His chest swelled at the memory. At seeing that look on Kazi’s face.
Shame pushed him to the edge of reason. “K…I’m…sorry.”
“No, fine.” She backed toward the house, hurt rimming her beautiful eyes.
Griffin caught her arm gently, pulled her back to himself. He peered down into those green depths…then drifted out to the rippling waves. “I don’t talk about my business.”
“What?” she asked, her voice hard. Her expression harder. “Oh, I see. It’s okay to play hero, but it’s not okay to be a victim. Not used to being vulnerable, Griffin?” She tugged her elbow free of his grasp. “Well, don’t worry. I’m used to men satisfying their egos through me.”
The words were a backhanded smack across his honor. “That’s not—“
“Griffin!” Colton’s muted shout through the window drew him round. “Max on relay!”
Green World Health Clinic Compound, Uganda
Full engagement in a combat theater had nothing on Max’s heart as he hammered on the keyboard, knowing the seconds were counting down. His hands shook, full of adrenaline and images of his wife and sons safe with Lambert. He typed: Copy. INTACT w/ SQUIRT. POSSIBLE NS WIRING. RQST ELECTRICTY.
Hands balled, he blew on his fists, not for warmth but to blow off the adrenaline that had them shaking. He’d given the code requesting a full engagement with the Nightshade team, knowing he had to word the relay as if the entire thing would be blasted on CougarNews’s evening report.
“Think they’ll agree to help?”
Max bounced a glance to Dighton, who shifted aside from the wall he held up as Scott and Marie entered the room. Promising them a full engagement wasn’t possible. Two months ago, he’d have vowed with his life to take down someone who attacked an organization working for the good of the people—assuming they’d fully investigated and were convinced things were out of control. But with the mess everything was in…
“Don’t know.”
A lot would go into consideration. The team’s location. Their sitrep. If the Old Man thought they could get to Uganda without getting killed or killing the civilians in the process.
“But we need the help.” Max ran a thumb over his lip as he waited for a response.
“At least we have a better chance with you and the Aussies,” Marie said. “I don’t care about the mine as long as we can get the people to safety.”
“The mine may stop them from leaving.”
She stared at him.
“If they’re earning an income, if their families are safe,” Squirt said as he joined Max at the table with the only laptop left in the facility, “they might not leave.”
Max had been in similar situations where the families were more afraid of leaving than of staying. Rig a mission to that, and everyone ended up dead.
“Hey.” Dighton nodded toward the laptop.
Words fell across the screen.
PARTS MISSING. CONNECTION POSSIBLE. RELAY ORDER NUMBER.
“What’s that mean?”
Max glanced to his left at the woman. “Our location.” He looked to Squirt for thoughts. “Parts Missing” worried him. That meant someone or someones on the team were missing. Who? He punched out of the seat and stalked back and forth. If they weren’t in lockdown, he’d be all over putting the team back together. But every step threatened their existence. Drew attention.
“What do you think?”
“Sending our location over this signal could dig our graves,” Max said.
“Or bring us backup, get the people out of here, then you can deal with this threat,” Marie interjected.
What, was the woman wearing rose-colored glasses? Didn’t she see that reality sucked? Especially in combat.
Max pulled his gaze from her and turned back to the laptop. The facts were simple but incredibly complicated: the compound needed help, something going on in the mine a dozen miles away needed intervention, and bringing Nightshade into the mix could turn the yellowcake situation global.
“Aren’t you going to tell them where we are?” Marie’s voice bordered on panic. “We need help. You saw that enough to come—and now you’re here. Look around you. Do you think you can handle this on your own?”
Anger laced through his system, but he recognized it for the challenge it was. “This isn’t just about you.”
“Me?” Her face paled. “I don’t give a rat’s behind about me.” She flung an arm toward the heart of the compound. “I have more than a hundred people living in tents with disease, famine, and illness, and doing so in mortal fear that whoever is after him”—her hand swung toward Scott—“and what he found might catch up with them.” Fury wrested curls from her pulled-back hair, reminding him of Sydney. Not the curls. But the indignation. “Now, are you a soldier who’s going to do something or a soldier who’s going to whine?”
Her dig at his character didn’t faze him. “Tell me, Marie, would you put your villagers on the front page of CougarNews in a lineup so whoever is behind this could take them out one by one, then go after their families?”
A hand went to her throat.
Thought so. “That’s exactly what you’re asking me to do by bringing my team here.”
She came forward, her earnestness flaming. “But you came. Don’t give up now.”
“Yes, I came. Now give me room to figure things out.” He drew in a steadying breath and locked on the computer. Helping this village, sorting out the mine caper—it’s why he was here. Why he’d found Scott’s e-mail buried amid hundreds in an account he hadn’t checked in years. All because he was searching for contact from Sydney.
He closed his eyes. Sydney—his anchor. If he did this, if he sent his coordinates, it’d be a direct bead on his forehead. He could be dead the second he sent it. Then who would take care of Sydney and the boys?
“Max?”
Squirt’s quiet call blasted against his indecision. He cleared his throat. “Okay.” God, protect and guide us. “Let’s do this.”
Folding the coordinates amid a line of code, he hoped to buy some time against would-be attackers.
“Send it in pieces,” Squirt suggested. “Break it up so it’s not as easy to track.”
Max nodded. Keyed in the latitude. Hit SEND.
Entered the longitude. Hit SEN—
BooOOOOooom!
In a surreal encounter, he felt his body lifted from where he stood. Shoved backward by the invisible hand of a bomb’s concussion. Walls collapsed. Light exploded through the room, instantly replaced by smoke and dust.
CHAPTER 31
Golding Residence, Cyprus
Connection’s gone.”
Olin stared at the screen where the first set of coordinates hid among a sentence that, to any bystander, would appear nonsensical. “What do you mean?”
“It’s gone.”
“Check again.”
“I did.” Aladdin shrugged as he cast a look in the direction of Max’s wife. “Maybe the power went out.”
“Right.” Olin swallowed hard. The power hadn’t gone down. He knew at the core of his being something bad happened. “Run sat images. Get me a scan of that area.”
Keys were already clicking as he turned to the others. At least things were going, generally, in the right direction. Most of the team was together. Midas was on his way. They were almost back together and very close to figuring out the details of what happened. He was certain of it.
“Boss,” Colton said, a phone pressed to his ear. “Contact from the bird with Midas.” Olin looked up.
“It’s not good. Midas has…” The air hung heavy and rancid as Cowboy chose his words carefully, his gaze not going to Danielle. His daughter had dealt with enough. “They need a hospital. Now.”
Golding snapped a finger. “Evram!” He strode toward the man. “Get Moshe. Have them prepared.” Bent over, Golding wrote on a piece of paper, then handed it to Cowboy. “Divert them to this airstrip. A chopper will meet them and take him to a trusted hospital. They will be discreet.�
�
Cowboy relayed the information.
Had Olin stepped into a massive pit of quicksand that was sucking every tendril of his life into oblivion? The room spun. He dropped into a chair, holding his head as he did. All he’d worked for, the lives of these men…And now, on the precipice of the day of reckoning, things—everything was falling apart.
“Olin?” Charlotte’s worry sang through the room. Seconds later, she crouched at his side, touching the side of his face. “You’re cold.”
“The world is cold.”
“General, you should lie down.” Cowboy stood over him, two fingers pressed to his neck. “You’re running a bit high.”
Olin waved off the attention. “I’m fine. Just…not going as I planned.”
Cowboy grinned. “All the same, I’d feel better if you got some shut-eye while we work out the rest. You’ve been up awhile.”
“He’s right.” Griffin, who’d been strangely quiet, spoke up. “Rest up. We got this. We’ll find Frogman and get something in play. We’ll wake you.”
“Come on,” Charlotte said as she eased an arm around him.
Numbly, he let her guide him into a bedroom. On the floor, Tala Metcalfe and McKenna Neeley slept soundly. As he stared at the beautiful innocence of his men’s children, the only thought he had was: What if their fathers die at my hand?
He shook off the morbid thought and stretched out on the bed with Charlotte at his side.
“Give it to the Lord, Olin,” she whispered. “You’re trying to do this in your own might.”
His eyes slid shut. “They’re my responsibility.”
“They’re God’s responsibility.”
“But He entrusted them to my care.” He felt his pulse in his temple. “So many hurt. So many…mistakes.” “Olin…?”
A weight pressed into his chest. As sleep greedily claimed him, he drifted off wondering if he would ever wake.
Flight to Cyprus Hospital
“You’ll kill yourself.”
“Give it to me!” Canyon growled as he swiped for the syringe and wobbled on the edge of the stretcher.
“You don’t know—“
When his brother didn’t finish, Canyon cocked his head so he could peer at him through the right eye since the left had swollen shut.
Navas held a hand to Range’s chest. Two silent sentries.
His mind hooked on the conversation that had pulled him out of the abyss of unconsciousness. He’d been in a near-dead state too many times in the last few years. But he couldn’t hang up his beret just yet. There was another battle to fight—an especially large and prickly one.
He eyed the large-bore IV stuck in his arm. The empty syringes on the tray. “How many times have I coded?” His brain felt like one of those Coke-flavored slushes you could buy at the beach on hot days.
“Three.”
He flicked the IV, then followed it up to the bag dangling over his head. “What’s that?”
“Morphine—“
Gritting his teeth, Canyon yanked it out. Pressed two fingers to the spot that spurted the clear liquid and blood.
“Hey!” the EMT came off the seat beside him. “You need that.”
“It’s muddling my mind.” He gave a quick shake of his head, then looked at Range. With Navas. Now, there was a story he would like to hear. He’d never forget hearing the firefight outside his holding cell. Then the doors opening and his kid brother barging in with all the bravado that was normally associated with the family’s silent tormenter—him. Range had looked so shocked. So…accosted at what he saw. Canyon was sure he was a sight for sore eyes with all the bruises, broken arm—which was now splinted, thanks to the EMT. Even now, the memory made him smile.
Range snickered. “You were dead two minutes ago.”
“Yeah?” Canyon refused the pleading of his body to lie down and give Rip Van Winkle a run for his money. “Well, death is overrated.” He had a lot on the side of living worth fighting for. “Roark.” His heart rate increased on the bleeping machine.
The edges of his vision blurred. He blinked and shook his head—which only made it worse. Ringing screamed through his ears.
“He’s going again,” the EMT mumbled.
“Midas, lie back. Relax.” Navas’s words were surprisingly clear and concerned.
“I need to put the IV back in. He’s in no shape to—“
Can’t let them do that. No. Had to get himself together.
Navas laughed. “I think he disagrees.”
“I don’t care what he disagrees with.”
Hold on. I’ll be…back.
“Hey!”
The clang of equipment and a scuffle ensued. Navas’s gruff tone pulled Canyon from the depths. He rolled his eyes and found the slit where his eyelids were. Man, didn’t think it was that hard.
Navas had the EMT pinned against the wall. “He said ‘no.’ “
Wide-eyed, the man held up his hands. “He’s dying; we have to do something.”
On a tray between them, Canyon eyed a large syringe. Beside it, a vial of epinephrine—empty. Canyon swiped a hand toward it. The needle lodged in his palm. Pain…there should be pain…but there wasn’t. He was desperate. The team was dying. He was dying.
No, I’m not.
Mentally he rammed the syringe toward his chest. He felt nothing.
God, please…I need to help them.
He repeated the thoughts, hoping they translated into action this time. In a half-dead state, he wasn’t sure what was real or fake. Syringe…chest…plunge.
A new fire, invigorating and cold, rushed through his veins. His pulse throbbed against his pounding head. “Auggghhh!” The sensation pushed his chest off the stretcher.
Shouts erupted.
Canyon’s eyes—eye—shot open. He stared up at his brother, a mop of black hair dripping sweat…straight into Canyon’s face. A strange gurgling met his hearing. Crap, that’s me. He coughed. Caught his brother’s hand dangling next to him—and froze.
Range held the syringe.
He looked up, confused. Pushed himself upright, the room spinning but not near as bad as before. Had his brother injected him?
“The team,” Canyon muttered, his tongue feeling like it had three North Face parkas on it. “Status?”
Navas said, “The general got SATINT—compound is flattened. Smoke and debris are all that’s left.”
So Max was dead or MIA. Which meant…they needed a medic at that compound. He snorted. Right. He couldn’t even stand up without assistance, and he was toying with heading into a combat zone?
It’s my team…
Navas nodded. “The Old Man had a stroke. He’s alive, stable, and sedated.”
“So, sitrep is one big snafu.” Fisting his hand, he steadied himself on the stretcher. Everything hurt. No, “hurt” doesn’t come close. Agony had taken up residence in every cell of his body. His left eye was swollen shut. Left arm in a sling, he couldn’t feel the fingers, thanks to the ragged break in the bone, thanks to the VFA jackhammering through it. Literally.
Brown eyes sparked with amusement, Navas eased onto a stretcher across from him. A smile almost tugged back his lips. “We’re about twenty minutes from the hospital. They’re going to put you under, cut you open, put you back together.”
Unless you tell them to do something else. It was as if Canyon could hear the man’s thoughts. What was it with this man? He seemed to thrive on this mess.
Canyon smirked. “Take me to my leader.”
Golding Residence, Cyprus
Tina had warned her long ago about giving away her heart. Kazi held to the philosophy that men were meant to be loved then left. It’d worked for her steampunk friend, kept her alive and on the edge of every party. Men loved her restless spirit, annoying laughter, and passion for all things dangerous. She’d lived life full and hard, unafraid of being hurt.
Because she never put herself in a position to be hurt.
Kazi monitored the room—the Nightshade t
eam, the Mossad, the women and children—but no one had given a hint that they were aware of her doings. Thankfully. Because they’d probably chop her head off and ask questions later if they figured it out.
“What’s the stat on Midas?” Griffin’s voice boomed over the din.
Aladdin’s blue-green eyes seemed to glow as he answered without looking up or over his monitor. “En route, five klicks.” His short-cropped hair, spotted with scabs, seemed to ripple beneath the pulse of his heartbeat.
Ignoring their reports, Kazi adjusted the laptop propped on her knees. She scanned some backchannels, using her own secure site she’d created years ago to surf the net and not expose herself or her locations.
Griffin pored over the data, his hand tracing lines, his eyes creating others, trying to piece together where they were supposed to go, what they were to do. Who they were supposed to stop. His meaty pointer tapped a series of images taped to the board. “What about Frogman or the Ugandan compound? Any word?”
“Negative.” Marshall pushed to his feet and snatched pages from a printer that had been whirring nonstop the last twenty-four hours since she and Griffin had been on the rooftop. “But I’ve accessed a GW satellite and used that to monitor the situation.” He snapped the pages straight. “They need help. Yesterday.”
As Griffin assessed the images, Kazi assessed the two men. Though Marshall stood almost a head shorter, had black hair and blue-gray eyes, he had a ruggedness about him that was charming. And there was a spark in his gaze that somehow evened up that size difference—the guy was a former Army Ranger for heaven’s sake. That alone spoke of the grit and determination that set him apart. Yet mirth and mischief seemed to be the smart aleck’s bedmates. Though he’d taken a few head-pops, the taunting had lessened as he slowly pulled the pieces of the nightmare-laden puzzle together. And taking control of a satellite? Did Griffin even realize the feat Marshall accomplished?
No. Griffin wasn’t one to get emotional. To show appreciation or let people past that thick skull or barrier of his. He’d been full steam ahead for the last ten hours, which both relieved and irritated her. He’d shoved her out of his life when things got a little too close to home. So much for his pithy comment about when she was ready—and to think, it’d actually touched something deep in her. Stirred embers into a molten mixture that she thought might—might—be recast into something…beautiful.
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 31
