by Gennita Low
Lucas shoved away a pile of spent slugs that had landed at his feet, making room. The boat began to speed up, taking off down river. The thumping of gunfire became less and less sporadic. Wedding party over, folks.
The rest of the trip went without incident. Everyone was still on high alert, with no small talk other than greeting and acknowledgement. He could hear his commander, Hawk, speaking quietly with the boat crew commander, then watched curiously as they walked back and pulled the Cob—he recognized him by his shiny clothing—into a sitting position before placing a hood over his head. As soon as he was secured that way, the other prisoner sat up without help and Hawk leaned over and cut his ropes. The man rubbed his wrists, shaking away the stiffness, but neither man exchanged any words.
What the hell?
“Separate the prisoners when we arrive and ship them to the assigned detainment cells,” Hawk said. “No communicating with anyone where each prisoner is to be held.”
“Yes, sir!”
Lucas watched the freed prisoner hand his commander a note. Clearly, the order just given was bullshit being fed to the Cob or he’d eat his shoe. Lucas made a face. Okay, not his currently shit-infested shoe, but one that was sitting on a shelf back home. Home made him think of Kit-Ling. He immediately shut that door mentally. Think of that wild woman and he’d get his pants tight from a hard-on. He had done that so many times since Charleston, he was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him. One couldn’t afford to lose focus out here in the field or chance being killed.
The rest of the trip back to base was uneventful. The well-guarded US-controlled canal was a welcome sight and Lucas found his tenseness dissipating. He cricked his neck and relaxed his grip on his weapon. If he were lucky, he could actually get a shower tonight. He sniffed himself. Right now he’d settle for a quick dip in the canal.
They gathered as a group, both his team and the special ops boat crew. An interpreter met with Hawk and after an exchange of instructions, the Cob was marched off, with guards holding him on both sides. Interestingly enough, the other prisoner just stood there with his guards. He was definitely local but much taller, more Lucas’ size, actually. And he seemed very comfortable standing there, quietly taking in the scene with an impassive face. Lucas doubted any of his team mates were deceived by the easy stance. This man knew how to fight.
Someone called out his name. He turned and high-fived his buds. Mink and Dirk did a chest bump. His friend, River Devil, looking appropriately devilish with his face streaked in green and black and tufts of his red hair falling out of his head gear, gave him a fist bump.
“I’d hug you, man, but not with that fucking garbage truck stench,” he said, grinning. “What did you do, frogman, swim in their sewage?”
The others laughed as they studied the three men from Team Bravo.
“Stooges, you look and smell like shit,” Jazz remarked, sniffing the air. The tall and lean Cajun grinned wickedly. “Can’t wait to hear your report.”
“You have a knife sticking out of you, Cumber,” Hawk pointed out conversationally. “Must not be hurting too much.”
Lucas looked down. Sure enough, that darn blade was still embedded in his belt and yeah, part of it was still inside him.
“Not hurting at all, sir,” he told his commander. “Blade’s barely in.”
“His big balls deflected most of it,” Mink explained and they all laughed again.
Hawk turned to the “prisoner” who still stood there in silence. “He’s out of hearing. Thank you for all your Intel. Did you get what you wanted?”
Ah. He was their inside guy.
The man nodded. “I got the name of the buyer from Yakob. I’ll need to use a satellite feed to pass it on to Number Nine.”
Lucas’ ears pricked up. Number Nine. Wasn’t that the COS Commando they’d met in Asia, the one with the strange eyes? So this dude was part of that outfit. These COS commandos and his team had crossed each other’s paths a lot lately. Not surprising, since they were fighting the same people, only with different goals.
“You can use my private one,” Hawk offered.
“Thank you.”
“Everyone meet up in thirty minutes at Debriefing. Cumber, if you need to sew that up first, let me know, but definitely wipe off some of that shit before entering the war room.” Hawk’s serious expression broke into a smile. “All three from Team Bravo. Miss Hutchens would appreciate it.”
Amber Hutchens was Hawk’s fiancé and also an Intel asset, supplying information on illegal weapons dealings and their international routes. Not too long ago, she’d played a major role in helping the SEALs locate some caches of weapons hidden in Croatia. That’s where she and Hawk had met and Lucas had known, from the look in his commander’s eyes whenever Amber Hutchens was around, that his bachelor days were numbered.
“Aye, sir!”
“I’ll see you all in thirty, then. Follow me, Shahrukh, Jazz.”
The insider, Jazz and Hawk walked off.
“Someone’s wedding party sure ended with a bang,” River Devil remarked. “You guys made quite a noise. We were thinking the Cob’s men might be closer to the river to get you guys when you ran so we set some traps, just in case, bro.”
“Aw, you river cowboys were worried about us. You do care!” Mink joked.
“Nah. We didn’t feel like working too hard tonight rescuing your frog asses,” someone quipped back.
“It’s good to have everything work out as planned,” Lucas agreed, “except for the damn chicken cages.”
“Phoowee. Get the fuck out of here and take care of that wound too, will you? Fucking gagging me to death, you three,” Turner said.
Zone shook his head, poking Mink with a stick and holding up some smelly piece of crap that had been dangling over his shoulder. “Trust the stooges to get themselves in shit.”
Lucas shrugged. He didn’t mind being made fun of—they got the job done. That was all that mattered.
“See you in a few. Peace out.” He, Mink and Dirk were heading to the clean-up area when he remembered. “Hey, I forgot to ask Zone about that girl climbing up the wall. What was that all about?”
Dirk shrugged. “Beats me. I saw Zone helping her up.”
“She didn’t come with us, though,” Mink said. “Nice strong legs.”
“You had time to look at her legs?” Lucas asked.
Mink grinned. “Hey, I looked over there and there they were.”
“You’d better not boast about that too loudly, bro. The native men will kill you for insulting their females”
“Yeah, watch your mouth,” Lucas said.
“I know, Cumber, I know. We’ll talk about other things, yes?”
They bantered on as they undid all the weaponry and gear strapped to their bodies. Lucas yanked the knife out of the strap around his waist, studying the short blade for a moment before throwing it in the pile. They stripped off soiled clothes in record time, kicking them under the shower, letting the water wash away as much of the animal crap as possible.
“Shit, man, you need stitches for that,” Dirk said, pointing down.
Lucas checked. The knife had gone through the strap sideways, pinching the skin near his waist between his belly button and hip, deep enough to cause a little damage.
“Meh. Just give me a Band-Aid.”
“Dude, you’re bleeding. Take care of it.”
“Don’t want to miss the meeting. I’ll let you sew me up later.” Mink was the medic on their team. “Then you can tell my sis you saved my life and she’ll kiss you again.”
Mink gave him a wink. “You’re a generous brother. I’ll tell Kit you nearly died and she’ll kiss you better too.”
“Damn, I feel all lonesome without someone to kiss me,” Dirk said, throwing a bar of soap at Mink. “Here, wash my back and make me feel better.”
* * *
“How are you doing?”
Kit looked up from writing an email on her tablet in a moving vehicle. They would s
oon be out in the countryside and wireless connection would be spotty. She wanted to reply to Lucas’ email—if you could call a three-word sentence mail—before she took a nap. Normally, she would look out of the window and take in the view but it was pitch black outside and the others had advised her to sleep because tomorrow would be a busy day.
Sean Cortez sat across from her, long legs stretched out. The light from his tablet illuminated his face, making his watchful dark eyes gleam. Kit wished she had half his energy—the man was seemingly indefatigable, always up and about interviewing people, making plans for clandestine meetings and taping reports for the news service for which they worked. She was determined to copy his non-stop pace, even though almost everyone on the team had assured her she wasn’t the only one having a tough time keeping up with Sean and that he didn’t expect them to follow his schedule.
Other than talking to the man on the other side of the camera when she was in the States, she’d never met the celebrated road journalist in person before. Face-to-face, he was just as she’d imagined—bigger than life, intense about his work, and a demanding teammate. She’d applied to be on his team this time as part of her expanded work load precisely because of his focus and passion about his projects. Working on his team would teach her a lot more about international field work as a journalist.
So far, he’d kept her busy reading up on the Afghan-Pakistan border and its history and people. When they had a few spare moments, he’d quizzed her knowledge, always pointing out her wrong assumptions about people and culture. So much so that now, every time he asked her anything, she would give his question detailed consideration before replying.
“As in how am I at this moment?” she asked. “Or, how am I doing at my new job? Or, how am I doing in a general life sort of way?”
He laughed quietly. “You have a different answer for all three conditions?”
“Of course. Unless you just want the standard ‘I’m fine, thank you’ reply but then why ask in the middle of nowhere, right?”
“Right. So, should I reply for you myself or are you going to answer me?”
Kit looked down at her tablet. Some men were so prickly. No sense of humor at all. Not like Lucas Branson, who made her laugh so much for three days.
I miss Cupcake.
That line made her want to giggle again. What a ridiculous nickname. Besides, that was the name she used on him; somehow, it’d ended up being hers. Of course, how did one top Cucumber as a nickname? Well, she too could be short and sweet.
She typed: “I miss Cucumber” and hit send, then looked up at the man still studying and patiently waiting for her to say something.
“At this moment,” she said, “I’m just chilling. As for my new job, I think I’m doing quite well, getting the hang of working in a culture where women are second-class citizens. As for my general well-being, I don’t think it’s of any interest to you. Satisfied?”
“Of course your general well-being is of interest to me,” Sean said. He looked down, frowned and tapped on his tablet. His attention still on his screen, he murmured, “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t ask. You seemed so at ease with your new responsibilities. I’m very impressed with your prep work and the way you handled talking with the locals.”
Surprised, she stopped checking her Inbox. From just a few weeks with him 24/7, she knew praise coming from Sean Cortez was a rare thing. “Thanks,” she said.
“You told me when we started you wanted to learn about international field work. Are you ready to dip your foot in the water?”
“I thought that’s what I’ve been doing.” Part of her job had been scouting where the women folk gathered and seeing who indicated an interest in talking to the journalists.
“We’ll be out of the Swat Valley district tomorrow. There won’t be much contact with the locals because they’re more traditional in the mountains, especially with foreigners. Do you know why I picked you as part of the team? Besides your excellent resume and ability to communicate as a public info officer, of course.”
Her tablet was buzzing. That was quick. Lucas was sending a private message.
“I’m not as dumb as you think. You picked me because of my looks.” Kit grinned. “That came out wrong.”
Sean smiled back, amusement stamped on his face. “I think you like to tease, Kit.” He shifted in his seat. “But you’re right. You blend in with the locals, especially when you wear their clothes, and I wanted to take advantage of...your looks.”
“Ha. Knew it.” No doubt about it, because of her mixed Asian facial features, she had been able to get the Pashtun women to feel comfortable enough to talk to her through a female interpreter. She glanced down at her tablet again.
I can’t talk tonite. Debriefing. Not that kind.
She quickly typed back. Aw. I’m not dirty-minded like you. I can’t talk either. No Internet soon. On field work. Will you text me soon?
Doing anything interesting?
They couldn’t talk much about their work, especially him, so everything was always vague.
I’m flirting with my team top guy. What about you? Anything interesting to report?
Someone soaped my back.
Oooh. You win. I hope to do that to your back one day soon.
Keep that thought, Cupcake. Got to go.
TTYL.
Kit signed off, feeling satisfied she got to talk to Lucas. Wherever he was, he had been busy, doing what SEALs do. It’d been almost a week since they last had a chat. She missed their quick back and forth texts. They had even Skyped a couple of times so they could have longer conversations, which tended to become hot and heavy after a while. Their mutual attraction hadn’t dissipated at all. A smile from him, even from a laptop image, would brighten her day. It was scary and exciting to feel this way about someone again.
“That’s not a smile about work, I bet,” Sean said dryly.
Kit looked up, startled. She’d totally forgotten about him.
“Sorry. I was multi-tasking, doing last minute stuff since I’m sure we won’t be able to find a wireless hotspot out in the countryside.”
Sean pointed to his tablet. “Same here. Were you talking to your boyfriend?”
Kit frowned. Boyfriend? Lucas and she were...what were they? Somewhere between friends and lovers. Or maybe more. She would like them to be more.
“Just a friend,” she replied instead. “And also emailing my mom. She’s a bit protective and if I don’t tell her I’d be incommunicado for a few days, she’d be sending a hunting party.”
Sean chuckled. “It’d be tough to look for you in these mountains. Swat Valley is a beautiful touristy place but the mountains, it’s a different story. Your mom would need a different kind of hunting men out there.”
Yeah, like my brother. He’s a—and she grinned because Lucas’ voice came to her mind loud and clear—fucking Airborne Ranger. Oh, she was in so much trouble. That man was haunting her thoughts.
“You haven’t met my Mom. She’s very tiny but she always gets things done her way. The men in my family fear her wrath.” She laughed. Her mother was so typically cliché Chinese dragon lady, she suspected it was mostly an act. “She’s very good at wheedling information out of my brothers and me.”
“So you got that from her.”
Kit looked at Sean again in surprise. “Hey, full of compliments tonight. I’ll take it, Mr. Cortez.” She cocked her head. “Now, tell me what information you’re wanting me to try to get.”
Sean leaned forward and beckoned her to do the same so he could lower his voice even more. Curious, she did so.
“The teenager we’re going to meet with tomorrow—Minah—I need you to ask her about her groom, or rather, groom-to-be.”
“The interview would cover that, right?” Kit asked. Because of an opportunity presented by one of Sean’s sources, they’d decided to include swara, the custom of giving away a girl as payment for an offense in their investigative report on the recent killing of a famous Pashtun singer by
traditionalists. “We have the names. What else?”
“The name interests me. I need you to delve deeper into the crime committed by her family against the groom.”
“Okay.”
“Go beyond what she’s going to tell you. I want more information about the groom, his clan, his whereabouts.”
“How would we connect our feature on the murdered singer with his background?” The Pashtun woman, popular among the city and country folks, and her father were gunned down. “I know her death was an assassination ordered by her former husband, who, from my interviews with the women, made me understand he’d felt humiliated and needed to restore his honor.”
That was why they were going to meet with this young girl, who, reportedly, had just been given away to an older man to restore family honor. They were going to weave the themes together as part of the investigation. The plan was to tie both stories to show how marriages were arranged and their consequences to the women involved.
“Latifah’s death might have been officially attributed to her husband. Although there’s no proof, I have reasons to believe the murder had Taliban-connected elements and I want to look at it from another angle.”
Whoa. “That would change the focus of our investigation.”
Sean shrugged. “I’ve changed my mind before. My sources told me this young girl’s husband, or whatever you want to call him, has radical connections. Some kind of middleman for the warlords and that he has many other side-dealings that had to do with all the skirmishes in the war zone.”
“But what about the women’s plight?” That was Kit’s main reason she had wanted to be on this team, for this particular project. The subject matter was different from the usual political topics. “What about Latifah’s story? And all the other women’s stories that I’ve gathered?”