by Ronie Kendig
“And would you change anything?”
Fekiria shook her head. “That is not fair. I was a rebel.”
“You were a young woman who knew what she wanted.”
More firmly, Fekiria said, “I was a rebel…who knew what she wanted.”
Kabul, Afghanistan
11 February—1140Hours
The truck idled noisily after a supply run as they waited at an intersection for traffic to loosen up, gazes swinging to rooftops, doors, alcoves, alleys…constantly assessing for possible threats.
“Hawk,” Dean said quietly. Firmly. “I need to know.”
Clogged traffic was the perfect ambush opportunity. Brian’s nerves thrummed, and he stayed eyes out. “Know what?”
The captain eased the truck forward and cleared the intersection as Brian took in the buildings, the people. Tried to talk himself out of the adrenaline rush crowding his brain. This wasn’t Bagram Airfield.
Taillights lit up in front.
The captain nailed the brake.
Brian reached for his Glock.
“Easy,” the captain said, a hand held low as he navigated around the sudden jam. Once they were moving freely again along a wide multilane road, his CO cleared his throat. “When you were in holding, I saw the logbook of visitors. Last entry was Zahrah.”
Brian frowned. “Double Z never visited me.” He looked at his captain. “Is that what you think? Me and Double Z—?”
With a laugh, the captain shook his head. “No. I know how she feels about me.”
“Then what is this about?”
“Why was Fekiria visiting you at the jail?”
Brian shoved his attention to the dilapidated buildings they cruised past. Then the hospital that loomed on the right. The grocer right next to it. He’d been back with the team almost a week and the questions hadn’t come. The others had respected his privacy, but Brian knew eventually the captain would call him on it. He’d wanted answers. The time had come. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“It’s not mine to tell.”
“But she was there?”
Brian said nothing.
“I don’t understand.”
“You and me both.” And it still stung that she hadn’t come out of concern for him, but to save her own hide. A woman with that type of self-absorbed interest wasn’t worth his time.
“The SEAL you fought with said it was over a woman.”
The insinuation hung icily in the truck despite the buildup of almost warm air.
“Hawk, I need to know I can trust you.”
“You already know that. If you didn’t, no way would you have picked me up at the base. No way would you let me back on the team.” He didn’t mean to come across so strong, but he wouldn’t break his word. Even though she stiffed him. “You also know I’d tell you if I could. But I can’t—I gave my word. But it’s nothing that would jeopardize the team. I wouldn’t do that.”
Walls closed in on them as they wove through a series of alleys. The captain cut the wheel tight. Drove through a wide opening covered with a heavy tarp. The material thumped softly against the vehicle. No sooner had their vision blanketed than it cleared. A double door swung open wide, and they careened into the open area.
The captain revved the engine and raced into a narrow area that didn’t look like it had enough room. But he never hesitated. Brian felt himself sucking in his breath and trying to thin his shoulders as they raced down another alley then veered left. Into a warehouse.
Light blinked out before the rip of the brake.
“Home sweet home.” The vehicle creaked as the captain climbed out.
Computers, monitors, and printers dominated the bulk of the room from the far left all the way to a small curtained-off area that must be shielding bunks. Cables snaked in and around everything, making it look like a spaghetti factory exploded in the room. A fridge and what looked like a door that led to a bathroom sat off to the right.
Headphones on, Falcon looked up. Gave Brian a curt nod.
Feeling’s mutual. The WO1 never had much love for Brian, their personalities like oil and water. And Brian had to admit, it bugged him. Falcon was so much like his father, and no matter what Brian did, it was never good enough. But his mistakes were always the end of the world. Hard to have respect for a man who held others’ mistakes over their heads.
Which…is exactly what you’re doing.
“Drop your gear over there,” the captain said as he went to the command center. “We have a lot to get done. There’s a massive storm coming in. Should be here in a couple of days. Best if we’re cleared out by then.”
Brian tossed his sack and let it slide across the dirt and cement floor. “Two days?”
Eagle shrugged. “Give or take, but it’s a beast. Could knock out power.”
With a sigh, Brian headed to the computers. Eyed the systems. Eased into a cold metal chair and started scrolling through feeds and data. A couple of hours later, he looked up. Met the captain’s eyes. “This all we got?”
“For the most part.” He flicked a finger toward the team daddy. “Falcon’s got a lead on an Asian chick.”
“She’s been very busy but also very repetitive,” Falcon said. “Took me awhile to lock on to her.”
“Repetitive? How?”
“She has friends in high and low places—ISAF and ANA officers, dignitaries, and a secondhand shop. She visits him every other day. Vanishes inside and is there for an hour. We can’t figure out what she’s doing.”
“She’s rich, and she has an entourage,” Titanis added. “I’ve tried tailing them, but they’re experienced.”
“Too experienced,” Eagle said. “We lose them every time.”
“What about the bogus orders? We figured out anything else about them?”
“No,” the captain said. “Burnett has a team working on it.”
“Speaking of,” Falcon said. “They pinged us, verified our location.”
Captain Watters’s eyes seemed to spark with hope. “Think they found something?”
“Or he just wants to make sure we’re actually working,” Falcon said. Though it sounded funny, it wasn’t. Not by the look on Falcon’s face.
“I’ll do some digging around,” Brian said. “Oh—and it might be nothing, but I caught sight of a hacker name at Bagram.”
“Nothing can become something fast,” the captain said.
“Osiris. I think our terrorist is Osiris, or maybe that’s the name of the operation.” Man, it was good to be back. To get active again. Quit sitting on his thumbs. “I’ll dig around in chat rooms and the like to see if anyone’s heard anything. With what he’s accomplished, it’s got to be there.”
“Work fast,” Falcon said. “You’ve got forty-eight hours.”
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
13 February—0950 Hours
Preflights. Walk-arounds. Run-ups. Instrument sweeps. Fuel checks.
Old hat. Yet it never got old.
Fekiria sat in her cockpit, helmet on, feeling the thwump of the rotors. The vibration rattling through her entire body. The whine of the engines as they screamed to life. One hand on the cyclic and one hand on the collective, she eased it forward and the bird dipped forward slightly as the tail lifted. As the helicopter rose, it leveled off and pulled her up into the clouds. They settled into a steady pattern as she practiced maneuvers over the city surrounding the base.
“Doing good,” Captain Ripley observed from his seat. “Nice and smooth, Lieutenant Rhmani.”
It was weird hearing that name. Hearing it from him when he knew the truth. Did it bother him to call her that?
“Storm’s rolling in thick,” Captain Ripley said as they streaked through some heavy cloud cover, precipitation caressing the hull.
The condensed water vapor created a wall-like feel, blocking her vision. The air felt heavier, colder. It wasn’t just claustrophobia.
“They say it’s going to be a bad storm.” S
he voiced her thoughts as they broke cloud cover. After a glance at her instrumentation and fuel gauge, she calculated they had been out about twenty minutes.
“Let’s take it up some. Head northeast.”
Fekiria judged the instruction. Looked in that direction through her tinted visor. One end of the Hindu Kush stood mighty and proud before them. “The mountains?” Her heartbeat spiked a little. “Really?”
“A quick pass should be fine,” he said, his voice deep and a bit staticky over the mic.
She adjusted course before he could change his mind. The chopper veered upward, skimming the mountainside with enough room to protect them against unexpected wind gusts. Or unfriendly fire.
The bird rattled a bit, making her palms sweat.
“Nice and easy,” Captain Ripley said, his words reassuring and warm.
Fekiria breathed a little easier as they crested the top. She traced one of the spines, smiling down at the incredible view. “It’s so much more beautiful than the view from the city.”
Snow had already covered the higher peaks and was dusting the lower ones now. A thick coat painted such a beautiful, monochromatic tapestry with trees shooting up out of the white defiantly.
Her gaze hit a path of snow rutted by wheels of a vehicle. Or maybe several vehicles. “Cannot imagine living up here. Too cold. I think the altitude would get to me, too.”
“But you’d have one spectacular view of Afghanistan.”
“This is true,” Fekiria said with a smile. She looked to the south and spotted several long stretches of paved lines. “Is that an airport?”
“I’ve heard a local prince or something owns it.”
As she circled back, Fekiria leaned the bird a little. A decent-sized structure jutted up out of the snow and rugged landscape. Not a shanty, one probably used by Bedouins or sheep/goat farmers. The tracks she’d noted earlier dead-ended at the building. In fact— “What is that?” She spied a half-dozen trucks parked around the building. Not old, broken-down pieces of junk. But newer, all-terrain vehicles. “You seeing that?” She captured the images on her chopper’s underbelly camera.
“Pretty interesting, considering the storm coming.”
Fekiria noted her fuel gauge and made the obvious call. “Guess fun time is over.” She smiled, invigorated by the incredible view of the Hindu Kush.
“Command is predicting all aircraft will be grounded.”
She shivered, even with the flight suit and her thermals. Something ominous hung in the clouds, and she was very glad she’d be holed up on the base during the storm. Or she might try to purchase some supplies and take them to Mitra and the girls.
She took care and precision in landing the chopper back on the tarmac. As they ran through their checks and logged the flight, Fekiria couldn’t stop thinking about her friend. How would the girls do if the storm knocked out power?
“You heading to dinner now?” Captain Ripley asked as they went inside.
“Actually, I think I’m going to visit Mitra and the girls. I’m worried about them with that storm coming. I think I’ll grab some blankets and food for them then head over there.”
“Can I help?” Expectation once again hung in his gray eyes. The color of the olive flight suit amplified the hue.
“I…” Even as she hesitated, she saw his shoulders drop a little. She had no legitimate reason to refuse him. “Sure. Meet back here after showers?”
He smiled and nodded. “Done.”
At least he hadn’t said, “It’s a date.” Fekiria headed to her locker. She worked the combination lock and opened it then snatched out her toiletries. After a quick shower, she returned to her locker. She pulled out her clean uniform.
A manila envelope slapped the floor.
Where had that come from? She retrieved it. No markings on the front or back. She undid the clasp and opened it. Two pieces of paper slid into her hand. Her heart vaulted into her throat. In Arabic script one read:
It seems you have forgotten you are a Muslim first and foremost. An opportunity for forgiveness is coming.
With trembling fingers she separated the letter from the printed-off image of Captain Ripley. Not just any picture, but of him. Today. On the tarmac—with her. Her head spun as she read the words scrawled across the bottom: Obey or he dies!
MITCH
Mitch sat on the edge of his cot with a military-grade iPad in hand. He pulled up the latest e-mail Sienna sent a few days ago. He’d watched the attached video a half-dozen times since. But heading back into the field after a medical recertification course, he wanted to burn these images, their voices into his head.
“Hey, Mitch. It’s me.” Sienna tucked her chin and smiled. She looked like she might actually be blushing. “The kids have a special thing they’ve put together for you. We hope it makes you smile—a lot. But…uh…be nice.”
Even though he’d watched it many times, her voice and warning to be nice to his own kids made him smile.
Sienna glanced over her shoulder, blocking his view of whatever she was looking at. Her long neck was tanned and bore a plain silver chain. “Ella, you ready?”
“Yes yes yes! Get ready, Daddy,” Ella shouted from somewhere off screen.
“Okay.” Sienna whirled away from the iPad.
Mitch leaned forward, confused at first with what he saw. He finally realized a sheet had been hung along the back wall. Styrofoam piled up made a snowman. There were paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling.
Music played in the background.
Tears came to Mitch’s eyes as his daughter and son once again acted out and sang a scene from the movie Frozen. His little girl was quite the actress. He’d called her a drama queen from the beginning. Thought of her tiny hand clutching his fingers when she was a toddler. She knew how to work him over the same way her mother had.
Mitch opened another video Sienna had sent shortly after their aborted Six Flags trip. In it, Ella read a picture book—word for word. It was her favorite book about how much she loved him. He loved watching this video because it was normal. In the midst of his insane life and fighting terrorists, it was good and comforting to know his kids were home safe, living a normal, quiet life. That’s what he worked for. That’s what he fought for.
After that one, he surfed over to the one of Noah at baseball practice. The kid had a good swing but tended to close his eyes and miss the ball. They’d work on that when Mitch got back home soon.
His iPad cut the video off, indicating a Skype call from Sienna. His pulse kicked up a notch as he answered the call. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Bright brown eyes met his through the feed.
“I was just watching the video. I can’t believe you got them to do that.”
She smiled. “Ella had more fun. I think Noah hated being Kristoff, but it was that or Anna’s sister, Elsa.”
Mitch laughed. “I bet!” Man, he appreciated her. “Thanks for being so good to them. I hate not being there.”
“No worries. I love them, so…” She shrugged then looked away, her throat processing a swallow. A nervous swallow. And then he saw it. Saw her hesitation.
“You okay?”
“I…I just—”
“Harrier!”
At the sharp bark of his name by Captain Watters, Mitch sat straight. Glanced at the iPad. “I’ll call you back.”
“O–okay.”
He hit End and looked up as Watters’s long stride carried him into the tent. “What’s up, Captain?”
He thrust his chin toward the device. “On a call?”
“Just ended. I’ll call her back later.”
Watters’s left eyebrow winged up, but then he held out an envelope. “Came in from the CO. You weren’t on base, so they asked me to deliver it.”
A sickening dread filled Mitch’s gut. He tossed aside the iPad and stood, taking the envelope. “What is it?”
“I’d wager it’s not good news.” Watters stood with his hands on his tac belt, watching.
So
. No privacy. With a breath for courage, Mitch slid his finger under the envelope flap, tearing it open. “It’s from JAG.” The only words that would register in his mind were the most ominous:
Leitner Vs Black
His heart plummeted as he read what he’d anticipated. “My in-laws are suing for custody of the kids.” He lowered the notice. “My kids. My kids, and they want to take them away from me!”
“Nothing like getting stabbed in the back while you’re fighting a war.”
“They never liked that I was in the Army, but this…” He waved the letter. “Couldn’t have dreamed they’d do this. Ella and Noah already lost one parent. I might not be there all the time, but when I’m there, I’m there.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Fight it,” Mitch said, working hard to restrain the pitch from his voice.
“Leave during this mess?”
“How can I not?” This time, his voice rose. “If I stay here and ignore this, they’ll move forward without me. I’ll lose Noah and Ella!”
CHAPTER 21
Kabul, Afghanistan
16 February—1905 Hours
Hawk, anything?”
Brian roughed his hands over his face as he dropped back against the rickety chair and glanced at Falcon. “I got a whole lotta nothin’.” With a shake of his head, he tucked his hands up under his armpits and stared at the monitor. “And that’s telling.”
“Telling you what?” the captain asked as he spun a chair and straddled it backward.
“I have no idea.” Brian shifted and straightened in the seat. “Normally, there’d be some type of chatter, probably not anything that would be really helpful, but noise. Street talk about something happening. It’s crazy quiet about what’s happening here, and a mess like this with our communications would have the cyber underworld lit up like New Year’s.”
“Command’s probably keeping a tight lid on this.”
Brian snorted. “You can’t keep a lid on something like this.” When he saw the narrowing of Falcon’s gaze, he leaned on the table. “Geeks talk. And we know how to talk so most of you normals don’t know.”
“Wait.” The captain cast him a strange look. “ ‘We’?” He slapped his knee with the back of his hand. “You including yourself in the geekdom?”
