by Julie Rowe
“I’m here, Max.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
Grace winced. She’d only ever heard Max swear once, when his ex-wife tried to claim he hit her.
“Nothing good, sir,” she replied, trying to remind him to be professional. “Colonel Marshall has lost his mind.”
“So, you didn’t shoot your way off FOB Bostick?”
“No! Ohmygod, is that what he’s saying?”
“He’s got two dead bodies for evidence, men who were guarding you. He claims your team of Green Berets killed them getting you out.”
“No. That never happened. Those guards were perfectly healthy when we left. If they got shot, someone else shot them. Marshall, on the other hand, ordered his men to fire on us as we took off, and killed Cutter.” Her throat closed on his name and she had to focus on breathing for a moment.
Max swore. “I’ve been talking with General Stone. He’s as concerned as I am about the anthrax, but he’s also worried about this escalating situation with Marshall. He’s determined to nip things in the bud.”
“Three men are dead. We’re way past bud and into someplace very scary. Look, we’re going to try to get to you, but I don’t know if we’re going to make it. It’s a long way from where we are to Bahrain.”
“Do you have samples?”
“I picked up new ones from the village, but things aren’t looking good there either. There are people trying to get into it. And either locals or insurgents are firing at the Americans trying to maintain the quarantine. They need support. Can you talk to the general about sending them some? They need to be in bio-suits.”
“I need those samples.”
“This anthrax is so fast, Max. So very fast. I don’t know if Cipro is going to stop it. Antibiotics need time to work, but this bug isn’t going to give it to them.”
“Anyone I send to the site will be given Cipro before they go. That’s the best we can do until we have a chance to figure out how this strain is different.”
“The men who discovered the dead had been given Cipro. They’re dead now too.”
“Finding another treatment is going to take time.”
They both knew they didn’t have time. Whoever designed this anthrax only had to release it again for more people to die.
“Can you get the mobile lab into Afghanistan?” she asked.
“I’ll make the request. It’s a good idea and will certainly expedite matters with providing treatment to anyone exposed to the bacteria.” He didn’t say it would also make it easier for him to help her, but she heard it in his tone. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not certain. We need somewhere we can stay out of sight until you and the general can clear things up.”
“If it looks like it’s going to take more than six hours to rescue you and your team, I’ll come to you with the new level three mobile lab Dr. Martin has developed. It fits inside three duffel bags.”
“I’ll give you to the pilot, Smoke. I think he can give you coordinates of the location we’re heading to now.”
“Take care of yourself. You’re a damn good doctor. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.” She pointed at the headset and Smoke.
Hernandez tapped Smoke on the shoulder and she heard him join the conversation. He gave Max the coordinates they were on their way toward.
“Maximillian out.” The line went dead.
Grace took her headset off and handed it to Sharp.
“Bad news?”
She snorted. “Try the word disastrous or maybe the word horrific.” She had to make herself meet his gaze. “You know those two guys who were guarding me in Marshall’s little brig?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, they’re dead. Marshall is saying you guys or me, I’m not sure which, killed them while breaking me out of jail.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Sharp’s jaw hung open.
“So, basically, if Marshall’s got compelling evidence,” she said, “we’re screwed.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sharp stared at Grace’s pale face and tight fists and couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.
The entire team had noted early on that Marshall liked playing the game of fuck you with anyone who came onto his base. But this...this took it into deadly territory. In his ten years wearing the beret, Sharp had never seen anything like it.
There was always someone, usually an old-school officer, who pushed back when Special Forces came in to tell them how to handle their locals, how to train them and have everyone get along.
That was the problem with regular army. They wanted things done their way. Period.
Green Berets went in a different direction. They often operated from the inside of another nation’s military, trained them to use their own skills, weapons or hell, even their geography as a tool in their arsenal to keep the peace and uphold the law of the land.
Marshall had gone insane.
“Hey, boss.” Hernandez yelled it loud enough that everyone heard.
Sharp looked at him, then the other men in the bird. “I’m not the boss.” He jerked a thumb at Grace. “She is.”
“Understood, but Cutter’s dead and Leonard isn’t here. We need a team lead. That’s you.”
Sharp glanced at the other men. Smoke, Runnel and Clark both had their thumbs up. So did March. Beside him, Grace too.
Fuck, one more thing he didn’t need today, but Hernandez was right, they needed someone to give the final word.
He threw his hands up in the air, surrendering to their unanimous vote.
“So, what’s up?” Hernandez said. “Whatever the doc said gave you the worst case of indigestion I’ve ever seen.”
“Things have gone from worse to completely fucked,” he yelled so everyone would hear. “The two soldiers who were guarding the doc at the base are dead. We’ve been accused of murdering them when we broke her out.”
“And people believe that shit?” Runnel asked.
“They’ve got two bodies and we’re not around to say different, so yeah, people believe it.”
“My CO is working on getting the truth out there,” Grace added, shouting. “But Marshall’s actions are above and beyond anything sane. We’re currently under an arrest-on-sight order.”
“You’re just telling us this now?” Sharp asked. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t mentioned it. What was she waiting for, the bullets to fly?
“Sorry, I just remembered.”
That’s when he saw it. The lines bracketing her eyes, the white line of lips pressed too tightly together and the paleness of her skin. She was holding it together, but only just.
He remembered seeing that expression on his mother’s face, right before she died. Stress was an illness for which the patient had to want the cure. His mom had been a nurse and the most generous and giving woman he’d ever met.
Her generosity led to her death of a stroke at forty.
High blood pressure had been blamed, but he knew the real cause. She’d worked herself to death. Wore herself out caring for other people, most of whom never thought about her again after they left the hospital.
Yeah, Grace was a doctor, was used to seeing the uglier side of life, but what she’d been through in the last few days was something else. This was combat, physical and psychological, and at least one of the perpetrators of the violence was someone she should have been able to trust with her safety.
They didn’t teach doctors how to deal with that in medical school. Nope, for that you needed to go through Special Forces Training.
“Well, we’re not dead yet and we’re still in the air, so...” He shrugged. “Next time tell me...us, sooner.”
“I should have told you immediately.” She
punched her thigh with a shaking fist. “But I...I’m tired and if one more thing happens I feel like I’m going to fall apart.” The half smile she showed him looked forced. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but you need to know.”
“Doc,” he said, nudging her with one shoulder. “Sometimes the only reason I remember my name is because Hernandez yells it at me so often.”
An angry furrow dug its way between her eyes. “Don’t pity me.”
He laughed. “Pity is the last thing I think of where you’re concerned. Geez, Doc, you survived a helicopter crash, shot a bunch of insurgents and saved my life. You kept up with me when we went to ground, saved me again and if that wasn’t enough, kept your shit together while being accused of God knows what by a tyrannical asshole. I’d say you’ve damn near earned your Green Beret.”
She stared at him for a moment, as if unsure of his sincerity, then rolled her eyes. “Make sure you tell Max. Maybe I’ll get a raise.”
He chuckled and said, “It’s going to take some time for us to get to Cutter’s friend. Grab some sleep while you can.” He tapped his shoulder as an invitation to her to lean her head on him.
He couldn’t hold her, not with others watching, but he could do this much.
“If things don’t get cleared up in less than six hours, Max is going to come to us with a mobile lab capable of handling anthrax.”
“Okay, that might work. If it doesn’t, we’ll figure it out. Go to sleep.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to keep watch, but Hernandez, Runnel and March are heading toward dreamland.” He angled his chin toward his teammates, who had put their heads back.
She looked at them, then nodded. “Okay. Wake me when we get...wherever.” She leaned against him, the top of her head reaching just over his shoulder.
She was such a tiny thing, hard to believe she’d kept up with him the way she did. Damn, if that didn’t make him hotter for her than ever.
Her breathing evened out within a minute or two. She was wiped out.
He glanced up and caught Hernandez grinning at him. Then the bastard winked. Sharp flipped him the finger. Hernandez closed his eyes and let his head fall back.
He’d better not tease Grace. He’d have a chat with his team first chance and tell them not to make her feel uncomfortable. He didn’t give a shit if they gave him a hard time, but she wasn’t him. In order for her to come out of this disaster with her career intact, she needed to have a spotless reputation.
That much, he’d try to give her.
Cutter’s journal rested next to him. He picked it up and began reading through it, attempting to locate any information that might be useful in their current situation.
Cutter had a lot of training notes, names and descriptions of Afghans who he felt were safe to approach for information and a few hand-drawn maps of different areas of the country. Areas that didn’t have much in the way of official maps.
Sharp went back to the info on Cutter’s CIA friend. The guy was an American, the son of Afghanis who’d immigrated to the States fifteen years ago. He spoke three languages without accent, had a degree in power engineering and a journeyman’s ticket in automobile mechanics. He’d been in Afghanistan for the last three years, running a sort of general store and fix-it shop in an abandoned military base the Soviets used in the northern part of the country.
He traded in information, supplies and repairs. The Taliban left him alone because he could get almost anything from anywhere and he fixed up their cars. The CIA used him for information and occasionally a place to hide people they didn’t want anyone to find.
Cutter had gone to university with him and graduated in the same class. On Cutter’s first deployment, he’d saved his CIA buddy’s life. Sharp just hoped the guy had aviation fuel in that store of his.
Then he found the notes on Marshall. There was a question mark near the name Joseph Cranston. Who was that? Then he got to the interesting part.
Cranston was credited with saving Grace’s life in the same incident where she earned her Bronze Star, but there was also a sealed note on Cranston’s record. Cutter hadn’t been able to access it. Most of the time, when a portion of a record was sealed, it was bad news. What had happened that day?
He went back to reread the info about Cutter’s friend. Going there was a risk. There wasn’t anyone to support them if any unfriendlies were around. Unfortunately, going anywhere else was even more hazardous thanks to Marshall’s bullshit story about them murdering fellow soldiers.
They’d just have to stay alert and keep Grace out of sight as much as possible.
Fuck. She wasn’t going to like that.
Clark waved at him from the copilot’s seat, so Sharp put the headset on.
“We’re five minutes out,” he said.
“Roger.” He used one foot to nudge Hernandez. He woke up and Sharp pointed at his watch then five fingers. Hernandez kicked March and Runnel, and gave them the same message.
Sharp put a hand on Grace’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. She woke with a start, but recovered quickly enough, blinking at him with her big blue eyes. She glanced around, then gave him a weak smile.
“Are we there?” she asked, not loud enough to be heard over the engine, but he could read her lips just fine.
“Almost. I want everyone alert.”
She nodded, straightened up and yelled out, “I need a weapon.”
She did.
He caught March’s eye and shouted, “Find her a weapon.”
March got up and opened the rear storage unit. He came back with a Beretta and two additional magazines of ammo for it.
She took them with a grim expression and steady hands. As tired as she had to be, she was holding herself together and he was so fucking proud of her.
“What else is in there?” Sharp asked March.
“A couple more Berettas and one more clip.” He glanced at Grace, who was loading her weapon. “There’s also a couple of first-aid kits and some MREs.”
“Give that stuff to Grace.”
Clark nodded and went back to the unit. He returned with his arms full and placed it all on Grace’s lap. He made one more trip to the storage unit and handed her a backpack.
She looked at it for a second, then turned to Sharp and yelled, “Is this how you plan to keep me out of sight? Hide me behind a backpack?”
“Got a better idea?”
She hesitated for a moment and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. “Unfortunately, no.” She opened the pack and dumped everything inside.
Sharp glanced out and saw that they were losing altitude near a group of buildings nestled in some rough and tumble hills. He turned back to Grace. “Keep your head down and don’t say anything unless I tell you it’s safe. If this guy isn’t alone or I don’t like the looks of him, we may have to leave in a hurry and I don’t want anyone trying to grab you. Okay?”
She raised her chin and nodded. Goddamn, she was trying so hard to be brave, to hold herself together, but her sunken eyes and stressed mouth told him she needed a whole lot more sleep, food and safety before it was anything more than an act.
Sharp looked at his team and knew they’d do everything they could to help him provide all that and get her where she needed to go. He shouted, “Eyes open. Stay frosty.”
They all nodded.
As the helicopter descended, Sharp took in as much of the surroundings as possible. There were a couple dozen buildings, some were missing a roof or walls, others looked like they could be useable. A number of vehicles were strewn around, some nothing more than rusted hulks, while others looked like they were running, all of them decorated in various amounts of dirt and rust.
Three people stood in the shade crated by an overhang of a large building set into a hill. One man
and two teenage boys, it looked like from their heights and builds. All three had Soviet-made rifles in their hands.
The wind and dirt the helicopter kicked up didn’t seem to bother them as they set down to one side of the building.
Sharp got out first, alone, then approached the man. Behind him, Smoke kept the engine on just in case they had to take off in a hurry. Not that it would do them much good. They were nearly out of fuel.
Sharp stopped about ten feet away from the man and gave him a respectful nod. “I’m looking for someone,” he said in Dari.
The man didn’t say anything.
“A friend of a friend.”
Finally the man said, “Who is this friend?”
“Cutter, Geoffry Cutter.”
The man’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t know any Cutter.”
Sharp held up the journal with its hand-drawn cover. “Are you sure?”
The man frowned at him, then glanced at the helicopter. He met Sharp’s gaze again. “Come inside. Bring your people.” He turned and yelled at the two teens in Dari, telling them to cover up the bird, then bring fresh water for coffee.
They ran off to one of the other buildings.
Sharp turned so he could see both the man waiting for him and the helicopter. He waved at them and Smoke cut the engine.
They got out of the machine, the Berets casually keeping Grace in the middle of their formation. Grace had the smarts to do as he ordered and carried the pack in front of her like a shield, hiding her figure and part of her face from sight.
The man waved at them. “Come in out of the sun.” He disappeared into the building.
Sharp nodded at the team, then led the way. He took his time, looking around, making note of the piles of parts for cars, trucks and tanks. Mostly Soviet.
Inside the building looked like a cross between a set from Lawrence of Arabia and someone’s living room. There were several couches arranged in a rough circle around a large hookah. Next to that was a small, clay cooking stove with a coffeepot sitting on the ground next to it. The man had taken a seat on one of the couches around the hookah. He reclined, seeming at ease, and asked in English, “Where did you get that book?”