She used a key card to open an unmarked door and dragged him inside with her. She put a finger over her lips and motioned him toward an elevator.
He sure as hell hoped she was one of the good guys, but if he had to die, at least the last face he’d see was a damn pretty one.
When the elevator reopened, she grabbed his hand and led him down the hallway, using the same key card to open another door.
“Who are you?” he asked again once they were inside.
“Would you be able to answer the same question?”
He smiled. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you sure are beautiful.”
She laughed. “And there we have the answer.”
“What?”
“You don’t know who you are.”
“No, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. “But instead of finding out, I’d rather get to know you better.”
“Your personality is still intact.”
“What did you call me earlier? Dutch?”
She nodded and walked to a table that was just inside the entryway.
Dutch looked around him. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. It’s not mine.”
“Whose is it?”
“Company apartment. Take a seat.”
“Hmm, bossy. I like it.”
She shook her head, but he saw she was still smiling. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Before I answer that, tell me who you are.”
She reached down under her pant leg, pulled something out, and handed it to him.
“Special Agent Malin Kilbourne,” he read on the CIA badge. He tossed it on the table, stood, and walked over to the refrigerator. “You got anything to eat in here, special agent?”
“Fresh out of spaghetti and meatballs, I’m afraid.”
“Ah. So you know what I like to eat.” He turned around and looked into her eyes. “Please tell me we aren’t related.”
She laughed and joined him next to the refrigerator. “No, Dutch, we aren’t related.”
“But we have a past.”
“We do.”
“A complicated one.”
“Your instincts are amazingly sharp.”
“Right,” he said, sitting back down. “Tell me what you know.”
“You’ve been in Germany approximately seven days. Doc has been trying to reach you for the last six…does that name mean anything to you?”
He shook his head as he watched her pull food out of the refrigerator. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more—to know who he was, something to eat, or to get Malin Kilbourne naked.
Her hair was pulled back, but it looked long and inky black. Her hazel eyes and curvaceous body were equally stunning as her pretty face. His guess was that when she was naked, her hair spread out on the pillow beneath her head, and her eyes hooded in pleasure—she was breathtaking.
“You’re feeding me, so I guess you like me.”
“That might be a stretch.”
“Complicated bad, then.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Tell me this much, was the sex good?”
“Off the charts.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He rubbed the back of his head where he’d been hit. “You wanna check this out for me, Special Agent Kilbourne?”
“It doesn’t look like you lost any blood along with your memory,” she told him after running her fingers over the bump.
“I like the feel of your fingers in my hair, Kilbourne.”
“Don’t push it, Dutch. I’m cutting you some slack because you’re suffering from amnesia, but don’t forget the part about our relationship being complicated bad.”
“Roger that, so who’s after me?”
“Our best guess is Zamed Safi.”
“Name doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Are there any names that mean something to you?”
He thought about it for a minute. “Nope.”
“Where have you been for the last week?”
“It’s fuzzy, but I woke up in a hotel room, with…uh…a naked woman next to me—”
“Doesn’t sound out of the ordinary so far.”
“As I was saying, shortly after I woke up, some gun-toting guy and his armed posse stormed into the room.”
“What happened next?”
He was about to make a joke about offering him the naked woman, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate his humor. “He wanted me to deliver someone called Mantis.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?”
“Your story pretty much confirms that it was Safi. How’d you end up wandering the streets?”
“Safi ain’t exactly a pro, if you know what I’m sayin’. The one guard he left on watch fell asleep, and no one even checked to see what weapons I had on me.”
“How were you able to free yourself.”
Dutch pulled a knife out of his boot.
“And the guard?”
“I guess I should’ve slit his throat.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Negative.”
She put a bowl of soup on the table along with bread and butter.
“Is this for me?”
She nodded and looked at something on her phone. “I need to check in and give an update on your whereabouts and condition.”
“I’m pretty beat. Is there a place where I can crash for a bit after I eat?”
Kilbourne pointed to a sofa on her way out of the room.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
Someone crashing through the door of the apartment woke him up from where he slept on the sofa. He reached for the weapon he already guessed wasn’t there, right before someone hit him over the head—again.
Teetering in and out of consciousness as they dragged him through the battered door, he heard someone speaking in Arabic say there wasn’t anyone else in the apartment.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as blackness engulfed him again. Had pretty little Special Agent Kilbourne betrayed him?
Chapter 26
Mantis and Alegria
Striker was in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Onyx when Mantis arrived at the airfield. He hung back until Striker motioned him over.
“How’s Alegria?” he asked.
“Doing better. She’s getting feeling back in her legs.”
“She didn’t have feeling in her legs?” Onyx asked.
“She did, but she was experiencing some neuropathy,” he said when both men looked as though they expected him to elaborate.
“Wasn’t there another accident?” Striker asked.
“Yeah. Snowstorm,” Mantis said as though that was the end of the explanation. “Is this our transport?” He pointed to one of K19’s larger planes.
“Can you fly?” Onyx asked when Mantis followed him on board.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“I’ll take the first leg,” he offered. “We’ll go from here to JFK, and then on to Kabul.”
“Kabul? I thought Dutch was in Germany?”
“About that,” said Striker, sitting down in the jump seat. “We got a report that he was seen with one of the agency’s operatives. When they couldn’t reach her, they sent someone in. Found her place ransacked, no sign of her or Dutch.”
“Who?”
“Malin Kilbourne. You know her?”
Mantis nodded.
“Don’t make me ask,” warned Striker.
“She and Dutch were…uh…connected for a while.”
“What happened?”
“I disappeared.”
“Yeah? What’s that got to do with it?”
Was Striker serious right now? “Alegria, asshole.”
“Got it. Sorry.”
Mantis watched as Striker thought through the missing agent’s connection to Dutch. He could almost predict his next question.
“How mad was Kilbourne?”
“I can’t tell you. She and Dutch were together when I
left, and then when I got back, he was with Alegria.”
“Roger that,” Striker mumbled. “Like I said, she’s missing too.”
“Hey, Monk,” Mantis said when the last man they were waiting on boarded the plane. Monk nodded his head as he walked past him.
Mantis had never known anyone who had a more appropriate code name than Rhys “Monk” Perrin. The man only spoke when absolutely necessary, and evidently saying hello wasn’t.
“Let’s get the briefing out of the way before we get in the air,” Striker suggested.
Mantis followed him into the main cabin and listened as Striker gave them a vector of the situation and laid out their operating plan.
“This isn’t just about Dutch anymore, gentlemen. If we can’t get in there and neutralize Zamed Safi, then a full-blown war is going to break out between the Islamic State and the Taliban.”
“I thought Zamed was operating on his own,” said Mantis.
“He is, but you know Ghafor. He’s a paranoid schizophrenic.”
Mantis wasn’t sure Abdul Ghafor was diagnosable as such, but he understood what Striker was saying. It wouldn’t matter if Allah himself told him Zamed was acting outside of the Taliban; Ghafor probably wouldn’t believe it.
“Zamed wants me,” Mantis said, looking each of the men in the eye. “I’m the target.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Striker responded, “but as I said, it’s bigger than you and Dutch. Zamed could start a chain reaction that would wind up as the worst war the Middle East has ever seen. The agency wouldn’t consider direct involvement if that weren’t the case.”
Striker had retired from the CIA a few months prior and signed on as a K19 partner at the same level Mantis would be when he finally got around to meeting with Doc. Striker, though, still had the closest ties to the agency, seconded by Doc. When Mantis heard they were on their way to Kabul and that this was a CIA op, he knew that meant they were footing the bill. Their operating plan wouldn’t differ much if it were an agency op or a K19 op, though.
“Let’s go,” Striker said, closing his laptop. “The sooner we’re airborne, the sooner we can get the job done and get our asses back home.”
Mantis didn’t know a lot about Striker other than that he was former CIA. He’d heard two rumors. First, that his family was screwed up to the point where, early on, their dubious associations had almost cost Striker his career. Secondly, he was involved with Aine McNamara, twin sister of Razor Sharp’s wife, Ava. That wasn’t as much of a rumor since Mantis had seen them together on Thanksgiving. Based on Striker’s impatience to get the op over with, he guessed that the relationship was still on.
“We’ll talk more when we land at JFK.”
“Roger that,” Mantis answered Striker.
The flight from Boston to JFK would be quick. However, JFK to Dubai would take over twelve hours, and then from Dubai to Kabul would take another three.
With everything going on with Alegria, his sleep hadn’t been worth shit, and now, it would be at least fourteen hours, maybe even twenty, before he’d be able to bunk down.
Knowing Dutch was being held captive when it was really him that Zamed wanted, meant that even if he could close his eyes and sleep, he doubted he’d get much rest.
—:—
Saying goodbye to Mantis was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than any time before this. This time, if he got into trouble, she would be powerless to do anything to help him or the rest of the K19 team.
“You all right, miss?” Tom asked as he wheeled her back to her room after Mantis left.
Alegria squared her shoulders. “I will be.”
Tom gave her a fist pump. “That’s what I like to hear. You tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Alegria opened her eyes; she must’ve drifted off. She raised her head and looked around her empty hospital room, already missing Mantis so much it hurt.
The other hurt that had settled square in her chest was her mother’s news. No matter what she’d said the day before, her parents had to focus on her mother’s recovery, not on Alegria’s. Whatever energy her mother put forth on her daughter’s behalf would only take away from her own battle.
Why did it always take some kind of illness or tragedy to bring people together?
She and Mantis found their way back to each other because she got shot and needed surgery. If she hadn’t, who knew how long they might’ve gone before realizing what Dutch had been trying to tell them all along? Would she have remained stubbornly waiting for some grand gesture on Mantis’ part, or would she have settled into a relationship with Dutch, one in which they both would’ve ended up miserable?
“Good morning,” said the nurse Alegria recognized from the night before.
“You’re still here?”
“Only for about another hour.” The woman checked the various monitor leads to make sure they were still properly attached, straightened Alegria’s bedding, and then rested her hand on her knee. “Feel that?”
Alegria nodded.
“Good,” she said, tucking the sheet and blanket under her legs. “Dr. Gertman will be in soon. Maybe another half an hour.”
Like before, Alegria wondered if either of her parents planned to be here when he made rounds; however, knowing what her mother was going through, she doubted they would.
Tom knocked on her door and came in with a vase of roses. “Special delivery,” he said, setting the bouquet on the ledge by the window and then handing Alegria the card.
Mon coeur,
Know that until I am with you again, able to touch your lips with mine, I will be thinking of you every minute of every day.
All my love, forever and ever,
Mantis
“By the look on your face, he must’ve written something pretty romantic.”
Alegria smiled.
“What brings you to the third floor this morning?” she asked. “Just flower delivery?”
“I need to ask where you want the rest of the flowers.”
“What do you mean?”
“From last night. I have them on a cart outside the door.”
“Oh. I don’t know. I mean you can’t bring them all in here.”
“If you don’t want them, I have another idea.”
“By all means, please tell me.”
“In a hospital like this one, there are a lot of people who stay more than a few days at a time. Some don’t get many visitors, and after the first few days, they don’t get flowers either.”
“I like this idea.”
“I’ll set about delivering them if you agree.”
“I do, and thank you, Tom.”
“My pleasure, Miss Mondreau,” he said, bowing a little.
“Please, call me Alegria.”
“I thought your name was Manon,” he said, looking at her wristband.
“It is, but my friends call me Alegria.”
She could’ve sworn Tom blushed. “I’ll be back to get you a little later Miss Alegria,” he said. “You have a rigorous rehab session scheduled this afternoon.”
“Good. I’m ready.”
—:—
Mantis landed the plane at Bagram Air Base, the largest US military installation in Afghanistan. It had been occupied by Afghan Armed Forces and the US-led Resolute Support Mission since 2002. In the time between, the base had grown to the size of a small town, housing over ten thousand troops and three thousand insurgent inmates in the detention facility.
Tonight they’d be staying at the base’s Camp Vance, which had been established by the United States Department of Defense to headquarter the Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force.
The camp had been named for Gene Arden Vance Jr., a member of the US Special Forces and a cryptologic linguist who, despite being critically wounded, helped save the lives of two fellow Americans and eighteen Afghani soldiers during the hunt for Osama Bin Laden.
Along with Airborne Special Forces, the camp also provided headquarte
rs for Army Special Forces, Infantry, a Marine Special Operations battalion, and a Navy SEAL team.
“Who all will be in on tomorrow’s meeting?” Mantis asked Striker.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if God or the president showed up, given the number of other high-ranking officials you’ll brief tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?”
“You heard right. There’s a Congressional panel arriving tonight, who along with most of the military brass, want to know every detail regarding the assassination of Bagish Safi.”
Mantis scrubbed his face with his hand. “How much trouble am I in?”
“Trouble? Fuck, Mantis, you’re a goddamn hero.”
He didn’t want to be a hero; heroes couldn’t fly under the radar like he needed to. A hero wouldn’t be able to walk out and offer himself up in exchange for Dutch like he’d planned to—not unless he could make it happen tonight, before tomorrow’s briefing.
“We’re gathering in the situation room at zero seven hundred,” said Striker, handing him a room key card.
“Roger that.”
“Get some rest, Mantis.”
He nodded, but that’s the last thing he planned to do. Thankfully, God must’ve heard his silent plea because when he rounded the corner, the one man who could help him carry out his plan, Abdul Ghafor, leader of the Islamic State, stood directly in front of him. “Abdul,” he said, “is this a coincidence, or have you been waiting for me?”
“I think you know the answer.”
“We need to talk.”
Ghafor nodded.
In less than an hour, Mantis was being escorted out of Camp Vance in the back of Abdul’s SUV, disguised as Bakr Al-Abudadi, Ghafor’s number two.
—:—
“I don’t understand,” Alegria said when Doc called to tell her that Mantis had disappeared from Bagram Air Base.
“We believe he went over there with a plan. Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?”
He hadn’t, but it wouldn’t be hard to figure out what he intended to do. Even Doc had to have already guessed.
“He’s offering himself up in exchange for Dutch’s release.”
Not surprisingly, Doc confirmed those were his same suspicions. “Who would he know that could help him make that happen?”
Mantis (K19 Security Solutions Book 4) Page 14