Wiping his mouth, Mike knew the chief was right. “She’s going to get killed out there, Mac. You know that.”
Holding up his hand, he muttered, “She’s an accident waiting to happen. That’s why all of us were busting our asses as fast as we could to protect her against herself. But she must have sensed it. She’s cagey, Tarik. She hasn’t survived out there that long without developing a lot of peripheral senses.”
“I didn’t give her any reason to bolt,” Mike argued, feeling tears in the backs of his eyes. He gulped several times, forcing them away.
Travis rounded the corner. “I think I did,” he admitted, giving them an apologetic look.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mike demanded.
“Khat and I had a talk yesterday afternoon at the corral. I told her she should take better care of herself.” Travis rolled his eyes. “I told her she should take a rest like her mare needs, that in Texas, the one thing we do is give our horse a rest anytime we can. I told her she needed to rest herself.” Giving both men a sheepish look, he added, “I shoulda kept my damn mouth shut. I’m sorry, Mike.” He reached out, resting his hand on Mike’s shoulder for a moment. “I seriously screwed up, pardner.”
“Bullshit,” Mac snapped. “She’d heard the same thing from Tarik and me.”
“Well,” Travis drawled, “maybe I was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
Mike shook his head in turmoil. “It’s not your fault, Travis. Don’t go there. When we were at the Shaheen villa for three days, Emma made a big deal about how Khat was underweight, that she needed time off.”
“That lady is as stubborn as a mule.”
Right now Mike was ready to agree with him. “She’s like a horse with blinders on—seeing only what’s right in front of her, not the bigger picture.”
“Okay, you boys need to put this in your box. You got an op in thirty minutes. Get your shit together,” Mac ordered.
Rousing himself, Mike nodded. “We’re ready,” he said, and he nodded to Travis, who turned and left the office.
As they moved into the big room, meeting the other members of the team, Mike got down to business. They’d be taking a Night Stalker helicopter to the Shinwari village where they’d make sure no Taliban were around. That way, Emma could land her helo, the charity items on the pallet safely offloaded. She’d take off immediately because helos were the chosen prey of Taliban carrying RPGs.
When he got back from the op this evening, he’d see if Mac had heard from Khat. Probably not, because her handler was Commander Hutton out of J-bad. Dammit! If they’d had more time with one another, Mike was sure that he could have convinced Khat to stay. Somehow, she’d sensed something was coming and ran.
*
MAC WAS DRINKING coffee when Mike brought in his report on the patrol from earlier today. He took the papers.
“Have you heard anything yet?” Mike asked, standing at the doorway.
“A little. Come in and sit down.”
Stomach tight, Mike didn’t like the look on the chief’s face.
“I called Commander Hutton just a little while ago. He said Khat had checked in with him at 1700, and that it was business as usual. I told him what had happened, our concerns for her.”
“And?”
“He could care less. He completely ignored me.”
“Dammit,” Mike snarled, his hands closing into fists. “She’s got her supply line through us. That means the pallet of food, ammo and alfalfa hay that just came in needs to be airlifted out to her at some point.”
“Khat hasn’t checked in by radio with me yet,” Mac said. “She’s going to want those supplies sooner, not later. My hunch is she’ll get settled back into her op area and then make a call to us as to where we drop those supplies.”
“I wonder if she’ll use the same cave I was in?”
“Probably,” Mac said.
“This is a cluster fuck,” Mike snarled, feeling his heart tearing, the pain radiating through his chest.
“All we can do is hope like hell General Stevenson, who’s in charge of this Operation Shadow Warriors, gives Admiral Fraser a call and she makes some changes in Sergeant Shinwari’s operating orders. Until then, there’s nothing we can do, Tarik. Not a fucking thing.”
Opening the door, Mike left the office, staggered by the series of events. He was sure the chief knew he and Khat had a connection to one another.
He made it back to his tent in the early evening hours, the heat of the day broken. Stowing his gear, he was hungry and headed to the chow hall. Dammit, he had to think! He loved Khat. And she was putting herself in the line of fire again. As always.
He felt desperate and clawing at any possibility to get her back to the safety of Bravo. As he walked over to the chow hall, deep in thought, Mike realized Khat had a choice here. He couldn’t haul her back against her will. That wouldn’t serve anyone, and he’d lose her for sure with any strong-armed methods.
More than anything, Mike didn’t want to lose the love he had for Khat. Their tie with one another was too fresh, too young, and couldn’t compete fully with her years of being the human shield protecting her people. He didn’t doubt Khat loved him; he knew damn well she did. Mike realized she thought she’d made the best decision she could. Never mind that it was a flawed decision.
Her heart, however, was a different matter. He hoped in the coming weeks, something would come from General Stevenson. She was their last hope. The SEALs and Mac in particular, could do nothing else. Their hands were tied.
*
KHAT WAS HOME. But the waterfall cave no longer felt like home to her. Heart heavy, Khat was exhausted from the two-day ride.
It was evening, the cool mountain air making her shiver. She’d already taken care of Zorah, fed her and gotten her bedded down for the night. The musical sound of the waterfall made her feel minimally better. Everything she did as she prepared herself an MRE for dinner, reminded her of Mike. His voice. What he’d said to her. His charismatic smile that always went straight to her heart.
Kneeling by the metal grate, Khat heated up the MRE with the chemical pouch. Tears came to her eyes as she waited for the meal to heat up. Mike… She felt as if her heart had been flayed. What must he think of her? Would he understand why she had to leave him? It wasn’t because of him. He would probably think she was running away from him, but she wasn’t. Would he realize she was running toward her responsibility for her people? Would he forgive her? She wiped her eyes, trying to stop a sob that wanted to tear out of her.
There was still a lifeline between them. Of sorts. She knew his platoon would be there only for another four months, and then rotate back to the States. She would probably get handed off from Mac to the next chief of the new platoon coming in to replace them at Bravo.
Rubbing her cheeks, the tears fell whether Khat wanted them to or not. She had one reason to ride back to Camp Bravo. Mina was still there, and she knew Mike and Travis would take care of her. Maybe she’d call Mike on the sat phone in a month and find out if her leg was healed. Khat would ride back to Bravo to pick her up. Then she could see Mike one last time before he left. Her heart felt shredded, and she pressed her hand against it, the pain almost unbearable.
Every time she thought of Mike leaving, Khat felt intense anguish. She felt as if she were bleeding out, the heaviness in her chest nearly too much for her to bear. She felt gutted by her decision to leave Bravo. She didn’t want to leave him. Mike had been a perfect match for her. He loved her. He didn’t care if her body was permanently scarred. He accepted her fully and with open arms and an open heart.
Glumly, Khat removed the MRE to the tray. Peeling back the covering, she wasn’t even hungry. Too many people had told her she was underweight, so she’d try to remedy that.
After forcing herself to finish the meal, Khat took a welcome shower beneath the coolness of the waterfall. Getting the sweat, grime and dirt scrubbed off her skin felt so good. She wished Mike were here to enjoy it wit
h her. Soon Khat climbed into her well-used sleeping bag and fell into an exhausted sleep. Tomorrow she would make plans to hunt down Khogani and his men anywhere she could find them.
*
KHAT AWOKE FEELING drugged the next morning. She’d overslept, glancing at her watch. It was 0800. Normally, she was up before dawn. After feeding Zorah and giving her water, she sat down to eat a breakfast MRE. Her mind was on strategy. Tactics. Without Mina, she had no packhorse, no way to carry her necessary medicines and equipment to the villages.
Chewing on the rubbery egg omelet, she forced all the uninspiring food down. Khat remembered Mike making her breakfast on the second morning, working with him in Emma’s kitchen. He made them an awesome omelet of eggs, bacon, black olives and accompanied with savory Middle Eastern spices. She had made the toast, a simple enough job. Just working beside him, their flowing conversation between one another, lulled her and made her ache.
Mike was the voice of reason in comparison to her powerful emotional passion that lived on the surface of her skin.
As she drank her Darjeeling tea from the chipped mug, Khat closed her eyes and pictured Mike naked in bed with her. He had so many scars on his body, too. Not from torture, but from being a SEAL. She never truly realized how much these men suffered and were in pain. Mike had taken a bullet to his left calf, and she knew sometimes it hurt him. But he never complained. He just bore up under it and got on with whatever he felt was important. It didn’t slow him down. He had so many cuts, short and long across his legs, from sliding down scree, or being blown off his feet, landing upon rocks. Khat had seen deep bruising on his back, the purplish color never going away.
There were other areas of his magnificent body where she had felt swelling. Again, from the hard training SEALs underwent eighteen months out of every two-year cycle. Once, he’d lost his grip on a fast rope out of the helicopter and fallen ten feet onto the deck of a carrier. That place he hit on his hip was still swollen to this day, the tissue permanently damaged. And that had occurred when he was twenty-two years old.
They were both hurt in various ways, Khat realized, sipping her tea. Hurt, but never letting any of it stop them from their objective or goal. Hurting wasn’t a reason to give up or quit. They were so alike that it shook Khat on a deeper level of herself. She found Mike to be courageous. Yet why didn’t she see herself in that way?
Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and then released it. The answer was: it was about duty. Her father had drilled into her from a very young age that the young owed duty to their elders, the helpless, the widows and the village as a whole. And she’d taken his fiercely spoken words into her passionate, driven heart.
Opening her eyes, Khat stared around her cave. The munching sounds of Zorah eating calmed her, as did the music of the waterfall. What took away her constant anxiety was thinking about Mike. Just his presence made it dissolve. He had a powerful effect upon her. His voice quieted her anxiety, allowed her to relax. His touch…oh, God…his touch electrified her, awakening her as a woman, making her aware of how beautiful she was in his eyes, and how responsive she was beneath his skillful hands.
Khat finished her tea and then saddled Zorah. She’d been gone a week, and she knew the Taliban were constantly shifting the trails they rode upon. Needing to test out her mare, Khat was going to ease back into her op.
*
MIKE HAD JUST stepped into Mac’s office with a question when the sat phone on his desk beeped. Mac held up his hand and indicated to him to sit down.
“Chief, this is Sergeant Shinwari.”
Mac’s brows rose. “It’s good to hear from you, Sergeant.”
“I’m calling about my horse, Mina. Is her leg healed up yet?”
Mike sat up as Mac gestured to the phone. His pulse took off. It was Khat! Three damn long weeks had gone by. Three of the longest weeks of his life. Mike’s hands became damp, wiping them on his trousers.
“Your horse is fine according to Travis. Are you coming in to pick her up?”
“Yes, if it’s all right with you, I’ll see you in two days. I’ll come in under cover of darkness, say 0200?”
“That’s fine,” Mac said. “I’ll alert the front gate. You’ve got clearance anyway, but it won’t hurt to let the marines know a rider is coming in.”
“Thank you. Second, I’d like that pallet of goods dropped when I return with my second horse. When I come into Bravo, I’d like to talk to you about the drop details.”
“Yes, we’ll work on a plan. Stay safe coming in, Sergeant.” He clicked off the sat phone and looked across the desk at Tarik. “You heard?”
“Yes.”
“Meet her at 0200 two days from now at the security gate.”
“No problem.” Hell, he was ecstatic! Showing it wouldn’t be a good idea in front of the master chief, however.
Rubbing his beard in thought, Mac leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
“You have a horse background, right, Tarik?”
“Yes. Why?”
Mac drummed his fingers on the desk, brow wrinkled. Finally, after several minutes he said, “We haven’t heard anything from General Stevenson yet. It’s been three weeks. I want you to start setting up a mission for me. I want you to ride back out with Sergeant Shinwari to her op area when she leaves with her other horse. I’ve been thinking of ways to get her off that fifty square-mile area that she patrols. I want you to go along with her and look at objectives, places we can put snipers. Get the lay of the land. If we can coordinate with the SEALs out of J-bad, each of us sending a rotating sniper team into that area, it could replace what she’s doing.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Once I approve the mission, I’ll be dovetailing it with Senior Master Chief Wilson in J-bad.”
Mike’s brows raised. “You’ve already discussed this idea with him?” Senior Master Chiefs were considered the most powerful of the navy enlisted personnel. They certainly ruled the SEAL universe, Mike knew.
“Steve Wilson was my mentor,” Mac said with a little smile. His eyes sparkled. “Maybe we can do a workaround on this problem and get Sergeant Shinwari a sidekick.”
He grinned. “Shades of the Lone Ranger and Tonto in reverse?”
Shrugging, Mac said, “That has a nice ring to it, Tarik. Get on this. I want this mission workup like yesterday.”
*
A DAY LATER, Mike was in the master chief’s office with a preliminary workup on the mission. He had it on his Toughbook computer, and Mac was leaning over the laptop, studying his mission prep.
“You need a horse,” he murmured, looking up at Mike.
“Sgt. Shinwari uses her two horses. I won’t be able to use either one. I figure I can go to the nearest village and buy an Afghan pony and make do.”
“Okay,” he murmured, studying it further. “You’re estimating three weeks with her? To see everything that’s under her op?”
“Yes, but that can change. Taliban crawl all over the area where she operates. I’m estimating it due to unforeseen circumstances.”
“I see you’re recommending a drone overhead to cover you two?”
“I can use my laptop and satellite connection. I’m interested in getting the lay of the land, not stumbling into firefights with the Taliban.”
Nodding, Mac said, “Good thought…” And then he sat up. “You know, according to Senior Chief, Sergeant Shinwari’s greatest strength is her actionable intel she gives to J-bad SEAL HQ. She’s constantly in and out of those border villages, picking up information on the Taliban coming over the Af-Pak border, talking to the women who know just as much, or more, than their husbands do. I think this is one reason why Hutton and her handler before him have allowed her to stay as long as she has. She has good connections and relations with the people. He was saying that her intel is always trustworthy, and you know how hard it is to get good intel out in the badlands.”
Mike knew. He’d been on any number of patrols because of
perishable intel given by a local farmer. And it turned out to be a dead end. Or wrong. Sometimes his team had been set up for an ambush with that kind of intel. “That doesn’t give them the right to take advantage of her, Mac. I don’t care what anyone says. She’s spread too thin and done it too long.”
“I don’t disagree. Someone like her, though, is a gold mine. If I were her handler, she’d be taking six months off during the winter and rotate back to the States and decompress. Then she could return in the early spring when the snow starts to melt around here, and go back to work.”
Mike kept his mouth shut. He was emotionally involved with Khat, and anything he said would prove it. So he just nodded while the chief continued to appraise his workup on the mission.
“Good, you’ll go in hajii.”
“I already look Afghan,” Mike said. “Wearing Pashtun clothes will prove it.” Going hajii meant going undercover, dressed in the clothes a Shinwari tribesman would wear.
Mac grinned. He tapped the laptop screen. “I like this. You’ll be introduced as her long lost cousin from America. Good touch. People won’t see you as an outsider, then.”
“Might be able to talk to the boys and men. Intel comes from everywhere,” he said.
“I like this idea. When people see Sergeant Shinwari show up in the village and they want to know why you’re tagging along, you’re there to guard her.”
“Right. I’ll just tell the elders that the Taliban is actively hunting for her.”
“Well,” Mac said dourly, “you do know that they recently put a bounty on her head? A million US dollars.”
His eyes widened. “No. I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, CIA picked up radio and cell phone chatter between the Taliban on the border talking to the war lords sitting in Pakistan who fund them earlier today. They don’t have a photo of her. What they do have is that she has red hair. They specifically said a long, red braid down her back.”
“Shit,” Mike muttered, pinching the root of his nose with his index finger and thumb. This wasn’t a good thing for Khat. At all. Mike wondered if she was aware of the price on her head. Would her village start getting death letters nailed on their doors by the Taliban? Anyone home getting one, the occupants were considered dead and would be, very soon.
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