The Echo of Violence sj-3

by Jordan Dane

  CHAPTER 21

  The rooftop had been dimly lit until a brilliant display of lights blinded Sayed. High beams switched on and blazed in a circle beneath a helicopter with its rotor blades in motion and its engine whining. He had kept close to Jamal Ghazi, outpacing the men behind them. As they neared the craft, two of Ghazi’s men had opened fire. Sayed scrambled into the helicopter and hauled Jackson Kinkaid in with him at gunpoint. Only one of Ghazi’s personal bodyguards remained with them. With bullets whizzing by Sayed’s head, he ducked and used Kinkaid as a shield.

  “Hurry,” he remembered screaming at Ghazi. “We have to leave…Now!”

  Inside, Sayed cowered in the shadows with his gun still on Kinkaid. When the bodyguard shut the compartment, Ghazi yelled an order for the pilot to take off, then found a seat and buckled in. Sayed slammed the butt of his gun against the head of his captive until the man blacked out. He didn’t want to bother with restraints. He knew Ghazi’s man would secure Kinkaid once they got under way. Sayed rushed to a spot next to Ghazi and fastened his seat belt. He heard the bodyguard do the same.

  As the helicopter lifted off the ground and lurched forward, bullets hit the fuselage. Rounds battered metal in a series of thuds. He ducked for cover. The sound reverberated through the passenger compartment, dulled by the roar from the turbine engine and rotor blades. When the assault from the ground ceased, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  He had narrowly escaped. Allah had been with him. It was a sign. After several minutes, he took a deep breath and smiled at Jamal Ghazi.

  “Where are we going?” He raised his voice to be heard over the noise.

  “I have another place outside Havana.” The arms dealer gestured with his hand. “I’ve instructed the pilot. He knows where to go.”

  Sayed nodded and allowed himself to relax. His heart had finally slowed, and he got his breathing under control as he wiped the sweat off his face with a sleeve. But when his thoughts turned to the Christian woman he’d left behind, he gritted his teeth, and anger stirred his blood. She had brought him bad luck. And after today he vowed never to talk of her again. Ghazi had not heard the full story of what happened. And since he was the only one who had gotten away, no one would know he had failed.

  Besides, he had a better prize unconscious on the floor behind his seat. Abducting a wealthy American like Jackson Kinkaid would earn him more respect, and imagining what his handler would say made him smile. Sayed settled into his seat and crossed arms over his chest. As he stared through the dim lights of the cockpit, he fixed his eyes on the horizon and watched the calm movements of the pilot and copilot.

  He had no doubt now. Allah had provided exactly what he had deserved.

  North of Baracoa, Cuba

  Even though Kinkaid was missing in action, Alexa found comfort in the fact that none of her people had been killed. They had a couple of minor injuries, but nothing life-threatening.

  Ghazi’s men who were left behind were taken prisoner and weapons were confiscated. After the helicopter departed, his men didn’t resist. Now most of them knelt on the grass in front of the estate with their hands bound by flex cuffs behind their backs. While Hank and his team made a final sweep of the rooms inside, Alexa had her people stand watch over the prisoners and tend to the wounded.

  Being in a foreign country, Alexa wouldn’t stick around to see the men punished for harboring Sayed. And without Jamal Ghazi to lead them, his men wouldn’t cause trouble for them with the local law. Everyone would break even and walk away—all except the dead. Ghazi’s men would free themselves eventually and get help for their wounded comrades before they crawled under a rock or surfaced in another criminal operation. It was a fact of life she had to accept.

  Alexa had other things on her mind.

  “Track that beacon, home base. It’s our best chance at finding…our target,” she said over the SAT phone after she had briefed Garrett on the outcome of their assault on Jamal Ghazi’s estate.

  She had wanted to say Kinkaid’s name instead of using the word “target,” but Alexa wasn’t sure how her boss would react. For Kinkaid’s sake, she had to keep Garrett on task without the personal distraction. Ironically, if they were successful in finding Sayed, it would be entirely due to Kinkaid and his reference to finding Waldo. Without tipping off Sayed, he’d found a way to remind her that he still had her tracking beacon. She’d stowed it with his iPod, something he kept with him and would never leave behind.

  Now that tracking beacon was his only lifeline.

  “Copy that, Martini One. Already on it,” Garrett said.

  She ended the call as Hank reported back. He gave her the thumbs-up. It was time to leave. Alexa loaded her teams into the two SUVs, and Kate came with her. As they headed back toward Baracoa, Alexa held tight to the wounded nun. The woman made the sign of the cross and closed her eyes while her lips moved. Alexa figured she was putting in a good word for Kinkaid. Even though the woman was completely exhausted, she prayed for her friend.

  When Kate noticed Alexa staring at her, she said, “God had tested my faith. I thought He had forsaken me when I needed him most. I failed, but Jackson didn’t.” A tear rolled down the nun’s cheek.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean, Sister?”

  Alexa had never been a religious person. She believed in death, and she’d seen true evil. A person didn’t do what she did for a living and not believe in real evil, but putting stock in God was another story. To believe a Supreme Being existed—and let atrocities happen under his watch—made the world more hopeless than she wanted it to be. She preferred to take action and wage war against bad guys. That made more sense to her than passively having faith that a higher power would take care of those she loved. Kinkaid would understand that.

  “Jackson was the answer to my prayers. God had acted through him…to help me. I had lost my faith, but Jackson helped me find it again,” she sobbed. “I owe him more than just my life. He can’t die now. I have to tell him…”

  “If I have anything to do with it, you’ll get that chance, Sister,” she promised. The odds weren’t good for Kinkaid, but Alexa saw no need to overdose the nun with reality. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

  “Tell me. What happened with the children? Sayed told me that some of them…didn’t make it. He said many of the hostages were killed the night Jackson came to rescue me.” Kate’s eyes welled with tears as she clutched Alexa’s arm. “I know how Jackson is…especially if children died. That had to be unbearable for him.”

  Kate pressed a tight fist to her lips to hold back her sobs.

  “No one died, Sister. Jackson rescued everyone…single-handed. And I think little Joselyne has a mad crush on him,” she reassured the nun. “That rat bast…I mean, Sayed, lied to you. He was only messing with your head.”

  “Oh my, God. She’s alive. My dear sweet Joselyne and the others,” she cried. “Praise the Lord…sweet Jesus.” Not holding back, Kate let her emotions go—a strange mix of joy and a final release of all her fears. “My dear, sweet Jesus. Thank you.”

  Alexa put her arm around the weeping nun. She understood regrets, and she knew what it felt like to run out of time. Regret made her angry. If she had known Kinkaid was wounded before the mission, she might have made different choices. He could have gotten medical help before the infection poisoned his body. And now he was in the hands of a madman, a terrorist bent on humiliating his enemy by killing him in a public way online.

  But Alexa dialed back her frustration when she imagined what Kinkaid’s reaction would have been if she’d left him behind. He wasn’t the kind of guy who sat on the sidelines. The decision to risk his life had been his all the way.

  For right or wrong, this was the real Jackson Kinkaid—a guy who knew loyalty and risked his life when it mattered most. She’d had misgivings about him at the start of the mission. But no matter what he did for a living now—for whatever reason—the real Kinkaid hadn’t changed. She knew that no
w.

  Why had she ever doubted him?

  Twenty minutes later

  On the ride back to Baracoa, Kate had fallen asleep with her head on Alexa’s shoulder. Sitting in the shadows of the SUV and holding the nun, Alexa replayed the siege at Ghazi’s compound in her mind. For the most part, she knew they’d been lucky. Kate was safe, and no one from her teams had died.

  Yet the hypnotic green eyes of Jackson Kinkaid haunted her, and guilt twisted her gut. If she had been more truthful with him from the start, maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to play sacrificial lamb in order to free Kate. But placing the blame for what had happened was a distraction neither of them needed. As long as Kinkaid was alive, there was hope, and she’d fight to save him.

  Alexa shifted gears to focus on something more productive. No matter how she reran the assault scenarios in her head, she kept coming back to one thing.

  The priest hadn’t told them everything about the layout of the estate. He’d left out critical information that he should have known if he’d investigated the arms dealer like he said. The helipad would have been more visible during daylight hours. He should have seen that. And if he left out the helipad, what else had he lied about? Sayed had seemed ready for their raid. The terrorist had Kate out of her cell, and he appeared to be waiting for them with a planned exit. Had the so-called priest tipped him off? The more she thought about it, the more she filled with rage.

  Damn it! Anger gripped her, but she had her priorities.

  Right now, she had to wait for Garrett to trace the tracking beacon and locate Kinkaid. If she found him fast enough—while he was still alive—she had no doubt Sayed would be there, too.

  Plotting revenge while holding a sleeping nun would have played on the conscience of most people, but Alexa wasn’t wired that way. Lives depended on her stopping Sayed—and not just Jackson Kinkaid’s life. This mission had become personal.

  Kinkaid made it personal.

  But when she fulfilled her obligation, she vowed to pay a call on Father Ignatius. And this time his slick talk and white collar wouldn’t protect him.

  From the corner of his eye, Sayed watched Ghazi. The man gazed out the far window of the helicopter, looking below. Only a short time into the flight and Sayed had almost nodded off until the arms dealer punched his arm.

  “Something is wrong,” Ghazi yelled at him before he turned toward the pilot. “Na’il, why are we flying over water? I told you we were heading to Havana.”

  Ghazi reached for his seat belt to unbuckle it, but it wouldn’t release. He punched the button and tugged at the belt. It wouldn’t budge.

  The silhouette of a gray-haired man emerged from the cockpit. And he held a gun. “Na’il didn’t make it, I’m afraid. Rest his soul.” The man made the sign of a cross, a Christian ritual. “But fear not, I have supplied my own pilot. She is delightful…and a good cook, too.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ghazi demanded. “How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Yes, of course. That’s why we’re here.” The man had a distinctly British accent.

  “We?” the arms dealer asked.

  The bodyguard stood and aimed his weapon, but not at the foreigner. Ghazi had been betrayed by one of his own. And without a word, the man frisked them and took their weapons. Sayed glared at the arms dealer before he turned his attention to the gray-haired foreigner.

  “Who are you?” Sayed asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Think of me as a savior of souls. And we shall be well acquainted by the time this is all over.”

  After holstering his weapon, the bodyguard bound their arms behind them with duct tape. He did the same with their legs and placed black hoods over their heads. When Sayed was unable to move, the man jammed a needle into his neck. The injection burned like acid under his skin.

  “What the hell are you doing? What was that?” he demanded.

  “You will know soon enough, dear fellow.”

  In Cuba, Father Ignatius went by one name, but in his inner circle of spooks, he was known as the Deacon. Waiting for the drug to take effect with Sayed and Ghazi, he knelt beside the unconscious American and checked for a pulse. When the Deacon stood, he had greater motivation to do what must be done.

  He had injected his two captives with an experimental drug that affected the hypothalamus, a portion of the brain that was about the size of an almond. It linked the nervous system to the endocrine system through the pituitary gland and regulated four basic biological needs in all animals, including human beings. The basic needs were often called the “Four Fs” and involved evolutionary biology—an animal’s basic instincts—fleeing, feeding, fighting, and fornication.

  The drug had been designed to take quick effect and would heighten the fear response. His captives would be compliant and more apt to talk in an interrogation.

  “They say confession is good for the soul,” the Deacon said. “For your sake, I hope they’re right.” He racked the slide of his weapon and pressed the gun to Sayed’s head. “Let us pray, shall we?”

  East of Cuba

  Over the Atlantic Ocean

  When Sayed felt the gun pressed to his head, an overwhelming sense of panic took hold as if his body were possessed. Fire churned under his skin like a thousand pinpricks, and fear knotted deep in his belly. With his chest heaving, he heard the loud thumping of his heart inside his head—an amplified incessant pulse that fueled an intensifying frenzy. He felt like a drowning man in the middle of a vast ocean, flailing and unable to swim. As he gasped for air, the black hood sucked over his mouth and threatened to suffocate him.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t see.

  And his own body assaulted him.

  Sayed heard a whimper, a pathetic mewling sound. It took time to realize the cry came from him. And that terrified him far worse. From under his hood, he heard sounds around him.

  Something was happening.

  “In the interest of fair play, you both shall be given the chance to live,” the Englishman said, “but only one of you will earn that right. It’s my version of musical chairs…only this time, the loser shall be thrown out over the Atlantic.”

  To make his point, the helicopter door opened. The engine sound magnified. It blocked out everything. And a rush of air pummeled his body. Sayed screamed and pushed back. His body grew rigid with terror. When a man spun his chair toward the opening, Sayed felt a warmth in his pants. He had wet himself.

  And next to him, Ghazi cried out, a muffled scream. They had done the same to him.

  “We will start with you, Sayed,” the Englishman said. “Tell us the name of your handler and where he is located. It’s a simple thing, really. One name. One location.”

  Sayed shook his head, too scared to refuse aloud.

  “And we want to know what you have planned. We have proof you are staging a terrorist attack on foreign soil. We want details, my friend.”

  “No, I cannot.” Sayed yelled this time. And spittle ran down his chin. “I’m not a traitor.”

  “Then you admire loyalty, is that right?” Before Sayed could answer him, the Englishman added, “If you wish to save the life of your loyal friend, Jamal Ghazi, you will tell me what I want to know. If you don’t, I will shove him from this craft into the ocean. The decision is yours.”

  Sayed heard Ghazi scream again. He had no idea what was happening. The hood cast him in darkness, as dark as the Atlantic below. The thought of drowning terrified him. He couldn’t swim. And bound in duct tape, he wouldn’t have a chance.

  “What’s your answer, Sayed?” the man demanded.

  He shook his head, but this time, it wasn’t good enough. “Speak up, Sayed. Let Jamal know your answer, you gutless wonder.”

  “No, I won’t do it. And if Jamal were in my shoes—given such a choice—he would do the same. I am not a coward.”

  He held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next. Surely these men would not do such a
thing.

  He got his answer soon enough. Sayed heard a scuffle and someone was shoved against him. Before he could ask what was happening, he heard the paralyzing scream of Ghazi. The man’s muffled cry echoed within the aircraft, then died away as he was thrust from the moving craft. They’d thrown Ghazi from the helicopter.

  “No! What did you do?” Sayed heard the fear in his own voice. His throat was parched with it. “Please. Don’t do this.”

  “It’s already done. Your friend is gone. And you are next,” the Englishman said. Sayed was moved closer to the open door as the man continued, “If you do not tell us what we want to know, you are worthless to us. Talking will save your miserable life.”

  Sayed had run out of options. His body trembled, and tears drained down his cheeks. No one else would speak for him or save him from what was about to happen unless he did it himself. But before he could speak, from nowhere he felt a sharp pain in his leg, a gut wrenching agony. He cried out, unable to hold back. Someone had stabbed him. The burn of the gash traveled up his body. When he doubled over, he smelled a coppery sweet odor and felt warm blood drain down his leg.

  “Why? Why do you do this?” He struggled for his English. In pain, he wanted to cry out in his own language, but he knew the man who tortured him wouldn’t understand.

  “Your blood will draw the sharks,” the man yelled into his ear. “You won’t know they are there until you feel the first tug at your body.”

  Sayed sobbed now. He couldn’t hold back.

  “What does it say in the Qur’an about the Day of Judgment?” the Englishman asked. “The body and soul are reunited, is that right? After sharks tear you apart, there won’t be much left, I’m afraid. Now last chance…what’s your answer?”

  The image of sharks ripping into his flesh in a feeding frenzy started Sayed talking. Everything he knew or thought he knew came spewing from his mouth, the voice of a stranger. He spared nothing. By the time he got done, he was exhausted.