His own throat tightened as he searched her stricken face. He wished he could promise her everything would turn out all right. But the best he could do was hold her hand. Through whatever lay ahead.
“I’m going to Germany, Coop.”
Taken aback by her startling announcement, he shook his head. “You’re in no condition to travel, Monica.”
“I can make it.” She squeezed his hand, her eyes reflecting a compelling urgency. “Don’t you see? He went into that marketplace for me. I have to be there for him. Will you help me make the arrangements?”
He wanted to refuse. Every protective instinct in his body urged him to shelter this woman from further trauma. To tuck her away in a safe, quiet place where she could rest and decompress and heal.
Yet he understood her feelings. Saw the resolve in her eyes. And knew she’d find a way to make the trip.
Suddenly the curtain was pushed aside and a white-coated figure walked in. Coop retreated to the corner of the cubicle, grateful for the interruption. And hoping Monica might have a change of heart.
But when their gazes met, the determination in her eyes told him it was a lost cause. She was going to Germany—with or without his help.
22
Why wasn’t Nouri answering?
Tariq pressed the end button on his cell phone, his brow furrowed. Since learning that David Callahan had been injured, he’d been too busy trying to get information on the diplomat’s condition to check in with his nephew or Sayed until now. Nor had they bothered him. The two men shared that worthy trait. They let him initiate contact unless they had an urgent matter to discuss.
But they always answered their phones when he called.
Nouri’s silence unnerved him more than Mahmud’s treachery. He didn’t doubt his nephew’s loyalty or diligence. There had to be a good reason he wasn’t responding. And Tariq suspected it didn’t bode well for their operation.
He punched in Sayed’s number next. With the noon deadline a mere two hours away, the hostage guardian would be awaiting instructions.
As he waited for Sayed to pick up, Tariq considered his options. The most he’d been able to find out about Callahan was that the diplomat had survived the blast and would be transported out of the country for treatment. No one had been able to confirm if he was conscious, but on the off chance he was, he would be in no condition to negotiate.
That left Tariq with two choices. Extend the deadline on killing the hostages, or let it stand. He was undecided which option would serve him better.
The phone continued to ring, and Tariq frowned. After five more hollow intonations, he hung up.
Why would two of his key people not answer his calls on this critical morning?
The phone began to vibrate in his hand, and he checked the caller ID. One of his sources in Kabul, who was trying to ferret out information about Callahan’s condition.
“Yes? You have news?”
“Not of a medical nature. But the Taliban has just claimed responsibility for this morning’s bombing. They say they planted the bomb weeks ago when the American vice president was supposed to travel that road. After he cancelled his trip, they waited for an opportunity to take out another high-level official. It seems they found out about David Callahan’s visit with the secretary of state and chose him as their target.”
Stunned, Tariq stared at the dingy wall in the sparsely furnished bedroom of the hovel that had served as his home and command center for the past few days. The Taliban was responsible for the bomb?
“Hissar? Are you still there?”
“Yes. You will be compensated for the information.” He stabbed the end button.
How ironic, Tariq mused. Mahmud had died for a crime he didn’t commit. Yet he felt no remorse. He hadn’t trusted the man anyway. The disruption in his plans caused him more distress than his lieutenant’s unjust demise. Yet even that was overridden by worry over his unanswered phone calls.
Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones.
Moving across the room, Tariq opened the door to the living area, intending to summon Anis. They needed to switch locations again, and Anis handled those details. At least the man had learned not to interrupt him, to wait until he was summoned. There might be hope for him yet.
But the room was deserted. A quick glance confirmed that Anis had not prepared tea nor paid his daily visit to a bakery to pick up the flat bread sprinkled with cumin seeds that Tariq favored for breakfast.
The silence in the apartment was unnatural, and the tingle of unease that had started at the base of his spine suddenly zipped to every nerve ending. Tariq could almost smell the danger. It was imperative he leave. At once.
But his instincts had kicked in too late. As he strode toward the door, it burst off its hinges, and he lifted his hands to shield his face from the splintering wood. Two seconds later, the room erupted with noise and light. The scene froze in his vision, like a snapshot, and he swayed, struggling to regain his equilibrium.
After the noise and light abated and the freeze frame came back to life, the scene had shifted. Half a dozen American soldiers surrounded him, their automatic weapons pointed at his heart.
In the blink of an eye, he understood three things.
He wasn’t going to die. If the soldiers had meant to kill him, he’d be dead already.
He had been betrayed.
And his dream of regaining power was history.
From the corner of the tiny curtained cubicle where he’d wedged himself, Coop observed the doctor’s conversation with Monica. He hoped the physician would discourage her when he heard her plans.
“Considering how this could have turned out, you are one lucky young woman.” The man scanned a printout as he spoke. Like many trauma doctors, he looked permanently sleep deprived. There were deep creases around his eyes, and Coop suspected the prominent gray in his dark hair was premature. “Mild concussion. You may have a headache on and off for the next couple of weeks. An over-the-counter pain reliever should help.”
He flipped to the next sheet of paper. “Nose is bruised but not broken. Six stitches on your chin. The IV is helping with the dehydration, but we need you to keep drinking fluids too.”
“What did they drug me with?”
“Chloroform.” Coop supplied the answer.
She shifted her attention to him. “Isn’t that kind of old-fashioned?”
“It does the job.”
“It also made me sick.”
“The concussion contributed to the nausea too,” the doctor interjected. “You threw up?”
“Several times.”
“That’s another reason you were dehydrated.” He shuffled the reports together. “We’re ready to move you to a regular room. I’ll check with you in the morning, and if everything looks good, we’ll release you.”
As he prepared to exit, Coop realized that Monica didn’t intend to tell him about her travel plans. He stepped forward. “Ms. Callahan is considering a trip to Germany, Doctor.”
He sensed her surprise. Understood her displeasure at his interference. Ignored it.
“When?” The physician directed the question to his patient.
“As soon as possible.”
“You need a few days to rest and recuperate before you consider major travel.”
“It’s an emergency, Doctor. I don’t have a few days.”
“We’ll discuss it again in the morning.” It was obvious the man wasn’t used to having patients balk at his instructions. “In the meantime, get some sleep—if you can. Hospitals aren’t the quietest places.”
Monica didn’t even wait for the drape to settle back into place after the doctor exited before nailing Coop. “You aren’t going to help me make the arrangements, are you?”
“I didn’t say that.” He moved back beside her. “But you’re in no shape to travel.”
“I need to do this, Coop. If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will.” Despite her prone position, he caught the slig
ht stubborn tilt of her chin.
The black-haired nurse pushed the curtain aside to admit an orderly, once more interrupting their conversation. It was like Grand Central Station in here, Coop thought in frustration.
“Okay, we’ve got a nice, private room all ready with a very hot-looking man guarding the door. And another one here. You must rate.” She directed her next comment to Coop. “You can come up after she’s settled. Room 312. Give us fifteen minutes. And there’s a guy in the hall looking for you.”
Mark, Coop figured.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes, and we’ll finish our discussion,” Coop told Monica.
“Midnight is no time for discussions.” The nurse shooed Coop out. “This woman needs some sleep.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Monica kept her gaze fixed on Coop.
He watched while they wheeled her toward an elevator, then headed for the waiting room.
“Everything okay?” Nick turned toward him as he exited the restricted area.
“Yeah. No permanent damage.” Of a physical nature, anyway. “They’re moving her to a room.”
“I know. My partner for the night is already up there.”
“Is Mark here?”
“In the waiting room.”
“Thanks.”
“Both of you need to get some sleep. Two of us are on security detail, and I can promise you no one will bother her tonight. I plan to stick very close.”
A bone-deep weariness was settling in, and Coop knew Nick was right. There was nothing more he could do here, and Monica would be in good hands with the two agents standing guard.
“Mark and I will probably cut out once she’s in her room.”
“Okay. See you up there.”
As Nick forked off toward the elevator, Coop continued toward the waiting room. Mark was slumped in one of the uncomfortable chairs, fatigue weighing down his shoulders, but as Coop entered he rose.
“How is she?”
“Minor injuries, but enough of them to produce a pretty significant cumulative effect. They’re moving her to a room, and once she’s settled, we can go get some sleep. Nick’s on the security detail tonight.”
“He’s a good guy. She’ll be well protected.”
“Yeah. I got that feeling.”
“Les told me about her father.”
“Any updates on his condition?”
“No.”
“Monica wants me to arrange for her to fly to Landstuhl.”
Mark arched an eyebrow. “Is she up to that?”
“Not according to the doctor.”
“Any chance of talking her out of it?”
“I wouldn’t put any wagers on it. But I intend to try.”
“From what I’ve seen of the lady, once she makes up her mind, she’s not easy to persuade.”
“Tell me about it.” Coop sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Les passed on some other interesting news.” Mark glanced around the deserted room, motioned Coop into the corner farthest from the door, and lowered his voice. “The informer who promised to provide the location of the hostages came through.”
“Wow. I didn’t expect that.”
“Not only that, he provided the name and location of the mastermind, who’s already been picked up. Delta Force is preparing to free the hostages as we speak.”
“That’s some of the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“I agree. By the way, we got fingerprint IDs on our kidnappers. They both had clear terrorist connections.”
“No surprise there.” He checked his watch. “They should have Monica settled by now. You want to come up or wait here?”
“I’ll wait. I doubt she wants a parade through her room at this hour.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
When Coop stepped off the elevator on the third floor and turned down the hall toward Monica’s room, he found Nick planted outside the closed door. And his watchful posture suggested he had no intention of moving. The other agent was a bit farther down the hall, with a clear line of sight to her door.
“Is she alone?” Coop paused beside Nick.
“Yes. The nurse and orderly left a couple of minutes ago.”
With a nod, Coop opened the door and stepped into the darkened room. He gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, then moved to the bed. Monica lay unmoving under a blanket, and at first he thought she was asleep. But her eyelids fluttered open at his approach.
“It’s Coop.” He identified himself immediately. The last thing she needed was a shadowy figure sneaking up on her in the dark.
“I think they spiked my IV.” Her words were a bit slurred, and he could see her struggling to remain awake.
“Good. You need to sleep.”
“I want to finish our discussion.”
Even drugs couldn’t dilute her single-minded determination, Coop reflected. “You’ve been through too much, Monica. I’m not in favor of this trip.”
“I know you aren’t. And I appreciate your concern. But I’m going. Can you arrange it?”
“Why don’t we wait until tomorrow and see where everything stands?”
“I don’t want to wait. That will delay the trip.” Frustration nipped at her groggy words. When she continued, however, her tone was more conciliatory. “But I’ll tell you what. If the doctor finds any reason to keep me hospitalized tomorrow, I’ll reconsider. In the meantime, you set things in motion. Okay?”
Her voice was fading, and Coop had to admire her tenacity—and her ability to bargain—despite the effect of the drugs dripping into her bloodstream. Considering her threat to find someone else to help her if he didn’t, his options were limited.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
She groped for his hand in the dark, and he wrapped her slender fingers in a warm clasp. “Thank you.” Half a minute later her grip grew limp as she succumbed to the oblivion of sleep.
One minute ticked by. Two. Coop continued to hold her hand, reluctant to break contact. In the end, however, he forced himself to listen to reason. He, too, was in desperate need of sleep, and though his heart urged him to stay, logic told him to leave.
But before he slipped out of her room, he did what he’d been wanting to do from the moment they freed her.
He bent down and pressed his lips gently to her forehead.
From his last position of cover, Captain Jack Logan trained his binoculars on the two gun-toting guards outside the hut that stood a bit apart from the handful of scattered hovels that constituted the tiny desert village. One was gesturing in an agitated manner with his free hand. The other’s posture was stiff.
Their intelligence had been sound. This was the place.
He scanned the barren terrain, looking for any sign of the fifteen men from the three Delta Force teams summoned for this rescue mission. Even with his trained eye, in broad daylight, he saw nothing. Masters of the art of infiltration without detection, they’d low-crawled into position, melting into the desert in their camouflage gear and face paint. A couple had managed to work their way into an abandoned structure a short distance away from the hut containing the hostages.
Now, they waited for his command. Snipers had the two guards in their crosshairs. Every assaulter knew exactly what he had to do.
A third guard from inside the hut joined the two at the door, and Logan hefted his HK416 into position. According to the informer, there were four guards on duty, two outside and two inside. If that information was correct, only one guard remained in the hut.
The time had come for their diversion.
Logan initiated the rescue with a single command that echoed through the speaker in every team member’s ear. Within three minutes, smoke began to billow from a storage shed behind the abandoned building where the two Delta Force operators were concealed.
One of the guards pointed to the shed, and the three began an animated conversation. They summoned the fourth guard, who exited the hut, gun at ready. The gr
oup conversed some more. Finally two of the guards edged toward the smoke.
The triggers on four rifles were squeezed to within the last ounce of resistance as each sniper verified a clear line of sight and confirmed his target.
Jack issued a second command.
Shots echoed.
Guards fell.
In the eerie silence that followed, the assault team moved in.
Four minutes later, Logan dropped down on one knee beside the huddle of three grimy, terrified hostages.
“I’m Captain Jack Logan with the U.S. Army. We’ve come to take you home.”
23
Eight hours after he left Monica at the hospital, seven hours after he set the wheels for her trip to Germany in motion, and six hours after he passed out on the bed, Coop jolted awake, heart racing, adrenaline pumping. He grabbed his Glock. Bolted upright. Identified the noise that had awakened him as the shower.
Sagging against the headboard, he lowered the gun. He was in a hotel. The nightmare was over. Monica was safe.
He drew in a slow breath. Let it out. Repeated the process once, twice, three times. As his pounding pulse subsided, he consulted his watch. Eight o’clock. Six hours of sleep wasn’t enough, but it had helped.
“Morning.” Mark came out of the bathroom, a towel draped over his hips, his hair spiky with moisture. “Did I wake you?”
“I needed to get up.”
“What time did you finally crash?”
“A little after two.”
He grimaced. “The shower’s yours if you want it.”
“Yeah. I want it.” As Coop swung his legs to the floor and stood, he couldn’t imagine anything he’d rather have right now than a hot shower. Well, perhaps one thing, he conceded, as he padded across the room, the hint of a smile softening the tension around his mouth.
“Want to share that thought?” Mark propped one shoulder against the door frame, blocking Coop’s access to the bathroom. “I could use a smile too.”
“Sorry. It’s private.”
“Hmph.” Mark pushed off, allowing Coop to pass. “Must be about Monica.”
Against All Odds Page 25
