by Gayle Wilson
“That isn’t necessary,” Grace said. “He is a friend. I can assure you—”
Unsure of what she intended to tell the special operative, Landon broke in. “It’s all right.”
He removed the Glock from his sash, holding the grip with two fingers. His other hand still out to his side, he slowly bent, putting it on the ground in front of him.
“Kick it this way,” Reynolds directed.
When he’d obeyed, Landon looked up, brows lifted in inquiry. Reynolds nodded, which he took as permission to lower his hands.
“Any idea what they intended to do with the prisoners?”
“Obviously not negotiate for their release,” Landon said. “At least not with the coalition. But then that’s something everyone must have realized early on.”
“What about the others?”
“Mitchell was dead when I got there.”
“Mitchell? That’s…the pilot?”
“Mike Mitchell,” Grace said. “We tried to bring Colonel Stern out with us, but in the confusion he became separated. Although our captors were planning to move their camp before we left, it may be that in searching for us, they haven’t had time. I’m sure that…Mr. Sloan could guide you back there.”
The hesitation before she came up with the name Landon had given the American was slight. Landon was conscious of it, but Reynolds seemed oblivious.
“I’m not sure there’s much point in that,” Landon warned. “If they have recaptured Stern, they aren’t likely to remain in the same location. If they haven’t…”
He shrugged, letting the sentence trail, as his eyes met the special ops agent. Without water, the colonel probably wouldn’t have survived long enough to make contact with the coalition forces, not unless he got very lucky, and the American would be aware of that.
“While you were on your own, I understand that Ms. Chancellor would be your primary concern,” Reynolds said. “Now that she’s in our hands and we have some current intelligence as to the colonel’s location, I think we should try to locate him before they have a chance to take him out of the area.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been proposing.” Grace’s voice held a hint of smugness at having someone back up her request.
Reynolds’s eyes again met Landon’s, conveying what looked like sympathy. “I would have done the same thing in your shoes. Only now the situation has changed.”
“I still believe we should convey Ms. Chancellor to Kabul or one of the regional headquarters before we look for Stern. If he’s been retaken, based on his treatment during the past three weeks, he’ll be safe until they decide who they want to deal with. And if he hasn’t been recaptured, then frankly, chances are good that he’s dead. I can’t see putting Ms. Chancellor at risk in either case.”
“Ms. Chancellor prefers to speak for herself, if you don’t mind. I’m very much in favor of mounting a search for the colonel, Mr. Reynolds. Especially now that we’re in such capable hands.”
Landon couldn’t decide if that was a slap at his handling of things or an attempt to ingratiate herself with the American. If the former, it was deserved. If they hadn’t run into Reynolds and his men, this might well have become the disaster Landon had feared as soon as he realized the truck was missing.
And he couldn’t force Grace to make that trek into Pakistan. Not even if Reynolds were willing to supply them.
Besides, he didn’t believe the special operative would allow her to leave, not with someone he hadn’t had a chance to check out. And no matter Reynolds’s nationality, Landon wasn’t going to entrust Grace to anyone else. Not until she was safely on a plane back to the States.
Which meant the only option was to throw in their lot with the American and his Afghan force. They would have food and water and protection from the people who had taken Grace from the downed chopper.
Even returning to Afghanistan to look for Stern wasn’t an unmitigated disaster, no matter what his original plan had been. After all, if they did that, they stood a good chance of running into a larger contingent of the Special Forces who were looking for Grace and the others.
The bottom line, however, was that he no longer was in charge. Not of Grace. Not of the situation. And not being in control of his own destiny was something that had always made him uncomfortable.
Chapter Seven
The journey back to the plateau hadn’t been nearly so strenuous as the one she and Landon had made away from it. Although Grace had expected they might again be on horseback, the American’s troop, as small as it was, seemed well equipped.
Reynolds had directed her into an old-style military jeep, apparently the command vehicle, while Landon had been assigned to one of the two large lorries with canvas-covered truck beds in which his men rode. Demonstrating an obvious familiarity with the region, the tiny caravan had used back trails and passes that could accommodate their vehicles to return to the Afghan side. The trip took hours, of course, but far less time than it had taken for her and Landon to cross the border.
Once Reynolds had her alone in the jeep, he had peppered her with questions about Landon and the friend who’d sent him to find her. Since, bare bones or not, that story was the truth, she had confirmed it with a clear conscience—but without providing names or motiva tions. If the American could be tight-lipped about his affiliations, then so could Landon.
They had reached the foot of the trail leading to the plateau late in the afternoon. Despite the unrelenting heat, they climbed steadily toward their destination without encountering a soul. Nor had they found Colonel Stern’s body, something she had dreaded since they’d begun the ascent.
Then, leaving several of his men to serve as a rearguard on the main trail, Reynolds led them along the same footpath she and Landon had taken up the mountain two nights ago. The party veered away from it after only a few hundred feet to climb to an observation point above the plateau. Now they were waiting as Reynolds surveyed the site below, using a pair of sophisticated night vision goggles.
“It’s deserted,” he said without turning.
“Then we need to go down and bury Mitchell.”
Grace didn’t look at Landon as she made that demand. He’d had no choice but to leave the pilot’s body behind. Still, she couldn’t get the photographs Mike had shown her of his family out of her mind.
He deserved a decent burial, and they deserved to know he’d had one. She also thought they would value having something of his that could be carried home to them along with that news.
“You think he’s still there?” Reynolds continued to scan the terrain below through the goggles.
“I can’t see any reason for them to take his body.”
“Other than to sell it.”
Although Landon’s suggestion had been caustic, she couldn’t discount it. In this part of the world, anti-American demonstrations, especially those that included the desecration of bodies, were high impact. All the more reason, she decided, to make sure that didn’t happen to Mike.
“We need to at least look for him,” she insisted.
“Grace—”
“I’ll take a party down and scout things out,” Reynolds said, jumping in before Landon could complete his protest. “If the body’s there, Ms. Chancellor, we’ll take care of it.”
Reynolds’s quick agreement saved her from having to argue against whatever Landon came up with next. She had known he was both pragmatic and ruthless when the occasion called for it.
And maybe he was right. Maybe there wasn’t any point in burying Mike’s body, but it was something she intended to see done if she had to dig the grave herself.
“I’ll go with you,” she offered.
Before she could move, Landon caught her arm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her elbow. “He’s been dead for three days, Grace.”
“You think that matters?”
A belated realization of what that might mean in this climate mocked that unthinking response. She wasn’t about to let Landon’s
warning make her back down, however.
“There’s no point in you going down there,” Reynolds said, finally lowering the goggles and turning back to them. “We’ll take care of the burial. If the body’s still there.”
As much as she hated to admit it, they were right. There was nothing she could do for Mike now. The important thing was to see that he was buried and that his family had something to remember him by.
Even that was foolish, she admitted. They had far more to remember him by than anything she might send them. It was something she wanted to do, maybe because there had been so little that she’d been able to do for him during the last days of his life.
“We’d moved him toward the back of the large cave because of the heat. If it’s there, that’s where you should find the body.”
Reynolds nodded.
“And if you could bring something back for his wife…” she went on, thinking about what might have the most meaning for Mitchell’s grieving widow. “Maybe his watch or his wedding ring.”
Reynolds nodded again before he turned and gave a series of quick orders, using the dialect with which he communicated to his men. Most of them rose and began gathering up their weapons, obviously preparing to follow him down to the plateau.
Three of the tribesmen didn’t move, apparently having been given instructions to stay with her and Landon. Grace wasn’t sure whether that was to prevent them from leaving or to protect them from some outside threat.
She supposed it didn’t matter. Since they’d been forced by the situation to put themselves into Reynolds’s hands, he was the one making the decisions. Something she knew Landon would hate.
He watched as Reynolds led his followers back to the footpath. As soon as they had disappeared, he glanced around to determine the position of their guards. When he turned back, his face was set.
“It’s the least we can do,” she said stubbornly.
“There’s nothing we can do for Mitchell, Grace,” Landon said, finally facing her. “And he’d be the first to tell you that.”
She couldn’t remember the last time Landon had looked at her this directly. She had known he was furious at her insistence that they try to find Stern. Now she had added to his displeasure by her determination to see Mike buried.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Landon’s concern. It was that she couldn’t abandon the men who had, during the course of their captivity, become friends.
“Since he’s dead, we’ll never know that, will we? All I’m asking for is something of his to take home to his wife. And the right to tell her that he had a decent burial. If Reynolds is willing to do that, I don’t understand why you’d object.”
“Because it’s just something else that will prolong your time in Afghanistan. I came here to take you home.”
“Then maybe you should have chosen your accomplices more carefully.”
She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Things went wrong even on the best-planned missions.
Landon had risked his life to come here. All she seemed able to do in return was mock his efforts.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said softly.
There was no response to the apology. His back to her now, Landon continued to look down on the plateau below, his shoulders stiff. She reached out, trying to take his arm to make amends, but he pulled his elbow out of her grip.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” he said, his voice seeming unchanged. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Just like the rest of them since she’d been in this god-forsaken country.
I came here to take you home, Landon had said. He couldn’t imagine how much she wanted him to do exactly that.
Just as soon as she’d paid the debt she owed to Mike Mitchell’s memory.
ONCE MORE GRACE AWOKE to the feel of Landon’s hand on her shoulder. As she looked up into his face, she experienced another unwanted flashback to a different time and place. A time when, if he had awakened her in the middle of the night, it would have been for a very different reason.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re coming back.”
She glanced toward the edge of the cliff that overlooked the plateau. The sun was almost up, already limning the horizon with a thread of pale yellow. Which meant that whatever had taken place below must have occupied several hours.
“Did they find him?”
“I don’t know. I thought you should have a few minutes to yourself before you learn whatever Reynolds found.”
She appreciated the gesture. Her brain was fogged from too little sleep over the course of the last three days. And as far as she could tell, that hadn’t been helped by the effects of the short but very hard nap she’d just taken.
Now she could hear what Landon had already heard. The sound of boots clamoring over the rocky path.
She sat up, tiredly pushing her hair away from her face with the spread fingers of her right hand. “If they were there this long, they must have found his body.”
Landon held out his hand. This time, without even thinking, she put her fingers into his. Although he pulled her to her feet, she could still feel the exertions of the last forty-eight hours in every stiff and aching muscle.
As they returned, Reynolds’s men joined the ones who had been left on guard. One by one they sat down beside their comrades and lit the small brown cigarettes they all smoked. Finally the American came into sight at the head of the trail. Seeing that they were waiting for him, he laid his weapon on one of the boulders and walked across to where the two of them were standing.
“Did you find him?” Grace asked.
Without answering, Reynolds unbuttoned the flap of his shirt pocket. He fumbled inside before he held out the objects it had contained, hidden from sight by his fingers.
Grace stretched out her hand to receive them, palm up. Reynolds laid the wedding ring she’d asked for, along with the pilot’s dog tags, on top of it. They felt cold and damp against her skin.
Because he’d washed them, she realized. After three days, that was another act of compassion.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“And this must be yours.”
Grace lifted her gaze from the items he’d given her in time to see Reynolds hold out a folding knife to Landon. For a few second, the ex-CIA operative didn’t reach out to take it, but he didn’t deny Reynolds’s assertion.
“Must be? Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s American made, for one thing. And I doubt they’d allow Stern or Mitchell to keep one of these.”
Grace was aware that something was going on beneath the surface of this seemingly innocuous exchange, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. If the knife was Landon’s, why didn’t he take it?
“Thanks,” he said finally, holding out his hand. “I didn’t realize I’d lost it.”
“You never know when something like that might come in handy.”
Landon didn’t respond to Reynolds’s comment, but he took the knife and slipped it into the folds of the belt he wore over his tunic. That was the same place he’d concealed the hand gun the American had taken this morning. She wondered briefly why he hadn’t realized the knife was missing when he’d been told to give up his weapons.
She supposed it didn’t really matter. Not in the face of everything else that was going on.
“What about Stern?”
She wasn’t sure why she’d asked that question aloud, other than to alleviate the nagging fear that had been in the back of her mind since they’d become separated. She was terrified their captors had killed the colonel in retaliation for her own successful escape.
She’d told herself that he would have the same value to them he’d had when he was first captured. They had not only kept the three of them alive for more than three weeks, they had taken pains to keep them out of the reach of the Special Forces units searching for them. So why would they take the colonel’s life now?
“There was no sign of his body, if that’s what you mean.”
“I was hoping he might have been able to elude them, given the conditions.”
“Even if he did, and if he’s hiding, I doubt he’d reveal himself to someone he didn’t recognize,” Landon said reasonably.
Certainly not someone attired like Reynolds and his men. If Stern had managed to survive the past three days by hiding out on the mountain, he wouldn’t approach a group that looked as cutthroat as this. Not unless he, too, had no other option.
“If he is alive, I doubt he’d be hanging out at that encampment,” Reynolds said with a laugh.
Landon’s eyes met hers. He was obviously thinking the same thing she was. The plateau would be the perfect hiding place. And like Reynolds, their captors would never expect Stern to return to the scene of his captivity.
“If he is still here, maybe when we ride back down the trail—” Grace began.
“I think you should probably give up any notion that Colonel Stern made it out on his own,” Reynolds warned. “If he wasn’t recaptured, then he’s probably succumbed to heat and dehydration by now. This isn’t a climate that’s forgiving of those unaccustomed to it.”
“Colonel Stern has been in this country for almost a year,” Grace said stiffly, feeling that Reynolds’s comments were a criticism.
“Sitting behind a desk in an air-conditioned office in Kabul isn’t the same as being out here without food or water. You folks ready to start back? I’d like to get down to the vehicles before the sun gets too high. We’re running low on supplies ourselves.”
“So you plan to restock before continuing to look for Colonel Stern?” Grace asked.
“That seems like the best plan to me.”
“To restock? In Kabul?” Landon asked.
“We have our own base of operations in the mountains.”
“I’d like to get Ms. Chancellor back to Kabul as soon as possible,” Landon said, his tone cold but polite.
“Of course. We should be there in a couple of days. I’ll need to notify central command that we have Ms. Chancellor. Then, if they tell us to bring her in, that’s what we’ll do.”