He looms over me, his pale gray eyes cold, and I nod. “Yes…sir.”
When he leaves, I sink down onto the little bed, drop my head into my hands, and let myself cry.
The tentative knock on the door startles me, and I swipe at my cheeks before I turn to see Lisette with Mateen standing at her side, his hand clutched in hers.
“You are Josephine?” she asks softly, her accent subtly different from her husband’s, more musical.
“Y-yes.” I meet her wary gaze. “Everyone calls me Joey.”
“Lisette. This is my son, Mateen.” She urges the boy forward, and he offers me a shy smile.
As horrible as my situation is, this child had no part in what’s happened to me, and his feverish cheeks and pale skin tug at my heart. Dropping to my knees, I rest my hands on my thighs. “Hi, Mateen. I’m Dr. Joey. Do you speak English?”
He doesn’t answer, but Lisette nods. “His father wants him to be fluent.”
With a wobbly smile, I point to the portable video game system in his hand. “What games do you have on there? I used to be pretty good at Pokemon.”
Mateen looks at me like I’m a relic from another time. “FIFA 19. Pokemon is for babies.”
“Well, I played it a very long time ago. How about I make you a deal? I’ll examine you and give you a blood transfusion so you’ll feel a little better, and you can show me how to play FIFA 19. I need to learn a grown-up game if I’m going to be helping a grown-up young man like you.”
“Okay.” Mateen lets me lead him over to the bed and ease the video game out of his hands, and I swallow hard. I’m a doctor, and this is my patient. As scared as I am, as hopeless as my situation feels, I can help this boy. I can’t cure him, but I should at least be able to stop the disease from getting worse. I just hope I can buy myself enough time to figure a way out of here before Faruk realizes a cure will never come.
“Lisette? When did Mateen first start to show symptoms?” My voice trembles, and I look over my shoulder at Lisette as I pluck a stethoscope from the lab bench.
Watery brown eyes meet mine, then dart to the ceiling in the far corner of the room for a split second before she answers. “Around his first birthday.”
Shit. I was so wrapped up in my own fear, I didn’t even check the room for cameras, but as I make a show of opening one of the notebooks and uncapping a pen, I flick my gaze upwards. A tiny red light glows on a black box, and when I turn back around, I see the truth in her eyes. She’s as scared of Faruk as I am. And probably just as much a prisoner.
“Papa says once you fix me, I’ll be as strong as he is,” Mateen says with a wide smile.
I force a smile. “Yes. You will be. Just like…Papa.”
6
Ford
Hefting my go-bag over my shoulder, I follow Trevor off the transport plane outside of Qarshi, Uzbekistan. A two hour flight to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, from Boston, then nine and a half hours over the Atlantic Ocean and Europe to Kars, Turkey, then another two hour flight here.
Trevor slept. I didn’t. I studied satellite images of Turkmenistan, trying to trace Joey’s path east, the photos Nomar sent of the massacre he found where they were taken, and all the intel Trevor, Dax, and Wren pulled on human trafficking in the area.
Ford, I did some research in between working on Evianna’s case, and most reports I can find have trafficking shipments traveling on two primary routes. Both cut right through Afghanistan. One runs just outside of Kandahar and the other west of Mazari Sharif. I found one auction site on the dark web, but so far none of the women listed there match Joey or the others with her. I’m still searching. Good luck and stay safe. - Wren
P.S. Ry’s going a little stir crazy. Are you sure you don’t want him and Inara to head out to meet you?
I want to say yes. To tell Wren to send Ry and let him do what he does best. But Trevor doesn’t want any extra bodies around—especially not one close to seven-feet-tall with such recognizable scars and a seriously bad attitude.
As we enter the hanger, a marine private salutes us, and I return the gesture. “Staff Sergeant Ford Lawton,” I say. “Retired.”
“Private O’Rilley,” the man says. “I got word your contact should be here in twenty minutes with a private plane. If you head to the south corner of the hanger, we’ve got coffee and MREs. A couple of couches. They’re not comfortable, but they’re yours, sirs.”
With a nod, I motion for Trevor to follow me. But he’s already halfway towards the makeshift office. By the time I push through the door, he’s on his phone, speaking Pashto. I never learned much—and what I did has faded with the years—but his severe expression twists my gut with anxiety. I send Dax a quick message.
Ford: We’re in Uzbekistan. Nomar should be here in a few minutes. I’ll touch base when we get into Turkmenistan.
He doesn’t respond, but the past few weeks, he’s been so closed off, I’m not surprised.
After a cup of the worst coffee on the planet, I start to pace until Trev hangs up the phone. “They’re not in Turkmenistan,” he says, his voice grave. “They’ve already crossed the border into Afghanistan.”
“How do you know?” I press my palms flat on the desk and loom over him. I’m a big guy—six-foot-ten—and while I’m not as bulky as Ryker, I’m solid. Trev’s a good five inches shorter than I am, and he peers up at me with tired, intense eyes.
“Before we left, I sent messages to a couple of the guys I know who are still embedded under deep cover. Told them to set up a buy for me. Western women, fresh. Age didn’t matter as long as they were new to the trade.”
My heartbeat thrums in my ears as my blood boils. “Watch your tone, Trev.”
“You want this done fast? I’m not going to pretty up my words just because you’ve had a candle burning for this woman for the past twenty years. And if you lose it like this when we’re with the buyers, you’ll blow the whole op. So get your shit together. Understood?”
I let out a breath and back off. Easing my way down onto the well-worn sofa, I drop my head into my hands. “Sorry. Keep going.”
Glancing around the room, he shakes his head, then rummages in his bag and pulls out a small metal device the size of a cigarette lighter. After he’s pressed a button on the side, he continues. “Never know who’s listening, and this is ‘ears only.’ The Turkmen border is a fucking fortress. They’ll search your car license plate to license plate and run your passport through so many checks, trying to get into the White House while on a terrorist watch list is easier.”
“Seriously? When did that happen?”
Trevor shrugs. “A few years ago. Does it matter?”
“Nothing matters but Joey and the other two women. Go on.”
“Four vehicles passed through the checkpoints over the past few days that raise suspicion. Based on the money that changed hands when they did, one of them had drugs, another guns, and the other two were carrying people.”
“And…?” Impatient for him to get to the fucking point, I dig my fingers into my thighs so I don’t wrap them around his throat and shake the information out of him.
Trev runs a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know much more than that. But there’s an auction taking place in Kabul tonight. It’s the only one for the next two weeks, so if they’re being sold, that’s where they’ll be. And my contact swears there are girls available who meet my…needs.”
“But you don’t know if Joey’s one of them.” Defeated, I sink back against the cushions. “What if your contact’s wrong? What if Joey and the other two are in Kandahar by now? Or worse…what if they are still in Turkmenistan?” So many possibilities run through my mind. I don’t improvise. Don’t take chances. That’s Clive’s territory. Ella’s. Hell, even Dax’s. Not mine.
“Think, Ford. Be logical. This is our best lead so far. I’m still working a dozen angles, and by the auction tonight, maybe one of them will come through. Or…we’ll find them, get them the fuck out of there before they’re sold,
and be on a transpo home before breakfast. I know you love her, but you haven’t slept and you need to get your head on straight before we get to Kabul.”
I nod. He’s right. He’s also thirty-six and looks like a baby compared to me. But Dax and I hired him on the spot when we interviewed him. He’s brilliant. Can analyze ten different outcomes in a matter of moments, then give you the run-down on pros and cons of each. Not to mention his tech skills. He’s no Wren, but he’s made his bones in the field.
“You have to trust me. I spent five years running between Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Pakistan. I know the people, the customs, and the secrets. We won’t get to Kabul for at least five hours. You focus on the endgame, you understand? Sleep, and for fuck’s sake, let me do my thing. It’s the only way this works.”
Two quick raps on the office door have us both turning in unison, and Trevor’s hand goes to his hip—the guy’s been packing the whole time, while my weapons are still safely stowed in my go bag.
A short, stocky man with black hair, a full beard, and ice in his blue eyes steps into the room. “Never thought I’d see you back here again, Moana.”
“Nomar.” The tension between them could cut glass, and I push to my feet.
“You know each other?” I ask.
Trevor snorts. “You could say that.”
With a small shake of his head, Nomar grabs my hand and pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “Good to see you again, Ford. Sorry it’s under these circumstances. If we’re going to make Kabul before the air traffic controllers I bribed go off shift, we need to head out right now. Grab your gear.” He turns on his heel and strides back through the door, Trevor following too quickly for me to ask him what the fuck just happened.
But as soon as I’m buckled into the jump seat on a plane that looks more like a toy than anything else, I give them both a hard stare. “I don’t know what’s up between the two of you, but if you let it affect this mission—”
“Classified,” both men say at once.
Trevor turns and clamps a hand down on my shoulder as Nomar pulls on his ear protection and starts flipping switches and levers, the plane’s engines roaring to life. “We’re all on the same side, Ford. I don’t have to like the guy to work with him. It’s enough that I respect his skills.”
“Agreed,” Nomar says. “What happened in Qatar…stays there. All that matters now is getting Joey back.”
I relax against the seat and close my eyes. Trev’s right. I’m no good to anyone if I can’t think straight. The three of us are going to have a serious talk before this is all over, but right now, I need to rest so I’m on top of my game. Joey needs me.
Joey
My eyelids feel like sandpaper, and my stomach does somersaults as I stand in front of Faruk to report on my progress. “Mateen’s anemia is much better, but the more transfusions I give him, the higher his iron levels are going to be. I need a way to chelate his blood. Until he’s stable for at least a week, I won’t be able to even guess at the amounts of the various drugs in the cocktail to give him.”
“You are stalling, Josephine.” Faruk arches a brow, approaching with his hands clasped behind his back. I drop my gaze, fighting my urge to bolt. He doesn’t seem like the type of man to get his hands dirty, and Zaman looms behind me. “Would you like to spend a few nights in the hole?”
“N-no, please.” Shrinking away from him, I hug myself tightly. “If I start him on the cocktail now…he could die. The final components only came in this morning. I…can show you my notes. All my calculations. I wrote that paper seven years ago. Two of the drugs have had formula changes since then. I have to redo all of my testing to make sure they won’t kill him.”
“Excuses.” Faruk shakes his head and waves Zaman over.
I can’t let them take me to that dark hole. I’ll never survive a night there. Straightening my shoulders and rooting my feet to the floor, I raise my head and stare Faruk in his stormy gray eyes. “If I rush this process, Mateen will suffer—he could even die. He’s a smart boy. A good boy. And he’s my patient. I may hate you and what you’ve done to bring me here, but I will treat him. I haven’t stopped…haven’t taken a break. You should know. You’re watching me every minute. I made a lot of progress today, but I won’t risk his life if I’m not 100% positive the cocktail is safe.”
For several long minutes, we stare at one another. I can’t hear anything but my own heartbeat roaring in my ears. Have I just sealed my own fate? Or bought myself another few days?
“You have much to learn about respect, Josephine,” Faruk says, and Zaman tightens his hands around my upper arms, giving me a hard shake. He’s pressed to my back, and I want to throw up, but I’m too terrified with Faruk only two feet away. “The next time you speak to me that way, you will spend a night in the hole. Zaman, take her back to her room.”
I’m so relieved, I don’t even realize until I’m locked in that I never got lunch or dinner.
7
Ford
The dim lights and dark corners set my nerves on edge as Trev and I follow a pair of heavily armed men through a crowded restaurant on the western edge of Kabul. It’s a little after seven—prime dinner hour—but the restaurant is a known front for all kinds of illegal activity. Drugs, guns…and flesh.
“Remember, let me do the talking,” Trevor whispers. “You’ll just get us all killed.”
“Your confidence in me is inspiring.” He’s probably not wrong. Despite catching an hour of sleep on the plane and another three hours at a tiny CIA safehouse in the middle of the city, I know I’m not at my best.
“Ford—”
“I know.” Tugging at the loose charcoal jacket over the black t-shirt, I tamp down the urge to remind him I’m technically his boss. Here, he’s in charge, and I’m the grunt doing what I’m told. We dressed the parts. His suit cost double what mine did.
“You have the cash?” one of the AK-47 wielding goons asks as he rests his hand on a biometric keypad. A green light scans his palm, then the lock clicks open, but he doesn’t move to let us through.
Trevor shows the man his phone with evidence of two million dollars in an offshore account. The money’s fake, but they won’t be able to confirm that until we’re well out of here—we hope. “This enough?” he asks, adopting an accent that sounds completely local.
The big guy grunts his agreement and heads down a long hall, and before the door shuts behind us, sealing off the restaurant from what happens in the secret back rooms, I catch a glimpse of Nomar passing by one of the side windows. If all goes well, his diversion will give us the chance to get out of there at the end of the auction with Joey, Mia, and Ivy. Assuming they’re even here.
Another door and another palm scanner lead to a small, sparse room. My heart stops. Against the far wall, five women are lined up, flanked by two men with AK-47s held at the ready. Joey isn’t one of them.
They’re all wearing white or black negligées, their wrists shackled together in front of them, with metal collars around their necks. Each collar connects to the next with a heavy chain, ensuring none of them can run without the others.
Ivy’s first, with Mia last, though I barely recognize them. They looked so fresh-faced and innocent in their passport photos. Now…their eyes are glassy, their cheeks sunken, and they’ve lost weight. A lot of it.
Mia’s forearm arm is encased in a heavy cast, and her body bears dozens of deep, dark bruises. All of them look defeated, terrified, but Ivy, one of only two wearing white, is largely unmarked—only deep purple finger marks around her upper arms and ligature burns around her ankles.
Men gather in front of the girls, a few of them whispering to one another. Most are older, dressed in the finest suits—both Western and traditional.
“She’s not here,” I whisper.
Over comms, Nomar’s voice is low and gravely. “Ready when you are.”
“Wait for my signal,” Trevor says under his breath as he heads over to the rest of the buyers and starts to scan
the line of women. Pausing in front of Mia, he jerks his head towards the closest guard. “This one is damaged.”
The man grumbles something I don’t understand, and Trevor fakes a laugh. “I like a little spirit in my harem.”
A dark-haired man dressed in a white suit slips out from behind another door. “Gentlemen, if you will take your seats, we will begin. I am your host, Mr. Black. Tonight, there are five pieces of merchandise up for sale. Payment will be due immediately after the final auction. For those of you without secure transport, delivery can be arranged for a nominal fee.”
Digging my fingers into my thighs as I sit down, I keep my gaze on Ivy. We have to get them out of here and pray they know where Joey is.
Next to the women, the auctioneer clears his throat and gestures to Ivy. “The first piece is twenty-three, one-hundred-sixty-two centimeters tall, and weighs forty-five kilograms. Black hair, green eyes. She is untouched, so the bidding will start at fifty thousand American dollars.”
Four of the men get into a bidding war over her, and Trevor leans over to whisper in my ear as tears stream down Ivy’s porcelain cheeks. “She’ll fetch the highest price of the night as a virgin. But that also means they won’t have raped her already.” As he straightens, he holds up his hand. “One hundred and fifty thousand.”
By the time the Trevor’s outbid the other four men, Ivy’s price is well over two hundred thousand. “Sold. This next item is seventeen, one-hundred-forty centimeters tall, and weighs thirty-nine kilograms. Bidding starts at thirty thousand dollars.”
This girl looks like she came straight from one of the local villages, and she’s terrified, sobbing and shaking as a final price is agreed upon. Mia’s last, and after the auctioneer reads her vital statistics, he nods towards her arm. “She was damaged during transport, but this will not hinder her use. Bidding begins at twenty-thousand.”
By Lethal Force Page 7