordered them down to Helmand. Got some HPTs coming in, so they sent the dogs.”
Heath nodded, remembering the mission that had been his last. “My last gig was for HPTs, remember? They’re expensive.”
Watters nodded. “No kidding. Cost a lot in equipment, training—and if things go bad, body count.”
Heath held up his hand. “It goes bad.”
“It was a close call. At least you’ll never forget—and neither will I.”
As he lowered his arm, Trinity nudged his hand up and licked it, pulling a laugh from him. Heath didn’t need to see behind the Oakley sunglasses to know Watters’s hazel eyes studied him. He nodded to Trinity. “Think she remembers that mission?”
“I guarantee it, but she doesn’t spook easily.” Wish I could say the same for me.
The thought of a spooked dog pushed his gaze back to Aspen. Just as he turned, her curls bounced as she turned her head away. Maybe now would be a good time for a topic change. “So, you guys seeing a lot of Taliban up here?”
“You know how it was a hot spot here for a while, so we were ordered into the mountains. Then things quieted down and we were sent south.” Watters shrugged as he pulled up along another Humvee. “Now the bad guys are back.” A broad white smile stood in stark contrast to Watterboy’s very tanned face and dark beard. “So are we.”
Stepping out into the cold seemed to invite the Afghan desert to drum on his skull. Heath winced as he strapped his helmet back on. The thing felt like a ton of bricks. A little more water and he’d be okay. All he had to do was stay in the shade as much as possible. Hydrate. Avoid stress.
Right.
They rounded a bend, stepping down a narrow gorge that emptied into an open valley guarded on all sides by limestone. The shape of the terrain reminded him of an upright tunnel.
Squinting, he peered up at the unrelenting sun layering its way into the gorge. Shade. “Right.” After one more sip of water and a squirt for Trin, he kneaded the back of his neck.
“You okay, Prince Charming?”
He eyed Hogan and knew she was waiting for him to fail. To prove her right. To be weak. “Peachy.”
She gave a cockeyed grin and stepped past him. “Be glad Beowulf’s not here. He can smell a liar.”
Heath hesitated.
Hogan laughed.
And the sound plucked on the frayed ends of his nerves, pushing a scowl into his face. The knotted muscles added to the thunder rumbling through his thick skull.
Jibril touched his shoulder. “Easy. She just likes getting you worked up.”
“She’s good at it.”
“My sister has the same talent with me.” Jibril smiled, his beard fitting in with the dozen Spec Ops soldiers they trailed into a makeshift shelter.
Three MRAPs sat in the northern quadrant with a tarp stretched over them, providing the only source of shade. The immediate relief to his throbbing head almost made him wilt in gratitude. Huddled around their leader, the men talked as if lives depended on their chatter.
Heath could sense a shift in the force. Scowls. Tensed shoulders. Hands fisted. Lips set in determined lines.
“Hold up,” Watters said. “Looks like something’s happening. Stay here.”
Suspicions confirmed, Heath lowered himself onto the bumper of one of the MRAPs and rubbed Trinity’s head. She whimpered, scooting forward every few seconds. She could sense it, too. Huh. Maybe his subconscious had picked up on her antsy behavior, and that’s what alerted him, since dogs had heightened senses. No doubt by the scent of fear. Maybe even aggression.
It was in the air, too. As if the spirits that roamed this country were … Were what? Alive? Of course they were. The Bible spoke about the spirit of a place. So why did it surprise him? “Because it’s almost tangible.”
“What?” Aspen looked at him.
“Nothing.” He tightened his hold on Trinity’s lead.
“What do you see?” Jibril lowered himself to the bumper.
“They’re planning. Something on the spot, need to move fast. Probably got wind of suspicious activity nearby.” Otherwise, they’d be packing up and rumbling back to base camp. “Not too urgent, or they’d be yelling back and forth with SOCOM.”
Watterboy and Candyman approached.
Heath stood and Trinity with him. “What’s up?”
“Command got word of a potential drug lord’s location about ten klicks east. We’re going to check it out.” Watters squinted as he looked at them, then to the ladies. “You’re cleared to go along, but you stick like glue to us.”
“Let’s move,” Hogan said.
Heath glanced at the girl, who didn’t seem to understand what a threat was, that they could go into this village … and never come out alive. Wait a minute, wasn’t this what he’d wanted three weeks ago? To get back in the action, prove he still had what it took?
Parwan Province, Afghanistan
He’d never taken kindly to traitors. Staring down the face of the cliff where Jia struggled to maintain her grip, he toyed with letting her drop.
But Peter Toque needed her. Needed to know what her mission was here. Because one thing was certain—she was a part of the geological survey team, in name only.
A yelp yanked his better judgment to the front. He hooked an arm around a tree that shot up out of the rocky terrain and swung down, catching her arm.
The sudden shift in her weight jerked them down. Wide, almond-shaped eyes came to his, the moonlight glowing off the whites. The tree cracked. Popped. Gravel dug into his belly as he strained against her weight.
She slapped her hand up and coiled her fingers around Peter’s forearm. “Don’t let go.”
Don’t tempt me. He gritted his teeth, dug his heels in, pulling himself into a hunch, then hauled her up. Shouts and clamoring voices drew closer.
She twisted and flopped onto her back, rolling away from the ledge, and thudded against a rock. A grunt hi
ssed out.
He half expected her to lie there, but in a lightning-fast move, she hopped to her feet and sprinted away.
Peter cursed his hesitation and darted after her. He’d—once again—underestimated the Asian woman. Since they’d met in the warehouse and she’d shown more awareness of the geopolitical nature of the area than the geological makeup, he’d watched her. Back at Bagram, she’d been pulled into a meeting with a general after saying she’d filled out paperwork wrong. She returned an hour later, and all paperwork questions vanished. Good thing he didn’t believe her geology student status.
Rock and dirt exploded, peppering his cheek. A piece flicked against his brow. He cursed and ducked, wanting to stay intact, and propelled himself around the next corner. Pumping his arms faster, he vowed to get the truth out of Jia—if they survived tonight.
He broke through a small cluster of trees—and rammed straight into Jia, shoving her forward. She yelped. Why wasn’t she moving faster? “Move! Go! They’re right behind us.” Peter pushed her.
She stumbled, recovered, then ran again. But her legs seemed tangled in vines. After a few missteps, she regained her footing, and they hurried farther and farther from the gunshots.
They tumbled into the camp almost on top of each other.
Jaekus leapt from his canvas chair by a fire. “Whoa!”
Jia dropped to her knees with heaving breaths.
“We’ve got trouble. Get everyone up.” Peter spun to Jia. “What have you done? Where did you go?”
Eyes hooded in pain, she barely acknowledged him as she fumbled with her zipper.
Only then did he notice another set of eyes peeking at him. A child—in her jacket! “Who is that?”
The little girl wiggled out of Jia’s coat, dark spots sprinkled against her clothes.
“She’s bleeding!”
“No,” Jia said with a gulp. “She’s okay.” After another labored breath, Jia looked to the right and slumped back onto her legs.
Alice came from the tent. “What’s happening?”
Jia nudged the little girl toward the only other female in the camp. “Alice, get her clean clothes and some food. She’s been alone for a while.”
The nymphlike girl rushed into action, ferrying the child into a tent just as the professor emerged from his quarters, firelight accenting the bags under his eyes and the askew salt-and-pepper hair.
Even as the others fretted over the little one, Peter knew something was wrong with Jia. She’d been a pillar of strength and defiance since their first meeting at the university. When she tried to stand just now and tripped, his suspicions were confirmed.
“It’s you. That was your blood on her.”
Not responding or even acknowledging him, Jia pressed a hand to her shoulder, pushed onto her feet. “Everyone pack up. We’ve got a truckload of trouble about to hit us.” She trudged toward the tent she shared with Alice, her boots dragging heavily on the dirt. As she reached the opening, Jia paused and looked back.
Jaekus and the prof stood around, dazed.
“Move, people! They’re coming to kill us, not have tea.” Despite the vehemence in her words, the strain couldn’t be missed. “Move! Now!” She wavered.
Peter stepped into her path as she eased into the darkened interior. “Get off me. Pack up.”
“Screw the stuff. You’re hurt. Let me see it.” He pointed to her cot.
She shoved him back. “Get out! Don’t you get it—?”
“Yeah, I get it. You’re Lara Croft’s sister and don’t like her showing you up. But if that”—he pointed to her shoulder—“kills you, nobody will have to worry who’s stronger.”
“Nobody should be worrying—period!” She reached under the bed and grabbed her pack. When she swung it onto the cot, she jerked and held her arm. She recovered, then dug in the pack. Sweat beaded on her pale face.
Her stupidity would get everyone killed.
Not if I can help it.
Peter snatched the Glock holstered at his back.
Fourteen
Gun in hand, Darci spun. Staring down the barrel of a Glock, she hauled in a breath. Her gaze jumped to the owner. “Toque.” His name came out like a breath. A disbelieving breath. “What are you doing with a firearm?”
He knocked his against hers. “I could ask the same.” A smirk. “Thought I had you pegged right.” He cocked his head and nodded toward her HK 9mm, then his weapon. “Same time?”
Yield? Was he crazy? “I’m eating your barrel and you want me to stand down?”
“Together.”
“Who are you?”
“Weapon first.” He motioned toward her cot with his free hand. “On the bed.”
Clenching her jaw, Darci considered the showdown. She should’ve been alerted to him. In a way she had, with the way he stood out, annoyed her, trailed her. But she hadn’t clued in, and that was a deadly mistake. When had she last made such a grievous error?
Who was he? He couldn’t have known her mission, so what put him on her team in the middle of Afghanistan? This couldn’t be a coincidence.
“You said we had to hurry,” he said in a calm, smooth voice.
Darci flicked her wrist so the firearm pointed toward the ceiling of the tent. Eyes locked on Toque, she backstepped away from him and bent as he did the same. She set the weapon down and backed up. Mentally combing her belongings. Where had she put the Gerber?
Toque set his Glock down and straightened. Hands on his belt, he flashed that cocky smile. “So, what part of the alphabet soup are you?”
“If you had any brains, you wouldn’t ask.”
“Let’s just say I’m short on those at the moment.”
His arrogance kneaded her frustration. Cold wind flapped against the tent opening and swirled around her hands and face. “We can play Scrabble with our letters, or we can get everyone packed up and out of here—alive.”
“Who’s coming? You never said.”
“Does it matter? The brand doesn’t matter when it’s a bullet through the skull.” Truth or Dare. If she told him it was the Chinese, he’d never believe it. She sure wouldn’t have if she hadn’t seen their distinctive faces with her own eyes.
“Matters a lot to me.”
“Then you can die alone.” Darci dug into her pack. She’d learned long ago how to get by on little. And survive on less. She glanced at him as she tugged out the blast-proof box. Spinning it to the right combo, she tried her best to ignore the man standing over her.
“You’re spooked. So I’m going to guess it wasn’t Taliban. What? Has someone with a vendetta found you at last?”
She popped the lid, removed the canister of oxygen, then pressed down twice in rapid succession. Click! Darci dug her fingernails into the hair-thin space between the platform and the interior hull and pried up. The false bottom gave way. She pulled out the tiny satellite phone.
“Last resort, Kintz. A call from that phone should precede your death by seconds.” The general’s warning boomed through her mind as she powered it up.
Toque cursed.
Darci recognized the move that followed his curse and dove for her weapon.
Dead weight dropped against her arm. Pain snapped a yelp from her.
“Who?” Toque growled, his face against hers.
“Idiot!”
“Who followed you?”
“I am not authorized to divulge that information.” “American?”
Darci met his hard expression, their noses an inch apart. She knew what he was asking—since she had slanted eyes and high cheekbones—was she loyal to the Asians or Americans? And she hated the operative before her for even questioning her loyalty.
“You’re the spook,” she ground out. “You tell me.”
He didn’t budge.
“What—what’s going on?”
At the startled voice of Alice Ward, Toque stood. In the second it took him to stand, Darci flipped the blanket over their weapons, folded it up, and tucked the bundle in her pack
. “Nothing. We’re packing up. Toque was getting fresh.”
Toque spun, his gaze skimming the bed, then nailing the backpack as she slung it over her shoulders and secured the straps around her waist. “Hey!”
“Out of time.” She looked past him to Alice. “How’s the girl?”
“Clean.” She swallowed, still disconcerted and not buying the cover Darci had thrown over their standoff. “She’s asking for you.”
“What about the others?” Darci stepped around the cot.
“Jaekus is packed and waiting. The professor is muttering and not doing much of anything else.”
“Alice, make him! Or he’ll be dead within the hour.” Darci rushed toward her. “Now!”
Mouth open, eyes wide, Alice took a step back. Nodded. Then another step backward. “Right.” She spun and hurried into the morning that washed with the blue specter of dawn. Odd. She’d never thought of dawn in that way, but knowing daylight could reveal them if they had to hide …
Fire ripped through the back of her head. Her world tilted upward.
Toque had her hair in a fist. He hauled her against him. Something pinched her throat.
A knife!
Planting one hand on the handle and one on the blade, she forced herself not to fight him. To set him off balance and seize the chance. “You won’t get anything out of me like this.”
“It seems there’s no way to get anything out of you. But I have a feeling you’ll talk if I go after that girl.”
“N—” She clamped down on the panic.
He chuckled. “Thought you might reconsider. Now cough it up.”
The girl wasn’t just a child she’d gone soft for. Badria could possibly identify who’d murdered her family. Yielding now insured Darci could get the girl back to Bagram, back to the general and the experts.
“Who’s coming, Jia?”
“Release me.”
“We tried it your way.”
“You’re going to get us killed.”
“No, you wasting time is getting us killed.”
Anger tightened her chest. “Fine.” As soon as she said it, the pressure on her throat eased. She pushed the knife away and straightened, moving toward the tent-pole support. If she needed to, she’d use it somehow.
