by Ronie Kendig
Kiew… Kiew… what could she do about that? Talk to Sal. She laughed. Right. He wouldn’t talk to her. He told Cassie to fix things. Well, okay. She would. But how…
Takkar.
Another laugh plucked from her. She’d been in his building chasing Kiew. Would he listen to her? He might be many things, but she’d never seen him vengeful. Reasonable. Thoughtful. Well-connected.
Yeah. She had to talk to Sajjan Takkar. If she called the corporation, she’d probably get blown off by some admin. That wouldn’t work. Time was of the essence, if Kiew’s warning was right. And she didn’t doubt that. She knew Kiew’s heart, even beyond the terroristic things she’d done. Kiew could be doing all these things because Meng-Li held something over her head.
You have no proof of that.
Because it was a gut instinct that Kiew wasn’t evil. Who would listen to her? Help her talk to Mr. Takkar, one of the most powerful men, politically, in the world?
Candyman!
Cassie’s fingers flew into the system until she found the personnel file for one James Anthony VanAllen III. She lifted the phone and dialed. Erratic and frantic, her heart beat double in between each ring.
“This is Tony,” a voice finally said.
“You’re Candyman, right?”
Hesitation screamed through the line.
“I’m Lieutenant Cassandra Walker with—”
“I know who you are.”
Cassie sucked in a breath. Swallowed. “Then you know if I’m calling—”
“What do you want?”
Okay, so no we’re-all-fighting-for-the-same-team camaraderie. “I want to talk to Mr. Takkar.”
He laughed, a nice, deep one that vibrated against the line. “Sorry, you seriously want me to ask the man whose building you about blew up to let you come here and do more damage?”
Cassie breathed, reminded herself to stay calm.
“See, maybe you people are forgetting, but this man is part of my family now.”
“What family is that? Because the men I’m with, the ones I’m fighting alongside, they were your brothers once.”
“Wrong approach, Walker.”
The line went dead.
Cassie stared at the phone. Then gripped it hard, wishing she could crush the thing with her bare hands. “Augh!” She pitched her phone into her purse, snatched it up, and grabbed the manila envelope before heading to Brie’s office.
“There has to be a way,” she muttered as she made her way down the hall. She banked right into the small office.
Brie looked up from her computer. “Hey.”
Holding up the envelope, Cassie sighed. “Who’s a notary on base?”
“I am,” Brie said, lifting a stamp. She set it on her desk then pulled out a logbook. “I notarize stuff all the time for the brass. What do you need?”
Finally. “Something finally goes right.” Cassie handed over the documents. “I need to get these in the mail ASAP.”
“Okay, I can do that for you. Sign the book.” Brie opened the flap and drew out the envelope as Cassie bent over the log with a pen. “Are you serious?”
Cassie glanced up. Saw Brie’s white face.
“You—Russo… you two have a kid?”
There were no words nor an explanation. Cassie sighed. “I really would rather—”
Brie held up a hand. “Forget I said anything.”
“Sorry, I just—”
“Nope. It’s your business. And obviously a painful one.” She stood and took the documents into another room then returned and finished logging and stamping. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Cassie resisted the urge to flee the building and race to the mail center before she lost her nerve. Giving Sal this much legal right terrified her. He could take Mila away. But he wouldn’t.
Right?
Her phone rang, jarring her. She fished her phone from her purse. The caller ID was blocked. “This is—”
“Tower Two, tonight at six.”
Leaving the base on her own and with nothing more than strong willpower and determination… well, it sounded good in theory. But not so smart practically. The route to Kabul was long and arduous, and at times—as in when people were alive and breathing, so pretty much every hour of the day—a deadly conduit for ambushes and attacks.
Three hours in and she’d had plenty of time to consider the stupidity of her adventure. Maybe it was a good thing she’d signed the POA for Sal with Mila. If anything happened here, at least she’d be taken care of. Not what Cassie had had in mind when she’d printed and filled it out.
Ahead, grape huts jutted out of the desertlike area. Life and people defied the elements to oppress them, much as the terrorists had defied innocents to cross their paths. She couldn’t help but wonder if they would dare her to enter. Statistics had shown that terrorists favored villages where roads cut through, so they had a high vantage point. And multiple ways to hide and surprise attack the passerby.
White-knuckling the steering wheel, she whispered a prayer and didn’t slow as she approached the village. No people out wandering the streets. Wind swept dirt in a cloud, making it appear as if dancing.
“So,” Cassie muttered, her gaze tracing the rooftops. “A dance of joy or dance of death?” She searched the shadows between the structures. “Right. Be morbid. That helps so much.”
Her phone buzzed in her purse, but there was no way on earth she would take her eyes off the road and this village now that she’d spooked herself.
A ball bounced into the street.
Cassie yanked her foot from the accelerator to the brake—then second-guessed herself. A ball but no child. Her toe hovered between the two, the vehicle still rolling onward. No child. She hit the accelerator. “Not going to fool—”
A boy burst from an alley.
Cassie nailed the brake. Rocks crunched and popped. Dust plumed, pressing against the windows like some phantom trying to blind her. Go, go, she urged herself, but moving forward when she couldn’t see? What if she wasn’t in the middle of the street? What if she hit a house or the little boy?
She let the car roll forward.
Thunk!
She hit the brake again. The dust started clearing, and with it, her breathing leveled out. A little. She wasn’t sure she could breathe easy until she reached Takkar Two.
Four men stood several yards ahead, assault rifles in hand. Threatening but not moving.
Cassie froze.
Her side window shattered. Cassie screamed as the door flopped open. A man leaned in, grabbing her by the collar. She slapped and scratched, but his grip was made of steel. He hauled her out of the car. With a jarring thud against her shoulder, she hit the ground.
Something sharp hit her head. She ducked as another pecked against her neck. Though she tried to stand, someone shoved her back down. Another rock. And another. Rocks dribbled around her—they were stoning her!
Feet closed in. One swung into her ribs. She cried out, fought against the urge to arch her back and instead, curled in to protect herself. Shouts went up as a mob set upon her.
A fist swung at her face. Though she dodged, she wasn’t fast enough. Something cracked against the back of her head. Cassie whimpered and held her head. Dust puffed into her face as sandaled feet connected with her face, her chest, her back—everywhere!
They would beat her to death and leave her for the vultures.
She would not die easily! She pressed her hands against the dirt, but another well-placed kick sent her sprawling. Tears slipped free as she struggled. But then… then she noticed something.
Vibrations wormed through the ground, tickling her fingers. It grew stronger. The noise louder. The chaos and frenzy of the crowd lulled.
Cassie seized the moment to search for an escape.
But as the roar increased, the bloodthirsty mob broke up. Rushed for houses as the growl of an engine roared up alongside the left of her vehicle. A black SUV. Sleek. Clean. Amazing how a vehicle could look fierce s
imply because it was black and had tinted windows.
Another one followed. And another.
On her left as well—three more.
Two large Hummers lumbered up on her six.
Cringing at the pain that exploded when she stood, Cassie scrambled for her car and dragged herself inside. She shut the door. Numbly stared at the shattered window. Still, she punched the lock. Tucked herself—painfully—behind the wheel.
Phone. She had to find her phone and call for help. She spotted it on the floorboard and grabbed for it. When she swiped her thumb across the surface—the thing flung free. Dropped.
Thud. Thud!
Cassie jumped.
A man stood at the driver’s window, armed. Heavily. And the man had more muscle than Sal and Titanis combined. “Move!” He swept his arm forward. “Drive.”
Cassie groped for the phone, staring ahead. Ignoring the man’s broken English orders. It was stupid, but she felt safe in here. At least safe enough to make a call. To get help.
Right. You’re three hours from the base and you think they’ll magically appear?
Still, phone in hand, she managed to hit a button. Heard a tinny ring of the phone through the speaker. She had no idea which person she’d autoselected and she didn’t care.
Thud-thud. Thud!
“Move!”
A Hummer tapped her rear bumper, forcing her car ahead a foot. Cassie’s foot slipped from the brake and the car lurched forward.
The man outside her door, banged heavily on the roof. “Move move move!”
A voice squawked through her phone. She lifted it to her ear. “Hello?”
“… leave a message and I’ll—”
Cassie groaned at the sound of her own voice. She’d called her own desk! She hit the END button then tried another number.
The Hummer revved behind her then another bump.
Cassie yelped, losing her phone. She gripped the wheel.
Her window cracked. She screamed and ducked, but when she looked up, she saw the bullet hole. Eyes wide, she looked to the man.
He jogged back to one of the SUVs, waving her on. “Hurry! Move!”
Even as she accelerated, the first two black Suburbans slid in front of her, completely encasing her vehicle. The more she accelerated, the more they accelerated, until she glanced down and eyed her speedometer. Sixty! Where were they taking her? And why?
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
7 April—1620 Hours
Arms folded, Sal stood at the foot of the gurney watching the little girl breathe. Fighting for her life. Muznah—that was her name, according to her much-older brother, Fariz, who went with Dean to answer questions. They had to keep Fariz off the radar before Ramsey got wind of him and the little girl.
Which was good. Because Sal was sure he’d put his fist through the guy’s face if he saw him. What kind of sicko convinces his paramour to murder their children if people start asking questions?
One with something to hide.
Muznah whimpered in her sleep, the pain probably overwhelming. The mattress seemed to swallow her frail form as Sal reached for her hand. Black hair spilled across her shoulders and pillow. Tubes snaked in and out of her body. First operation had gone well, but the doc said another was scheduled later today, once her body had built up its strength and blood supply.
Mila. He didn’t know a thing about her. Not her favorite color. Not her favorite ice cream flavor… nothing. Did she even like ice cream?
“You okay?”
Sal flinched and looked to the side where Dean stood in the curtained doorway to the medical bay holding the girl. “Yeah, fine. Just wanted to check in on her.”
“Doc says you’ve been here since dinner.”
“After,” Sal tossed to the side. “Ate, showered, then came here.”
Dean sauntered in, glancing down at Muznah. “Fariz said Ramsey met his mother in Iraq.”
“The kid’s eighteen. That had to have been Ramsey’s first deployment. Not much happened before OEF/OIF.”
Dean nodded. “It was. Apparently, they wrote letters. When he got deployed and assigned here, he brought them over. Resumed their affair.”
“Explains the age gap between Fariz and these,” Sal said, nodding to the bed. “He must have had something really big to hide to convince her to kill them.”
“My thoughts exactly, but Fariz shut down when I opened that conversation.”
Dean sighed. “Hits a bit close to home, doesn’t it?”
Once again, Sal looked at Dean, who cocked his head toward the exit. “Let’s talk.”
Though his gut coiled and he knew this was the day of reckoning, Sal said nothing as he followed Dean out into the arid evening. Lights hadn’t come on, but the calm of night was already settling in around camp.
Dean turned and faced him. “When you sought me out before we told you about this family, you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about.”
With a nod, Sal folded his arms. “I did. Do.”
“Let’s get it in the open then.”
Another nod from Sal, this one to convince himself to talk. To get it off his chest. Come clean. “Not sure if it’s the right time, considering what we’re facing—”
“It’s always the right time for the truth.”
“I’d agree with you on most days.” Sal grinned but didn’t feel it. “You’ve been on my case about what’s eating me. You were right—something is eating me. My girlfriend died over here.”
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Sal—that’s in your record.”
“It is?”
“But that was four years ago.”
He bobbed his head. “Yeah, but two years ago, her brother Mario died out here, too. They followed me into the Army. Vida came so we could be together. Her family was poor, so was mine. We had a plan to graduate then join up. I was two years older but did it. But… by the time she signed up…”
“Things had changed?”
“She and I were a habit,” Sal admitted with a shrug. “It’s awful to hear myself say it, but it’s true. We dated through high school. I’d made so many promises to her about getting married, and she desperately wanted out of her family and New York City, that by the time I realized I didn’t love her in that way, I felt obligated to her.
“I met Walker when we were assigned to Huachuca for training. I’d never felt that way about anyone. Things got pretty serious, hot and heavy… but when Vida got assigned there, I broke it off. Had to keep that promise.”
“Did you know about your daughter then?”
Sal scowled. Stepped back. “How—?” How did he know about that when Sal just learned about Mila himself?
Dean handed over a paper. “Walker had this notarized this morning. When did you find out about Mila?”
“A week ago, maybe two. She never told me.”
“How could you not know?”
“I refused to talk to her after Vida died. Cassie arranged to have Vida PCSed to Helmand, knowing it was the most dangerous. When Vida died, I blamed Cassie.”
“Because you couldn’t handle the guilt?”
Swallowing hurt. Sal nodded. “If I hadn’t slept with Walker… Vida would never have gone to Helmand.”
“You don’t know that.” Dean tapped the paper. “She’s giving you POA over Mila.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I wanted to know, but I can’t find her.”
Sal shrugged. “She’s probably working.”
“After mailing the official documents and a box with the entire contents of her locker, she left the base four hours ago.”
Something about those words, Cassie’s movements in the preceding hours left a hollow feeling in his chest. Granting him POA over Mila. Packing and sending her stuff home. Getting fired but leaving the base anyway. “Crap.”
“And it gets worse. I called Phelps to find out what was going on. He said he’d told her he was bringing her back. Basically yanked and tanked her.”
/> His pulse thrummed. “You said she left the base. What’d she put on the exit log?”
“‘Offsite meeting.’”
“Check her logs,” Sal said. “Phone and e-mail.” It felt as if someone ripped his heart out of his chest.
“Phone goes to voice mail. I can get someone to pull her last dialed number.”
“Good. Do it.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
Sal had to face the truth. “We had a fight. She said she wanted to fix things, but I was too mad at her for lying to you.”
“Lying to me?” Dean frowned. “About what?”
Tugging up his sleeve, Sal exposed the marks.
A storm rushed into Dean’s face.
“This is how I’ve been coping.”
“That looks like not coping in my book. That’s enough for me to rec a psych eval, to send your butt home.”
“It’s kept my head in the game. But this”—he thumbed the large one that now held eight stitches—“this is why Hawk died. Because it ripped and made it impossible to maintain a grip. Cassie saw it and tried to help. But it was too late. I killed Hawk.”
Dean shook a finger at him. “We’ll deal with this later—I promise. But right now, we have to find Walker.”
Darkness swam, coiling and spinning. Disorienting. Submerging. He pushed upward, swimming toward the surface. Toward the light.
Gotta get out of here.
The effort was brutal. Agony rushed over with every move of his limbs. Every contraction of his lung and heart. Searing pain like fire spread across his chest. Thin air repressed him. Suffocated him.
Yes. Suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
He focused every muscle on dragging in a breath. But it resisted. Fought him as hard as an insurgent. His pulse screeched in his ears.
“Augh!” He arched his back. Balled his fists, demanding air.
“Rest,” came a firm, gentle voice.
Can’t… breathe… Help!
The world condensed, sliding in to a pinprick. Then vanished.
CHAPTER 34
Kabul, Afghanistan