Stand Fast (DEA FAST Series Book 3)

by Kaylea Cross

  The world below them exploded in a blast of light and sound. Then a 70 mm rocket hit the center truck and detonated. The blast wave ripped through the air and ground, thudding against Zaid’s eardrums and compressing his chest. When he opened his eyes to look down, all three trucks were nothing more than twisted hunks of burning metal.

  Bye bye poppy juice, and whatever the hell else had been in there.

  Grim satisfaction tore through Zaid. He kept searching for a target, but the only men moving down there now were on fire as they crawled away from the wreckage.

  “Let’s move out,” Hamilton ordered. “Blackhawks are coming in to extract us at exfil site delta. Everybody up.”

  As one they turned north and started down the back side of the ridge. Zaid had only taken a few steps when gunfire suddenly erupted from the right. “Contact!” He dropped to one knee and took aim at the new threat.

  The outlines of at least a dozen men appeared on a slight rise to the east. Two of them held something on their shoulders. No sooner had Zaid focused on them than two RPGs screamed over their heads, streaking toward the Apaches.

  “Shit…” Zaid held his breath as the pilots took emergency evasive maneuvers and launched their chaff and flare countermeasures.

  Blinding streaks of light split the dark sky, followed by two brilliant white fireballs and deafening booms as the RPGs exploded short of their targets. But one of the gunships was trailing smoke now. It dropped, then righted itself and turned to the west, limping away and losing altitude as it flew.

  “Fall back! Move!”

  At Hamilton’s sharp order Zaid pushed to his feet once more and ran after his teammates, heading north. Scattered shots rang out from the enemy force approaching from the east, but they were still too far away to do any damage.

  Now it was a race. Zaid and his teammates were running low on ammo. They had to make it to the exfil site before the enemy got to them. The Apache could clear their tail no problem, but only if it remained on station until Zaid and the others made it to the Blackhawks.

  A whooshing sound brought his head up. Through his NVGs he caught the streak of another RPG that had been unleashed.

  “Get down!” he yelled, and dove to the ground.

  A heartbeat later the terrain in front of them exploded in a hail of rock and dirt, shooting a small geyser of debris into the air. Then a telltale rumble started up.

  “God dammit,” Zaid breathed, and scrambled to his knees as the ridge they were descending seemed to crumble beneath their feet.

  Rock and earth gave way in a mini landslide set off by the explosion. He had no footing. His boots slid over the ground helplessly, unable to find purchase. He held a death grip on his weapon as his feet went out from under him.

  Down he went, tumbling once, twice over the loose earth. A grunt of pain escaped him as he bounced on a rock, the sharp edge digging into his left shoulder with bruising force, but at least his helmet was still on.

  Somehow he found his footing again and managed to stand up. A strong hand shot out and grabbed hold of the back of his uniform, yanking him to safety. Zaid crashed face first into a wide chest, bounced off, and fell to his knees. Panting, disoriented, he looked up into Maka’s taut face.

  “You good, brah?” his teammate asked.

  “Yeah,” Zaid managed, climbing to his feet once more. He was sore and banged up a little and his NVGs had snapped off somewhere, but otherwise good.

  “Assholes got what was coming to them,” Maka spat, and spun to follow the others.

  Zaid glanced over his shoulder to check the eastern horizon. His eyes barely picked out the silhouettes of bodies littering the ground from the enemy position. He didn’t know if they were all dead or not, but wasn’t waiting around here to find out.

  “We’re on our own, boys. Both Apaches are returning to base.” Hamilton kept them moving at a fast clip. “Let’s get a move on.”

  “Okay, Cap,” Zaid managed.

  FAST Bravo hurried across the open terrain, heading for the incoming Blackhawks. But two hundred yards from their destination, they came to a sudden stop when another line of figures appeared on the top of a small rise in the distance.

  Zaid’s stomach sank as he took in the number of enemy blocking their way, too far away for him to make out any faces or other details. His team was outnumbered at least two to one, they had limited ammo, and their fire support had just returned to base.

  “Freaking hell,” Freeman snapped ahead of him. “It’s Nasar.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Did they get your message?” Jaliya demanded of Taggart as she ran with him toward the waiting helicopter. They were heading to the FOB where FAST Bravo and their NIU counterparts had launched from, trying to get a handle on what was happening out there so they could do something to help. But communications with the team had been spotty at best ever since the firefight broke out. “Do they know about Nasar?”

  “Yeah. But both Apaches had to return to base due to damage. My guys are out there on their own, and they’re low on ammo. And we need to get them the hell out of there now,” he growled.

  Her insides clenched into a hard knot of fear. “How far away is their exfil point?”

  “Half a mile. But in that terrain and with an enemy force blocking their way, it might as well be fifty.”

  Helplessness tightened her throat. Please God, let them make it out of there. Let Zaid be safe.

  She glanced over her shoulder. David was a few strides behind her, along with furious Afghan army officials who were bent on capturing Nasar and punishing him for his treachery. Jaliya wanted to see the bastard locked away too, but even more than that she just wanted Zaid and his teammates to make it back unharmed to the FOB.

  Taggart was on his radio again, trying to coordinate more air support for them. He shot her a hard look as they neared the waiting Blackhawk. “How did we miss this?” he demanded.

  She felt sick to her stomach. The answer had been there, right in front of their faces the entire time. “He was smarter than all of us.” She swallowed past the restriction in her throat, thinking of Zaid trapped out there in the mountains. “How long until we get to the FOB?”

  “Thirty minutes at least after takeoff. In the meantime, you listen to every word those guys say,” he said, gesturing to the Afghan army officials, “and tell me anything that might be useful.”

  The only reason he was letting her come along at all was for her translating skills. “Of course.”

  Hold on, Zaid. Help is on the way.

  She needed to see him for herself as soon as possible, and that meant being at the FOB when they landed instead of waiting back here at Bagram for word.

  ****

  From his position on the ridge, Fahim stared down at the members of FAST Bravo with utter loathing. The RPG detonation had slowed them down, but all nine of them were still alive.

  His heart had seized up when the circling Apaches had unleashed a stream of fire that obliterated half of his surviving men and all three remaining trucks. He’d watched, helpless, as everything he’d worked for, everything he needed, went up in smoke. With only one of the trucks having made it safely across the border some hours ago, it was likely he’d just lost his only chance of getting the remainder of the money necessary to secure Beena a new heart.

  He’d just failed his son. And now Beena would die because of it.

  Rage and anguish poured through him. He refused to accept that outcome. Would never accept it.

  His heart pounded out of control as he stood there, madly trying to come up with a plan that would allow him to escape. His dirty secret was out. Every intelligence agency operating in the country would be hunting him now, and likely on the Pakistani side as well.

  “Sir, what are your orders?” one of his men asked beside him.

  He had only twenty or so of his trusted troops left. All the others were either dead or on the run. The ones remaining were loyal to him to a point, but with their promised mo
ney for their services smoldering on the road in the valley below, they could turn on or abandon him at any moment. Right now they needed him because they were depending on him to get them to safety.

  If he was going to escape, he had to do it now. Dying wouldn’t help his son—he needed to get away and regroup. Find somewhere to hole up and evade the masses of agencies hunting him, and find another way to come up with the remainder of the money he owed El Escorpion. Perhaps he could get across the border into Tajikistan and hide there.

  Out here there was only one place that was safe for him now.

  “To the cave. Hurry!” he ordered, then spun around and took off running. The ancient tunnel complex entrance was three-quarters of a kilometer away. It would give him concealment, maybe even a chance to lose FAST Bravo and buy enough time to organize a new extraction site deeper in the mountains.

  Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed several groups of his men veer away from him, running in the opposite direction. He didn’t bother shooting or trying to stop them. It was actually better if some deserted now; a smaller group was easier to escape with, and he had to conserve his ammo.

  He leaped over a cluster of boulders and slid down the far side of the ridge, ignoring the shouted command to stop behind him. The soles of his boots thudded against the earth as he jumped and hit the bottom of the rise.

  He grunted at the force of the impact, pitched forward and caught himself on his hands and knees. He knew this terrain well. Knew exactly what route he could take to the cave that would provide maximum concealment. His pilot would be on station somewhere nearby but out of sight. If he could put enough distance between him and FAST Bravo, he could stop to set up an extraction.

  He didn’t pause to check how many men were still with him, because he didn’t care. At a spire of granite that marked the edge of an ancient trail, Fahim turned left and ran up the steep slope, following the old switchbacks worn into the hillside by countless feet and goats’ hooves.

  Risking a glance behind him, he noticed that only a handful of his men were following now. Shots rang out behind him in the distance, FAST Bravo keeping up the chase.

  Fahim tore up the remainder of the hill as fast as he could, then made a sharp right into a gulley and followed it to a craggy outcropping of rock that marked the entrance to the tunnels. He kept pushing his body harder, the thin, cold mountain air sawing in and out of his lungs as he calculated which tunnel to take.

  The second one led to a narrow mountain trail. It would be hard for anyone to follow him once he reached it. He darted inside the opening, hunching to avoid the low ceilings, and squeezed his way into the narrow rock tunnel.

  Rock debris littered the ground, but he soon lost the ability to see as blackness squeezed out the tiny amount of light coming through the entrance. There was no going back, so he pushed onward, using his hands to feel his way along because he couldn’t risk using a flashlight and give away his position.

  Muffled voices from the entrance sent an icy cold splinter of fear through him. He moved as fast as he could through the darkness, ignoring the bruises and cuts he sustained from the rough rock walls he scraped against, slipping over the loose rock on the ground.

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and snaking its way through the mountain. It narrowed even further ahead, and for a moment he feared he was trapped in this subterranean warren. Then it widened once more, and a few minutes later the air turned cool and crisp. The exit was somewhere close by, just out of sight.

  Behind him, something scuffed along the tunnel, the eerie echo of footsteps disturbing the loose rock on the ground sending a shiver up his spine. Then the tunnel behind him lit up with the faint glow of a distant flashlight beam.

  Whoever it was had the advantage of sight, and was getting closer with each second.

  Fahim pushed himself to go faster, turned left with the tunnel, then it began to rise toward the surface. Moments later he glimpsed a slight brightening ahead in the darkness. The dry, dusty scent of the tunnel gave way to fresh, cold air. Freedom lay just ahead.

  Almost there.

  All he had to do was make it through to the other side, contact his pilot, and get to the new rendezvous point. He drew his sidearm, ready to fire at anyone waiting for him on the other side. His heart slammed harder against his ribs, hope giving him an added rush of speed as he burst free of the confining rock walls and out into the open.

  Only to find himself on the sheer edge of a cliff that plunged hundreds of feet into the darkness below.

  He gasped and instinctively flattened his back against the cool, jagged rock that had protected him up until a moment ago and now threatened to send him to his death. He’d forgotten how sheer the cliff edge was.

  Frantic to escape, he darted a glance left then right, searching for a place to run to. But the trail here was dangerously narrow and he could barely make out the shape of the terrain in the darkness. One wrong step and he would plunge into the yawning abyss below.

  He had no choice except to go forward, however. He couldn’t stay here another moment.

  With grim determination he turned left and started up the trail, setting one hand against the side of the mountain and leaning his weight into it. Wind gusted around him, tugging at his uniform with cold fingers, as if trying to pluck him into the gorge below.

  His boots slipped on some loose shale. Terror ripped through him as he slid precariously toward the edge of the trail. He dropped his pistol and gripped at a piece of rock jutting out from the wall of granite and clung, straining with all his might to pull his body upright. Just as he gained his footing once more, movement from behind him made his heart seem to stop beating.

  “Stop and put your hands up!”

  At the sharp, Dari command he whipped his head around to look behind him, his heart thudding in his ears. Squinting in the darkness, he focused on the man standing at the tunnel exit.

  A FAST Bravo member.

  Khan.

  The man stood there alone, his weapon pointed dead center mass at Fahim’s chest, poised and ready to fire. Fahim’s fingers twitched, itching to snatch his pistol from the ground. The tactical vest he wore might save him from a body shot, but not from a bullet to the head. Khan was an expert shooter, and well within range to make the shot an easy one.

  As the spurt of panic faded, steely determination took its place. Slowly, he turned to face Khan, the hair on his nape standing on end. You will not take me.

  Everything crystalized in his mind. It had all come down to this moment. Fahim had fought too hard to have everything taken away from him. He would kill this damned American, escape, and live to see his family again.

  ****

  Zaid struggled to get his breathing under control after the steep climb through the last bit of the tunnel and held his ground as he faced off with The Jackal. General fucking Nasar, a man they’d trusted and had now betrayed them, putting their lives in peril.

  He didn’t dare break his concentration even to contact his teammates to alert them that he’d found Nasar. They were all busy checking out the other tunnels, except Granger, who was only a minute or so behind Zaid.

  Nasar stood there on the ledge for a few heartbeats, staring at him from thirty yards away. Frozen. His hand hovered near the ground where a fallen pistol lay.

  Zaid aimed dead center at Nasar’s chest, his finger on the trigger. Dammit, it was hard to see without his NVGs, but he could clearly make out Nasar’s outline.

  Go ahead, asshole. Give me the excuse I need to put a bullet between your eyes.

  His grip was solid on his weapon, his prey trapped on the precipice above the sheer cliff that dropped away on one side. The wind gusted around him, rising up from the canyon below. Taking Nasar out would be easy from this distance, but that’s not what the agency wanted. They wanted to bring him in alive so they could grill him about every last smuggling operation he had ever been involved with, and everyone who had worked with him.

  The basta
rd still hadn’t complied with Zaid’s first order. “Put your hands up,” he shouted, still using Dari, his voice ringing off the wall of granite beside him.

  Nasar didn’t budge. Zaid took a step toward him, conscious of the sheer drop-off to his right. The bastard knew they wanted to take him in alive. Did he really think they wouldn’t shoot him if necessary?

  He kept careful watch of Nasar’s hands and took another menacing step forward. Nasar edged backward. “Stop,” Zaid commanded, his patience at an end. “One more step and I pull the trigger.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard rushed footsteps behind him at the mouth of the cave. “Whoa, shit!”

  Zaid whipped around in time to see Granger spot the cliff too late and hit the brakes, his boots sliding over the gravel. Zaid’s heart lurched as his teammate skidded toward the edge of the cliff.

  Forgetting Nasar, he wheeled around, slinging his weapon across his back. The blast of a gunshot rang out behind him as he took a few running strides and launched himself at Granger. More shots cracked through the darkness in rapid succession, ricocheting off the rock next to him.

  Zaid hit Granger in the side in a flying tackle, stopping his momentum toward the cliff’s edge. Both of them grunted as they hit the ground, Zaid on top, and skidded into the wall of rock with a bone-jarring thud.

  “Fuck,” Granger breathed, scrambling up as Zaid rolled off him.

  Zaid had barely gotten to his hands and knees when three more rounds peppered the rock beside his head.

  Nasar, trying to pick them off with his pistol.

  Son of a…

  “I got him,” Granger said, settling on one knee as he took aim, his NVGs in place.

  Zaid reached back for his own weapon and swiveled to face Nasar, who appeared to be edging his way up the goat trail, his pistol in hand.