Swift Strike (SEAL Team 14 Book 2)

by Mathis, Loren

  “Not sure. But the ghosts on the ground are saying that there’s recently been a flurry of movement around that location.”

  “So she could be there?” Jesse said, feeling the first real twinges of hope that he would find Lena alive.

  “I don’t want to get your hopes up, man. It’s probably a long shot. But it’s a possibility.”

  That’s all Jesse needed to hear. Grabbing a scrap piece of paper and pencil that was in the glove compartment, he asked, “What’s the address?”

  Luke rambled off the location and then added, “One more thing, if you do find her there and you’re caught in a tight spot, CO wants you to know that there’s a CIA safe house in the area. We’ll be there when we can. Kick ass, brother.”

  Jesse certainly planned to.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  They wanted her to kill her father.

  Naturally, Hazel Eyes had not spelled out their intentions to her so explicitly. He seemed to enjoy speaking in vague riddles. But Lena was not ignorant. She knew that they did not just want her to have a conversation with her dad. Hazel Eyes and his gang were not the touchy feely type and couldn’t give two wits about her sitting down with her father and hashing out their problems. Furthermore, it was a stretch to believe that they wanted her to help them broker a purchase agreement between AnSawar and her father.

  No, it was more feasible that the whole meeting was a setup. A trap to lure her father to a location where he could be killed, after the terrorist group stole the codes to the missile technology. It was also likely that her father had money stored in the building that AnSawar may have wanted to get their hands on as well.

  Her father. A man who she now could see more clearly. Gone was the infallible façade that he had portrayed to the world, one that she’d bought into wholeheartedly. She had always thought of her father as being above reproach. Someone who, while standoffish to his family members, could still be counted on to do what was right. As hard as it still was to believe, she now knew that her father was a man who’d let his insatiable lust for money get in the way of his patriotic duty and ethics.

  How could he even think about selling that type of weapon to international criminal elements? He was not a dumb man; he fully comprehended the can of worms that he would be unleashing. And given all of the evidence against him, Lena was now certain that her father was indeed willing to stoop that low in order to protect his bottom line.

  After Hazel Eyes, or Faizal as he called himself in their last meeting, had threatened her family, he supplied her with photographs to prove that he’d posted men outside of the hotel where her brother and mother were now staying in Namibia. He later showed her photos of her mother, brother, and his girlfriend all huddling in a corner—bound and gagged. He had assured her that if she did not do exactly as he asked, he would have all of them beheaded. Lena believed him.

  Faizal had relished in showing her even more blunt evidence of her father’s incredible treachery. He had obtained the blueprints of one of the hypersonic missiles that her father’s underground team had created. Per its specifications, her father’s MX-R09 missile was capable of traveling in speeds excess of four thousand miles per hour. This was ten times as fast as the speeds that some top of the line cruise missiles could travel. But speed wasn’t really the reason why AnSawar was interested in her father’s creation. No, their keen interest was because unlike other hypersonic ballistic missiles in development, the MX-R09 was specially designed so that it could carry two nuclear warheads.

  Previously, the thought was that due to the nimbleness in design required to pivot and change course, hypersonic missiles would be unable to effectively carry heavy fuel loads. So far, only the Russian’s supersonic RS-26 Rubezh missile seemed to be able carry the nuclear option. The U.S. government continued to struggle to develop such a rocket, but so far had been unsuccessful. It was unthinkable that the MX-R09 could fall into AnSawar’s hands. The group was brutal and sadistic. If they managed to get their hands on the weapon, Lena was sure that they would use it to wreak havoc and destruction on the United States or its allies. Perhaps, even going so far as to make a direct nuclear strike on U.S. soil.

  Lena only had a few days left to sort out what to do. Today was Tuesday, and AnSawar had sent a pre-recorded video message to her father to meet with her on Saturday afternoon. AnSawar was so confident that they had her backed into a corner that they’d released her onto the streets of the Berdaale district in Baidoa, with merely a command that she meet them at the designated location at the designated time.

  Faizal had assured her that her release was a show of good faith on their part. A gesture that would assure her that they could be trusted on their word. That if she fully cooperated with them, both she and her family would be allowed to live. He suggested that his group trusted her to come through with her end of the bargain. Why shouldn’t they trust her? She was in between a rock and a hard place. If she tried to alert the local police or anyone else to her predicament, she would be killed, along with her mother and brother. But if Lena went through with it, she knew that her father would die. A father who had left her to waste away in the clutches of AnSawar only weeks before. But in spite of their irretrievably broken relationship, the man was still her father. She couldn’t just let him die. Could she?

  When Faizal snatched her from her home, the only personal property that she’d had on her was the blouse and capri pants that she’d been wearing, a one karat diamond ring, and the gothic cross that she always wore. She was able to sell the ring for less than half of what it was worth to a local pawn shop owner. The money had been enough to rent a room in a squalid, rundown hostel just outside of the center of the city.

  Since arriving at the hostel, she’d been too afraid to travel outside, but now she braved both the heat and potential sniper fire in order to make a call. Carefully dressing in a newly purchased black direh and hijab to obscure her flaxen gold hair and pale skin, she left the questionable safety of the hostel walls. The packet that Hazel Eyes had given her to pass on to her father once she tracked him down was tucked carefully underneath her clothing.

  Lena had found a payphone in the Tifow district. It had been late afternoon and the streets had been teeming with a flurry of merchants, shoppers, and women who were selling their wares at market. Using a few of the shillings that she had, she contacted Wren. She was surprised that she hadn’t broken down into a puddle of nerves, adrenaline, and fear as soon as she heard her best friend’s voice. Apparently, her recent disappearance had been kept close to pocket by the authorities because Wren had been totally shocked when Lena tried to breakdown what had happened to her over the past few days.

  Lena hadn’t been calling Wren so that her friend could contact the authorities for her. In fact, Lena was convinced that there wasn’t anyone that she could call that would be able to truly help her out of this situation. Except perhaps Jesse, but she couldn’t risk contacting him. Instead, she was called Wren because she needed cash. More than what she had been able to hock in the haggle over her ring. She needed enough for at least a plane ticket to South Africa. That’s where she thought she would find her father. After spending precious minutes convincing her friend not to contact the authorities, Wren had agreed to wire her one thousand dollars via a local Barclay’s vendor. Thanking her friend, she hung up the phone and tried to address her next immediate problem.

  She was starving, she hadn’t eaten in two days. She needed to try to purchase vittles from a street vendor. The first food cart she encountered was located a quarter of a mile away from the city center. The owner/chef eyed her curiously, looking at her as if she were some kind of duplicitous street urchin. The man’s sense of capitalism overcame his distaste when Lena plinked down five shillings. This offering enabled her to purchase a small, traditional Somali pancake and a slightly burned roast lamb kebab.

  Hurriedly choking down the meager nourishment, she began the cumbersome walk back to her hostel, carefully staying
close to the sides of buildings so that she would not have to relentlessly check each direction for threats. It was nearly dusk, she would need to hustle if she didn’t want to get caught outside during nightfall. In addition to the current danger that she faced, a woman walking alone at night in Somalia was a particularly easy mark for criminals.

  Whatever the reason for her release, she knew that it was only an artificial comfort. She wasn’t alone. Earlier in the day, she had definitely felt someone watching her though she hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source of her unease. AnSawar surely had eyes on her, an added reassurance that she didn’t attempt to reach out to anyone for help.

  Lena very much wanted to contact Jesse. He would know what to do. Right about now, when she felt as lost as she’d ever felt, she needed his strength and skill, needed his calm resolve. She knew that he would do anything in his power to protect her. But how could she risk it? It wasn’t just her life on the line, but the lives of her brother and mother. And Lena fully believed that if Faizal found out that she had contacted anyone for help, her family was as good as dead. No, she just couldn’t chance it. She had to figure out a plan on her own.

  Lena was abruptly jerked from her thoughts when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an unmanned donkey cart—with donkey—barreling straight toward her. Swiftly leaping to the side, she narrowly escaped being mangled by the ungainly contraption. Lena spit out the dirt and small pebbles that she’d managed to swallow when she ungraciously fell face first into the ground. Death by donkey cart. She couldn’t help but break into fit of nervous laughter as she lifted herself up onto her knees. Of all the things she could’ve died from in the recent past—terrorists, fiery explosions, gunshot wounds to the chest in dark, dank, tomblike dungeons—it would be just her luck to meet her end from something as ludicrous as a runaway donkey-mobile.

  Shakily rising to her feet, she noticed a middle-aged Somali man running past her, wildly gesticulating and shouting. The owner of said cart. Dusting the dirt and grime from her clothing, she trekked on. A few minutes later, Lena noticed the first purplish hues of darkness encroaching upon the light blue sky. Nightfall was approaching more quickly than she’d expected. There were no street lamps of any kind in this part of Somalia. It would be nearly impossible for her to see her way safely back to the hostel when night fell.

  Picking up the pace, she broke into a speed walk that was more run than walk. And then it hit her.

  The full weight of a man’s body plowed into her with all the force of a freight train. Instead of falling face first into the ground as she’d anticipated, her assailant rolled their intertwined bodies so that he landed on the bottom, absorbing the brunt of the fall.

  Lena, momentarily stunned when the man bowled her over, was now released from her paralysis and began to flail. Arms outstretched and pummeling him about the shoulder, her legs reaching out to kick at him—hoping to land at least one good knee to his groin—Lena fought off her attacker. The blood pounded in her head, she was dizzy from shock and fear.

  Muttering a few curses, the man dragged her further into the dark alley they’d landed in. Because her head covering had fallen off in the struggle, her brilliant blond hair shone brightly, immediately giving away her foreignness. Pulling her up against a grungy wall, the man pressed against her, holding her arms up and to the sides. Just when Lena was about to scream for all she was worth, the man peered down into her face. She stared back into his shining emerald eyes. Long after the tribulations of old age had ravaged her mind and stolen most of her memories, she would still remember those eyes.

  “Lena,” the man said. Not just any man. Jesse. Her Jesse.

  “Oh God. Jesse,” she said, both awe and hope infusing her voice.

  Releasing her arms, he enfolded her in his embrace. “Lena,” he said her name again. Lena’s arms used their newfound freedom to wrap themselves securely around his neck.

  “Jesse, it’s really you. You came for me,” she said, unable to hide the wonder in her voice. Those last four words were both of their undoing. Closing her eyes, tears trickled down her cheeks. She grasped onto his clothing, his arms, his chest…needing to reassure herself that he was really here with her. That this wasn’t just another dream. Jesse grabbed both sides of her face and leaned in to plant a fierce kiss on her lips.

  “Of course, baby. Always, always,” he murmured against her lips. Clutching her body tightly against his, he breathed a sigh of relief into her hair. Stroking her back, his hands massaged away some of the tension, fear, and hopeless that had engulfed her over the past few days. Burrowing deeper into the warmth of his chest, she found that she didn’t want him to let her go.

  ****

  She was alive. He’d found her. Thank you sweet Jesus.

  Truthfully speaking, her name was the only word that he could muster initially. But that one word contained all of the anguish and hope that he’d buried deep inside of himself for the past five days.

  Since Rose’s death, Jesse had not allowed himself to care about anyone else. He’d become particularly emotionally numb. In his line of work, good relationships were hard as hell to keep from going bad. His job was already stressful enough. He didn’t need the added burden of inevitably failing someone he’d grown to care about. But somehow Lena had changed all of that.

  He was not precisely sure when this fundamental shift in his thinking had occurred. Maybe it’d happened the first time he’d laid his eyes on her down in that dark underground lair. Or maybe it was sometime during the mind-shattering sex that they’d shared together. Regardless of when it had happened, he knew that he was permanently altered.

  And when he had thought that he’d lost her forever, he hadn’t been able to handle it. Deep down, he knew that there would be a place in his heart that would always miss her. Always want her. He would forever seek out her face in every crowd, hoping for a glimpse of the woman that he knew he could no longer see, except for in his dreams. It wouldn’t matter if he waited one year or forty, that undeniable, unrelenting hole caused by her absence would never be filled. He would never, ever stop missing her. The loss of her would ruin him.

  So when he had glimpsed her strolling down the street a few hours earlier, he’d thought that his sleep deprivation and grief had finally morphed into the hallucination stage.

  At the time, he had been sitting in his overpriced, undersized, all-around crappy rental car outside of an equally shabby warehouse building belonging to Alfred Westlake. After camping outside for nearly a day, he hadn’t witnessed much traffic in or out of the facility. He had not seen Lena or anyone who’d matched Faizal Shariff or Mohammed Kareem’s descriptions.

  But looks could be deceiving. Jesse knew that the lack of activity on the exterior did not mean that Lena wasn’t being detained somewhere inside of the building. One thing was for certain, Jesse hadn’t been about to go anywhere until he checked to make sure that Lena wasn’t being held inside. He’d decided to wait until nightfall to breach the property because the darkness would have provided the proper cover to breach the grounds.

  And then suddenly, out of nowhere, she had appeared as if in a vision. She’d looked disheveled and frightened, but he had been positive that it was her even with the long garbasaar and hijab that covered her from top to bottom. He’d recognized her familiar gait at first, and then he saw the paleness of her face that remained visible from the openings in the hijab.

  Upon spotting her, the first emotion that flooded his senses was sheer, unadulterated shock. The very next emotion that coursed through him was an overwhelming sense of relief that she appeared to be okay. He had felt like a dying man who’d been awarded a reprieve by the Grim Reaper.

  But Jesse’s relief had been fleeting. AnSawar wouldn’t have just let her go. Not without a good reason. That meant that someone had to have been tailing her.

  Ditching his car, he had tracked her on foot. Ever so vigilant, he made sure that he wasn’t spotted by Lena or anyone else who may have been watch
ing her. Not being able to dash up to her and embrace her had been a unique kind of hellish torture in and of itself. All he’d wanted to do was to whisk her away to safety. But he didn’t. He couldn’t risk rushing her up right away and falling into a trap. If he was reckless, he could wind up getting them both killed. His life he wasn’t so concerned about, but Lena’s…well, that was a different story. So he had wrestled down his natural caveman instincts and had taken the time needed to scope out the situation. Only when he had been absolutely certain that no one was following them had he made his move.

  As he gazed down at her now, her eyes watered. Her breathing a mixture of broken sobs and tiny gasps as she held on tightly to him. Doing his best to comfort her, Jesse stroked her back, murmuring soothing endearments in her ear.

  She lifted her head then. His eyes pored over her from head to toe, checking for injuries. The fleeting daylight moved over her face at just the right angle where he finally noticed the damage that had been done to her. His hands tightened around her waist and he tried his damnedest to fight back the fury that threatened to eat him alive.

  “Who did this to you?” he choked out, his anger dangerously close to the surface. Her right eye was still swollen and surrounded by a bluish-black ring. She jumped at the ferocity in his voice.

  Jesus. The last thing that he wanted to do was scare her. He never, ever wanted her to look at him with fear in her eyes—a fear that he had put there. He made sure he tempered his tenor when he asked his next question. “Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

  “It was the same man who took me before. The one with the hazel eyes. He calls himself Faizal. He hit me in my face and stunned me with a stun gun in my chest.”

  Motherfucker. Even if it took Jesse the rest of his life to hunt this worthless piece of shit down, he was going to make sure that the bastard would pay, and pay dearly, for striking and terrorizing Lena.