WARRIOR (CROSSFIRE SEALS, #5)

by Gennita Low

  If only.

  With the meeting over, he should take his leave. He had much to do. He thought about the bag of opium seeds hidden away. He smiled, a small self-mocking lift of the lips. He didn’t think these young warriors would like his next—very gray—move.

  “Cumber, stay for a few minutes,” he heard Hawk said.

  The big guy from the back nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his attention to Vivi Verreau. Now, her kind, he was familiar with. GEM operatives were devious and worked in the shadows too, although Vivi Verreau, now married to that SEAL with the Cajun accent, were a lot less devious and secretive than her other sister GEM operatives.

  “T wanted to make sure you have all you needed before you depart. What can I do to help?”

  Shahrukh lifted his brows. “T must be worried. Or needing another favor.”

  Vivi smiled in acknowledgement. “You know T, always multi-tasking.”

  “Tell her this trader needs a good horse.”

  “I can arrange that. She also told me you might be heading to Karakoram and need you to trade there for information.”

  Karakoram, the Silk Road. Everyone traded there, legally and illegally. Shahrukh had an idea what he’d be trading.

  “All trade roads lead to Karakoram. It’s very beautiful there. You should go sometime,” he said. “You’ll find certain vehicles full of girls who are sold as wives for desperate Indian families.”

  He understood the information Vivi was looking for. She had the biggest heart when it came to young women.

  “I see.” She handed him a card. “Call this number.”

  He took and pocketed it without reading it first. “I know T’s busy running so many operations. I report back to Jed but from talking with the others, his head isn’t one hundred percent in the game at the moment. Since I haven’t seen him, I’d like T to tell me directly. She’s better at analyzing the situation at Center than anyone else.”

  He wasn’t really concerned about Number Nine yet, but it was always helpful to listen to outside opinion, especially from an expert people manipulator like T. If there was anything wrong with Jed, T would be the first to take charge of his current mission. He smiled slightly, thinking of another one of his Virus teammates, Number One, who had recently returned to the fold because of T. That had caused some friction. Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption on who would be in charge.

  Nothing black and white. Nothing rigid. No standard operation procedure in his world of shadows.

  “How many do you want me to purchase, Vivi?” Shahrukh asked. “You can’t save all of them, you know.”

  “My husband once told me, we do what we can to save the world.”

  “Interesting. An old soul.” Shahrukh gazed in Jazz Zeringue’s direction.

  As if he knew he was talked about, Jazz joined them. “Everything all right, chou-chou?”

  “Yes. Can we get a horse for Shahrukh?” she asked.

  “This late at night?” Jazz asked, amused. “What is this, a farm? Chickens, horse, goats. This is a war room.”

  “We have horses here. Our mountain guides are sleeping, though,” Hawk, walking by with Cucumber, said. “I’ll have Lucas get you one after I’ve signed some papers. It’ll take about half-an-hour, Mr. Kingsley.”

  “Call me Shahrukh. Thank you.” Shahrukh turned to the big man who had been the brunt of most of the jokes. “That cut from the knife. Does it burn?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Negative. I’m fine.”

  “Take care you let a medic take a look. We sometimes dip our blades in poison around here. I don’t think you’re in trouble but the knife might still have traces of poison to cause some infection.”

  Shahrukh studied the other men’s reaction. Jazz and Hawk were looking at their man closely. Lucas Branson, after stiffening at the information, had released a breath and looked back at him calmly. Good man. Panic just made the poison, if there were any, work faster.

  “I’ll go get the horse. You go let Mink take a look ASAP, Cumber,” Hawk ordered.

  “I’m feeling fine,” Lucas said.

  “Better safe than sorry. ASAP, sailor.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Shahrukh didn’t back down from the eye-to-eye challenge Lucas gave him. For a SEAL, he was a big guy. They were about the same height and Shahrukh was six feet three. He didn’t think the other man had actually been poisoned but he wanted to test these SEALs, with their tough-guy reputation.

  “You could have mentioned it after the Cob was marched off,” Lucas challenged.

  “It slipped my mind,” Shahrukh said mildly. “I couldn’t think properly with my ears ringing from all the gunfire.”

  It had been very noisy. They sure had used up a lot of ammo to capture one man. Such a strategy wasn’t Shahrukh’s style but he didn’t run an army of men who had plenty of toys that went boom.

  “Do you dip your blades in poison?” Lucas asked, looking him up and down.

  “Sometimes,” Shahrukh replied. “Nevertheless, there might be traces left on unclean blades. I assumed you’ve had your tetanus shots through the military.”

  Lucas nodded curtly. “Tetanus and other various shots.”

  “That’s good. But like your commander says, better safe than sorry. If you feel anything unusual the next 48 hours, report to your medic and get to a hospital.”

  “Right, in the middle of the mountains or jungles,” Lucas replied dryly. “Just dial 9-1-1.”

  Shahrukh dipped his head in acknowledgement. “There is the possibility of your inability to get help while on a mission. Better stay on base.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Branson,” Hawk cut in, his tone quiet.

  “I apologize,” Lucas said curtly. “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.”

  Shahrukh nodded again. “Apology accepted. It was just conjecture. Probably nothing.”

  Deliberately, he caught Vivi’s gaze long enough that she nodded imperceptibly. He was the foreign-looking entity in this room and probably not fully trusted. He didn’t blame them. His file, if they had any dossier on him, probably wouldn’t vouch for him being one hundred percent the good guy. But Vivi would make sure her husband kept an eye on the big SEAL.

  Worrying about other people was the least of his concerns. He had his own duties to take care of and a few family obligations. He’d thought perhaps life would be easier if he put revenge out of his mind, that the past few years in his new environment with the COS commandos with their intensive experiments and mind subversive tactics, he would easily put away his former life. He had been wrong. Drugs and mind control experiments only worked in limited fashion. Unfortunately, his lifelong acquaintance with herbal drugs and poison had given him a certain level of immunity.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Hawk said. “You can pick out the best available horse. Cumber, go to see the Medic. Mink! Go with Cucumber. I want a report of his status by morning, if not earlier.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mink said, walking over, his gaze on Shahrukh. “What’s the matter, dude? Feeling sick?”

  “Nope,” Lucas replied.

  Shahrukh gave a slight smile. “Cucumber?” he repeated softly. Was that Lucas Branson’s nickname? These guys were funny. “Is that what you’re called?”

  “To my friends, yes,” Lucas replied tersely, his eyes narrowing. “Do they give out nicknames in your culture?”

  “I have several, actually. Mostly, they’re exaggerated promises, like Magnificent Bearer of Good News, a name I’ve yet to live up to.”

  “Huh. Well, there’s nothing exaggerated about Lucas’ nickname,” the SEAL Hawk had called over, Mink, said. “Just a big promise.”

  Shahrukh noted the easy demeanor—intelligent eyes, friendly smile, alert stance. He suspected this one was the charmer of the group.

  “That’s good then,” he said smoothly. “Cucurbitacin C, found in cucumber, can both be a toxin and an antidote to some poisons. I
would say your nickname might be a lucky one.”

  Mink frowned, then shook his head bewilderedly. “Ohhhhkay. Let’s go and let us check out that wound, bro. If we stand around here all night, I’ll have to cucurbitacin somebody.”

  As the two men turned away, Shahrukh handed Lucas his card. “Here. My number. If you ever need any advice about poisons and weapons, feel free to call me.”

  “Uh. Thanks,” the other man said, a puzzled look in his eyes.

  He watched them walk off. It was an impulsive gesture but something told him this man and he would cross paths again in the future. After all, how could he ignore an old woman’s prophesy which had sounded so crazy a decade ago but suddenly now came to mind, triggered, of all things, by a stupid American nickname?

  To find your diamond, my child, three guides. In your dealings, be aware of toxins. In times of danger, move like the spider. In your search, you must make sure the cucumber flourishes.

  His crazy grandmother, “seer” of his tribe, was long gone, along with much of the tribal fortune. But her words, seared in his memory, had surfaced with that silly nickname.

  “Ready?” Hawk asked, interrupting his reverie. He too had a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  “Of course,” Shahrukh answered. Enough playing the strange foreigner talking about poisons and potions. He’d probably spooked half the people in this room. Back at Center, he was known to be the quiet but mostly sane one. Sully would probably have had a good laugh at seeing how his attempt at small talk had devolved into too much interest in another man’s little flesh wound.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Change of plans, Kit.”

  Kit looked up from the dictionary and translation she was trying to decipher. “Why?” She adjusted the mic in her ear. “What’s wrong?”

  They were in separate vehicles, getting ready equipment and notes before meeting with the girl. Sound checks, video feed, battery, foreign phrases, things like that. Then she and the female interpreter would put their head scarves on and make their way to the women’s side of the camp to meet with the worker from Save The Children and the camp comptroller. Meanwhile, Sean and his photographer would walk around and take some photographs and interview those who ran the camp. Then once they’d gotten permission, they would meet at a public place to get few pictures of the girl.

  The refugee camp was one of the poorest in the area, so they had prepared bags of clothing, food and toys as a gesture of goodwill. Kit was looking forward to finding out more about the displaced people here. Her research had shown Afghan refugees in Pakistan, especially around the borders, were the highest in the world. Yet, most media had only concentrated on the war and the politics, not about the plight of the homeless inhabitants here. She would like to know more, first-hand.

  “Minah is being sought by her relatives and she’s in hiding. We can’t interview her in the open.”

  “I thought she was getting help from a few of her relatives.”

  “Yes, I thought so too, but according to the camp comptroller, things didn’t go according to plan. A runaway from one camp to another was one thing, but a runaway from a swara while the ceremony was taking place is humiliation to her family. Everyone’s out looking for her.”

  “Where is she?”

  There was a pause. “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take Joanna with you to the back of the camp. The comptroller sent someone to lead you to Minah. I’m on the other side of the camp and will come behind you with another guide. We have to take it slow and easy, as if nothing is wrong.”

  Kit pulled up her backpack from under the seat and began stuffing things she thought she might need. “We’ll bring some of the gift bags to distribute. That way, it would look as if we were just moving among the women.”

  “Good idea.” Sean said. Then, he added in a quiet voice. “Be careful, Kit. The comptroller warned that the relatives looking for her are armed.”

  A shiver of alarm went through her. “They aren’t...going to hurt her, right?”

  Another pause. “I don’t know. You have to get that information about the groom before anything happens. Do you follow?”

  Kit frowned. A young girl’s life was hanging in the balance and all the man cared about was information about the groom? The guy the girl hated so much she was actually running away from him and his family?

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. There was no time for debate right now. She had no idea what she was going to do but was determined to save Minah, wherever she was.

  Joanna was also a seasoned photo-journalist, snapping pictures and making her way through the small crowd of women as Kit handed out the little bags. The ladies, some of whom spoke English, were gracious, thanking them for the packages. In spite of the need to hurry, Kit felt good at the small sparkle of delight she caught in the women’s eyes when they looked inside their bags. There were even some squeals from the accompanying children when they saw the toys. Joanna recorded some of those moments with her digital camera.

  One of the women tugged at her sleeve, pointing in one direction. “There are some children over there, taking their lessons in the classroom. Perhaps you have more toys for them?”

  Kit looked and saw that it was to the back of the camp, just as Sean had told her. Taking her cue, she smiled and nodded. “That would be great. Can you take us?” She picked up another box of goodies. “Let’s go over there now, Joanna.”

  “All right,” Joanna said. “See you later! I’ll be back to show you some of these photos, okay?”

  Waving at the others, they followed the woman. Kit tried not to appear to hurry too much, just in case someone was watching. She wasn’t even sure what to expect, really. An armed family looking for one of its daughters was beyond any scope of her experience.

  “This way,” said their guide. “The children are anxious.”

  They stepped into a corridor of doors and Kit saw another woman’s face peering out. Her blue head scarf was off, tied around her neck.

  “That’s Fatimah,” their guide told them and waved. “Assalamu alaikum was rahmantullah.”

  “Wa alaikum assalaam,” the other woman returned the greeting.

  Kit had been practicing the two formal phrases, translated loosely as “Peace be with you and may Allah bless you” and “upon you be peace.”

  “Assalamu alaikum,” she said, a little hesitantly.

  The other woman’s serious expression broke into a welcoming smile. She returned the greeting softly and beckoned them to join her.

  When Kit entered the room, she found it filled with young girls, probably between 9-14, sitting quietly on the floor. They looked up at her expectantly.

  Quietest classroom ever. Kit turned to their guide. “Can you introduce us and tell them that these bags are for them?”

  “Yes. And while Fatimah is passing them out, you have to come with me.”

  “Of course.” Kit turned and smiled at the girls sitting so sedately. “Hello, there!”

  Joanna took a photo of them during the introduction. The girls’ smiles of delight were worth everything. They were too well-behaved to rush to her, though, remaining seated and waiting for their teacher to give them permission.

  At Fatimah’s order, they all chorused, in English, “Thank you very much, Miss Kit and Miss Joanna.”

  While the teacher was passing out the presents, the guide tugged at Kit’s sleeve again. Kit nodded and she and Joanna waved and walked out of the classroom.

  “You never told me your name,” Kit said.

  “Hamidah.”

  “Thank you for doing this,” Kit said.

  The woman shook her head. “It’s not my wish but she needs more help than I can give her.”

  She must be talking about Minah, the missing girl. Kit wondered how the women had gotten Minah here without everyone knowing. The girl’s school was the perfect place to meet and her bringing the gifts certainly provided a way to tour the classrooms. Thank goodness for good
ideas.

  They entered a room in the back. A lone girl sat there, so still she could have been part of the furniture. Her head scarf was down too, revealing tumbled dark hair tied to the side, framing a small face. She stared at them, her features drawn in tense lines.

  “You must hurry,” Hamidah told them, and then addressed the girl sharply in Pashto, adding, in English, “I also told her to do the same. Minah, this is Miss Kit and Miss Joanna. I’ll stand outside the door to make sure no one interrupts.”

  Joanna said something in Pashto which appeared to relax Minah into a shy and uneasy smile. Although she appeared uneasy, her dark eyes held a grim purpose. She said something back and Joanna indicated her camera and recorder. Kit recognized a few of the words. Reporters. Film.

  Joanna beckoned to Kit. “She said she wants her story told before she dies.”

  Kit frowned. No one was going to die. Not on her watch. She had meant to start out gently, thinking she had to coax the details out of a girl who could hardly have had any experience about adult matters. The person sitting here, though, with that determined gaze, didn’t need coaxing at all.

  After a quick set up, Joanna indicated she had everything ready. Minah had been watching raptly. She leaned forward, as if eager to begin talking.

  Kit pressed the record button. “She can tell her story in her own words,” she said. In Pashto, she added, “Just start, Minah.”

  An avalanche of words tumbled out from the young girl’s mouth

  * * *

  “Dude, I don’t like how red that wound looks.”

  Lucas paused in the middle of putting on a clean pair of socks. “Stop looking at my body then. Besides, you’re the one who sewed me. It probably is all red from your tugging that thread through my abs of steel.”

  Mink grinned and got off his bunk. He leaned down. “The stitches are beautiful. Like Picasso’s work.”

  Lucas snorted and returned to his task. “Oh yeah, exactly like Picasso’s.”