by Ronie Kendig
Kiew fell against him, clumsily, with a yelp.
“What did he give you? Open your hands!”
Wide eyes told of her guilt. If he did not need to teach her so much, he would end her life. Rid himself of her weakness. But no, she must learn. She must grow stronger.
“Show me!”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “He gave me nothing.” With that, she opened her hands, which he held at eye level. Small palms were sweaty but empty. He thrust her backward.
He was not wrong. Sajjan had never kissed her good-bye. He eyed her sleeves. Lunged forward and grabbed her wrists again. He tested his theory, still finding nothing.
“See?” she hissed at him. “When will you trust me?”
“Never! You are weak.”
“My loyalty is to you, and you alone.” Her fire burned, the same one that had drawn him to her three years ago. She stood straight before him. Head up.
Daniel lifted his hand to strike.
“We’ve had a breakthrough,” Kiew said, her voice soft, eyes hopeful.
The words were enough to stem his fury. Still trembling from the anger that had infected his veins, Daniel dared her to have lied to him. “Why did you not tell me sooner?”
“Your guests.”
In this she had been wise. They would never give Takkar any more than what the man stole daily. Anger barely abated, he gritted his teeth. “Show me.”
Kiew lowered her head.
Accepting her deference, he started for the lower level, stepping beyond the door to his meditation room and entering a code on a hidden panel. They descended a half-dozen steps, and he punched in his master code. “This had better be worth my time.”
Steel gave way, sliding into the wall as a series of beams swung out of the way, affording entrance. Down six more steps and he coded in. Then she did. Both or the sensors would attack the unknown intruder. No security was too much with so much at stake. Even Sajjan and his fool Waris had left DNA samples that Daniel had encoded into his system.
Semidarkness gave way to bright lights, hued in pale blue and behind sterile security measures. Several rows of technicians worked intently, heads down, minds engaged. Each assigned a different task. A different way to dismantle the enemy. Spurred by a sense of imminent victory, he allowed the anger to seep from his pores. Rid his body of toxins and focus on the positive forces.
Kiew entered the secure area and walked to the far end, to her station. She was the exception: she had both beauty and brains. It was the only reason he tolerated her weakness. But his instruction had improved her in this area. He would continue the path of discipline and self-control to make her better.
She sat on the stool and logged in. “We have penetrated another layer of defense.” Her gloved fingers flew over the keyboard.
“A layer?” Daniel let out a huff. “Seven months and this is all we have?”
“But it is a vital layer,” Kiew said, her gaze bouncing to his. “We have been able to get into their communications, disrupt them, confuse them.”
“So, no high-security passwords or weapons plans.”
“No, that’s still outside our reach, but we are close. We’re making progress.”
Progress? She called this progress? Daniel tightened his jaw. “What is taking so long? Why have we not yet dismantled everything? Why are they still operating?”
“We are having trouble. Our commands go and some make it through, but”—she shook her head, eyes pinched in frustration—“it is like they are diluted. Not all succeed.”
“How is that possible?”
“They are blocking us,” a tech geek said from the side.
Daniel ignored the intrusion in his conversation with Kiew.
“No matter what we do, they thwart our efforts.” The man had no sense. No honor. No courage.
“It would seem,” Daniel said slowly, “that you think they are winning. That they are stronger than us.”
“Yes”—the tech’s gaze hit Kiew’s and immediately the man reversed his direction—“no. It’s just that—”
“I think you need a new perspective.” Daniel waited as his guards, never more than a half-dozen feet behind him, came forward. “Outside,” he ordered, realizing they intended to deliver the perspective in the sanitized room.
The man wrestled against them. “No! No, I only meant—”
Daniel turned his full attention back to the only woman capable of being at his side. Brilliant, beautiful…she had so much potential. A little more training and she would be perfect. “They are blocking us.”
“Not directly.” Kiew kept her voice level and smooth. No fear. Only confidence. As he had trained her. It was why she was in charge. Why he trusted her with the delivery of his masterpiece. “The patterns are random. Like a shot in the dark—one or two are blocked, but not all. We have the advantage in that they do not know who or what they are fighting. Our programmers have implemented ghosts. The time they take chasing them affords us time and room we need to maneuver.”
How many times must he say it? “I want complete control of their systems.”
Kiew looked down at her keyboard. “Then we must return to Afghanistan.”
The danger of exposure, of failing, increased on enemy ground. But the challenge, the delicious victory of upending the Americans in their borrowed backyard… “Upstairs.” He pivoted and left the suffocating sanitized room. Felt the tendrils of peace unraveling. As he passed the meditation room, he sensed it calling him.
Behind, he heard the second hiss and whoosh as the secure chamber accepted then released Kiew. Her footsteps were almost silent on the marble floor as she trailed him up into the living area. “Why must we return?”
“The greater the distance between our servers and theirs, the more time is lost. We can do a faster capture. And if we can insert someone onto their bases—”
“We have someone.”
“He is locked in the north. We must have an asset in the south, closer to—”
“You think I am a fool? If they are discovered, the entire effort collapses.”
“Those you have hired are completely loyal to you. They would rather kill themselves than lose this. If we succeed—”
“If?”
She cocked her head and looked down, a microshake of her head. “When we succeed, not only will you be in the position you want and deserve, but China can topple the Americans. We will no longer be second.”
“You are making me impatient, Kiew.” He did not care about China. He cared about resetting the thrust of power from the West to his hands. “I must get in. We are running out of time. The longer we are in their system, the more chances they have to trace us—and if we plant too many people on their bases, the chance of capture is great, too.”
“Meng-Li,” came a raspy voice.
Daniel turned, his heart catching. “Mother. What are you doing out of bed?” He hurried to her side and wrapped an arm around her bony shoulders. Shoulders that had carried so much weight. That had literally transported water and food across a mountain to ensure he got an education, that ensured he could take his place at Takkar as his father had vowed. “Come back to bed. You must rest.”
He led her into the room that spanned the entire west wall of the tower. Exquisite fabrics wrapped her in elegance. Tapestries, curtains, rice-paper dividers that gave her a sitting area, a dressing area, a bathroom and shower.
“There.” She pointed a gnarled finger toward the chaise by the window. Her favorite spot.
With care, he eased her onto the gold brocade cushion and smiled at her, taking in her aged appearance. But instead of age, instead of wrinkles, he saw wisdom. Grace. Strength. Beauty. All wrapped in a small package with white-gray hair.
“You worry too much.” She smiled.
He needed her to hang on a little longer to see his grand victory. To see her husband—his father—honored in the highest possible way. “Soon, Mama, we will honor Father. His name will be above all others. The wor
ld will know Meng-Li Gang.”
She patted his face as she leaned back on the long cushion. “You are such a good son.” She let out a sigh. “Your father would be so proud.”
Infused with her praise and the promise of words he would never hear his father whisper, Daniel was reminded of what must be done. What he must finish.
“Be nice to her,” his mom said as her eyes fluttered closed.
It took a moment for Daniel to catch up with her subject change. Kiew. His mom had introduced them. Designed their upcoming marriage.
“I want grandchildren.”
As he drew a blanket over her frail form, Daniel tried not to scoff. “Rest, Mother.” He did not want children. Not now. Did not have time for them. Not until he succeeded. Not until he cut the breath from the lungs of his enemy as they had done to his father. Not until America died a brutal death.
CHAPTER 11
Undisclosed Location, Afghanistan
15 January—1010 Hours
Let’s get some eyes up.” Salvatore Russo secured the doors and nailed light-blocking material against the windows. The building had two entrances and sat in the center of a bustling shopping area, making it easier to come and go. Camping out in the middle of the enemy’s territory heightened the risks as well as the possibility of finding those responsible for the attacks.
“Almost there,” Sergeant Grant Knight said from the bank of laptops and monitors. At his feet lay panting the MWD as renowned for his skill in taking down predators as he was for licking peanut butter. “It’d already be done if your coms specialist was here. I don’t know this stuff the way he does.”
“Nobody does.” Eagle draped himself in camo netting. He lifted his sniper rifle and gear. “Heading topside.”
“Roger that.” Sal checked his watch. “Anyone heard from Titanis?” he asked as his secure sat phone rang. “Go ahead.”
“Set up?” Dean’s voice came through the line firm but quiet.
“Eighty percent.”
“I’ll be there when I can.”
“Understood.” Sal studied the most recent map of the city tacked to the wall that had chunks of plaster missing. “You’re sure Riordan isn’t floating us a fast one? All the way out here, in the middle of a crazy-busy city. Lot of eyes to see what nobody wants seen.”
“We’re not sure about anything right now.”
“Copy that.”
“But the intel is reasonable—best place to get lost or go unnoticed is in the open,” Dean said. “Talked with Hastings this morning. They finally pinned down the coordinates of the call that led us to that ghost village. Couldn’t get an exact location but pinned it down to within five klicks of your location.”
“Hooah,” Sal grunted. “Just made our job a little easier.” While they might not be closer in terms of solving this insanity, at least they were physically closer to whoever or whatever was hunting them.
“Keep me posted.”
“Roger that,” Sal muttered as images sprang to life on the bank of monitors.
“Hooah,” Knight said. “We are live and recording.”
Dean laughed. “Wish I was there.”
“We’ll save you some fun,” Sal said. The call ended and he focused on the feeds. He taped labels to the different monitors, indicating what angle they provided. The enemy might be messing with SOCOM’s communications, off-grid, off normal channels, Raptor had a hair’s breadth of a chance to nail these punks.
“Movement at the watchmaker,” Knight hissed out, his words fast and precise.
After a glance at the feed that showed the front of the shop, Sal swung his M4A1 to the front as he hustled up to the side of the trapdoor. Whoever came through that door without authorization would find permanent authorization embedded in his forehead.
Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump.
Inhaling a breath, he eased his weapon down and slipped back.
The panel slid open and the hulk of an Aussie SAS soldier folded himself through. “Door’s a little big,” Titanis said with a grin. “Think you could find a smaller one?”
“Then we couldn’t fit your ego through,” Knight said with a chuckle, the camaraderie he’d established with the team on the mission six months ago still evident.
“What’s this,” Titanis said in his deep, gruff Oz accent. “Little Bird has found a sense of humor?”
Harrier looked up, his face a mask of sincerity. “Who was humoring?”
“Raptor Actual made contact. Said our target is within five klicks of this location.”
Titanis tossed his eighty-pound ruck into a corner as if lobbing a tennis ball. “Good. We can start scouting.”
“What’s this target going to look like?”
“After we’re done, he’ll look dead,” Titanis said.
“Easier to barbecue that way,” Knight added. “But before we grill ’em, how do we find them?”
Jokes about killing annoyed Sal. And their sarcasm grated along his raw nerves. “This is going to take time. We’re Green Berets. It’s what we do—recon, develop relationships.”
“In other words, we’ll be here awhile.” Knight set out a collapsible bowl for MWD Ddrake and filled it with water.
“Unless you know how to find this son of a gun faster. Unless you’re holding back on intel that could solve this for everyone so we can go home to our families.”
Titanis’s gaze hit Sal, alerting him to his tone and his aggravation.
“Long and short of it is—Zmaray wants us hiding behind our bunkers back at Mazar-e. We’re going to let the Lion think we’re doing that, all while we’re sniffing right up under his big schnozz.”
“Then cram a grenade up it and send him back to his maker,” Harrier said.
Sal resisted the urge to bark at the guy about his bloodlust. Truth was, Sal was tired. Tired of the killing. Tired of people dying. Tired of his people dying.
Two Hours Outside Kandahar, Afghanistan
15 January—1030 Hours
Fekiria stayed in the cockpit. The flight out to the private estate was smooth. Even with the winter winds, there’d been no accumulation of ice. The skids touched down without a hitch, and the men were hustling into the sprawling home without a backward glance.
Including Adeeb.
Fekiria let a long breath out between her lips as she watched him disappear into the house. What was he doing here? With these men? Connected to the ANA? Since when had Adeeb been in the Army? Her stomach clenched as the realization hit her—if he was ANA and connected to those high enough up, he could find out…everything.
Captain Ripley had noted her real name in her file. That would get digitized, no doubt, and then it would be far too simple for him to discover her secret.
She closed her eyes, images of being dragged into the street and being stabbed. Shot. Whatever means they wanted to use to kill her. In the name of the family honor, of course.
In the name of idiocy! Anger flared through her.
“November Romeo Three One Two, what is your status?”
Relaxing against the seat, Fekiria breathed a little easier at the sound of Captain Ripley’s voice. She keyed her mic. “This is November Romeo. Arrived on time and delivered VIPs.”
“Roger that, November Romeo. Well done.”
She smiled. Those two words were a balm to her soul. “Thank you.” She bit her tongue. The instructors made it clear that the coms weren’t for informal chatter. “Expected departure is at 1500.”
“Roger that.”
Fekiria signed off and sat in the cockpit. She’d have to walk the chopper again, but doing so risked her brother seeing her. What if he was near that large window overlooking the beautiful terrace?
A security guard approached from the house.
Fekiria busied herself, running through her after-flight checklist. Making notes. Feigning distraction.
A soft thump against the Plexiglas window startled her.
The security guard waved her outside.
She
held up her clipboard, since shouting would only draw more attention, and she wasn’t sure he could hear her anyway. Certain he’d go away after a few minutes of being ignored, she kept her head down. But when she looked up again, she knew it was no good.
Outside, she continued ignoring him, focused on her board.
“You must come inside,” he said, his tone a bit…off.
“I must do my after-flight walk of the chopper.”
“No good. It is too dangerous. If someone targets the chopper…”
Fekiria stared at him. Then at the house. She refused to look into the sky. What on earth would someone be targeting and why?
Like anyone needed a legitimate excuse here. If one faction was angry with another, then they blew up the house. Burned down businesses. Slaughtered families.
“Come,” the guard insisted. “Inside.”
“I—”
“You can stay in the back kitchen with the staff.”
She swallowed her objection. That should be safe enough. She’d keep to herself. Remain hidden. Finally, she gave a slight nod and followed the guard around the side of the house and along a rear garden path. He banked down a flight of stairs to a small door.
Something in her stomach curdled. Standing at the top made the door appear smaller than it was. That psychological impact left her feeling threatened.
“Come,” the guard said.
Being in the ANA, she had basic self-defense training. But could she unarm and subdue this man? What if there were more on the other side of that door?
He must have understood her fear because he nudged open the door and motioned inward. “Look.”
Tilting her head, she peered in. Red tiles spilled inward. She barely saw the corner of a counter, the side lined with shelves of baskets of what looked like roots and vegetables.
Fekiria released her hesitancy and trailed him inside. The cooling room spread to her left for at least twenty or thirty feet. Straight on only ten feet. The guard crossed the tile and climbed a flight of four whitewashed steps that creaked beneath Fekiria’s feet. Almost as soon as her foot hit the slate floor, a blanket of warmth cocooned her shoulders and neck.
The large stove and oven provided the heat that warded off the winter chill.
