by Ronie Kendig
What was that? He’d done that at Bagram, too. One thing remained clear to her: When that man decided something, he went after it with war dog-like tenacity. Or was that just a one-day fluke? Would he press her again? Funny enough, it hadn’t bugged her the way he’d gotten into her face about hiding her feelings. She liked it. Felt drawn to it. Nothing fake there.
It reminded Darci of her parents. Especially her mother. She’d been so strong, right up to the day she never came home. Friends said she’d been taken from the street on her way home from a Bible study. It still happened today—Christians vanishing into the penal systems of countries like China, Afghanistan, Iran. And the world looked the other way, right into the mind-numbing, moral-erasing conscience of entertainment: television, movies, Internet. Anything to anesthetize their minds to things they didn’t want to deal with. Things they felt were out of their control and power. And so … they let it continue.
Then there were the men like those around her. They’d sacrificed time with their families, some sacrificed everything—even their lives—to make a difference. Fight wars nobody wanted to fight. Again, more of the same that most of the world didn’t want to face.
The sense of justice faded. But not for all. Darci felt the call burning in her from the moment her mother vanished. What put the burning in Heath to be a soldier? To fight battles? To live a brutal life? Who was he, really? What family did he leave behind? Parents? Siblings? A girlfriend?
Darci swallowed. Did he have one? Why wouldn’t he? Handsome, funny, inspiring … But he hadn’t mentioned one at the base when he took her into his arms and all but demanded she admit she liked him. And he hadn’t diverted her obvious interest.
“Thought so.” At first, he’d come across as cocky. But it wasn’t that. He was confident. He knew how to read her. And he called her on her attraction to him. “I see it in your eyes.” Then he nearly kissed her. But she’d pushed him away. And now, she was afraid she would die before they made it home. Heath would never know how much she wanted to see what would happen between them, how much she regretted pushing away that kiss.
This is crazy.
Voices drowned against the roar of the wind. The team slowed and stopped, her stretcher jarring, sending spikes of pain through her side and back.
One guy shouted to the others, but by the time his words hit the icy din, the sound was lost. Darci tried to read their faces.
Heath’s gaze skidded into hers. The left side of his lip slid upward. Then he shot a look to the man who stood shouting. An argument ensued. When he looked back at her, she mouthed the word bomb. Had he told them? They were up here in the swirling anger of a winter storm, but down there … at the bases … was Jianyu finally exacting his vengeance?
The thought of people losing their lives … because she’d angered a beast of a man …
One of the men supporting the side reached toward her. His large hands bathed in black gloves, he retrieved something near her shoulder. He gave her a firm nod, then slipped an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. Only as he did that did she realize what he planned. Her gaze cut to Heath’s just seconds before a blanket blacked out her visual.
No, no! Blind. I’m blind.
At being covered, head to toe, to protect her from the driving wind and snow, Darci lifted her chin and tried to avoid the suffocating pressure that built in her chest.
No, not your chest. Your mind. It’s in your mind. You have oxygen. You’re warm.
Being able to talk herself off the ledge was part of the reason Burnett had said she was a prime candidate for an operative. Those who didn’t fear were willing to risk too much. Fear kept a healthy balance. Maintained an awareness.
And her awareness now was that this was a smart move, to cover and protect her face and nose from the freezing elements. But she couldn’t see what was happening. Couldn’t be prepared.
Darci tried to focus on where she knew Heath to be—right at her feet. She trained her ears to listen for his steps. Wind, wind, and more wind pawed at the blanketed environment, rustling out any ability to detect noise.
Faith. Have faith.
A swirl of panic laced through her chest. I don’t have faith! My mother had faith.
The thought strangled her hope. If she didn’t have faith …
No, she had to have faith. She’d grown up in a Christian church, her father’s attempt at keeping the spirit of her mother and their faith—there was that word again—alive. She’d gone through VBS, memorized the Twenty-Third Psalm, faithfully—ack! would that word not leave her alone?—attended youth group. Dated John Byrd, the most spiritual teen in their group.
When had she needed to stretch herself as she did now? Most likely she had broken ribs, and one wrong move and she’d puncture her lung. Which could be fatal without proper medical treatment. Which was impossible up here in the mountains during a storm.
“With God all things are possible.”
Okay, she knew that verse. Matthew 19 … something.
Darci groped for a tendril of hope, of faith.
What is faith?
Faith is the evidence of things … the substance …
Augh! Why were all the verses tangling in her mind?
I get it, God. I get it. I’ve been doing it all in my own power. Living off my mom’s faith, not letting You in deep enough to risk vulnerability.
Weightlessness clawed at her, as if she were falling.
Darci started.
The blanket pulled back. Heath hovered over her. “You okay?”
“Where…?” She tried to look around but felt pinned to the ground.
“The storm’s raging. We had to take shelter.” Heath pivoted in his crouched position, looking around. “Not much of a cave, but it’ll give us some protection for a while.”
Her mind chambered the volatile round. “The bombs. Have you told them?”
Dragging the heavy scarf off his head and neck, he shook his head miserably. “No time. Storm wouldn’t let us talk.”
“Tell them. It might not be too late.”
He nodded. “Okay, tell me what you know.”
She eased back, tracing the crooked lines of the granite-looking ceiling a foot above Heath’s close-cropped, sandy blond hair. “Just … bombs. At the bases.” She wet her dry, cracked lips and grimaced. She must be quite the sight. Then again, God had given her the chance to do this, to tell them so they could stop the attacks. Not in my power, in Yours, Lord. “They’re planning to hit the bases, and they’re waiting for Jianyu’s activation codes.”
“Rest, I’ll talk to Watterboy first chance I get.”
“First chance?”
Another nod, this one slower, less confident. “They’re scouting positions, trying to reestablish contact. He’s not here.” “Are we alone?”
“That a problem?”
Her cheeks tingled with unexpected warmth. “I just meant …”
“Relax, Jia. We’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged and pursed his lips. “I … just do. Trust me, okay?” Was his face red? “I won’t—”
“Beg.”
He smirked. At least she thought he did. With the shadows and rogue snowflakes that took shelter with them, she couldn’t tell for sure.
He patted her shoulder. “Rest. Hopefully, our time here will be short.”
Deep in the Hindu Kush
Village 15 Klicks from Afghan-Chinese Border
The chair sailed through the air, straight toward the rounded wall. Crack! Wood splintered and shattered, raining down in a heap at the feet of Major Wang. The man had enough gall not to flinch. Blood and swelling disfigured his face.
“Is this supposed to stay my anger?” Jianyu stormed toward him. “You are already disfigured—no Yanjingshe allows a prisoner to escape. You have failed!” He raised a hand and struck the man. “You have dishonored your family and your name.”
“There was nothing I could do! I was knocked out.”
<
br /> Jianyu’s temper trembled beneath the cauldron of fury. “Would you bring this excuse to your father, General Wang, and tell him you have allowed the great enemy of China, the one who stole his life work to walk out of this village—alive?”
The man lowered his head.
Hand on his weapon, Jianyu glowered. “I thought not.” He lifted the gun from its holster, aimed it at the man’s temple, and fired.
Satisfaction thrummed through his veins as he took in three large, deep breaths. Teeth ground, he stared at the lifeblood spilling out just as the man had bled Jianyu of the right to strip Meixiang of the victory she’d stolen from him, his fathers, and his ancestors.
“Feed him to the dogs,” Jianyu said as he holstered the weapon and turned back to the table and chairs.
Behind, he heard the scraping of the body as his colonel dragged it into the bitter storm. Jianyu dropped into one of the chairs and stared at the map adorning the wall. He traced the line the Americans would take, the trail he’d sent four of his elite along to track them down and kill those who had stolen from him.
“Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent’s fate.”
Sun Tzu might have succeeded in that, but Jianyu still had yet to master that tactic. Perhaps he should have withheld his anger, been more forceful with Meixiang’s questioning.
“She still holds power over you.”
Jianyu kept his gaze locked on the map. On where he imagined her to be. She was badly injured. How did she expect to survive out there, in this, the last of winter’s fury unleashed on the mountains? Why would she not listen to him, work with him, let him help her? He’d even summoned a surgeon, who had arrived with the helicopter.
“She will die in the mountains with her American counterparts.” But he hoped not.
“Do not underestimate her.”
“I have not.” Jianyu pushed out of the chair and strode to the map, hands behind his back. “Four Yanjingshe—four of the best—are on their trail.”
“A wise decision.”
Annoyed with the patronizing tone, Jianyu moved to the soiled earth. He smeared the spot with his boot, then strode to the small serving table and dumped steaming tea into a mug. He stirred honey into the warm brew.
“Honey will not sweeten what is about to happen.”
Words meant to reduce him no longer held sway over him. “Retaliation against the ones who dishonored us is sweet enough.”
“Do not take pleasure in pain.”
“I take pleasure,” Jianyu said as he returned to the table, “in delivering justice where it has gone unmet.”
“You take too much glory upon yourself, Jianyu.”
Seething at the antagonism, he settled in the chair and blew across the top of the ceramic mug. In the hot liquid, he saw his own anger. His own sense of indignation. And like a cool wind, the bitter herb of revenge sailed across it. Sated it. Reminded him to be patient in the journey. To let the leaves settle, the flavor imbued in the hot water, filling every cell of flavor, till the drink was consumed.
The door swung open.
Colonel Tao entered and strode to the table. “It is done. The Russians are dead.”
And dead do not talk. Jianyu sipped. Savored. “Enjoy some tea, Colonel.”
With a curt bow, he pivoted and served himself.
The man seated at the head of the table pushed to his feet, towering over the colonel, who relinquished the steaming tea to the giant behind him. And bowed.
Jianyu seethed. But he coiled the disgust into a ball and swallowed it with the last gulp of tea. It burned … all the way down.
“Any word on Meixiang?” the colonel asked.
Jianyu glowered at him.
“Do not worry about the traitor.” The voice still bore the annoying taunt. “She will receive her reward in time.”
Their plans were eerily similar yet very different. Jianyu kept his peace, determined not to be undermined in front of his first officer.
“I will deliver that reward—in person.”
“No.” Jianyu came to his feet. “I put this together. I worked out the details, contacted you—”
“And would you like to answer what you were doing here in the mountains, away from the mine as instructed?” The giant loomed, scowled.
Jianyu swallowed. He would not look away. Would not yield his power. “I fed the information necessary—we agreed. Do not take this from me.”
Large and powerful, not in size but in the enormity of presence the man wielded, a hand rested on Jianyu’s shoulder. “The fight in you is large, but you must master it. Temper it with patience enough to see the mission through. She is out of your reach—for now. But it does not matter. She cannot stop what is already in motion.”
“I want her.” Jianyu’s voice and being shook.
“And you will have her.” The man squeezed his shoulder. “In time. We have an agent with the Americans. In time, he will be revealed.” He turned and strode to the table where his emissaries stood in the shadows. “As I have waited twenty-one years, nine months, and fourteen days to have my victory”—he drew up his chin, the resemblance undeniable to even Jianyu—“so will you have yours.” Age lines crinkled at the corners of the man’s eyes. “But much sooner.”
“Are you sure?”
Radio chatter ate up the ominous silence. One of his father’s officers stepped into the light. “Sir. They’re in place.”
A smile creased his father’s face. “Completely, my son.”
Thirty-Seven
Deep in the Hindu Kush
Tunnel 5 Miles outside Parwan Province, Afghanistan
It did strange things to Heath’s heart to see Trinity cuddled up next to Jia on the stretcher. Jia had even lured Trinity into the warmth of the thermal blanket, and the two were fast asleep. Trinity’s amber fur complemented Jia’s fair skin.
Okay, that’s a weird thing to notice.
Sitting against the wall, legs bent and elbows on his knees, Heath ran the back of his knuckles along his lips. It scared him, what he was feeling and thinking about Jia. She was an operative. Sure, she’d had lunch with him, laughed and talked with him. She’d wanted that missing kiss as much as he had that day. But was he anything more than a player in a mission to her? When this was over, would she skip along her merry way? He’d have Trinity and a lot of heartache.
He tilted his head back, thudding it against the cave wall.
Getting way ahead of the game, Ghost.
First priority: get off the mountain. And there wasn’t a single guarantee in attempting that. The storm had unleashed its fury. Why, God? Why now? When Jia needed a doctor and surgical bay like nobody’s business, couldn’t You have held off the storm?
And if God had, would the enemy have found them sooner?
Jia had antibiotics. Color returned to her complexion. And she was sleeping—peacefully.
Peace.
Bomb.
Heath jerked. He hadn’t told Watters. Pushing to his feet, he noticed Trinity open her eyes. Her head slid along the blanket to track him but didn’t lift. Her “eyebrows” wobbled as she looked up at Heath.
“Not getting up, are you?”
She looked away.
“Traitor.” But I don’t blame you.
Heath bundled into his jacket and inched along the outer edge of the cave toward the others.
Watters stood. “You okay?” he called over the howling wind.
“Yeah, can I talk to you?” Heath bobbed his head to the side.
Watters nodded and followed him, pointing. “Guess she had business to take care of.”
Heath caught sight of Trinity squatting in the snow but then focused on Watters. “Hey, listen.” He stepped back, away from the others. No need to cause panic with half-baked information. “Jia believes there—”
Boom! CRACK!
Ice dumped down Heath’s spine. Watt
erboy’s eyes bulged. Heath whirled toward the cave opening. Saw Trinity tearing up snow toward the cave.
ROAR!
A shadow appeared in the opening. Jia! Propped against the wall, frowning as she aimed those eyes heavenward.
His heart dropped into his stomach. Then vaulted into his throat. He pushed himself, feet skidding on the ice. Gaining traction, he shoved himself toward her. Waving. Hard. “Get back!” Why did it feel like he’d hit slow motion? “Back!”
Ice and snow slowing him, Heath sprinted.
Snow and ice rained down.
The great fury of the winter storm bellowed in his ears. Though he shouted, he heard nothing. Felt only the thunderous vibration of the avalanche.
Snow thumped against his legs. Heath spiraled through the air.
Collided with Jia, whose face said she’d caught up with what was happening. Her arms closed around him as they flew backward. Hard earth scraped and clawed at him as they slid deeper. Heath ducked closer to her.
Darkness. Roaring. Tumbling. Cracking.
Whoosh!
Light shattered. Darkness prevailed.
Thirty-Eight
Heath rolled off Jia. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” came her weak, soft voice.
He glanced to where daylight and snow raged through the opening. The one that was no longer there. Only darkness existed.
“Trinity?” His voice bounced back at him. “Trin!” He pushed off Jia, careful not to injure her any more than he had. “You okay, Jia?”
“Yeah.” Quiet but trembling, her voice skated through the darkness. “Are we alone?”
“You really have a thing about being alone with me.”
“No.”
At the frantic word, Heath reached through the void for her. He caught her shoulder, surprised when his fingers tangled in hair. It must’ve come loose when they impacted. “Hey, it’s just a joke.”
“The darkness—”
“Hang on. Got it.” He reached toward his shoulder lamp. “Watch your eyes.” He twisted the barrel and light exploded around them. “Trinity?” He turned and checked the corners and crevices. “Crap.” Other words filled his mind, imagining his girl trapped, buried in the snow.
