by Ronie Kendig
Ah, that word again—life. So powerful and yet so… fragile. It could be powerful in its force, the opposite of death. And so susceptible to a button. One flick of his finger and it would die.
The screen. And Kiew.
The resolution adjusted as the camera in the thirteenth-floor condo snapped alive. The living room lay empty and dark. He glanced at the clock and saw the early hour there. It made sense. Tapping a few keys switched the camera.
His heart quickened. He zoomed in as Kiew lay on the satin sheets on her side, her back to the spying lens. So still. So small in that enormous bed. Black hair spilled across the gray sheets that shone as white beneath the pale moonlight that streamed in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Rubbing a finger over his lip, he watched. Remembered nights of passion. Remembered the lure of the chase to secure her. That first night he’d seen her in the club with her friends she’d been small and insignificant… yet stunning. Her silver dress hugging her curves. He’d pursued her for months. Learned of her brilliance. Her way with computers and technology. Assets he had been searching for to exact his revenge against the Americans.
A buzzing wormed through his thoughts, his mind seeped in the past.
Jin blinked and saw the red light on his phone flashing. Registered the vibrating buzz of the handset. He lifted it. “What do you want?”
“Sir, you were right.”
His nostrils flared as he finally accepted her betrayal. When had she made contact with the Americans? How could she do this after all he had given her? After the position he set her upon? But he’d listened to his instincts. Followed his—as the Americans would say—gut.
“Sir, it could have been the Sikh.”
Jin lifted his chin, considering the words. It was true—the Sikh could have betrayed him. He’d left the country on business almost as quickly as Jin had. “Perhaps.”
“Should we interfere?”
“No. How long now?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe ten. No more.”
He stared at her unmoving image. At what point would she rise from the bed and feign surprise? “Good. Let it happen.”
CHAPTER 23
Kabul, Afghanistan
5 April—0400 Hours
Go go go!” Night-vision goggles on and M4 tucked against his shoulder, Sal scurried forward through the night-darkened streets. His boots crunched over the rocks and litter like a booming homing beacon. Ears registering every sound and rustle, Sal’s nerve endings buzzed with anticipation of discovery and failure.
Ahead by a half klick, Knight and Ddrake had taken point, ready to sniff out the enemy and give the team advance notice of possible confrontation. Sal silently whispered a prayer of thanks that he’d fought to get the MWD team assigned to Raptor. Knight was sharp and Ddrake—well, the MWDs defied explanation with their thousand-word command vocabulary and their incredible instinct for trouble.
In bound-and-cover fashion, Sal led the way down the street. Hawk hustled ahead, then Sal took the lead again. Back and forth as they made their way to the multilevel parking garage huddled against Tower One.
“Nice and easy, Aladdin,” came Dean’s calm, steady voice over the coms as he monitored the mission from Kandahar. The Aladdin nickname for the mission was as corny as they got—rescuing a Chinese heroine called up ideas of the ancient heroine Mulan for Hawk to resist.
“Roger that,” Sal whispered, throwing his shoulder against the cement parking garage and keeping watch as Harrier, Hawk, and Titanis slid by in a silent stream.
Sal felt the pat on his shoulder and knew they were in place. He rolled around and took up the lead on the team. They snaked in the parking garage. Dim lights cast strange shadows that would make it easier for the team to be seen and harder for them to remain incognito. Sal jerked back, spine against the wall. “Genie, we have no-go on entry. It’s a little too bright.”
Within seconds, darkness clamped down. The half wall that blocked their direct path to the stairwell door now swam in a sea of green. Sal moved forward, pieing out and left as Hawk went right. They swept inside and made it to the center support wall. Hustled along it. He came to stop, the door three rows over beckoning to him. He waited for the signal that the team had grouped up behind him.
“Abu in position,” came Riordan’s firm voice. That meant the SEALs were in position to breach the tower from the south stairwell.
Bleep! Bleep!
Lights flashed on a BMW ten feet from Sal as the stairwell door swung closed after a businessman.
He dropped to a crouch as feet crunched over the ground. He heard a voice talking, sounding tired and irritated.
“Eyes on target,” Hawk said.
Sal’s heart rate kicked up a notch as the man strolled to his car, chatting on his phone. Between a white sedan and a gray truck, the man approached the Beamer. Opened the door and threw in a briefcase. If the guy saw the team…
Keep moving, keep moving, Sal willed him.
The man removed his jacket and laid it in the backseat. Shut the door and opened the driver’s side door. He stopped, his voice pitching as he talked.
C’mon, c’mon.
“Aladdin, do not engage,” Dean warned.
Head tucked, eyes on the man still, Sal subvocalized, “Copy.”
The man snapped his head around, wary eyes wildly green in the wash of night vision. He looked to the left. Then right. He turned and faced the team.
Sal sunk into the shadows, willing them to swallow and prevent him from being discovered. His pulse punched his ribs.
With a snapped word in Farsi, the man whipped around and slid into the car. The engine revved and bright white reverse lights slapped Sal’s eyes.
He clenched his eyes tight against the NVG, which amplified and seared the illumination through his corneas. Blinking, Sal watched through the spots in his vision as the car swung around and left the garage.
“Go!” Sal hissed and pushed up from a crouch. He practically sprinted to the door and slammed against the wall, M4 trained on the door. Three seconds later, Hawk patted his shoulder.
Sal stepped out and gripped the handle.
Hawk aimed his assault rifle at the door.
Sal ripped it open.
Cheek pressed to the weapon, Hawk rushed in, pieing left. Though the man had been shot and laid up for a couple of days, nobody could tell that from the way he moved. The precision with which he carried out his mission.
As Sal held the door, Knight and Ddrake hurried inside, the dog sniffing and panting, his tail wagging excitedly. For an MWD, there was no greater thrill than the hunt. Harrier and Titanis brought up the rear, escorting Cassie between them. The Aussie covered their six, facing to the rear until the last minute when he pivoted and entered the stairwell behind Sal. He ignored the panic written all over Cassie’s face as she advanced with the team, wearing a tactical vest and helmet. Only her awkward body language gave her away as someone not intimately acquainted with combat.
Tension rose with each step Sal took. Not only did the iron stairs provide the worst acoustics and amplify every sound, but it was a death trap. Each floor provided an entry, but if they got trapped above and below…
By the time Sal hit the fifth floor, he wished taking the elevator had been an option. Hugging the cement brick walls, he rounded one level after another, muttering the level to keep Genie—base—updated on their progress.
“Abu in position.”
Sal wanted to curse. The Beamer had cost them time. Riordan and his team had already made it through the mid-level maintenance floor, which had access to the balcony via an air-conditioning access room.
Eight.
He heard a soft noise behind him and glanced back. Titanis held Cassie’s arm and she flashed him a nervous but thankful look. She wasn’t conditioned for long hikes nor quick ones, so she was probably struggling. Tripping, by the dusty mark on the shin of her black pants. But when she looked up and met his gaze, Sal saw the mark of determination in her eyes—ey
es washed green through NVGs.
He focused on the goal, getting into position to breach the condo. He palmed the next number painted on the wall. “Nine.” Up a flight then a landing, another dozen steps that—if the map tucked in his sleeve was right—abutted the rear of the elevator. The one he’d have gladly taken it if wouldn’t have been so dangerous.
“Ten.” He took a knee at the door, gripping the handle in his gloved hand and waited.
A double-pat on his shoulder.
Sal keyed his mic and subvocalized, “Aladdin in position.”
Electricity thrummed through her veins. At least, that’s what it felt like as Cassie moved with Raptor. She’d worked with them on logistics and analysis, but never in this capacity. Her respect and admiration for the men rose exponentially. To her surprise, that included Sal. She knew him in ways most of these men didn’t. Knew what he’d been like before.
Her muscles knotted when Sal pushed from a kneeling position and Hawk moved to the other side of the door, holding it. They looked at each other.
Sal held up three fingers.
Two.
A nod. And the door ripped open.
Light flashed into the stairwell. Not bright light, but with the darkness they’d been submerged in—darkness that had made her miss a step and ram her shin against the steel step—this amber glow felt like a spotlight. Though her instinct said to shrink from the light, from discovery, she moved with the fluid team into the condo.
If she didn’t have a massive spike of adrenaline, maybe Cassie would’ve stopped to admire the lavish appointments. A rich brown marble floor that reminded her of Sal’s eyes—minus the gold flecks. Sleek lines and stainless steel gave it a cold feel. The foyer diverged in two paths. To the right, the living room, kitchen, media room, library, and whatever else a rich person needed.
Movement jacked her pulse. Cassie sucked in a breath and experienced a dump of adrenaline across her shoulders as she watched shadows filter into the room from the balcony. Three, four men. Moving with stealth and precision. The first man—
Wait. That should be Riordan’s team. The breath she’d held escaped in a quick breath.
In front of her, Sal and Hawk banked right, bound-and-covering through the corridor, one in front of the other until they reached a door. Titanis and Harrier rushed in with M4s up, night vision guiding them. When Sal yanked open a door, his weapon trained on the void beyond, her heart climbed into her throat at the very real threat he faced doing his job.
She watched, powerless if someone shot at him. Waited, scared. He moved on—and as she followed, she looked in. Coats hung on a rack. Shoes on the floor. An umbrella.
Next they came upon a powder room, flanked by two smaller closets. How many closets do two people need? Harrier and Titanis rejoined the other two as they made their way toward a set of double doors. Master bedroom.
Most likely location of Kiew at this hour. Cassie drew back, her mind whiplashing through scenarios. Would Kiew hate her for this?
I hate myself for this!
Why did she always believe in people so firmly? She believed in Sal—and he had pretty much hung her out to dry. And yet, she still believed in him.
And Kiew… who had held a gun to Hawk’s head and been ruthless with her words to Cassie.
The four soldiers converged.
Cassie’s stomach roiled. She placed a hand over it and leaned against the wall, her knees rubbery.
The door flicked open with a soft click. In seconds, she stood alone in the hall, straining to hear. When no sound came, when they didn’t demand Kiew get on her knees, when they didn’t call for her to identify her friend, Cassie peeled herself off the cool wall. Taking a calming breath, she stepped forward.
A rustle of ficus leaves behind snapped her around.
The mostly dark hall made it hard to see. But not too hard—she saw a flutter of some light color float around a closing door.
The closet Sal had checked. The one with shoes and umbrellas.
Cassie went for it, her mind screaming to call Sal. She glanced back and realized if she called out, she could ruin the whole mission. Give away their location if they hadn’t been discovered.
A soft whirring pulled her to the closet.
Hand trembling, she reached for the long, thin handle. Her palm grew sweaty in the second it took her to grip the silver. She drew it back.
Coats were shoved aside. Shoes knocked over.
A light gray panel was shrinking.
No! Not a panel! A secret door.
Cassie threw herself through the sliver of an opening.
“Walker, no!” Sal’s shout chased her into the dark void.
CHAPTER 24
Kabul, Afghanistan
5 April—0418 Hours
What was that?”
Sal ignored Hawk’s demand and used his fingers to trace the wall. Despite his own eyes telling him there’d been an opening, he could find no trigger or depression to release the door. He slapped the wall.
“Is she helping this chick?” Hawk asked.
“No,” Sal growled, rounding on the coms specialist. He keyed his mic. “Genie, we have a problem. The package has eluded us. There’s a hidden access panel in a closet. Any way to tell where they went?”
“Clear the rest of the apartment. We’ll work on it,” Dean barked, his tone mimicking the anger Sal felt. He stormed into the living area where Riordan and his team had subdued a house servant.
The man knelt, sitting on crossed ankles as he held his hands behind his head.
“You okay here?” Sal asked.
Riordan nodded. “Go. Find her.”
Sal slapped his shoulder and jogged out into the foyer.
“Why don’t we ask the servant?” Hawk asked as he trailed him.
“Because Meng-Li’s only other tie in this building is the fifth floor.”
Cassie stood in the chilled darkness of what was a stairwell. She didn’t have NVGs like Sal, but she could see—barely—the stairs. Tentatively she moved forward, listening.
Somewhere… distantly… she heard the slap of feet. Huffing.
“Kiew!” Cassie’s voice bounced off the cement and steel, vibrating through her very bones.
A gasp and clang responded.
Pushing herself to brave the darkness, Cassie went for the stairs. Closed her eyes and focused on the height and length of the steps. If she could memorize that, she could develop a rhythm to move quickly. She kept her eyes closed, listening to the steps. The stairs coiled around. After eighteen steps, a platform. Probably to another floor. Then the steps continued.
Eighteen.
Platform.
Eighteen.
Platform.
After two more, she slowed. Thinking back. Looking up to the floor she’d fallen through the hidden door, though the black sea above hung thick and ominous. Wasn’t it a law to have lights in the fire well? Lights not keyed to the main building? Maybe Raptor had those turned off as well.
She looked back. If she’d counted right, she should have reached the fifth floor. Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen. Cassie stopped, pressing her foot hard against the steel and noting the slight difference to the feel. Yes, another platform. Toeing her way forward, she stretched out her arm.
Her hand struck something. She traced it with her fingertips. Rough. Not a door. She moved to the left. Her foot slipped. With a yelp, she caught herself. Jerked backward. Adrenaline dumped through. Okay, not that way. Too far. She moved more determinedly. Felt the cold steel. Smiled. Angled toward where the handle should be. “Right… about”—metal smacked the back of her hand—“here.” She smiled, twisted the knob, and tugged it open.
Light flooded her senses. She squinted and stepped into a carpeted office. As she did, as the hollowness and eerie silence of the well-appointed space rang in her ears, Cassie realized her mistake.
She glanced to the door. No backup. No weapon.
The door to the main area stood partially open. Teak de
sks and sleek chairs filled the office, the monotony broken by occasional trees and artwork. Somewhere, a triangle of light traced a dragon statue that coiled up and seemed to watch over the cubicles. But that light—it was an anomaly. No other lamps were on. Kiew must be wherever that light originated.
Cassie walked into the open and skated a glance around. Thirty or forty cubicles spanned the space to the wall that must have the fountain on the other side. The wall that had prevented her from reaching Kiew last week.
To her left, down the hall a bit, she spied an open door, light spilling out.
Mustering her courage, she headed that way, wishing she had a way to communicate with Sal.
On second thought, no she didn’t. He didn’t believe in her. Didn’t believe when she said Kiew wasn’t the enemy. As she stood in that padded comfort of silence, Cassie wished for once someone would believe in her with the same level of trust as she did.
She slowed as she approached the door.
Something slammed. Wood on wood, it sounded like.
Cassie peered through the narrow splice, where door and jamb met. Through the half-inch space she saw Kiew stuffing files into a leather duffel. She had a phone pressed to her ear. She was talking crazy-fast the way Chinese did. Even with Cassie’s limited Mandarin from that year in China, she couldn’t catch enough words to make sense of what her friend was saying.
She stepped into the doorway.
Kiew snatched something from the desk and whipped toward Cassie. In the space of two heartbeats, Cassie realized her friend held a gun on her. “I trusted you!”
“No,” Cassie said. “You didn’t. Otherwise we wouldn’t be in this position.”
Grabbing the bag handles, Kiew kept the weapon with its screwed-on silencer trained on her.
Cassie took a step. “Kie—”
Thwat! Thwat!
The wall spewed gypsum at her, stopping Cassie in her tracks. She raised her hands.
“I will not miss next time.” Kiew started toward her, the silenced weapon closing the distance.
“Let me help you!”
“Back up,” Kiew ordered, motioning her aside with the barrel of the weapon.