by Ronie Kendig
Gearney. She should ask her handler for help in formulating a plan. Cassie grabbed her satellite phone, punching the code even as she hurried outside.
“What?” Irritation weighted the single word.
“I talked with Kiew Tang.”
“And?” Not quite so much irritation. Maybe even a little respect.
Ha. Right. Keep dreaming.
“She promised bodily harm if I didn’t stay away.”
“That’s a problem, Walker.”
“It is, because it means I got close to the truth.”
“Or too far from it. You need to pull out. It’s too dangerous. If you push her, she might kill you.”
“No, I don’t believe that. I think she was concerned for me.”
“Which leads to the supposition that Daniel Jin is aware of your presence in her life.”
“Of course he’s aware. I don’t think that man misses anything. But Kiew’s voice held fear, not the warning she threw at me. She’s afraid. He’s beating her, Gearney.”
“Names!”
Cassie cringed at her mistake. “I want to get her out. But she won’t walk out of there with just me. I believe Daniel has her afraid for her life. If I go in there with a show of force, I believe she’ll come with me.”
“Raptor is not going to help you rescue an abuse victim. And I’m certainly not going to authorize that or help.”
“But what about securing a national asset? You’ve seen her college education and what she’s capable of.”
His silence screamed a small victory.
“She’s a brilliant forensic computer scientist, and she’s been right there with Daniel. She knows what he’s doing. She can”—might need to leave out the probably for assurance—“help us take him down, but she has too much to lose doing it from the inside.”
A heavy sigh was his answer.
Cassie fisted a hand, knowing she’d hooked him. “I just have to know how to get Raptor onboard.”
“Have them think they’re capturing her.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Tell them what you know. Tell them you need to get her out.”
“And then how am I supposed to get her out of their custody?”
“You won’t. I’ll have an asset waiting to take her to a safe house.”
So… lie? Lie to Raptor team. Lie to Sal.
Again.
“I… I’m not sure that’s—”
“Do it, Walker. That’s an order.”
“Sir, it will compromise me.”
“You won’t be there after it goes down. If we get Tang, your mission is over.
CHAPTER 16
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
31 March—1500 Hours
Sal scurried up behind the guard and hooked his arm around the man’s neck. He pulled him up, flexing his bicep and then adding pressure to the back of the guy’s head until he went limp. He hoisted the man over his shoulder and hustled him into the supply closet. Back at the station, Sal lifted the keys and sprinted down the hall, gun aimed at the guard posted outside the cell.
He fired twice as the guard looked up. Alarm widened the guy’s eyes and mouth as the two darts found their mark. His body went limp.
With a lunge, Sal caught the guard. Verifying the soldier hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest and died, Sal pressed two fingers to his carotid and detected the steady thrum. “Sorry, man. Just doing my job.”
He eased him to the dirt floor. At the steel-barred cell door, Sal quickly unlocked it and dragged the guard inside. He kept his head down, in case the monitors were live, though Harrier had promised to take care of it.
The prisoner lifted his head. Confusion wavered through the kid’s expression.
“Don’t talk and do as I say,” Sal ordered in Farsi. “Understand?”
With a hesitant nod, the kid watched him. “Why are you—?”
“You speak English?”
A crimson stain bled through his face as he lowered his gaze a little.
What else did this guy know? “How old are you?” When the guy didn’t look up, Sal shook his head. “Never min—”
“Eighteen,” the kid said at the same time.
“Don’t talk,” Sal repeated as he knelt and unchained the prisoner.
English. The guy spoke English but never let on before.
“But why—why are you helping me?”
“You’ll die if you stay here.”
The kid looked at Sal. Intently. Eyes bright with understanding and a thick dose of confusion considered him. “Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Quiet!” He hooked an arm through the kid’s and hauled him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
The kid nodded but tripped as he came upright. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Sal made it to the door and pushed the kid back as he peeked out, hand on his weapon. “Okay. Stay close. Got it?”
Again the kid nodded. “He will kill you if he finds out—”
Sal yanked the kid’s shirt. “Run!” He kept a fist hold of the material as they darted down the hall and out the rear door to a waiting rusted-out Jeep. Sal thrust him toward it. “In. Now!”
The man stumbled but grabbed the door handle and pulled himself inside. Sal leapt around to the other side and dove in. Cranked the engine. Gunned it. “Don’t say anything. I talk for you. If they ask—you don’t speak English. Got it?” Sal shouted, the wind ripping at them as he barreled toward the gate.
“It won’t work.”
“Got it?” Sal shouted louder.
The kid nodded.
But even as they revved northward, Sal noted the MPs jogging to the gate with their weapons. Crap!
He nailed the brakes. Slammed it into REVERSE.
“No,” the kid said, touching Sal’s shoulder. “He won’t let me leave. I know this.”
What in blazes? “No way.” Not only had Sal committed to this mission by walking into the holding area, but he’d committed the prisoner’s life as well.
“Even if we leave, he will kill me.” Though the kid was only eighteen, he had a maturity of forty. Brown eyes bright with conviction, he fisted a hand on Sal’s tactical sleeve. “Listen. Takkar Towers—you know it?”
A crazy sickening dread erupted in Sal’s gut.
“The towers. Tallest buildings in Kabul.” He shook Sal. “You know it?”
MPs shouted as they ran behind them. Military police vehicles pealed away from the gate, giving pursuit. He’d have a heck of a time explaining this—
Again, the kid shook him. “You know it?”
“The towers—yeah. Why?”
“There is a planter out front,” the kid shouted over the roar of the engine. “To the right of the fountain. A stone is loose. You will find a book there.”
“What the—?”
“It will tell you what you need to know.”
“To what?”
A vehicle shot out from between two buildings. Right into his path. Sal yanked the wheel hard to avoid a collision. The Jeep tipped. Sal tried to correct. The vehicle whipped left. Lifted into the air.
Sal braced himself as the Jeep flipped. His head rammed into the door. Then the roof. He bit down on his tongue. Tasted a wash of warmth. Something hit him from the side. The vehicle flipped again.
When the world stopped smearing in myriad colors and sounds, Sal found himself bent in half, his backside almost through the windshield. He extricated himself, his mind buzzing. His vision blurry.
A large form filled the windshield with blood and broken glass. The kid!
Sal lurched toward the guy. “Hey! You okay?”
A meaty groan answered as he drew the guy free. Blood gushed down the side of the man’s face, pooling in the hollow of his throat. “Easy, easy.”
Eyes rolling, the kid struggled to stay alert. “You must…” A gurgling sound rumbled through his chest. He coughed. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. “Stop… him.” His hand slapped at Sal. “Book… find�
��”
“Hey, hey, stay with me, kid!”
His brown eyes went wild. “Gun. Give me your… gun.”
Sal frowned.
The kid flapped his hand toward the holstered weapon. Groped at it. Did he want to kill himself?
“Please…” He tugged on it.
“Hey—”
The weapon came free. The kid tightened his grip.
“Hey!” Sal’s heart thudded. “Don’t—”
“Put it down, put it down!” three MPs shouted, aiming their weapons at the kid.
Sal’s heart rapid-fired as the scene coalesced in his mind, what the boy intended. What the MPs intended. “No! Don’t shoot.” He thrust a hand toward the MPs. “He’s—”
Thunk.
The weapon dropped against the door, surprisingly loud amid the chaos and shouting. The kid’s hand flopped. His body sagged. Sal lunged for him. Checked his pulse. “No!”
“Sir, you okay?” An MP bent into the overturned Jeep.
This kid could not die. Their only possible break in this insanity where the enemy had been one step ahead—heck, he’d been a mile ahead of them and concealed in a dusty cloud of mystery. “Yeah—help me with him. He needs a doctor!”
“They’ll take care of him, sir. Let’s make sure you’re okay.” The MP assisted Sal out of the Jeep. “Pretty mean cut on your temple. You feeling it?”
Sal’s hand went to the sticky spot. “Yeah…” Add it to the concussion-inducing headache. He watched two other MPs haul the kid onto the ground. They laid him out and checked his pulse and began CPR.
Crap. This could not happen. He’d be blamed. Get cut from Raptor. And he didn’t care about that. This meant the truth died with the kid. Roughing his hands over his face, Sal bit back the frustration and a curse.
“Got a pulse!” No sooner had the words been said than the boy was being rushed to the hospital.
“Did he hurt you, sir, taking you hostage like that?”
Sal couldn’t pry his gaze or thoughts away. Hostage? He finally dragged his attention to the MP. His ears rang with the word. The kid… the kid faked his aggression with the weapon. Why?
“He won’t let me leave. I know this.” Who was the kid talking about?
“Yeah—he had a gun on you. In fact, looked like your own weapon.”
“It was.” And in taking the weapon, the kid had absolved Sal of any responsibility—at least in appearances.
Why? Why would he do that?
The book. “It will tell you what you need to know.”
Shanghai, China
1 April—0925 Hours
Crossing his penthouse, Meng-Li Jin shed his silk jacket as easily as he did the Americanized form of his name. The fine apparel he could appreciate and savor the experience of wearing. But the name? Infuriating and humiliating.
A man exited the rear of the penthouse, leaving the private residence apartment. He had a black briefcase and a condescending expression. Behind him waddled the fat nurse he’d hired to tend to his mother.
Mother!
“What are you doing here?” Jin demanded.
“I am Dr. Li—”
“I did not ask your name,” he hissed at the doctor. “I asked what you are doing here?”
“Please, Mr. Meng-Li,” the nurse said, waddling forward. “I called him. Your mother is not well.”
“I know she is not well.” He shot fiery daggers at her with his eyes. “That is why I hired you!”
“Forgive me, but your mother needed a doctor. She needed more than I could do.”
“Then what use are you? Get out!” Jin cursed himself for not having Kiew with him. He needed her, needed her calming touch.
“Sir,” Dr. Liang said quietly. “Mrs. Chen is a fine nurse, but she is right. Your mother needed to be seen by a doctor. I was happy to come—at no charge, of course—to see to your mother’s needs. Your father and I were friends long ago, and it is an honor to help your family. I’ve prescribed stronger pain medication, and now, your mother is resting comfortably.” Then his round, muddy eyes pinched together. “But I will not lie, Jin. She is not well. Her time is short. I would advise you to prepare—”
“I do not need your pity, Doctor.” Jin’s heart rate doubled. “Thank you for your help. Cao will see you out.”
Though Jin stared down the long, gilt hall to his mother’s quarters, in his periphery he saw the servant silently materialize from the side room without a word. Dr. Liang inclined his head and started for the door.
Nurse Cheng leaned forward. “I—”
“Leave us,” he said as he entered his mother’s room. Closed the door and stood, taking in the setting. The stench of death, a stale mixture of oxygen, antiseptic, and… some other odor he could not isolate.
Draped in the dim, golden light of the lamps on either side of the bed, the room lay in somber repose. As if it, too, anticipated her death. But no—he would not surrender her yet. She must stay. He went to her, brushing aside the curtain.
Frail and small in the oversized bed, she lay unmoving. Barely breathing. Coarse hair washed free of its once-luxurious ebony color and silken feel lay in a halo around her pale face. So much paler than normal.
His gaze fell on the photo framed on the nightstand of her and his father in their youth. Before Jin had been born. When dreams were simmering and hopes were high. When grief had not touched his father’s dynasty. Or gouged a hollow line through his mother’s heart. When they were young and believed in the goodness of others, in the brightness of their future.
If only they had known what darkness awaited. Would they have still journeyed so bravely? Could he ever rise to meet their legacy and create one of his own?
He would. He had. And though some stood in his path, he would level that opposition. His father’s dreams would become reality. His mother would be honored.
He leaned against the plush mattress. “Māma.”
“Jin,” she wheezed out, her eyes fluttering but not fully opening.
“Here.” He cupped her parchment-like hands and pressed his lips to their feather-softness. “I am here.”
A whisper of a smile flitted across her lips as another wheeze dragged breath from her lungs. She went deathly still.
“Stay, Mother.” He glanced at her chest, searching for the sign that she was yet alive. “Don’t leave yet. It is almost done. Just a little longer, and it will be real. Father’s dream. Your dream. It will be real. I’m making it happen. You will see. And be proud.”
“Proud,” she moaned. Swiped her tongue over her lips, the sound like sandpaper. “Yes.” Her fingers twitched in his, and though her chest continued to rise and fall, she was no longer alert.
“I promise, Māma.”
His phone buzzed against his hip, and he silently cursed the device and whoever interrupted these precious moments. The incessant vibration did not ease up.
Grinding his teeth, he laid her hand across her stomach. Then bent over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before turning and making his way to the window. He did not want to leave. Did not want to allow the intrusion of servants and anyone else into his mind right now. Did not want to take this phone call. But as the light glared bright in the somber room, he registered the name.
He pushed open the glass french doors and stepped onto the balcony as he accepted the call. “Has she made any calls?”
“Yes. One. To the American soldier as you said she would.”
The knot in Jin’s chest tightened as the lights of Shanghai twinkled at him in the haze of the gloomy night. Wind tugged at his shirt and hair, taunting him. Mocking him. “And what did she say?”
“She told her to leave her alone.”
The knot loosened. He allowed himself to breathe. The cool rail beneath his palm soothed the heat that had moments earlier exploded through him. “What else?” Could it be that she was faithful after all? That her heart had not been corrupted? He wanted her, for himself. Completely. He must know her loyalties were not divided.<
br />
“Nothing. She hung up when the American tried to dissuade her.”
Triumph lifted Jin’s chin. He looked over the city he ruled, over the lives and empires he had toppled and owned. “Good. Watch her. If she does anything that would make you question her loyalty, contact me immediately. I want to know everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Nianzu.”
“Yes?”
“If that American whore shows up again, kill her.”
CHAPTER 17
Kabul, Afghanistan
1 April—0825 Hours
Letting go had never been her forte. That would be why Cassie left Kandahar Airfield bright and early. Too many hours spent regretting her mother’s lack of action pushed her into the government vehicle and onto the hours-long trip to Kabul. More specifically, to Takkar Towers.
She would hear from Kiew’s own lips and look into her eyes before believing her friend wanted her out of the picture. Before turning her back and a few days later hearing of Kiew’s mysterious death.
Okay, that might be the result of an overactive imagination, but then again, wasn’t real life more unbelievable than fiction?
Cassie parked in the garage, a three-level structure crammed into the heart of the city, a cement giant towering over crumbling plaster buildings and dirty streets. Even Takkar Towers struck a dichotomous pose with its gleaming metal and glass over the smudged cityscape.
She tugged back the glass door to the building, noting the thickness and wondering if it was bulletproof. In a land plagued with violence and terrorism, it’d make sense for Takkar to take measures to protect his investment and property. Though guards were posted on the lower level, they were discreet. Not so much that they blended into the marble walls. They made their presence known. Allowed the guests to feel another measure of safety to conduct business. For Cassie, it meant another layer of security she must bypass.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the fifth-floor button. Her pulse thrummed against her breast as the door closed and the steel contraption lifted. What would wait for her once the doors slid back—a terse dismissal or a relieved friend? Surely Kiew would see that Cassie could bring her into protection. It’d be so much better if she could walk out of here with her friend and return to Kandahar. Then, no involving Sal. No lying to Sal. And she could prove to her superiors that the task they’d assigned her—not on merit, she understood now, but on her connection to this woman—had not been a mistake.