The Ultimate Betrayal

by Kat Martin

  There she would wait. Until this was over, she would be there for Bran, the way he was always there for her.

  * * *

  With sirens howling, evacuation orders blaring, and people trying to get out of the airport, most of those on the lower floor had already fled. Just a few stragglers, shoving through the glass doors, running in the opposite direction, away from the danger.

  The lower level entrances were used to bring in supplies and equipment. Bran figured that was likely the way the terrorists had accessed the concourse, as employees who worked in terminal support. Vetting people who worked at the big international airports was a nightmare.

  After a check of the area, he returned to the door leading to the lower level. No one remained on the other side of the glass as he approached and shoved the door open. He figured the missing three terrorists were somewhere down here, patrolling the lower level corridors in case of an assault.

  He picked a spot out of sight, stripped off his down jacket, leaving him in a dark blue Henley, jeans, and low-topped leather boots. Unzipping his gear bag, he took out his Colt AR-15 full-auto assault rifle, illegal as hell, and set it to bursts of three. He’d never fired it in the States, hoped he’d never have to. The suppressor would cut the sound, but not completely.

  Lots of goodies in the bag—spare ammo, flash grenades, tactical vest, his Ka-Bar knife—if he could get back to where he left them. He stuffed a spare .380 mag in the inside pocket of the jacket and zipped it as much as he could, draped the jacket over the rifle, stashed the bag out of sight, and went hunting.

  * * *

  Fighting hard not to show her fear, Hallie sat on the floor, her legs curled beneath her, one of the kids on each side, tucked under her arms. Chris’s face was pale, his child-size folding wheelchair abandoned a few feet away. Sarah’s blue eyes were huge and glassy with tears.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Hallie said, giving them both a hug. “Your daddy’s here. He won’t let anyone hurt you.” She had always loved kids. She had fallen madly in love with Ty’s.

  Sarah looked up at her, her bottom lip trembling. “Those men look really mean.”

  “We just need to do what they say and we’ll be okay.”

  “Dad was a ranger,” Chris said. “He can protect us.”

  Ty leaned over and spoke to him softly. “I’m going to need your help with that, son. All right?”

  Chris nodded solemnly.

  “They’re the bad guys. We don’t tell them I’m a ranger. We don’t tell them anything.”

  “Okay.”

  Both kids had long ago accepted Ty as their father. It was easy to see how much he loved them. He would die for his family, Hallie knew, which now included her. Her throat tightened. Please, God, keep all of us safe.

  The kids lapsed into silence. One of the terrorists, the man she had dubbed Snake because he slipped silently around watching everyone, walked toward them. He was tall and thin, with high cheekbones and slashing black eyebrows. He was young and handsome and wearing a long white robe. Unlike the other two that she had seen up close, he was clean-shaven, while they had short-cropped beards and wore black slacks and white shirts.

  Ty eased the phone beneath his thigh as the man approached, a long-fingered hand on the assault rifle across his chest. Long-lashed black eyes surveyed the people huddled on the floor. The absolute power he was feeling registered in every line of his face.

  Hallie kept her gaze down and so did Ty, and the terrorist turned and slithered away.

  “What do you think they’ll want in exchange for letting us go?” she asked Ty.

  Something flashed in his eyes before he hid it behind lowered lids. “Maybe they want a prisoner exchange. Some of their guys for us. There’s a plane sitting right there. They’ll probably make that part of the deal. They get what they want, then we’re free to leave.”

  Hallie managed to nod. But that single glimpse into Ty’s mind told her he didn’t believe they intended to let them go. They were going to detonate the bombs. The terrorists were planning to kill them.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Bran’s cell phone vibrated. He saw the number Jessie had entered and hit the button. “Ramirez?”

  “That’s right. SWAT’s here. We’re moving into position. What can you tell us?”

  He relayed Ty’s location at gate 48, intel about the number of terrorists and the pallets loaded with munitions and wired with explosives. Ty’s estimated number of hostages.

  “What are their terms?” Bran asked.

  “The leader’s a guy named Sadiq Nazari. Claims dozens of Yemenis are being tortured in secret facilities in Yemen by the United Arab Emirates. He says the US is aiding the UAE with weapons and intelligence. They want the Pentagon to force the Saudis to release the prisoners, some fifty-five of them. That, and he and his men want to fly off in one of the planes parked at the end of the concourse.”

  “The US doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  “If their demands aren’t met, he’s going to blow three thousand pounds of chemical weapons sky-high, killing hundreds of people and pleasing Allah.”

  Bran scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m not seeing this going down any way but bad.”

  “Near as we can tell, Nazari’s the guy in control of the bombs. We think they’re designed to be set off by his cell phone. The negotiator will keep him talking as long as he can. My SWAT guys are good, better than good. We’re setting up to go in and take these pricks out. We want to do it with the fewest possible casualties. With inside help, we might have a chance to make it work.”

  Bran spotted a long shadow approaching. “Gotta go.” He hit the end button and ducked out of sight, took out his six-inch folding knife and flipped it open.

  As the terrorist walked in front of him, he locked an arm around the guy’s neck, hauled him back a few paces, and sliced the blade across his throat. He held on until the body went limp, then dragged it out of sight behind a line of equipment. With the hum of the machinery aiding his escape, he moved silently off down the passage.

  The corridor stretched ahead. There was a lot of equipment down here, the steady whine muffling his footsteps. It also hid the steps of his quarry. He found a place where he could hoist himself up and look over the false walls to see what lay ahead.

  A bearded man in black slacks and a white shirt, an assault rifle across his chest, stood beside two more pallets of munitions, five hundred pounds apiece, the last of the chemical weapons. There were wheels on the pallet, and an iron tongue for towing, which was probably how they’d gotten the weapons into position. The tarp that had covered it lay on the floor a few feet away, leaving the brass canisters exposed. Explosives covered the weapons, connected by a maze of red and yellow wires.

  Bran eased back down and found a spot to wait. Noticing a pebble on the floor, he picked it up and tossed it down the corridor. It clattered as it landed, and the bearded man went on alert.

  No way to get near enough to use his knife. As the man rounded the corner, Bran fired a quick burst of three, spraying bullets across the terrorist’s chest. The guy made a gurgling sound, his legs crumpled, and he went down.

  Bran moved on.

  * * *

  Jessie raised her hands as she got out of the SUV, her cell phone tucked into the pocket of her jeans. SWAT vehicles surrounded the far end of the concourse. Police cars, uniformed officers, SWAT vehicles, people in hazmat suits.

  A man dressed in camo and a tactical vest strode toward her, early forties, hard features, bulky in the chest and shoulders, a trace of silver in his hair.

  “Victor Ramirez, Denver SWAT. You’re Jessie Kegan?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Come with me.”

  She followed him to a portable command center being set up on the tarmac, a huge motor home with antennas on top. As they stood next
to the steps leading to the entrance, she could see her breath in the freezing air.

  Wishing she had her gloves, she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. “Have you talked to Brandon?”

  “We connected. He’s calling me back.”

  She looked over at the concourse, thought of Hallie, Ty, and the kids, and the terror of being held hostage.

  “Anything I need to know about your friend, Garrett?”

  She forced herself to focus. “Bran was Delta. He knows what he’s doing.” She had to hang on to that. She had to trust him to do what needed to be done and come out alive. If she couldn’t do it now, there was no hope for them.

  “And the guy in with the passengers?”

  “Ty Folsom. Ty was a ranger. He’s traveling with his girlfriend and his two kids. He won’t leave them alone. That’ll limit what he can do to help.”

  Ramirez nodded. He looked up as the door to the command center opened. “You might as well get inside the trailer, out of the cold.”

  She glanced back at the terminal. She wanted to be ready if Bran needed her, ready for Hallie and Ty and Chris and little Sarah. Unconsciously, her hand slid down to her cell phone. “I’ll go inside in a minute.”

  * * *

  The third man was shorter than the other two, and older, his beard longer. Bran watched him prowling the corridor, AK-47 strapped to his chest. He opened the door to an equipment room, disappeared inside, and reappeared seconds later. Bran eased back into the shadows, waiting for his prey, patient, listening, hearing the shuffle-glide of his feet on the concrete floor.

  Bran counted the seconds, the cadence of the footfalls, calculating the time and distance to his arrival. His quarry paused, carefully checking for anyone who might be hiding. Anyone who might pose a threat.

  Come on...come to Papa. He was close now. Bran could hear him breathing. He was nervous. His movements no longer rhythmical, but jerky, uncertain. He had figured it out, knew someone was there, behind a false wall that disguised an air-conditioning unit. The man stopped to aim his rifle.

  Bran fired. Three short bursts, chest-high, right through the wall. He stepped into the passage, saw the man lying on the floor but still breathing, finished the job with another short burst. Then he moved on.

  Three terrorists down. SWAT could enter through the lower level, spread out and make their way to various metal stairs leading up to the gate level, giving them at least three solid approaches.

  He took out his phone to call Ramirez, but it vibrated before he had time to press the contact button.

  Ty. “They’re getting antsy. Haven’t been able to reach the three men downstairs.”

  “They’re enjoying their seventy-two virgins.”

  Ty grunted his approval. “They’re sending a man down to check. He’s heading for the stairs across from me, next to gate 47.”

  “Got it.” Bran headed for the stairs next to the supply elevator he figured would be closest to the gate.

  This guy wouldn’t be as easy as the others. He’d be wary, ready for danger. Adrenaline pulsing. Anticipating the stalk. Eager for the kill.

  Which could all be used against him. Bran waited as close as he could get to the bottom of the stairs, just a few feet away, out of sight around the first corner. His prey would just be gearing up, not quite ready for the hunt to begin.

  Definitely not ready for it to end.

  Footsteps rang on the metal stairs. He counted them down, three, two, one. Bran hit him like a tank crashing into a concrete barrier, body-slamming him into the wall, headbutting, plowing a fist into his ribs, breaking at least three. The guy’s pretty face hit the floor, caving in one of his cheekbones and knocking him unconscious. Bran finished him with the knife, grabbed the terrorist’s cell phone, and faded away.

  * * *

  Sergeant Ramirez strode away from his men, back to where Jessie stood near the stairs to the command center, her hands shoved into the pockets of her puffy jacket.

  “You were right,” he said. “Garrett took out four of the terrorists—half what they had to start with. He’s cleared a way for us to get inside the terminal. We’re dispatching men now.”

  Her heart was beating too fast. She could hardly breathe. She took a deep breath and tried to control the fear squeezing her lungs.

  “So you’re going in?”

  “We’re moving into position. Nazari is holding on to a cell phone set to detonate the bombs if the Pentagon doesn’t agree to his terms. Even if a sniper takes him out, he might have time to hit the send button and the bombs could explode.”

  Fear trembled through her, came out as a breath of white in the freezing air. So many lives at stake, hundreds of them. Ty and Hallie and the children. Brandon. Her heart squeezed. “What are you going to do?”

  “We’re setting up a signal that can block cell service for a mile in any direction.” Ramirez’s jaw hardened. “Nazari can hit the button, but the signal won’t go through.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “They’re working on it.” He looked at her hard. “You believe in God?”

  She managed to nod.

  “You might ask for a little help. We’ll need all we can get to make this work.”

  Ramirez strode away, and Jessie started praying.

  * * *

  Using the tail of his Henley to muffle his voice, Bran hit the call button on the terrorist’s phone, putting him in contact with whoever picked up on the other end.

  “The phones do not work well down here,” he said in Arabic, tapping the cell and distorting the words so his voice couldn’t be identified. “I will check, make sure there are no problems.”

  He killed the line. He’d bought a little time, not much. It wouldn’t be long before they figured out half their men were dead.

  He pushed open the service elevator doors and looked inside. The cage waited above, doors open on the gate level. He lifted the strap of his assault rifle over his head and set the gun on the floor, along with the extra magazine, pulled his jacket on to cover his weapons and the blood on his clothes.

  Shoving his way into the elevator shaft, he climbed hand over hand up the side to the upper level, then lay on his stomach and crawled on top of the cage. Quietly lifting away the emergency exit panel gave him a bird’s-eye view of the concourse.

  He could see two of the four remaining terrorists, knew there were two more out of sight. He scanned the area and found Ty sitting on the floor behind a row of seats next to Hallie, the kids tucked between them, opposite the open elevator doors.

  Ramirez had kept him informed. SWAT would be arriving any minute, dispersing quietly below, getting ready to make their assault. A perimeter had been set up outside, snipers had at least two of the terrorists in their sights.

  Army Special Forces were being helicoptered in, but they wouldn’t get there in time. Men from the Alamo Depot had been dispatched to handle the munitions—assuming the terrorists weren’t able to explode them.

  His phone vibrated. “It’s a go,” Ramirez said.

  Everything happened at once. Shots slammed through the big plate glass windows and passengers screamed as two of the terrorists went down to sniper fire. People started running. SWAT burst onto the floor through the equipment-room doors, firing a barrage of bullets, taking the other two terrorists out.

  It was over in minutes. If the leader had pushed the button to set off the explosives, it had been blocked.

  Bran jumped down through the open panel in the elevator roof. Just outside the open doors, police swarmed the gate area, shouting orders, herding terrified passengers away from the scene to safety.

  Bran spotted Ty and strode toward him, shouldering his way through the mass of humanity rushing to get out of the terminal.

  He glanced around. Police and SWAT were everywhere, a group of them directing people down the con
course toward the exits. The bomb squad had arrived. Apparently the devices were rudimentary because the explosives were defused in minutes. Still, it was going to take hours to get the airport back up and running.

  “Come on,” Bran said as he reached his friend. “We’re getting out of here.” Ramirez and the mass of law enforcement descending on the building wouldn’t like it, but he and Ty had done their part. The rest was just cleanup.

  Lifting Chris, Bran set the little boy in his wheelchair while Ty swung Sarah up on his shoulders and reached down for Hallie’s hand. Their carry-on luggage sat forlornly a few feet away, but getting to safety was more important.

  Bran pushed the wheelchair into the service elevator, and as soon as everyone was inside, he closed the doors. Hallie hit the button for the lower level, and the hydraulic motor started whining its decent.

  “Everybody okay?” he asked.

  Ty clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

  Hallie reached up to tearfully hug him. “Thank you.”

  Bran just nodded. As soon as the doors slid open and they were headed for the lower level exit, Bran phoned Jessie. “Hey, baby. Any chance you could come pick us up?”

  “Oh, my God, are you kidding? Where are you?”

  “We’re exiting through the same door where you dropped me off.”

  “I’m on my way. I love you.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He was saving the words. He wanted to do it right this time. He thought about what Jessie would do if the cops tried to stop her from coming to pick them up. He was pretty sure she’d be there.

  Bran wasn’t surprised to see the big black Cadillac SUV racing toward them across the tarmac. The vehicle roared up and slid to a stop, the driver’s door flew open, and Jessie ran toward him.

  Bran swept her into his arms.

  * * *