Conspiracy of Silence

by Ronie Kendig

  “Two more streets,” Ram said as he jutted his jaw to the right. “Three buildings down—heat signatures.”

  “Dude,” Cell said, “you have more connections than a motherboard.”

  Tox had focused on that direction. A dull glow of streetlamps spilled an ominous haze over the district. Though Tox couldn’t see the street Ram referenced, he mentally searched for Haven.

  “We need to hoof it. Company coming from the north.” Ram patted Tox’s shoulder. “We’ll find them, but we have to move fast.”

  “Someday you need to let me in on your secret.” Tox smiled, his heart charged by the intel. “Move!” He swept up to Thor and hooked his arm beneath his.

  “No, no. You go.” Cell came alongside on the right, and Maangi took up the slack on the left.

  “Go. Find her!” Thor said.

  Her. Not them. Tox felt the same way. With a nod, he and Ram sprinted off. Weaving in and out of alleys, they narrowly avoided a couple of encounters—one with a delivery truck and another with a security guard.

  “Here,” Ram said, pointing to a street hedged with shrubs.

  Tox banked right—and slammed headlong into someone. The force knocked him backward. He hit hard, both the person and the cement. Instinct flipped him around. Brought him forward. Fists and training ready.

  “Whoa! Friendly!” the man said as he peeled himself from the ground.

  Confusion choked him. “Wallace?”

  “Yeah.” Wallace’s hands went to his head, apparently where he’d collided with Tox. Or the ground.

  Alarm shot through Tox. “Why are you alone? Where’s Haven?”

  “She—”

  A scream rent the night.

  Wallace spun, sucking air. “Kasey!”

  Ram was a blur of motion—a warrior rushing into the fray instead of away from it. Tox threw himself after him, his mind registering the men swarming out of the building. Secured between them, a bloodied Haven.

  29

  — Day 11 —

  Jerusalem

  Six. There were six men surrounding Haven.

  Glock up and hurrying forward, Tox took aim at the farthest target. Eased back his trigger. Allowed the kick. Acquired his next target as he heard the crack of Ram’s weapon.

  And then it was like a tornado whirled into the chaos. A blur of black and tan. Chiji! His Nigerian friend had a stick in each hand. Arms moving with such speed they looked like propellers, he quickly advanced on two attackers, taking them out almost simultaneously. Kali sticks still whizzing, he turned toward another. Where had he come from?

  Tox homed in on the men wrestling Haven between them. “Let her go!” he shouted in Arabic, Farsi, then heard Ram repeat the command in several other languages.

  The captors hesitated. A weapon peeked from behind a long cloak.

  Tox fired once, twice, three times, closing the distance. He advanced, focused on one threat, registering Chiji behind the threesome, taking care of another. As the shooter folded to the ground, Haven stumbled backward, her knees buckling. She fell back against Chiji, who cradled her in his arms.

  Relief, sweet and sharp, rushed through Tox. It wasn’t the first time he’d thanked God for his friend.

  Car tires pealed. Tox whipped toward the threat as a silver van burst around the corner, fishtailed, then caught purchase. It lurched toward the remaining trio, followed by a black sedan.

  “Stop the car,” Tox said.

  Ram walked across the street, firing on the vehicle.

  The windshield spider-webbed. The car twitched. Lurched right, straight into a building. Smoke and dust plumed, creating an inadvertent shield.

  Tox sprinted toward it to make sure the driver didn’t get away, but as he did, he noticed Levi running to Haven, wrapped in the arms of Chiji, her attackers like a dark sea at her feet.

  With Ram on his right, Tox rushed the car, slowing as they came upon it. Engine fluids leaked from beneath the crumpled hood. A hazy shape shifted in the dust cloud. A dazed man wobbled. Then swung at Tox.

  Instinct made Tox squeeze off three rounds. The man collapsed, tumbling out of the haze onto the ground, an AK-47 just beyond reach. As with the men on the roof, this one had no uniform or identifiable marks.

  Except . . . Tox crouched. The man’s sleeve had tugged up, revealing an arrow, the tail feathers engulfed in flames. “AFO,” Tox huffed. What did this group want? What were they about?

  A heavy sob reached through his questions and brought him back to the moment. To Haven. On his feet, he pivoted. Saw Ram and the others circling up on Chiji, who held Haven and smoothed his long, dark fingers over her waxy-blond hair. Her sniffles cuffed Tox by the throat.

  Wallace stood behind her. Touching her shoulder. That screw-up of an agent had left Haven. Left her during an attack. Ran away . . . left her in a warehouse and ran, putting her in danger.

  Something exploded in Tox.

  “Tox.”

  What kind of coward did that? And the punk stood there caressing her now?

  “Tox!”

  Only when his gaze struck Ram’s did Tox realize he’d closed the fifty feet between them. Anger pulsing. Rage roiling. Tox quickened his pace, hiked across the back of a small sedan blocking him. Drew back his right arm, hand fisted.

  As Tox went airborne, Wallace turned. His eyes widened.

  Tox’s fist connected with his face.

  Wallace dropped like a rock.

  30

  — Day 11 —

  Jerusalem

  “Tox!”

  Kasey turned at the shout, her vision blurred by stupid tears. She shouldn’t be crying. She was an adult, an FBI analyst. Sure, the AFO men had threatened to kill her. They’d used her as a punching bag until she’d stopped fighting. But she was alive—that was what mattered, right?

  She wiped her eyes—wincing at the tenderness of her cheekbone—and stared down the dark street, trying to makes sense of what was happening.

  Shouts and men moving quickly. The tangle of arms and noise diverged into two groups. One huddled to the right. Another over a body.

  She gasped, a twinge of pain rushing through her side. “Levi!” He lay on his back, unconscious, blood running from his nose. Carefully, she knelt beside him. “Levi.”

  Terse words snapped her attention to the other crowd, where three of the team herded Cole away. He wrested free and stabbed his hands in a placating manner. He walked off, shoulders hunched.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Tox coldcocked the son of a gun,” Cell muttered, his gaze flitting over her face. “How are you?”

  Kasey frowned—a dull ache in her head brought her focus back to her ordeal. She pushed aside the thoughts. The images of those men kicking and punching her. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Your face doesn’t look fine,” Cell said.

  “Hey,” Maangi snapped.

  “What? I’m just saying—”

  “Shut it.” Maangi shoved the guy away. “I should look you over.”

  Levi groaned, his eyes fluttering. His nose was crooked. Puffy.

  “Easy, Levi. Easy.” She cringed at the swelling of his nose and brow. “Are you okay?”

  “He’s conscious,” Maangi said in a dry voice. “He’ll live. It’s you we’re worried about.”

  Kasey looked up, scowling. “I said I’m fine.”

  Beyond the crowd, Ram argued with Cole, who jerked toward him and shouted something she couldn’t hear because of the din of chatter around her. Ram reached for him, but Cole shoved him away. Ram shifted. Cole did, too. A fight seemed inevitable.

  “Oh crap,” Cell muttered. “They’re going to blows.”

  A gurgling-choking sound pulled her back to Levi, who lifted his head, moaning. Curled onto his side as he came up, he spit into the dirt, blood dripping from his nostrils. Cole did this to Levi? Why?

  A couple dozen feet away, Chiji strode toward Cole with long, determined strides. But again, Cole warned him off with angry words. />
  Kasey gritted her teeth, frustrated she couldn’t hear over Maangi telling Levi to take it slow and easy. Cell suggested Levi could have a concussion. That he needed to have his head assessed.

  Apparently, so did Cole. What was with him attacking Levi?

  Levi dragged himself off the ground. He turned to Kasey. Touched her face, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

  She drew away. “It’s over. I’m fine.”

  “Yeah,” Cell snipped, “no thanks to him.”

  Levi met her gaze with a cringe. “They really did a number on you.”

  “Feels that way, too.” A busted lip stopped her smile.

  They’d been tracked from the moment they left the museum, so Levi muttered something about splitting up. It’d made her sick to think about being on her own, but their training said it was better to be captured alone than to be used against each other. So she’d agreed.

  He’d used his exit to give her the chance to slip away. But it’d backfired—the men were too close. They saw her. Caught her.

  Rumbling filled the night. Black vehicles streamed into view between the buildings. Vehicles without head lamps on. Why? The lead SUV paused at the top of the slight hill—were they after Ram and Cole?

  Kasey pushed to her feet, watching as more vehicles shook loose behind the lead and stalked toward her, Levi, and the rest of the team. Fear, reminders of what happened in the warehouse, sent Kasey scurrying into the shadows as Cell, Maangi, and Thor arced out to meet the oncoming SUVs.

  Only about halfway down the street did she realize her instinct carried her toward Cole. A presence loomed from behind. Kasey braved a glance back. Her stomach dropped then vaulted into her throat as a tower of darkness whooshed toward her from the side.

  When she recognized the gentle face of Chijioke, she let out a shaky breath. “You scared me.” Kasey kneaded an ache in her neck, which felt like a full-on migraine coming. She strained to see around the black Suburban. “Where . . . where is Cole?”

  Chiji pointed not toward the SUVs but to his right, where buildings blurred into each other. A shift in the grays quickly became Cole as he stepped out from between two buildings.

  “How’d you find us?” Cole asked his friend.

  Chiji pointed to the sky. “I prayed.”

  Cole stared at him.

  “And followed the gunfire.”

  Cole snorted and met Kasey’s gaze. “Time to go.” A silent exchange happened between Cole and Chiji before the Nigerian turned and headed toward the other vehicles.

  “What’s going on?”

  Hooking her arm gently, Cole led her toward the lead SUV. “They’ll clean up, and we clear out.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Don’t ask.” As they reached the Suburban, a man with a fully automatic weapon dangling from his chest opened the door. Tox ushered her inside.

  Nerves wracked, Kasey slid onto the seat. Tox’s leg hit hers as he climbed in after her, forcing her to scoot over. He shut the door.

  “You trust them?”

  “No.” He looked through the back window. “But Ram does.”

  Kasey peered at the heavily tinted window but only saw their reflection because the dome lights hadn’t dimmed.

  “How are you?”

  His question pulled her attention back to him. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his hands. He rubbed a thumb over his bloodied knuckles.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered. “A little banged up—”

  “You call that ‘a little’?”

  She loved that he was worried, that his protective instincts drove him. But . . . “You shouldn’t have hit him.”

  His eyes narrowed. “He shouldn’t have left you,” he growled.

  “We agreed to split up. It was the only way—”

  “It was stupid, and as an agent with field experience, he should’ve known that.”

  “Please tell me this isn’t because I’m a girl.”

  “You’re a girl?” Cole laughed at his joke. “No, this isn’t about you being female. This is about experience, about numbers being on your side in unfriendly territory. About abandoning protocol and leaving a man behind.” He covered his bloodied hand. “He had one task—protect you—and he didn’t do it. He’s lucky I didn’t do more.”

  “Protect me? Excuse me, but we’re both agents. We’re both attached to this team.”

  “Please,” Cole said, “do not make this a thing about equality. That works in an ideal society, but this isn’t ideal. And none of us has the same skills or expertise.”

  “I don’t need to be babysat or treated differently just because—”

  He shifted toward her, his arm stretching over the back of the seat behind her as he stared her down. “You’re in a position of concealment, and you observe two four-man teams approaching in a defilade configuration. What is your best counter?” He hesitated just long enough for her silence to betray her. “What’s the proper order to give coordinates to call in an airstrike?”

  Embarrassment pushed her gaze away.

  “If you had the tactical expertise, I wouldn’t care if you were a ballerina and on your own.” Intensity radiated through Cole’s words. “But you don’t. Wallace does, to an extent, so he failed—and as a direct result, you were harmed. You’ve never been in the field. There is nothing wrong with protecting our own.”

  “Okay.” She hadn’t meant to snap. “I get it.” Sitting back, she worried her lip—and felt the pinch of pain. Then warmth sliding down her chin. “Shoot.” She cupped the heel of her hand below her lip.

  The daggers in Cole’s blue eyes over her injury didn’t help her annoyance. Which annoyed her more—because she didn’t want to be annoyed with him.

  “Let me see.”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  He smirked and tugged the bandana from around his neck. “That’s the Haven I knew. Here.”

  She rolled her eyes and snatched the bandana, pressing it to her lip. And trying to ignore the scent of Cole clinging to the fibers. Well, and sweat. There was that, too.

  Ram climbed into the front passenger seat, closed the door and looked back. He was about to speak when he saw Kasey. He frowned but directed his words to Cole. “Hotel is compromised. They’re taking us to another location.” He handed Cole a device.

  Kasey glanced at the screen, noting bright, colorful splotches moving around a blue-schematic-looking structure. Heat imaging? Was that their hotel room?

  “Who are they?” Cole asked

  “Unknown. My friends are working on it, but they’ve relocated our things to a warehouse.”

  ****

  The warehouse was definitely that—soaring ceilings, roaring fans for heating, cement floors, steel stairs, and catwalks. The north wall supported a second level of offices and larger conference rooms. Below it, bathrooms, showers, and a kitchenette. East side sported a line of twenty bunk beds with gray plastic mattresses. In the center, a hub of desks, workstations, six-foot tables, plexiglass wall maps and grease boards, and whatever else a black ops team might need.

  It was handy. And disturbing, especially the cozy area on the west wall with three couches, two recliners, and a large-screen TV.

  As the team filed in, Tox kept tabs on Haven’s location. Their conversation wasn’t finished. He’d upset her—no surprise there—and wanted to remedy that.

  “Home away from home” came the sultry voice of Tzivia Khalon as she entered with Dr. Cathey.

  He wondered who’d found the pair and directed them here. Ram wouldn’t be crazy enough to give her the address over a wireless device that could be intercepted.

  Tox made his way to Ram, who was at his bunk, digging through his ruck as he talked with his sister. “Got a second?”

  Ram adjusted his beanie, a set of clean duds in hand. “Sure.”

  “So this warehouse—Mossad?”

  Ram didn’t answer. Just held his gaze.

  That was his answer. Tox ran a hand down the back of
his neck. “Will they monitor us in here?”

  With a snort, Ram smirked. “You won’t take a breath without them knowing.”

  Defeat soaked Tox’s muscles.

  “It gets worse. AFO has long-range listening devices. Another reason my friends intervened.”

  Long-range listening devices? That was some serious equipment. Hefty costs. That meant the people spying weren’t worried about cash flow—they were loaded. “So that’s how they’ve been ahead of us all this time.”

  “One of the ways.” Ram shrugged. “They’re well-funded and clearly well-connected.” He started backing away. “I’m going to shower up.”

  Tox nodded, chewing the news update. Hands on his belt, he looked across the open space and saw Haven on a bunk by herself. He shifted his gaze to the hall that led to the bathroom and saw Wallace with a towel in hand.

  Cole crossed the warehouse with quick strides. Haven saw him coming and lowered her gaze.

  He eased onto the mattress beside her, noting the Bible in her lap. “Going to beat me with that?”

  “I should.”

  “My mom would’ve.” That thought was a dagger to the heart.

  Haven brought her soulful expression to him. “She misses you, you know.”

  He swallowed. Studied his boots, his pulse skipping a beat. “I’m sure she’s glad I’m gone. No more embarrassment.”

  “No,” Haven said, vehemence thickening her answer. “Galen invites me to family events so I can see Evie. This past summer, for Evie’s birthday, your mom invited me out to the estate for the weekend.”

  Tox ran his thumb over his raw knuckles.

  “The party was big.”

  He sniffed. “She doesn’t know how to throw a small one.”

  “True,” Haven said. “But you know what I noticed in every single room?”

  Unable to bring his gaze to hers, his mind slogging through the halls of the ten-room house he’d grown up in, Tox waited. Found himself anxious to hear. Remembered running hard and fast down the long hall, Mom shouting to stop running before he broke his neck.

  Haven hadn’t gone on, so he looked at her.

  Her smile was serene, soft. “Pictures of her hero. You.”

  She hadn’t forgotten him. The thought relieved him. Tox bent forward, forearms resting on his knees. Rubbed his knuckles. If he could ever go back, it’d be for his mother.