Firethorn (Discarded Heroes)

by Kendig, Ronie

  A guard turned in Ojore’s direction.

  Scott leapt into the open. “Kikati?” Okay, asking what’s up wasn’t exactly the best way to confront a Ugandan soldier in the middle of a raid. But he needed them to think he was unprepared. “Sikitegeera. I don’t understand.” He repeated the phrase a few more times as dark-skinned men rushed him. He let them secure his arms.

  Hands up, he noted that in his periphery, Ojore, Lutalo, and Taban secreted their families out into the fields to safety. Despite the smoke and ash clogging his tear ducts and throat, Scott focused on the colonel who strode toward him.

  “You are training these men for an army, to raid our cities. You were also seen at the mines last night.”

  In Lugandan, Scott said, “We are peaceful and living here as farmers. Some men work the mines—and as you know, my funding comes from the UN. I don’t work in the mine.” A little deception proved vital. “There is no army here. Only men and families.”

  “Someone saw you at the mine.” The colonel poked Scott’s chest with a club.

  Scott laughed and shrugged. “I’m not the only American in the area”—he noted the flicker of acknowledgment in the colonel’s eyes—“but again, why would I be in the mine? Even if I were, is it illegal to visit it?”

  “You were in a secured area.”

  “Secured area? For what reason? I’m just trying to help these men and their families.”

  “These men are demons; they fight in the Lord’s Resistance Army! Why would you help men who kill their own people?” The colonel hesitated, a sneer curling his lip. “You are American. Your help failed last time. Why do you think it will be different this time?”

  Scott cringed at the reference to the 2008 effort when the United States sent advisers and tactical men—like him—to help eradicate the Lord’s Resistance Army. A miserable failure thanks to fog and other factors. Spies, he believed but could not prove.

  “These men are murderers!”

  Scott let his gaze rake in the scene, then he slowly locked onto the body of a woman—Nabiyre—strewn across the threshold of her home. Her thin linen dress was darkened with the stains of her own blood, of injustice. Taming the fury swirling through him took a great effort, but he would make his point.

  He waited till the colonel followed his gaze. Then, “Isn’t that what you’re doing, Colonel—killing good men who were ripped from their families and forced to do horrible things?” Scott sighed. “We both know I’m not raising an army. Your own son lived here for a few years.” Though he had the training to take out the ill-trained soldiers, he wasn’t that man anymore. He’d given it up to help the villagers, teach them to protect themselves, but always—always—try peace first.

  A tremor spirited through the colonel’s dark skin, lit by the fires ravaging the village.

  “Who told you to come out here, Colonel?”

  Hesitation held the attack hostage.

  “Tell me who did this. What are they protecting?”

  The man blinked. Rubbed a hand over his mouth, a subconscious indication he didn’t want to speak what he was thinking. A thought struck Scott. One not far-fetched in a world ravaged by disease and poverty. “What did they offer you, Colonel? What price did you put on coming out and razing this village?”

  Outrage blazed through the colonel’s face, lit by the fires that ravaged eight years of hard work. “Take him!”

  In the seconds it took for the men to respond to their superior’s order, Scott reacted. Training long repressed surged to the forefront. Took over. He slashed out with a flat-handed “blade” and dropped the colonel. The man gasped for air.

  Scott heard boots behind him. He pivoted and threw a roundhouse right into the man’s groin, doubling him. He slammed a fist into the man’s nose. On his knees, the man wailed as blood gushed down his face. Shadows flickered to Scott’s left and right. He threw a right hook to the left. A grunt warned him to duck. The familiar tsing of a machete swiped over his head.

  Scott shoved his boot into the man’s knee. Bones cracked and collapsed the other opponent while Scott wrangled another. In a choke hold, he dropped hard on a bent knee. The guard went limp.

  Shouts jerked him around. Like ants from their hill, Ugandan soldiers flooded out of more trucks. From the far field beyond where a truck ground to a halt to disembowel itself of more soldiers, a light flickered. If Scott noted the position right, that came from the buried rocket launcher. It’d buy him time to escape.

  Incoming.

  CHAPTER 17

  Cyprus

  Hot coffee and an early Mediterranean sunrise warmed Griffin as he stood just inside the house at the bay of windows overlooking the sandy beach. A lot had happened in the last few weeks. Whoever did this to the team, whoever took a bead on his friends—they’d pay for this.

  “You can’t do this!” The Kid yelled as they hauled him up the beach to the pier. He writhed as Griffin and Cowboy wrangled him.

  “Say it again,” Griffin said. “Say Army is better.”

  Silence dropped on them.

  Had the Kid finally gotten some smarts?

  Then…

  “I cannot tell a lie…Rangers lead the way!”

  With Cowboy, he swung the Kid back and forth, sent him sailing into the air cursing and shouting.

  Movement on the sand lured his mind from the past. Kacie trudged alongside the wall and turned into the courtyard. What was she doing out there? Didn’t she realize she could expose their location? He frowned as she met his gaze, then hopped over the barrier. He flicked open the door and let her in.

  “What are you doing—?”

  “Finally woke up, huh?” She arched an eyebrow and stalked to the kitchen where she lifted a mug from the counter, dropped in a tea bag, filled it with water, then placed it in the microwave. “We leave Friday for London.”

  “Did I miss a conversation with the general? When did this plan happen? I thought we were going to lay low and wait for Aladdin.”

  She smirked. “I touched base with my London contact. The general’s presence here does not alter my plans. We proceed as planned.”

  He set down his coffee and moved to the kitchen. “Don’t you think you should consult me about these things? Or did that knot on your head from the crash affect your brain more than I thought?”

  Fearless, unaffected pale-green eyes held his. “I am talking to you.”

  “Before you make plans.”

  “Do you have a contact in London?”

  Griffin bit down on the ear chewing he wanted to give her and flared his nostrils.

  “Look, relax.” When the microwave dinged, she retrieved her tea and sauntered into the living room. She tucked her feet under her and sat on the sofa. “This is my gig. Lambert hired me to get his men back. That’s what I’m doing. Lambert will stay here with Golding as a hideout and to monitor Aladdin’s progress.”

  It made sense. And that’s part of what infuriated him. She was right, but she was going about this in a cavalier, nose-snubbing way. She’d fight for control on this. And the more he resisted and demanded cooperation, the worse she got. So…

  “Okay.” He held his hands toward her. “Fair enough.” He eased onto the coffee table in front of her. “So, London—we’re going after Cowboy?”

  She peeked over the rim of her cup as she sipped the brew and gave a slow nod.

  “Good. All right.” He sloughed his hands together. Two more days pent up in this house. With her. Would he strangle her before they were en route?

  Griffin pushed to his feet. Fisted his hands. What could he say? What could he do? Nothing. He’d never met anyone like her, anyone so closed off and bullheaded. No one so determined to be in control and have things their way.

  No one so much like you.

  He needed space. Smoothing a hand over his head, he moved to the windows again. Tugged back the door and stepped into the cool Cypriot air. It grated on his last nerve, knowing the men he looked on as brothers depended on him
for their survival, but he depended on her. A her who wouldn’t give him the time of day without a fight.

  Bent forward, he rested his forearms on the wall. Lord God, give me mercy. The sitting, the waiting, the green eyes…

  He roughed a hand over his face. Stood straight. She would drive him out of his good mind before this was over. Why couldn’t he get past that barrier of hers? Last night, he’d seen something dart through her delicate features that gave him pause. Fear. Not of him. Fear of punishment. Or rejection. It was like…like she’d told a secret she wasn’t supposed to tell.

  It didn’t make no sense. He’d never seen anything like her on that wall. Except maybe on TV during the Olympics. Phoenix loved watching the competition. And then Kacie or Kazi or whatever her name was froze up like a Popsicle when she realized he was there. Even his compliment had evoked more anger.

  What’s with that?

  Palms planted on the half wall, Griffin stared out at the sea. “And why do you care, Riddell?” Seriously. What was he doing standing here wasting breath and energy over a girl? A white girl, even.

  It wasn’t like that. He just…she was smart. She had a mind that amazed him. She’d outwitted guards. Outmaneuvered bad guys—and him! But there was a girl hurting inside there. She’d been the one to figure out where Aladdin was.

  She could rescue everyone but herself.

  The thought stopped him cold. What happened to her? That was it. She was pushing him away, afraid he’d get in her head, figure out her secrets, the path to her heart. Hadn’t he done the very same thing? Closed off his heart, his feelings, his thoughts? Keeping people at a distance kept them from seeing what he was really like.

  Exposed by the revelation, Griffin lowered his head.

  God…

  He had no idea what to pray. Or why he even wanted to pray.

  No, he did know. He wanted to help Kacie. Something about her pulled at him, at his sense of honor. Sort of the way he wanted to help his little sister, protect her.

  Yeah…protect her. Like his sister.

  Stomach knotted, Kazi watched through the glass door as Griffin paced, then stood still staring up, then paced again. Hands pressed together as if praying, Griffin looked upward. Muttered something. Shook his head. His chest rose and fell, then his shoulders sagged. She’d upset him by going around him to talk to her contact. And why it bothered her that it bothered him, she didn’t know. It wasn’t the first time. Probably not the last.

  Yet her insides hurt.

  Oh Tina. Where are you when I need you? Her steampunk friend had an uncanny way of balancing the forces of Kazi’s life in a way that made each day manageable. Carrick knew that. Which is why he’d cut the support out from under her.

  “I own you, Kazimiera!”

  She closed her eyes, blotting out the memory of that day. The day she’d tried to assert herself, wrestle her own life from his deadly grip. She’d tried to tell him that he didn’t own her. That the years of work and the horrible things she’d done for him had more than repaid her debt. He disagreed. Violently.

  A swirl of air and a shudder lured her back to the present. Only as she hauled her mind into line did the colors and images before her take shape into the large mass of Griffin Riddell. Inside, he rushed past her to the front door. He yanked it open.

  Surprise rippled through her seconds later as Golding and Lambert carried in a stretcher that bore Aladdin. The former assassin, a man she’d met two years ago on assignment, rolled his gaze to hers. His heavily hooded eyes told of the painkillers that numbed his mind.

  “Why is he here?” Kazi asked as they moved him into the lower bedroom on the left. “I thought we were letting him get the medical care he needed.” She met Griffin’s gaze briefly. In that split second, she knew he didn’t know what was happening, but he trusted them.

  Trust. There’s that stupid word again. Her dad had trusted God, she had trusted her brother…. Trust was highly overrated.

  Golding spoke through huffed breaths, “He was not safe.”

  When the elder men eased the stretcher toward the bed, Griffin climbed up on the mattress, knelt, and hoisted Aladdin onto the comforter. Then he eased off again. Griffin stood at the foot of the bed, his hands stuffed on his belt as he stared down at one of his teammates. Worry dug into the angular face, hardening his expression. The sight forced Kazi to take a mental step backward. She saw the potential for an explosive temper but also his great effort to harness it.

  “Did anyone see you leave with him?” Kazi’s heart pounded. This could completely blow this mission.

  “Please.” Lambert guided her from the room. “Trust us to do our jobs. We trust you to do yours.”

  Effectively removed, Kazi stood in the hall, disbelieving, as Lambert closed the door in her face. Shut out. The stinging reminder that she was alone in life left her eyes burning. She lowered her gaze. Just gut it up. It’s better this way.

  But how would they care for Aladdin? He’d had major surgery, hadn’t he? Didn’t that require extensive follow-up and monitoring?

  “Sometimes,” came a soft voice, “it does not make sense, the things they do. But trust them, my dear.”

  Kazi looked over her shoulder to Charlotte Lambert. I don’t know how to trust. “I’m fine.”

  Charlotte gave a sad, sympathetic smile. “It hurts, but you learn to understand that when they’re in ‘mission’ mode, they’re doing what they do best.” She shifted and motioned toward the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”

  Tea? Seriously? She wanted Kazi to sit and drink tea when all of her internal alarms blared? If they’d brought him here, fearing it wasn’t safe, then shouldn’t they be clearing out?

  “Tea?” Charlotte repeated.

  “I…” Where were all her pithy remarks? Her razor-sharp wit? “Sure.” What did she have to lose? The men weren’t rushing around packing up. So that meant there wasn’t a dire threat, right?

  Five minutes and a cup of hot green tea later, she sat at the octagonal glass table in the kitchen next to Mrs. Lambert. Minutes ticked by without a word, without any indication that the woman even wanted to talk. Maybe she didn’t. Perhaps it was just a form of social alliance. Supporting each other by being together. Some women did that. Hung out. Went to malls. Sat at coffee shops drinking expensive lattes. But to do that, you had to have friends willing to waste time. Kazi didn’t have friends. Not anymore…

  So she sipped her tea. Tried to calm her racing mind. What was happening back there? Why were they all in there? Were they conspiring about the mission?

  Kazi pushed up. “I think I’ll—“

  Mrs. Lambert’s hand coiled around Kazi’s. “Just”—blue eyes came to hers—“trust.”

  Unnerved at the steel that seemed to ram itself through Mrs. Lambert’s eyes and down Kazi’s spine with the terse yet gentle command, she lowered herself to the chair. Wow. She hadn’t seen that coming from the genteel woman. Kazi stared down at the pale-green liquid, feeling disoriented. Disjointed. As if her world had tilted two degrees off its natural orbit.

  “Trust them, Kazi.”

  Her pulse sped. A viper of a reaction whipped its ugly head up. “That’s not how I work.”

  Charlotte squeezed her fingers. “I know.” The emphasis on that last word seemed to hang in the air. “You work alone, keep yourself alone, afraid you’ll let the wrong person in and get crushed again.”

  How on this whacked planet the woman knew that, Kazi didn’t know. But she braced herself against reacting, against showing Charlotte Lambert that she was right, that she’d read Kazi like an open book. Yet she couldn’t tear the shock off her face. She felt it—her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape, her pulse thumping in her throat…. Finally, she swallowed.

  “I know. You’re not the only girl Olin has rescued, you know.” A soft smile smoothed away the age lines that graced Charlotte’s face. “Give yourself a chance to risk freedom, Kazi.”

  Breathing became a chore. She had to get out of
here before someone heard this woman.

  For an older woman, with long, delicate, fragile-looking fingers, she had a death grip on Kazi’s hand. Why was she saying these things? What could she mean? And in the heartbeat of a space between those two questions, the truth unveiled itself: Charlotte Lambert knew of Kazi’s past.

  Kazi snatched her hand free and drew back. “Leave me alone.” She stalked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and across the landing to her room. Inside, she locked the door and turned, staring at it, as if it’d open. As if Charlotte Lambert could read her mind through the wood.

  No, she couldn’t read minds. There was only one way Mrs. Lambert could know those things—the general. Anger replaced the panic that had widened the gap that led out of the graveyard of her life.

  “You’re not the only girl Olin has rescued.”

  What did that mean? She hadn’t been rescued. She’d been hired ! Paid in full. Lambert was in desperate, dire straits and came to her. He needed her.

  The thought flickered through her mind about his being here. Stepping in on the mission.

  Thud! Thud!

  Kazi flinched and blinked at the knocks. Why did she feel trapped, cornered? Everything in her told her to run. Get out of here before it was too late. Before someone connected a few dots too many and she ended up a slab of meat like Tina.

  “Kacie,” Griffin’s voice boomed from the other side. “Downstairs. Change of plans.”

  Change of plans? Was he kidding? She reached for the handle. Kazi yanked open the door, but Griffin was already halfway down the steps.

  “What change of plans? We leave Friday. I talked to my contact,” she said, hating the growl to her voice as she followed him. He turned the corner and out of sight. No answer. No explanation.

  In the living room, the general and Golding conferred quietly and looked up when she entered.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Why the change?”

  Griffin stood off to the side, arms folded over that ridiculously large chest.

  “I cannot explain how or why we must do this, but believe me when I say, there is no choice.” The general pointed toward a chair and eased himself into a seat opposite.