Hard Asset

by Pamela Clare

  “It is a terrible tragedy,” Ms. Montreux agreed.

  “Do those towers help people watch out for gangs?” Shanti asked.

  Ms. Montreux laughed. “Those are for elephants. Kutupalong sits on a migratory trail. People have been killed when elephants entered camp and became cornered and afraid. Now, we are organized. If an elephant is spotted from one of the towers, volunteers try to herd it gently back into the forest. It is much better now.”

  Connor would’ve been lying if he hadn’t just found himself hoping to see an elephant or ten while he was here.

  They flew to the southernmost camp—Nayapara—and had turned to head northward again, the women talking about repatriation efforts, when Connor spotted something on the ground, something that shouldn’t have been there, something that made his blood run cold.

  “RPG! Incoming! Nine o’clock!”

  4

  Shanti gasped as the helicopter lurched upward and banked hard toward the east, her stomach seeming to drop as if she were on a roller coaster.

  BAM!

  An explosion behind them made her pulse skyrocket, a shudder passing through the helicopter. She heard Connor speak into his mic, realized she was clutching his arm.

  “I say again, we are taking RPG fire. No damage. The suspects are two unidentified males. How copy?”

  “Wh-what’s an RPG?” Shanti asked.

  “Rocket-propelled grenade,” Connor answered.

  Pauline’s face was pale, but her voice was calm. “Have them contact Nayapara security. Maybe we can catch them.”

  Connor reached for his handset again. “Cobra, Team One. Contact security at Nayapara camp. The males are running east toward the Naf River at the south end of the camp. One is wearing a green shirt, the other a red. How copy?”

  “The Naf River is the border between Bangladesh and Myanmar,” Pauline told Shanti. “If they cross the border, no one will be able to touch them.”

  “Cowards,” Malik said, looking toward the ground. “They think they can take a cheap shot at us and run?”

  Connor glanced over at him. “Yeah, well, they’re right. We’re not setting down to pursue.”

  “Too bad,” Dylan muttered. “Assholes.”

  Shanti struggled to keep up with what was happening, adrenaline making it hard to think. “Did someone just try to shoot us down?”

  “Yeah,” said Connor, as if this was something that happened every so often, “but they missed.”

  “Thank goodness for that!”

  Connor spoke to the pilot. “Good flying there. Quick reflexes.”

  “I never thought I’d be getting shot at here.” The pilot laughed, a note of relief in his voice. “I’ll maintain this altitude until we reach the airport.”

  “Roger that.” Connor turned to Shanti. “Are you okay?”

  She willed herself to let go of him. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit … shaken.”

  A big hand covered hers, his touch strangely comforting. “I can’t blame you for that. They’re far behind us now. We’re out of range.”

  “It’s a UN helicopter,” Pauline said. “Maybe they don’t like the UN. Insurgents come in from the tribal areas in the Chittagong Hill Tracts to try to recruit sometimes.”

  Shanti latched onto this thought. Maybe this wasn’t about her case. Maybe it had nothing to do with her at all.

  Connor didn’t seem convinced. “We won’t know who they were or why they fired at us until they’re in custody. Have insurgents fired on UN helicopters before?”

  Pauline shook her head. “No.”

  Shanti’s stomach knotted.

  “We should have flown in our bird. I’m going to need a list of everyone who knew Ms. Lahiri was taking this flight with you today. Can you do that for me, Ms. Montreux?”

  “But of course.”

  The rest of the flight passed in silence, Shanti’s gaze fixed on the beach below, where tourists played, oblivious to the hardship, suffering, and violence that was mere kilometers away. She hadn’t expected anything like this. She hadn’t even imagined it. She’d wanted to believe that no one would dare to strike at a prosecutor from the International Criminal Court.

  Then again, why not? Why wouldn’t they?

  Some stinking mercenary had shot down Dag Hammarskjöld’s plane in 1961, murdering him and his entourage, and he’d been the UN secretary-general.

  Do you feel better now?

  As they neared the airport, Connor was in almost constant contact with the rest of the Cobra team. Shanti saw some of the other Cobra operatives hurry out onto the tarmac near the helicopter’s landing pad in full military gear, guns in their hands. As the chopper landed, they dropped to their knees, rifles raised and facing outward, forming a protective perimeter.

  The moment the helicopter touched down, Connor unbuckled his safety harness. “We’ll go first and then help you out. We’ve got three vehicles. We’ll get you into one of them, and then we’ll take off for the hotel.”

  Shanti nodded, her pulse picking up again.

  He turned to Pauline. “Ms. Montreux, do you have an escort?”

  Shanti felt a rush of warmth for him. His job was to keep her safe, but he wasn’t going to drive off and leave Pauline. What if those men had been targeting her?

  “I drove here with two security guards. I’ll be fine.”

  Connor gave her a nod. “We’ll be in touch about that list.”

  Shanti took Pauline’s hand. “Thank you, Pauline. I’m so sorry this happened. I appreciate everything you shared with me today. I hope to see you again soon.”

  Pauline smiled. “It’s not your fault. Tomorrow will be better.”

  The door opened. Connor, Dylan, and Malik piled out, turning back to help Shanti. They hurried her to the Land Rover, which was now sandwiched between two identical vehicles.

  Connor opened the rear passenger door, helped her climb in. He sat to her left, while Dylan sat on her right, Malik riding shotgun. The men who’d formed the perimeter stood and hurried into the two other vehicles.

  “Let’s go!” Connor called to the driver.

  The ride to the hotel lasted no more than five minutes.

  “How are you doing?” Connor asked.

  She tried to look as calm as everyone else. “You could have all been killed.”

  “Risk is part of the job.” He gave her hand another squeeze. “We’ll do our best to find out who is behind this.”

  Connor was studying a detailed map of the camps when Segal entered their make-shift ops room.

  “I just heard from Nayapara security. Witnesses saw the two men jump into the river. They’re in the wind.”

  Connor pointed to the map. “Nayapara is the camp closest to the Myanmar border and farthest away from backup at our hotel. If they wanted to hit us and disappear, they couldn’t have picked a better spot.”

  Damn it!

  “I wouldn’t give them too much credit,” Segal said. “Any soldier knows it’s all but impossible to hit a helicopter with an ordinary RPG unless the bird is hovering, landing, or taking off.”

  He had a point.

  Shields walked in.

  Connor had sent her to check on Shanti, figuring that she, as another woman and an analyst with HUMINT training, would best be able to support her. “How is she?”

  “She’s gone from badly shaken up to seriously pissed off.” Shields poured herself a cup of coffee. “She’s on the phone with the foreign affairs minister, Khan, demanding that they speed up the permitting process for our drones.”

  Connor hadn’t asked her to do that, but he sure as hell approved.

  “I think I like the lass,” McManus said.

  Shields passed him without sparing him a glance. “You like all the lasses.”

  Laughter.

  McManus looked like he was about to say something. He apparently thought the better of it and shut his mouth.

  “If it makes you feel any better, she trusts you, O’Neal.” Shields sat at her st
ation. “She feels safe with you. That came through loud and clear.”

  That knowledge settled on Connor’s shoulders like a weight. He was in charge this time, not Tower, not Javier Corbray, not Nick Andris. Whatever happened here was his responsibility.

  Connor looked around at his team. “I need answers, people. We’re supposed to drive to Kutupalong tomorrow. An RPG might not be able to take down a bird at cruising speed, but it sure as hell can fuck up a vehicle.”

  “Postpone it,” Segal suggested. “Tell Ms. Lahiri that until we have answers, it’s just too hot.”

  Shields shook her head. “Oh, no. Don’t even try. Her exact words were, ‘If Naing thinks he can scare me into giving up, he’s dead wrong.’ She is tougher than she looks.”

  Connor knew there was steel in Shanti’s spine. He’d seen it this morning in her meeting with Khan. But being tough couldn’t stop a grenade. “Shields, analysis.”

  “I might have one for you if you hadn’t sent me to play therapist.” Shields logged into their secured network. “Give me an hour.”

  Connor looked around at the others. “We don’t have a lot of options. We can fly in, or we can drive, and unless Ms. Lahiri is successful and we get that drone permit, we’ll be going in blind. I want a plan on the table in fifteen minutes.”

  He started for the door.

  “Where are you goin’?” McManus asked.

  “To see if Ms. Lahiri has had any luck.” In truth, he just wanted to see her.

  He left the ops room and walked down the hallway to where the Dynamic Duo—Jones and Cruz—stood watch.

  “Hey, O’Neal,” Jones called. “They catch ’em?”

  “The bastards jumped into the river.”

  Cruz swore under his breath. “If I’d had my rifle, I could have taken them out.”

  “If you had, we’d be up to our necks in shit.”

  Cobra was in Bangladesh with the permission of its government. They couldn’t shoot fleeing enemies in the back. The rules of engagement for private security work were very different from military service.

  Connor knocked on Shanti’s door, waited.

  She answered, cell phone to her ear, and motioned him inside. “You understand that if I am killed, it will bring global attention to my investigation. The fact that Cobra has requested a permit for a small observational drone is already a matter of record. If the government in Dhaka continues to delay, especially after what happened today, some might wonder whose side they were on—the ICC’s or Myanmar’s.”

  So, Shanti was playing hardball.

  Connor sat on the sofa and watched while she argued with Khan, determination on her face. She must be something to see in a courtroom.

  She walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water, held it up.

  Connor nodded.

  She brought it over to him. “Forgive me for being so direct, Doctor Khan, but I wasn’t raised here, as you know. When one of my clients is in dire need, I do all I can to help them, regardless of how rude I might seem. Now I’m the one in need. If that helicopter had been shot down today, I wouldn’t have been the only one killed. The UN project manager was on the helicopter, too, along with my security team and the pilot. What would you have said to my father, to officials in Washington, to the UN?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, clearly not getting the answer she wanted. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I appreciate whatever help you can give.”

  She ended the call, sank onto the sofa next to him. “He said he’d try.”

  “Fingers crossed then.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. My father says that when a Bangladeshi official says they’ll try, it’s often a polite way of saying ‘no.’”

  “We’re working on this from our side, too, asking our contacts at the Pentagon to put pressure on Dhaka.”

  “I won’t give up and go home.” She looked up at him, frustration on her face. “Naing is a criminal. He must be brought to justice. If you’d read the reports I’ve read…”

  “We got a briefing. No one is giving up. We’ll work it out.” He couldn’t explain what came out of his mouth next. “Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?”

  What the hell? Had he just asked a client for a date?

  Of course, not! That would be out of bounds and get him fired. No, this was business. Right. Sure. Business.

  “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, and then we can order whatever you want and talk through our plan for tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “What time?”

  Shanti spread her napkin in her lap while Connor poured the pinot grigio. There was no reason for her to feel nervous. This wasn’t a date. The fact that she had changed into a little black dress, fussed with her makeup, and put her hair in a perfect messy bun didn’t make it a date. It was just dinner with the tall and incredibly attractive man who led her security team, a chance for them to get to know each other like disinterested business associates often did.

  He wore jeans with a gray button-down shirt that he’d left untucked, its color somehow making his eyes seem bluer. “Tell me what we’re eating.”

  “This is chingri malai—a seafood curry—and this is ilish macher jhol—hilsa curry, our national dish. Hilsa is a fish like herring. The fish is marinated in turmeric and chili paste and fried in mustard gravy, so it can be pretty spicy.”

  He smiled. “Is that a warning?”

  Oh, that smile.

  It transformed his face from serious and rugged to seriously sexy.

  Was it hot in here?

  “You can take it any way you like. I thought you could try a bit of each and decide which one you like more.”

  “Good idea.”

  Shanti served him a little of each dish, along with rice and naan, and took a bit of both for herself, waiting for him to take his first bite.

  He tried the hilsa curry first, moaned, the sound sending a shiver through her. “Oh, that is good.”

  “Not too hot?”

  “I eat raw jalapeño peppers, so, no, not too hot.” He took another bite then tried the chingri malai and moaned again. “Mmm. This is fantastic.”

  More shivers.

  “I’m so glad you like it.” She took a bite of the hilsa, the tastes of turmeric, chili paste, curry, and mustard bright on her tongue.

  “Is this the food you grew up with?”

  She nodded, dabbed her lips, finding it hard to maintain eye contact. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel flustered. “Yes, though I ate my share of pizza, too. There’s an Indian restaurant in Ithaca that we went to a lot. The service is awful, but the curries are delicious.”

  “You told Khan that your grandparents objected to your parents getting married. That must have been tough for them.”

  “Especially for my mother.” Shanti told Connor how her grandmother had prayed every day for her mother’s death. “It finally stopped when my mother became pregnant with me.”

  “Seriously? She prayed for your mother’s death?”

  Shanti couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked look on his face. “Yes. Then I came along. My grandmother was desperate to have grandchildren again after… My mother was always very gracious to her, and they pretended to get along for the sake of the rest of us after that. Enough about that. Where did you grow up?”

  “A tiny farm town called Ault in Colorado. My parents grow corn and raise chickens there. I spent a lot of time outdoors and learned to work hard when I was young. It was a good way to grow up.”

  Unable to eat another bite, Shanti dabbed her lips and set her napkin aside, leaving the rest for Connor. “Why did you go into the military?”

  “Farming just wasn’t the life for me. My parents couldn’t afford to send me to college, and I didn’t want to waste away working at the Bean and Feed Store. I signed up without telling them and left right after I graduated from high school.”

  She wanted to ask him how he made peace with taking human
life, but she didn’t want to offend him. “Have you ever regretted it?”

  “Never.” He took a drink of his wine. “My first big action was a hostage rescue. When it was over and the hostages were safe, I knew I was doing exactly what I was meant to do.”

  Shanti didn’t know what to say to that. “Do you have someone waiting for you at home—a girlfriend, a wife, kids?”

  He didn’t wear a wedding band, but Shanti had read somewhere that military men often didn’t wear them in the field.

  He grinned as if something about the question was funny. Okay, so, it was a little transparent. She could admit that. “No. No wife. Never married. No kids, either.”

  Shanti would be lying if she said that didn’t feel like good news.

  He changed the subject. “Why did you become a human-rights attorney?”

  “Oh, that’s a long story.” It wasn’t a happy story, either.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shanti steeled herself with another sip of wine. “Okay.”

  She told him how, during Bangladesh’s war of independence in 1971, Pakistani troops had moved through the country targeting Bengali intellectuals, killing men and women, dumping their bodies in mass graves. Her grandfather was the owner of a newspaper chain and had advocated for independence. He was high on their list.

  “My father was twenty-two and studying at Oxford at the time, but the rest of my family was here. Soldiers forced their way into the newspaper’s offices, looking for my grandfather and killing his staff. With the help of friends, he managed to escape with my grandmother to India. But my father’s older brother, Abani, and his younger sister, Chakori…” Shanti swallowed—hard. “They were dragged into the streets with their kids and spouses and shot. Their bodies were dumped in a mass grave and never found. My grandmother almost died from grief.”

  “God. I’m sorry.” Connor pressed his hand over hers, his gaze warm with concern, his touch sending frissons of awareness up her arm. “That’s what you mentioned to Dr. Khan today, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It’s also why my parents named me Shanti. My name means ‘peace.’” She gave him a sad smile. “After I was born, when the pogroms against Hindus began, my father decided to leave Bangladesh for good.”