“What?” Rel Dighton asked. Her expressive brown eyes and chestnut hair framed a youthful face. “They have cameras, and we’re half a mile below ground.”
Sydney closed her eyes, thinking about the trip down here. The choppers that ferried them here, the men in tactical gear—so like her own husband—who escorted them into the elevator, then down the elaborate tunnel system, past one secure barrier after another, to this…place. A doctor had come and tended the wound in her abdomen—it’d been so close—but other than that, they’d been alone in what could resemble a gymnasium with its semihigh ceiling and a play area, the only good thing about this place with six children in tow.
Chink-chink. Thunk. Hissss.
The sound snapped Sydney’s eyes open and to the eight-foot steel barricade that served as the front door. Dani looked at them, then turned to see who had come visiting.
A Marine stepped into the room, glanced around, then stepped to the side. As did another. Then a man in a suit.
“Dad.” Dani hurried across the carpet to him. “What’s going on? Why are we being kept here?”
The general’s presence brought Sydney to her feet.
He pointed to the dining table, a long metal table with bench seats. “Let’s talk. I don’t have much time.”
“Well, we have all the time in the world, apparently.” Dani folded her arms.
Sydney joined the other three women and the general. Cold metal made her forearms ache.
“I am truly sorry for the situation as it is, for keeping you here under such conditions,” the general said. “It is for your own safety, as hard as that probably is to hear.”
“What about our husbands?” Piper asked. “I can endure just about anything as long as I know Colton’s okay.”
“My brother, too,” Rel injected.
The older man’s face looked beleaguered. “Little is known. I cannot say much without placing them, all of you, and myself in grave danger. Since I don’t know who is responsible, I don’t know where the threat lies. That’s what I’m working on.” He looked down, and something heavy pulled at him.
“General.” Sydney touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”
Seated, hands folded on the table, he looked at each one, then his gaze rose to the ceiling before dropping back to the table.
Sydney was about to turn and look when she remembered the camera. A tiny black rubber stopper–looking thing she’d noticed the first day they were down here. Watching and listening. He doesn’t even think we’re safe here.
She curled her fingers around his hand and gave a squeeze. “We trust you.”
Wizened and experienced eyes met hers. “Have you ever wanted to take a vacation on a deserted Caribbean island, like doubting Thomas did? To relax on a beach and contemplate origin and sky-white clouds?”
What on earth…? The intensity in his eyes bore through his bronzed face carved with hard experience. But there was something else there, too.
“Excuse me,” Dani said from the other side of the table, snapping them both out of the moment. “We’re in lockup, our husbands are missing, and you’re talking about a vacation?” Her voice pitched. “On a beach?”
“Of course,” he said as he squeezed Syd’s hand again then let go. “Terribly inconsiderate. We’re in hard times, and I won’t always be around, so it’s good to be thinking on your feet, Danielle. Well done.”
Sydney’s pulse skipped a beat. Something was very off about the general’s visit. She’d never seen him this…flighty?
“We are searching for your husbands”—he looked at Rel—“and brother. We will find them.” He stood. “I’m afraid I don’t have more news, or better news.”
“How long are we supposed to stay locked up like criminals?”
The general moved to his daughter’s side and leaned down and gave her a hug, whispering in her ear. Sydney’s throat tightened at the tears in Dani’s eyes. What was he saying? After a kiss on the cheek, he straightened and walked to the door.
“Wait,” Sydney said as she rose from the bench. “How long do we have to stay here?”
“It won’t be much longer,” he said. “Rel, would you come with me, please?”
The twenty-one-year-old joined him, then they both left.
Thunk. Clank. Hisssss.
Somewhere in the Desert of Palestine
Little. Little information. Little respect. Little reason to go on. Little woman, as in, she didn’t reach his chin. But he wouldn’t underestimate Kacie. In fact, with her quick moves and sassy mouth, he’d want her on his side—any day.
“I’m on your side.”
Yet she kept control firmly in her hands.
Hand…Humiliation still poked at him over that incident. In the dark of night as the car jounced over the low-lying ravine, which she assured him was the quickest route to the airstrip and the best way to avoid being detected or spotted, his gaze flicked to her hand. Or at least to where he imagined her hand would be—with the instrument-panel lights killed for safety, he couldn’t see anything. But he remembered squeezing her hand tight. Had he heard a crack? Or was that just his mind messing with him?
“This pilot we’re meeting,” Griffin said, staring through the moonlit terrain as they clung to the shadows and crevices as much as possible. “How are you buying his silence?”
“You assume he needs to be bought.”
“I assume he’d squeal like a little girl if someone asked him a few questions with the business end of an M16.”
She glared at him. “Well, you’re wrong.”
“And why’s that? Why would a man I don’t know be willing to put his life on the line to protect me?”
“Do you always talk so much?”
Griffin arched an eyebrow at her. “If you wanted me quiet, you should’ve told me the plan, told me what’s next, so I can be focused on that, not on the fact that I don’t know anything.”
“Not knowing anything keeps you alive.”
“And stupid.”
“Like you need my help for that.”
Her comment punched the breath from his chest. “You did not just say that.” A noise from the rear drew Griffin’s attention to Aladdin. Was he okay? He leaned over the back and stretched to see the guy. Though he wasn’t sure, Griffin thought there was a smile on the assassin’s face. “‘Bout time you woke up and pulled your weight.”
Aladdin coughed. “I like her,” he wheezed out.
Griffin could relate. “Save your foul breath for breathing. You don’t do us much good dead. And not much more alive, but we take what we can.”
“IV,” Aladdin said, his voice a whisper.
Eyeing the bag, Griffin understood. It now hung empty. “Okay, we’ll get you hooked up to a new one in the air.”
The man’s shaved, bruised, and bloodied head nodded. So weak he couldn’t change out his IV, his lifeline. This was bad. Much worse than Griffin realized. He shoved his attention to the road, his nerves clamped tight. Losing the assassin wouldn’t be good. They had to get him to a doctor. He peered through the windshield. How far out were they from the chopper?
A flash about a klick to the northeast punched through his thoughts. “Stop!”
Kacie nailed the brakes. The back of the car fishtailed. Rocks crunched and popped. Griffin braced himself as the car skidded to a stop amid a plume of dust.
Seconds later, a bright light ignited the sky.
CHAPTER 12
A curse sailed through the air, and only after the dust and ringing in her ears died down did Kazi realize the word had come from her own lips. She stared at the flickering flames in the distance, her pulse jackhammering.
“Get out of here,” Legend ordered.
A loud, painful groan came from behind them.
“Aladdin?” Legend stretched into the back, and when he did, his barrel chest pressed into her personal space. “Aladdin!”
Kazi threw her attention to the flames roaring into the sky.
“Come on, assass
in, do your thing, know what I’m saying?” A hand dropped on her shoulder. “Kacie, get us out of here.”
She rammed the gear into REVERSE, automatically checked in front of them—and froze. She pulled in a breath and slowly drew forward. There, silhouetted by the flames…
“Look!” With both hands she gripped the steering wheel. “It’s not the plane that blew up.” Defying his order, she shoved the gear into DRIVE and gunned the pedal.
“What…? What’re you doing?” Legend dropped back into his seat.
“It wasn’t the plane that blew up. It was a car.” Her pulse thrummed. If the plane was still there, if it was not going up in flames, then they had a chance…
“You better be right about this,” Legend said.
She shot him a sidelong glance. “I thought we were sharing legs.”
“What?”
“An elephant—one leg at a time.” But what did she expect? For him to appreciate her for what she’d already accomplished?
As the car crept farther along the ravine, which slowly ramped up to surface level, she saw the plane intact. A vehicle—Jeep, if the burning hulk was a clue—served as a makeshift bonfire. Or homing beacon. They’d need to board quickly and get airborne before backup arrived.
Movement between the two vehicles made her apply the brake.
“Is that your man?”
“I can’t tell.”
Legend lifted a weapon, checked the barrel, then reached for the door.
Kazi parked and climbed out. As she reached for her weapon, a tremor of pain in her fingers made her wonder how she’d do pulling the trigger. When Legend had gripped her hand tight, he’d crushed her fingers. He might’ve cracked one or two, but it wasn’t anything debilitating. She’d endured worse.
Her boots crunched over the dry, rocky desert as she closed the distance between her and the plane. Under its belly, she saw feet. Not moving.
She eased around, searching her surroundings. Confident they were alone, Kazi stepped into view. “Kaled?”
He jerked toward her with a raised M16.
She raised the palms of her hands toward him. “Whoa.”
Under the tease of the fire, his face bore a sweaty sheen. “Noor, you…” Relief loosened the taut expression, and the tension seemed to seep from his pores. He blew out a long, hard breath. “Hurry. There are more coming where they came from.”
“What happened?”
Kaled whipped around, his weapon trained on Legend, who quickly—and extremely easily—disarmed her friend. Kaled went into fight mode.
“Kaled, qef ! Stop. Sadiq—he’s a friend.” Kazi rushed between the two men, who’d gone to blows.
Suddenly, Kaled twisted and dropped.
Kazi plunged toward him. “What did you do?” she shouted at Legend and shoved him with two hands, which had no effect. His hands came up, and after years of being an operative, every muscle tensed at the movement, but…he didn’t touch her. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t”—she pushed him again—“do that”—once more—“again!”
Hands up in the same fashion in which she’d shown hers to Kaled, Legend back-stepped. “I didn’t do anything except disarm the man.”
Her friend writhed on the ground, reaching toward his back.
Legend squatted. “There’s blood on his back—he’s been shot.”
Kazi darted a look at Legend, then quickly turned Kaled over. Heat bathed her back from the burning car as she sucked in a breath at the stain covering his back.
Kaled groaned and pushed up off the ground. “Is okay.” He swayed. “Get me in the plane. Hurry.”
For a second she hesitated but also realized they had no other way to get out of here. Gently, she helped him to his feet.
“He cannot fly that plane,” Legend said. “He’ll kill us.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“You can fly this thing.”
In his native tongue, Kaled said, “He worries, but I have gotten you out of worse, yes?”
“You always do,” she replied in Arabic. They climbed up the four steps, and he stumbled toward the pilot’s seat with a hiss and grunt.
Kazi patted him on the shoulder, said they’d be right back. Out in the night, she stormed past Legend to the SUV. “Get your friend. We’re out of time.”
“You trust him? In that condition? We’ll fall out the sky.”
“Only if I push you out of the plane.” She stomped to the back, opened the rear hatch, and grabbed her pack. “Consider this my next leg.”
Greenwich Village Home of Senate Majority Leader William Parker
Rich and rich alike swirled around the marble floors of the mansionlike home that had belonged to Senator Parker’s family for generations. Slinky dresses, ample bosoms, plentiful liquor—it had all the makings of some great elbow-rubbing. Stretching his neck beneath the pale-blue silk tie, Warren Vaughn moved deeper into the crowd.
A delicate touch to his arm slowed him. To the side he found Amberlin Parker giving him a sad smile. “Oh Warren, I am so sorry to hear about your son’s accident. We’re praying for him.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Parker.” He nodded and kept moving.
Finally, he spotted the pale-blue curves he’d been looking for and headed that way. He slipped an arm around her small waist.
With a quick intake of breath, Lis turned—and smiled as she eased into his touch. “There you are.” Hair up, her neck lay exposed and inviting.
Warren kissed it. “Sorry I’m late.”
Lis gestured toward her companion. “I was just talking about all the benefits coming out of your Green World efforts in Uganda, which are spreading throughout other states in Africa.”
“Indeed,” he said as acknowledgment to Shannon Stanton, a relatively new senator from Texas.
Thick, dark coiffed hair accented her tanned complexion. No doubt Nathan would want to meet the single woman who’d devoted her life to politics. Then again, Nathan would have as much in common with the Republican sweetheart as Warren had in common with his own son.
“It’s astounding what you have accomplished through that organization. The infant mortality rate has lowered 30 percent!” Stanton shifted, her black dress elegant yet conservative. “If we could just replicate your success there in other third world countries…”
“Getting the necessary medicine and nourishment was the key.” Warren lifted a flute of champagne and offered one to his wife and one to Stanton, who refused it. He sipped it slowly before continuing. “The African Affairs subcommittee found a way to do it, and I’m proud to have been a part of it.”
“I’d like to sit down with you soon and discuss just how you managed that. The United States has tried for decades without success, but you’ve done it.”
An uneasy feeling squirmed through his stomach. She seemed to be digging. “Maybe one day we can do that.”
“Just give me one tip, how did you work it out to get the money to fund all the supplies? What’s your secret?”
“Hello, sir.”
As dependable as the sands of time. Warren shifted and extended a hand to Nathan Sands, whose sandy-blond hair bore subtle streaks that already showed the toll his role in the Senate had taken over the last ten years since the man had interned with him. “Evening, Nathan.”
Nathan inclined his head and nodded.
“Senator Stanton, I’d like you to meet my secret, Nathan Sands. Nate, this is the GOP sweetheart, Shannon Stanton.” Warren said, tipping his champagne glass toward her. He enjoyed the flame he detected in her demeanor. She hadn’t gotten what she wanted. Good. He’d have to keep his distance.
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Stanton,” Nathan said as he offered his hand.
“It’s Senator Stanton,” Shannon corrected with a tepid smile. Something flickered over her face, but Warren wasn’t quite sure what.
“Excuse me, Senator,” Nathan said as he leaned closer to Warren. “Could I have a word with you?” His gaze struck Lis’s. �
�Privately.”
“Oh, relax, Nathan.” Lis laughed, linked arms with Stanton, then the two sauntered off.
Nathan pointed to the back veranda where a fountain sparkled and tumbled into a large pool that spanned the ornate lawn.
After he set down his glass, Warren trailed his one-time apprentice out into the sultry evening. A breeze danced over the waters, carrying with it the crisp scent of winter.
“What’s got you so riled up you’d pull me away from my wife?”
Nathan turned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and cocked his head down. “Sir, I’m afraid…that is, I think we might have trouble.”
Warren laughed. “Son, we’re in politics, remember? Big Trouble is our middle name.”
Though it was a joke, Nathan seemed to glower.
They’d taken a really big risk shutting down the black-ops team, but it’d been done—and effectively. The rogue team was operating without official U.S. consent. He knew for a fact that no government agency authorized the missions. They had to be shut down before they damaged U.S. relations with a foreign power. And he had Marshall back. Now maybe he could groom him into something respectable. It wasn’t the first leap they’d taken that had paid off, but it wasn’t without a few hiccups. He could handle hiccups. “Go on.”
“Someone went after the women, the wives of those men.”
Warren frowned. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”
“Sir, they missed a few, and someone managed to kill the mercenaries. Now the remaining women and children are missing.”
“I’m not seeing the problem. Seems it cleaned itself up. We have no connection to that incident, son.” Warren patted the man’s shoulder. “You really need to relax, take things in stride, or that gray at your temple will overtake your head.” He laughed, wishing someone had given him that advice twenty years ago.
“Yes, sir. But there’s also the village.”
“What village?”
“Nkooye village in Uganda.”
“Our epicenter.” When he’d first visited it, the deplorable situation had literally sickened him. After unloading his lunch behind a hut, he vowed to make changes. But those people, the vacant expressions, the bloated stomachs haunted him. So they applied the Green World, a program he established with Nathan’s help to Nkooye first, impacting the villagers’ lives and preventing deaths. From there, Warren had been hailed a hero. That success was duplicated in several villages before the wind caught and he sailed to success. The results legitimized his presence in the United States and his position on Capitol Hill and among the Foreign Policy Committee, which he now chaired. It established him as a formidable senator and vaulted him to Senate minority leader. Guaranteed his future.
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 12
