Hard Target: A Cobra Elite Novel

by Clare, Pamela

  Shit.

  “If it looks like we’re going to be taken, hide it in your underwear or socks. Don’t leave it in your pocket. As long as it’s on you, Cobra can find you.”

  “Won’t you be with me?”

  McManus spoke in Derek’s ear again, his Scottish accent thick. “Tower, this is Cobra. There’s a hill to your left that’s high enough to conceal the vehicle. If you can, pull off the road now. How copy, over?”

  “Cobra, this is Tower. Good copy, over.” He veered to the left, hoping the snow wasn’t deep.

  And there they sat for two long minutes.

  He looked over his shoulder, saw the fear on Jenna’s face, and reached back to take her hand. He couldn’t promise her that everything would turn out okay. “If we’re taken, they’ll separate us. I’m doing everything I can to make sure they don’t catch up with us, but if they do, I want you to be prepared to be rescued.”

  McManus spoke again. “Tower, this is Cobra. Enemy QRF has passed the intersection and is continuin’ south toward the village, over.”

  “Cobra, this is Tower. Copy that. Out.” It was the break Derek had hoped for.

  He released her hand, turned around, and drove back toward the main road, doing the best he could to stay in his tire tracks.

  “What are you doing?”

  He had enough to deal with listening to McManus in his earpiece. “Cobra, this is Tower. I’m backtracking to the main road. Warn me if they turn around, over.”

  “Tower, this is Cobra. Wilco. Out.”

  It was a gamble, but he couldn’t be sure he had enough fuel to head into the countryside of Afghanistan without a clear route home. If they got a flat tire or ran out of fuel out here, they’d be stuck and vulnerable until Cobra could mount a rescue. Also, he’d seen the tire tracks. They’d looked fresh. He couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t been left by the Daesh fighters who had attacked the village.

  This was their best bet. With any luck, they would be well on their way to Mazar-e-Sharif before their pursuers realized they hadn’t gone back to the village. If they were really lucky, the bastards would spot their tracks on the side road and waste time searching for them there.

  Derek turned onto the main road and headed north again, pushing the speed as much as he safely could.

  “Tower, this is Cobra. One of the vehicles is turnin’ around,” McManus said. “It’s Hamzad, over.”

  “Cobra, this is Tower. Copy that.” Derek would bet that Hamzad was involved in this. He’d pushed them to go to the village. “What are the others doing, over?”

  “Tower, this is Cobra. Enemy QRF is continuin’ toward the village, over.”

  A few minutes later, McManus told Derek that Hamzad had stopped at the side road. “He’s spotted your tracks, and he’s takin’ the bait, over.”

  Derek wasn’t at all surprised when the other vehicles turned around a moment later and met Hamzad there before heading off to pursue the Land Cruiser’s tracks.

  The bastard had sold them out—that much was clear—but to whom? IS? The Taliban? One of the militias? And who was their target—Derek or Jenna?

  He would rather not find out—not out here.

  Derek pushed the Land Cruiser to go faster. He had close to three-quarters of a tank of gas now, plus another tankful in cans. That would be enough to get them to Mazar-e-Sharif.

  Jenna didn’t know it yet, but he wasn’t taking her back to the hospital.

  * * *

  Jenna had to resist the urge to look over her shoulder. She told herself that Derek was in touch with his men, that they had a drone overhead, that he would warn her if their situation went from bad to worse. But knowing all of that didn’t make her any less afraid.

  She tried to listen to every word he said, not that it all made sense to her.

  “Cobra, this is Tower. Enemy QRF five klicks behind us and heading our way. Acknowledged. Out.”

  Who were the QRF? What was a “klick”? Who was this enemy?

  It had to be IS. They had attacked the village. They were known to be out here. Maybe they’d heard that Westerners were in the village and had come for them.

  You don’t know that.

  “Cobra, this is Tower. Enemy QRF no longer in pursuit. Acknowledged. Out.”

  Thank God for that!

  “Cobra, this is Tower. ETA to Mazar is forty-seven mikes. Out.”

  Mazar?

  Blood rushed to Jenna’s head together with the abrupt realization that they ought to have turned off the highway by now. They weren’t going back to the hospital.

  He was taking her to Mazar-e-Sharif.

  Why hadn’t he told her?

  Your father wanted me to bring you home by force if you didn’t come voluntarily.

  No. No, Derek wouldn’t do that. He’d told her father that he wouldn’t abduct her.

  Or did he only tell you that to win your trust?

  James had once tried to explain what he did as a Green Beret.

  “We go into enemy territory and learn what we can for the troops that follow. We make friends there, get people to trust us, and hope they will help us.”

  “What if no one wants to help you?”

  “We do whatever we can to make them want to help us.”

  Jenna had later come to understand that their work included getting inside people’s heads and using what they knew to manipulate people or even entire villages.

  Was Derek manipulating her now?

  Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen the roadblock herself. She hadn’t seen anyone following them. She didn’t know for certain there was a drone. She hadn’t heard the people talking to Derek. Could all of this be some kind of elaborate show to scare her and get her to agree to leave the country?

  You’re crazy.

  But even as she dismissed the thought, doubt settled inside her.

  Your father threatened to make trouble for us in the Senate Armed Services Committee if I don’t bring you back.

  “Why are we going to Mazar instead of the hospital? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m taking you where I know you’ll be safe.” Derek met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to waste time debating in a survival situation.”

  His words were sharp, his tone of voice making it clear that the discussion was over—and reminding her for a moment of her father.

  Jenna felt an old familiar rage rise inside her. No one had the right to make decisions for her no matter what the situation. Shouldn’t he have at least asked her what she thought?

  By the time they reached Mazar-e-Sharif, Jenna was fuming. She said nothing as Derek drove them to a compound on the outskirts of the city surrounded by a high concrete wall and razor wire. A gray, steel gate opened to let them inside, where men stood guard with military rifles at the ready.

  He parked in a secured underground garage beside a dozen other Land Cruisers like this one and other vehicles—pickup trucks, Jeeps, dirt bikes, ATVs, and some battered Toyota Corollas clearly meant to blend in on the streets.

  “Bring your bag. I’ll have someone come down for the rest of it.” He pulled off his helmet and put it on the seat and then climbed out and grabbed a duffel from the back of the vehicle.

  She jumped to the ground, went around to the back to get her bag. Now that the danger was over, Jenna didn’t see the need to hold back. “You should have asked me before bringing me here. If this is all some elaborate ploy to get me out of Afghanistan, I’m going to be furious.”

  He glared down at her as if she were nuts. “You think I made all this up?”

  “I didn’t see the roadblock.”

  “You were asleep!”

  “What about the QRF guys who were following us? They conveniently disappeared.”

  Derek shook his head, his blue eyes going cold. “You don’t trust me.”

  Gear slung over his shoulder, he turned away, walked over to an elevator, and punched in a password. “The guys who were fo
llowing us didn’t come here because they went to your hospital.”

  Stunned, Jenna could only stare.

  * * *

  Derek wasn’t used to emotions he couldn’t control. Right now, he wanted to punch something.

  Did she hurt your feelings? Poor baby.

  Any relief Derek had felt at reaching Cobra HQ with Jenna in one piece had vanished in the wake of her suspicions. She had all but accused him of lying to her and faking their entire escape. What the hell?

  You should have explained the situation earlier. You know her history.

  Yeah, okay, so her father had lied to her and manipulated her all of her life, but Derek wasn’t her old man. She ought to trust him. He glanced back to find Jenna standing where he’d left her, staring at him through wide eyes.

  “You coming, or would you rather try your luck on the streets?”

  She hurried into the elevator. “What do you mean they went to the hospital?”

  The elevator door opened, and they walked in.

  “I mean exactly what I said. They turned off the highway and drove to the hospital. I expect that’s where they thought we would go.”

  “Maybe it was someone from the hospital. Maybe—”

  “Do any of the staff drive around in a convoy of armored Humvees with fixed machine guns?”

  “Of course, not! They had machine guns?”

  Rather than getting her settled in quarters, he led her to the operations room, where McManus and Cross were analyzing the drone footage on a bank of flat-screen monitors. McManus had served as an intel specialist with the SAS—Britain’s Secret Air Service—while Cross was a former Navy SEAL coms specialist. Together, they made one hell of an intelligence team.

  The two looked up, their gazes moving from Derek to Jenna, who technically wasn’t allowed to be in here.

  McManus covered his surprise, got to his feet. “I’m Quinn McManus, ma’am. Glad you’re here wi’ us and safe.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cross stood, held out a hand. “Alex Cross. Glad to see you safe, Ms. Hamilton. You, too, Tower, for what it’s worth.”

  “Thanks.” Derek set his duffel bag on the floor. “I’d like Ms. Hamilton to see the drone footage. Start with the roadblock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McManus gestured to his chair. “Sit here, lass.”

  “Thank you.” Jenna set her bag down and sat, still wearing her headscarf.

  McManus scrolled through the footage, pointed to the screen. “This is your Land Cruiser. This is the vehicle driven by that Hamzad character. See these? There are six vehicles clustered together, blockin’ the road.”

  Jenna studied the screen. “Those are the QRFs? Who are they?”

  “That means ‘quick reaction force.’ Bide just a wee, and I’ll show you.”

  “‘Bide a wee’ means ‘wait a minute,’” Cross told Jenna. “I’ve told McManus that he ought to learn English, but…”

  “Shut your gob, you feckin’ bawbag,” McManus shot back. “Pardon, ma’am.”

  Jenna clearly had no idea what any of that meant. “That’s fine.”

  McManus moved slowly through the footage. “Hamzad reaches the roadblock just after we warned Tower to start haulin’ ass backward. Hamzad speaks wi’ this fellow, who just got out of one of the vehicles, and it’s more than two minutes before he realizes you’re no longer behind him. When he sees you’re no’ comin’, he sprints back to his vehicle, as does the man he was talkin’ to. They all turn and drive south to find you.”

  Derek reached over and blew up one of the images to get a clear look at the face of Hamzad’s contact. “Who is this fucker?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Cross brought up a mug shot on another screen. “That’s Alimjan Qassim, a Uyghur fighter. He spent eighteen months in Guantanamo before being released. Word is that he’s leading one of Kazi’s secret militias, doing the dirty work Kazi wants to be able to deny.”

  What the fuck?

  Kazi was involved in this?

  “How do we know they were after us? I met with Governor Kazi. He welcomed me and gave me his blessing to work here.”

  “I’ll show you.” McManus forwarded the drone footage again. “This is your vehicle. Here, you can see Qassim and his goons turnin’ ’round when they get word from Hamzad about the tracks you left. Here’s Hamzad. See? They were huntin’ for you, and this Hamzad fellow was helpin’.”

  Derek blew up the image so Jenna could see Hamzad’s face. “I was warned that he worked as Kazi’s eyes and ears at the hospital.”

  “Maybe he saw or heard somethin’ Kazi didn’t like.” McManus moved through the footage, showing Jenna when Qassim had realized his prey was gone. “He got back on the highway here, but he turned off toward the hospital. We followed him. He stopped just down the road and waited. Hamzad walked out of the compound at one point to talk wi’ him, maybe to tell him you weren’t there. Then Qassim drove off toward Mazar.”

  “Any questions, Ms. Hamilton? Or maybe you think all of this is part of my elaborate abduction scheme, too.” Derek gestured toward the screens.

  Jenna’s face flushed scarlet. “No. Thank you. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  Her apology did nothing to blunt his dark mood.

  “You think we faked this?” Cross snorted, a big grin on his face. “Tower here is good, but he’s not that good.”

  But McManus glared at Derek. “The lass has had a hard time of it. She’s pure done in. Surely you can see that.”

  “Thank you all for working so hard to keep me safe.” With that, Jenna picked up her duffel and walked out of the room.

  “Does she know where she’s goin’?” McManus asked.

  Hell.

  “Have someone from internal security meet me at the guest suite.” Derek went after her. “Jenna!”

  She stopped and turned toward him, distress mingled with exhaustion on her face.

  “The barracks are this way.” He led her down the hallway and to the east wing of the building. “I would never lie to you.”

  Why had he said that? He shouldn’t have to defend himself.

  “I really am sorry. You told me my father had paid you to take me out of Afghanistan by force and that he’d threatened your business, and I… I was afraid, and I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  That’s what you get for sharing your mission parameters.

  Still, the regret in her voice eased some of his anger.

  “Like you said, you didn’t see any of it.” He stopped outside the suite of rooms set aside for guests—Pentagon officials, members of Congress, foreign dignitaries. “You should be comfortable here until we can figure out what happened today. It’s my expert opinion that you shouldn’t return to the hospital until we know for certain whether Qassim and his men were after you.”

  She nodded, her expression troubled. “I’m letting them down. I’ve left them understaffed. They must be worried about me.”

  “I’ll get in touch with Farzad and tell him what happened.” The man needed to know about Qassim—and Hamzad.

  Grant, head of Internal Security, strode toward them. “Hey, Tower. Welcome, Ms. Hamilton. I’ve got your keycard here. It’s encoded to allow you access to authorized areas of the building—your suite, the mess hall, the gym, the laundry, the media room.”

  Jenna took the card from him. “Thank you.”

  “The bed is unmade,” Grant told Derek. “We weren’t expecting anyone.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here, ma’am.” Grant disappeared down the hall.

  Jenna swiped her card, and the door opened with a buzz.

  “You get settled. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Derek returned, bedding in his arms, he found her sound asleep on the bare mattress, lashes dark against her cheeks, auburn hair fanned against the pillow, her headscarf clutched in one hand. He set the sheets and pi
llowcases on the nearby chest of drawers and covered her with the blanket. For a time, he stood there like an idiot, watching her sleep, an unfamiliar tenderness seeping in behind his sternum.

  You’re out of your mind, buddy.

  Before he could do anything stupid, he left her room.

  11

  When Jenna woke the next morning, she had no idea where she was or what she was doing sleeping in her clothes on an unmade bed. Someone had put a blanket over her.

  Derek.

  Her heart plummeted as memories from yesterday crashed in on her. The terrifying flight from the village to Mazar-e-Sharif. The stupid things she’d said to Derek. The drone footage his men had shown her.

  It’s my expert opinion that you shouldn’t return to the hospital until we know for certain whether Qassim and his men were after you.

  Was this all fallout from her trying to save Behar’s life?

  She sat up, glanced first at her watch, and then around at the guest suite. Compared to her dorm room at the hospital it was luxurious—big, bright, and warm. There were windows set high on the walls so that no one could see inside or out, their glass thick and probably bulletproof. The queen-sized bed sat next to a nightstand. There was a chest of drawers, a desk, and a plush leather sofa. White concrete walls held framed photos of iconic events in U.S. history—President Lincoln at Gettysburg, General Pershing arriving in France in 1917, Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima, firefighters climbing through the wreckage of the Twin Towers after 9/11.

  She got out of bed and walked into the next room to find a white-tiled bathroom with a shower and a vanity. In the drawers, she found toiletries—small tubes of toothpaste, dental floss, disposable razors, men’s shaving cream, shampoo, conditioner, body wash.

  A shower.

  She hadn’t taken a shower since the morning before all of this started, the morning before she and Derek had kissed in the generator shed.

  You did a lot more than kiss.

  She didn’t want to think about that now.

  She found towels and washcloths in a cupboard under the sink and stripped out of her clothes, setting James’ dog tags carefully on the counter. She put a razor, washcloth, and some toiletries on a shelf in the shower and turned on the water, delighted to feel it was hot. Then she stepped under the spray—and sighed with pleasure.