by Ronie Kendig
Fekiria sat up now, their shoulders almost touching. “That must have been hard.”
“No.” He sniffed. “No, it wasn’t hard at all. By that time, I hated him. I could never please him. And the way he treated my mom—she didn’t have a high IQ, but she was a smart cookie.”
Okay, enough with the confessional time. Brian glanced at her. “What about you?”
Her bright eyes widened. “What about me?”
“You don’t exactly seem to have a good relationship with your family.”
“The worst,” she admitted with a smile. “Especially with my dad and oldest brother. They are both very old-fashioned. They both seem to like that women are under their fists.”
Talking with her, the fire crackling behind him, Brian wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to take her into his arms. But…she was Muslim. “You aren’t exactly the type to be suppressed.”
She laughed. “No, I’m not. My mom just wanted me to be quiet so her house could be peaceful.”
“That’s a false peace.”
She lifted her head, their eyes locking. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Fekiria gave a fake smile then shrugged. “I just wanted them to accept me for who I was—a girl. I wanted to prove to them I could do anything they could do.” Brian smiled. “And you did—flying the bird.”
She smiled back, sitting a little taller.
“Blowing up Americans.” Did that give her pleasure?
Her smile fell. She looked away, but Brian leaned across her legs, planting a hand on the blanket on the other side. “Hey.” Her chilled breath feathered against his cheek. “You still feel that way, think Americans are bad?”
Gaze skipping over his face, Fekiria didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
Brian felt himself being drawn in. He tilted his head. When she angled in, too, he resisted the urge to close the gap. “What am I to you, Fekiria?” He bent closer, just a fraction separating them. Hold… “American?” He steeled his reaction when she swallowed. Parted her lips. “Christian?”
“Hero,” she whispered.
With his gloved hand, Brian brushed aside a strand of hair dangling along her neck.
Fekiria’s lips parted more, her chin drew up, and she pulled in a soft breath. All at his touch. He loved this, that the man she hated months ago was the same one dragging out a visceral response.
He leaned against her forehead. “We have things”—man, he wanted to kiss her again. But there were other—“things to sort out.”
Her eyes shuttered. She leaned closer, her dry, partially cracked lips dusting his.
That was all it took. Brian cupped the back of her head and held her there, kissing her. Testing. He dragged himself a little closer, deepening the kiss. Her arms came up his back. A siren to his warrior.
Even with a touch of frostbite and cracked lips, she was soft. Curvy. Beautiful. She tasted sweet and—
A shriek startled them both.
Brian jerked back, his gaze skidding toward the little one. Aadela writhed in her sleep, kicking her feet. “Frostbite,” he muttered, hauling his brain back to the situation. Out of the pool of heat and passion he’d been simmering in.
Fekiria sat up, her chin tucked and a blush in her cheeks. So she’d felt herself drowning in that pool, too. “I’ll take care of her.”
Brian caught her arm. “We should talk.”
She nodded and moved toward the girl then curled around her. Holding her close. Brian wanted her curling up with him. Holding him close.
Head out of the clouds. Head out of the clouds, Bledsoe.
He glanced at the laptop—and stilled. The search program was spitting out information. Disassembling the encryption, files popped up. “Yes…yes!” He bent forward, opening the files—his awareness partially split by the gentle words Fekiria whispered to the little one.
A soft moan came from Mitra. Fekiria moved to her side, asking if her friend could hear her. Mitra whispered something, and Fekiria then shifted and dug into the woman’s coat pocket. From there, she produced a tiny Bible. Fekiria’s eyes shot to Brian’s. Questions. Fears. She slipped back beneath the blanket, propped against her arm, and started reading out loud.
Okay, God…didn’t see that coming.
Over the next hour, he read files as Fekiria read to her friend. It was nice, the lilt of her voice—it enabled him to drift past it and immerse himself in the files hidden in the laptop. Files that were clearly connected to the mess plaguing Raptor and the military establishment. His heart ricocheted around words like— “Zmaray,” he muttered.
Was that the same one they’d faced off with eight months ago with the captain? The one who tortured the captain and had Double Z raped?
Then there was one that worried Brian: Osiris.
Why did that…? It felt familiar. Like he’d seen it—
051|215
Of course! Why hadn’t he realized it before? 051|215 was hacker code for Osiris, the 0 being an o, the 5 an s, the bar and 2 together formed the r.
Where…where had he…? Slusarski! He’d seen it on the major’s computer that day. Which meant Slusarski was complicit with Osiris—whatever that was. A person? A mission? Perhaps even the one feeding information to the enemy.
Then, by default, he could hold Slusarski responsible in the deaths of Parker and Davis.
But why? Why would an American soldier do this?
Ya know what? I don’t care why! He just cared about stopping the piece of crap. The same way he’d stopped his father. The sick psychos had their own twisted reasoning that never made sense to the rest of the world.
That was beside the point. The point was—Brian was going to stop them. Somehow.
“So,” he said, opening another file. “Show me how to stop you.”
Another hour spent reading, both him and Fekiria with the Bible. Another hour poring over documents and coded files. “C’mon, c’mon,” Brian mumbled as he clicked to another file. “Give me the lead to nail you between your black eyes.”
And there it was.
Only…Brian couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Not with his eyes glued to the last file. A message that had been hidden so deep in the system, nobody believed it would get found. That’s the only explanation he could figure out for not having more security around it.
A mission parameter.
Names. And images. Names and images of the entire Raptor team, including him. Along with coordinates.
“A hit list,” Brian breathed. “Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.”
“What?” Fekiria asked from the other side of the room, sitting beside her friend. “What’s wrong?”
When was this date? When did they have those coordinates? He worked the file, checked the properties.
“Brian,” came Fekiria’s voice that held a tinge of panic.
He held up a finger then quickly returned to his task, unable to voice what was going through his head. If they had the team’s location…if they had his location… He cursed.
“Brian.”
Would they find them here? No…no, this was here before he was. So it had to be a bit outdated because he was climbing the mountain.
But the team hadn’t been. They were most likely holed up at a… “Base.”
“Sergeant Brian!” Full-out panic shrieked through her voice.
“What?” He turned and found her staring down at her friend. Fekiria’s eyes were wide, her face pale.
Mitra was staring up at the ceiling. Eyes unmoving. Chest—was her chest moving? He jumped up and hurried to her side. On a knee, he leaned close to see if he could feel her breath against his cheek. Nothing. He felt her carotid.
Nothing.
Brian stood, grabbed the edges of the pallet Mitra lay on, and dragged it through to the other room and out of the sight of the children, who were stirring. On his knees, he started chest compressions and breathing, all too aware of Fekiria watching with her arms wrapped around herself.
“C’mon, dang it,” Brian muttered. “Don’t die. Not
on my watch.”
CHAPTER 40
Above Tera Pass, Afghanistan
24 February—2240 Hours
Arms hugging herself, Fekiria watched. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t risk making a move. She clutched Mitra’s Bible to her chest, holding tight as if that might make the words in the Bible heal her friend. Isa, the prophet the Christians held as Messiah, had healed people, right? Couldn’t he heal Mitra? Save her from this wretched ordeal?
“Is she okay?” Sheevah asked, her voice small as she sat on the floor, huddled under the blanket with Aadela.
“Shh,” Fekiria said, unwilling to trust herself to say anything else.
Brian lowered his head and knelt there for several long seconds.
What did that mean that he wasn’t working anymore? “Why are you stopping? Save her!”
Pushing to his feet, he didn’t turn or respond.
“What—?”
He stepped backward, tugged the thick blanket that hung in the doorway, and shut off the room. Turned. Eyes full of grief and defeat, he lifted his hands a little. “I’m sorry…”
Fekiria started to shake her head. Stopped. Then shook her head furiously. “No!” She rushed forward, but he caught her. Pulled her against his chest. “No, she can’t be—” A sob wracked her. Her legs wobbled. “Noo!”
Brian’s arms were around her, tight. Pressing her farther into his hold. Cradling her head. “Shh. Shhhhh.”
But there were too many tears. Too much pain. Too much grief. Too much fear. Would they all die like Mitra? What of Hadassah, Mitra’s daughter? Anguish twisted her lungs into a painful knot—Dassah was an orphan now!
“Be strong,” Brian whispered against her ear. “The children still need you.”
Swimming through that thick ocean of grief, she heard his words. Warm, challenging words. But it hurt—her friend had counted on her, trusted her.
“Fekiria.”
Fought for the children—
The children.
His words, his meaning, finally made it through her muddied thoughts. Heard the gentle warning that the children were probably watching, probably growing more alarmed with her behavior. Easing back, she met his gaze as he cupped her face with his big hands.
“You with me, Kiria?”
She gave an acknowledging nod.
“I’m sorry. But we have to—”
“I’m fine.” She stepped free. Gave him a stiff look, unsure what she felt or what she wanted other than to escape this nightmare. Things were fine—magnificent in his arms, kissing him, then atrocious with Mitra dying right in front of her. She shuffled around, rejoined the children, feeling more lost than she had in her life.
In her periphery, she noted Brian slump against the wall and rough a hand over his face. Guilt coiled around her grief-stricken heart, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. To look at him. She could barely process that her friend was gone, leaving her daughter alone in the world. Who would take care of Hadassah?
Who will take care of us?
“Is she dead?” Sheevah whispered as Fekiria curled up under the blanket and pulled Aadela into her arms.
“Quiet,” Fekiria said firmly. “Rest. We must rest.” If only she could.
Brian’s heavy steps thudded back toward them, then the dirt scratched, and he was walking away. The thudding behind her sounded like he’d taken a seat at the small table. She remembered his cursing, how hard it’d been to pull his attention from whatever he discovered. His stricken, panicked expression. He’d come upon something very bad with that computer, hadn’t he?
She repositioned herself so she could watch him. He hurriedly moved between the phones, trying different pieces with different handsets. After a few minutes of adjusting and working, he pressed a button. Tossed it down with a pinch of his lips. Tried another.
It seemed to go on forever. When he swept the pieces aside and roughed both hands over his face, Fekiria quietly rose. They were all dying up here. Little by little. Brian never gave up. He fought, he pushed, he encouraged them every step of the frozen journey. How did he do it?
It didn’t matter. What did matter was that they needed each other. She couldn’t turn her back on him—Mitra’s death was no one’s fault save the men responsible. She had to do what he did—fight on.
She nodded for Sheevah to stay with Aadela, who still held her aching fingers close to her chest, and joined Brian. “What’s wrong?” She eased into the rickety chair opposite his.
Frustration coated every tense muscle in his face. “My team—they’re targeting my team, and I’m st—” He pinched his lips tight. “I can’t warn them.”
Stuck here? Was that what he almost said? “An attack?” she asked, surprised. “You know of an attack?”
He turned the laptop toward her. Pointed to a line of code. “He knows who and where Raptor is. He’s played roulette with our lives. Forced us to kill innocents and watch others die while we’re handcuffed.” His jaw muscle popped. “Now, I’ve got this”—he waved his hands toward the equipment then stabbed a finger toward the file on the computer—“and I can’t do crap about it.”
“It’s a new threat? Something you can stop?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re up here and they’re down there. No signal or way to communicate.” He sat back, tucking his hands behind his head. “They’re sitting ducks.”
“Then we need to leave.”
“Can’t.” He tossed his hands in a futile gesture. “Even if we left right now…”
“It’s a day’s travel—”
“Not with the children.” Brian looked down, swallowed. Glanced away. “The nearest base is at least a day’s walk, for someone in perfect health. We’re both battling frostbitten fingers and toes. Aadela is barking up a storm, which means she probably has pneumonia and prolonged exposure will kill her, too.”
We’re slowing him down. “Go without us.”
Brian chortled. “Right. Leave you in the middle of this with no supplies and no way down?” He tucked his hands up under his arms. “No thanks. I’m not living with that on my conscience. We stick it out here and…pray God helps us.”
“But your team—”
“They have techs. Entire teams working—”
“But not this!” She slapped the laptop. “How can you not do anything to save them?”
“Who do I save, Fekiria? You and the girls or the team?” He leaned forward, gray-green eyes sparked with anger. “Tell me—because I can’t make this decision. I won’t live with this. If I leave, you three don’t have me. You don’t have protection or supplies.”
“You can’t stay here.” Desperation and frustration clashed like a tidal wave in her chest. “I can take care of us.” Even saying it she couldn’t convince herself. Or keep the weakness from her voice.
“I’m not leaving you—I promised I wouldn’t, and I’m not breaking that promise.” He grabbed the laptop and phones and moved away from her. Sat on the floor.
How could he do that? How could he make a decision to protect her, when she had shown him nothing but hatred, and not go after his team to protect them?
Things had changed. They’d kissed. He’d taken a turn for the worse—by caring for her. “Do not think a kiss means anything to me. I just needed to prove you were weak.”
Without lifting his head, Brian glared up at her through a terse brow. Then went back to work.
She hurried to his side. “You must go. Save them!”
He ignored her. Kept working.
Fekiria turned and stomped to the small kitchen area. He was going to sacrifice his team? For them? She covered her mouth. It was too much…too much…watching Mitra die. Caring for Aadela and Sheevah. Knowing Brian would sacrifice his own life, his own friends, to save—me? Knowing they could all die up here.
She had been so horrible for so long. So unsure of what she wanted in life, from people, from herself. “I’m not worth it.” But this—this she knew wasn’t right.
He
didn’t answer.
“Your friends, maybe your entire Army, need you, Brian. They’ve been there, they’ve been your brothers—you said so yourself. I am nothing. Where is your loyalty to your country?”
“It’s right here, commanding me to do exactly what I’m doing—protecting those who cannot protect themselves. I’m a sheepdog. It’s what I do.” He never stopped working.
A few minutes later, he smashed one of the phones against the floor several times.
“I cannot live with this decision.”
“It’s not yours to live with.” He swept aside the smashed device and lifted another. Smashed it then gave a shout.
Fekiria drew up short. Fought tears. He had not lost control before. Not like this. He was sacrificing his team. For what? For me?
No. She had to find a way to convince him to go after his team.
Defeated, she sat in the wobbly chair at the table, glancing at the Bible she still somehow held. She turned the thin pages. Saw the marked pages, notes scribbled in her friend’s delicate style. Was there hope in this world? Was there even the slimmest chance they would come out of this alive?
A deep, thick conviction coursed through Fekiria. One life—hers—against a team and possibly the American military?
A small scrap slid from between the crinkly pages. On it, Mitra had written out Psalm 57:1. “Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.”
Something stirred within her breast as she read the words. It fueled her conviction that she could not let Brian stay here. He must save his team. She glanced toward the curtained window and knew it was still dark out. Night had fallen early, so dawn was still a good ways off. They should rest, then he could set out. Perhaps if she warmed some broth or made some tea—she’d seen some in the pantry, hadn’t she? She’d get him to relax, get him to understand they would be fine. That their fate was not in his hands.
