by Ronie Kendig
A hissing noise in the far corner silenced Dean as their attention focused on the sprinkler head spewing water over the heads of the SEALs and Titanis. The men instinctively moved out from under the spray.
Just in time, too.
A crackling noise chased the water. Hissing. Popping.
Electroshock therapy.
“Holy…!” Eagle and Titanis shuffled farther back, the men pushing for dry ground to avoid getting shocked.
“I find your lack of respect and consideration for me and my business quite shocking. Have I not worked as an ally with you, cooperated with you, and even helped you in many ways over the last few years?”
Dean held his hands out again, glancing to the water racing toward them. “You have. Burnett saw you as a friend. He worked hard to preserve that relationship.”
“And Captain Watters? How do you see me?”
Dean hesitated. And every second that he wavered, the water didn’t.
“Dean,” Sal hissed as the team crunched together, cursing.
“I see you as a man who must establish boundaries. One who knows what levers to pull to gain cooperation. Are you a friend?” Dean shrugged and indicated the water. “That remains to be seen.”
“You would tell me how to conduct my business?”
“I would encourage you toward diplomacy and friendship.”
Sal balled a fist. The captain was a far better negotiator than him. This Sikh was threatening the team. If an enemy had pulled this stunt, Sal would’ve thrown himself at the guy. But there was no visible enemy. Just four walls, spigots, drains, and zapping electricity.
This was ridiculous.
Crack! Pop!
“Augh!” Schmidt hopped around, shaking out his hands. His team tugged him back and they all huddled away from the water, grateful for the drains that diverted some of the electricity conductor.
The clatter of teeth followed a meaty thud. Eagle lay, head in the water, thrashing as currents tormented his body.
CHAPTER 37
Kabul, Afghanistan
8 April—1305 Hours
Eagle!” Titanis lunged and dragged Eagle off his feet. Hoisted him up over his shoulders.
Son of a— “Look!” Sal shouted at the ceiling. “You got us. You made your point. But you know us. You know these men. We wouldn’t have entered that building if we hadn’t felt it absolutely necessary. Now—now we have someone missing. And we want her back.” His mind zigzagged back to the village. To their words. “And I can’t help but think you can help us there.” He palmed the air. “Tell us what you want, but cut this crap out. These men were doing their jobs. Just like you’re doing yours. We get it. Point made.”
Dean gave Sal a “really?” look then shook his head. Silence hung in the air.
The water pipes groaned and stopped.
“Your first isn’t very diplomatic, Captain Watters.”
“That’s why he’s my first,” Dean said.
Silence fell on the room, the hiss of electricity gone.
“Who are you looking for, Mister Russo?”
“An intelligence analyst.”
“You mean a spy.”
Sal didn’t reply. Didn’t that just prove that Cassie was here or that Takkar knew where she was? “I mean we want her back.”
“What are you willing to do for her life, Mister Russo? From what I’ve heard, she’s told a great many lies and endangered your men. In fact, some around you believe she killed your compatriot, Brian Bledsoe.”
“And according to some liberal-leaning Americans, I’m a baby killer and murderer just because I’m a soldier. Perspectives get skewed.”
“Then you don’t feel she’s lied?”
“Haven’t we all?” He shrugged. “I want her back. Are you going to help us or just get your thrills off trying to electrocute us? Aren’t you better than that, Takkar?”
Click.
A rectangular area punched out of the wall.
Cassie stepped through the portal-like opening. Hair down and wearing a cream tunic, she stood there with an ethereal smile. A tear slipped down her face.
Relief flooded him. “Oh, thank God!” Three large strides carried him to her. He pulled her into his arms.
Sweet release! Cassie fell into his warm embrace, tightening her arms around his waist. Hearing his words, hearing the vehemence in his mission to get her back—it’d filled in every hole the last few weeks had stabbed into her heart. She pressed her hands against his back, clinging for dear life.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Not even a thank-you?” A deep, resonating voice asked.
Sal shifted but didn’t let her go. “Thank you.”
Sajjan Takkar stood with Waris and Candyman just inside the same door she’d passed through. Cassie felt Sal jerk when he saw his former teammate with the two men.
“Tony,” Dean whispered. “What are you doing?”
“Please forgive him,” Sajjan said. “I’ve asked him not to respond to your questions. For now, he’s indulging me.”
“Traitor,” whispered through the thick throng of operators more than once.
“I expected you would see it that way, which is why I’ve asked him not to speak.” Sajjan turned to Dean. “Your men infiltrated my business, without the courtesy of speaking to me first or warning me.” His eyes ignited with the injustice.
Cassie shifted, but Sal’s arm tightened around her. He wouldn’t let her move and he wouldn’t look at her.
“I cannot discuss missions with you,” Dean said, but then held up a placating hand, “but I will tell you that a woman occupying an office and residence there was viewed as a high-value target.”
“You would play these games with me?”
“You’ve given me no reason to trust you.” Captain Watters didn’t sound angry, but he also wasn’t yielding.
“What of Miss Walker?” Sajjan pointed to Cassie and she was sure she looked like a candy cane with the cream tunic and beet-red face. “I returned her to you safely.”
Dean’s eyes glinted with resolution. “Why did you even have her?”
“Ah.” Sajjan nodded.
“Wait,” Cassie said, stepped out of Sal’s grasp. “That’s my fault.”
“Miss Walker, I appreciate your effort to defend me—”
“No, it’s just an effort at the truth.” Cassie turned to Captain Watters. “I knew nobody here would listen to me, so I contacted Mr. Takkar.”
“About what?”
“About Kiew Tang.”
The captain studied her for several long seconds then looked to Sal and nodded. His focus returned to Takkar. “Still not seeing how you ended up with her.”
“I learned she was headed north. The roads are dangerous. I feared for her safety, so I sent my men to escort her.”
Sal gripped Cassie’s chin and angled her toward him. “This how you escort a woman? Just like your men did me?” He jabbed a finger to the back of his head.
“What? No,” Cassie said, tugging free. “The villagers beat me. Takkar’s men escorted me, just as he said. They never touched me.”
His eyes dropped to hers and he frowned, his gaze skipping over her face. “You’re sure?”
“You think I’m lying?”
“Well, you went to him for help…”
“Because you told me to fix things!” She waved her hand at Takkar. “So I am fixing them. Kiew Tang is not who everyone thinks she is, and I’m determined to help her however I can.”
“Help her what?” Captain Watters asked.
“Help her stop what’s happening.”
“And what’s happening?”
Cassie took a deep breath. Looked to Takkar who gave her an affirming nod. “She’s being forced to orchestrate a devastating attack against us—but I think—she told me that what’s happening here is just a distraction. However, she also told me to go home before it was too late.”
Sal lifted a shoulder. “So, we’re expecting another attack.�
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Sajjan stepped forward, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. “This is where I extend an olive branch.”
Vibrations wormed through Cassie’s shoes. She glanced around, staring at the floor and automatically reached for Sal. He stepped closer as a strange glow filled the room.
Men uttered curses and oaths.
Sal pulled her to himself, a protective move that made her look at him. His expression went like granite to something behind Cassie. She shifted and glanced over her shoulder. The entire wall had receded, revealing a—
Cassie sucked in a breath. The contents of her lunch climbed up her throat.
“No.” Holding her tight, a hand on the back of her head as he pressed her face into his tactical vest, Sal said, “Don’t look.”
“How can you be okay with this?” Sal demanded of Candyman.
He stalked forward, stabbing a finger at the trench-like cell of the prisoner. “That man? That coward”—Candyman’s chest rose and fell unevenly—“he’s responsible for ratting us out. For revealing our locations, our plans to Meng-Li. It was his expertise that sent us ghost messages. Faked military protocols.”
Sal glanced at the prisoner chained to a wall, fingers missing and face bloodied beyond recognition.
“You want someone to be mad at, someone to take out your anger on? Him!”
Cassie pushed back a little, and Sal gave her some room, his attention still on the gruesome reveal.
“Your government limits you, ties your hands on extracting information,” Sajjan said as he walked toward the pit-like area. “We won’t play diplomat here. In war, the game changes. Gloves come off. If they don’t, lives are lost—and at the hands of this man, hundreds of lives have been lost.”
“You can’t put that on me,” the hefty man snarled, spitting blood as he talked.
“That is what you would have us believe, but the information you withhold sends innocents to their graves.”
“What’s he doing?” Cassie whispered to Sal, reaching for him.
He caught her hand and lured her closer. “Ticking him off.”
“Innocent.” Sneering, the prisoner craned his neck forward. “And I suppose you think the grunts around you are innocent, too.”
“Ah, and herein lies the irony.” Takkar paced before the prisoner, hands in his slick pant pockets. “You see, these men probably don’t see themselves as innocent, not completely.”
Sal wouldn’t comment. Wouldn’t feed whatever sick game Takkar was playing here. But he was right. War demanded high costs of those who stepped onto the field. It wasn’t a cleaned-up romance novel where hands and consciences were never bloodied.
It was raw. Brutal. Bloody.
No one hated war more than the soldiers involved. At least, the ones with honor and a moral code binding them to humanity.
“They often refer to themselves as the sheepdogs. They protect the sheep. Protect those who won’t or can’t protect themselves. But that inherent meaning is that the sheepdog will do whatever it takes to protect the sheep—including neutralizing the wolves that prey on their flock.”
Sal had thought those very words. Hawk had spoken them before. Dean lived it. But hearing Takkar refer to them like that, especially considering the situation, made Sal’s gut tighten.
“Who is he?” Dean asked, his tone clipped, his posture tense.
“He is often known simply as Boris, or Boris Kolceki.” Takkar watched the prisoner for several long seconds. “But his real name is Michael Donnelly.”
The prisoner jerked.
“Yes, Mr. Donnelly, I know your true identity, and that is why you will cooperate with us.”
The man shook the chains. “What do you mean?”
“Your parents. Your sister. Your brothers. What of that pretty niece you brought chocolates to last Christmas?”
The man strained against the chains, steel clanking against cement. “You piece of dirt! Stay away from them!” He tugged hard then collapsed with a yelp, leaning to the left.
“Are you in pain, Mr. Donnelly?”
Cassie turned and allowed herself a brief look then jerked away, easing behind Sal as he and the others watched the two dialogue.
“What do you think? You seem to have all the answers.”
Cold and hard as an ice cube, Takkar squatted before the man. “You wouldn’t want that pain visited on anyone you know, would you, Mr. Donnelly?”
Wait. What? Was Takkar threatening the guy’s family? Not even his direct family but— “Hey.” Sal nudged Cassie toward Dean then started toward Takkar. “Hold up.”
And Takkar did. He held up a hand.
Two men caught Sal by the arms and restrained him. He struggled but figured out quickly they weren’t going to release him. “Fine, fine.” Sal motioned with his hand and relaxed. When they released him, he remained where he stood.
“I believe I have made my point clear, Mr. Donnelly.”
Bloody spittle ran down his double chins. “What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth. Tears slipped over puffy, bruised eyes.
Takkar stood. Kept his back to Raptor and the SEALs. “It’s right up your alley, Mr. Donnelly.”
“What?” the man screamed. “What do you want?”
“In two days, Kiew Tang and Meng-Li Jin will be here for a fund-raiser I’m hosting. While Tang and Meng-Li are away from their nest, you will get me into Kiew Tang’s system.”
CHAPTER 38
Unknown Location 8
April—1925 Hours
Mister! Mister Soldier!”
Eyes open, he saw the face hovering over him riddled with concern, and like a flood, pain rushed in over him. Strangling. Blinding.
“Augh!” He arched his back, the cold hard table digging into his shoulder blades and tormenting him with fire-like air in his lungs.
The young man clapped a hand over his mouth. “No! Shh! You must not make noise.” He glanced down the length of his body toward something. “They hear you, they come.”
Hot tears squeezed between his eyelids. He grimaced, the weight of the man’s hand even painful against his face and neck.
“Okay?” The young man stared at him, expectantly. “You quiet?”
A grunt was all he could manage.
“Good. Good. We get you out of here.”
Move? Are you freakin’ kidding me? He could barely breathe without passing out! “No,” he croaked out.
The young man froze. Frowned. “We must. They kill you if you stay.”
“Can’t,” he whispered.
“Must,” the man reiterated. He lifted his hand. “Pills. They help with pain, yes?”
The pills felt like rocks in his mouth, but he did his best to work them to the back of his throat. “Water…”
“I brought some!” The man seemed pleased with himself as he helped coax water into his mouth.
A miracle that he didn’t choke.
“Now.” The man bent forward and slipped an arm beneath his head.
Teeth clamped together, he tensed against the knifing sensation in his lungs and spine. The man hoisted him up.
The room spun, crazy and carnival-like.
“Whoa,” he breathed as the earth tilted.
A hand pushed against his ribs. “Got you.”
The young man guided him off the table. His toe struck the cement floor. It felt as if an IED went off. His body railed against the explosion of pain. Everything hurt. His ears rang. Stomach roiling, he felt his legs give.
The man pushed up under him, supporting. “Hurry. They will be back soon.”
Hurry? He wasn’t even sure he could stand up, let alone walk. But if it meant staying alive, he would. Had to. If he couldn’t stand, neither would the terrorist’s attempts to silence him.
Kabul, Afghanistan
8 April—1925 Hours
The words she’d ached to hear for four long years had been spoken. Well, almost. Sal said he wanted her back. But even she knew it wasn’t meant the way she’d hoped.
That he wanted her back in his life. He was a soldier and an American had been taken hostage.
But he’d held her. Protected her from the awful brutality exerted against that man. Now, he stood with his teammates in what looked like a bunk room, twenty or more bunk beds lining the wall.
She didn’t expect him to cuddle with her and croon over her. But she had thought he’d at least talk to her. But as soon as the doors closed and the team was shut up in here, Raptor huddled and had been talking among themselves. Strategizing. Mind-numbing dialogue about options, contingencies, retaliation—their soldiering on exhausted her.
And that man. She wasn’t ignorant. Real-life situations and war scenarios weren’t prime-time TV fodder. Nobody wanted to admit it happened, nor did they want to look on it. Least of all her.
She scooted back on the bunk and braced her spine against the wall. Hugging her knees, shadowed by the upper bed, she watched Sal. She’d
promised herself no more pining, and she wouldn’t break that promise now. No matter how he’d acted a few hours ago. She let herself lie on her side and closed her eyes. Sleep hungrily pulled her into its viselike grip.
Cassie flinched awake. The room hung in semidarkness, quiet chattering flitting from various bunks. She blinked and yawned—
A face turned toward her, not a foot away.
She started. Blinked again.
Sal sat on the floor beside the bunk. Legs up, arms over his knees, he looked at her. “Good nap?”
“How long—?”
“Forty minutes.”
She shook her head but stayed prone, liking the closeness to him. “What’s happening?”
“Takkar came in, said he wants us to stay. He can’t afford word to get back to the base—”
“To Ramsey?”
Sal nodded. “Gala is in two days. Team will report in as if we’re on recon in the field.”
“Are y’all okay with that?”
“It’s some downtime.” He smirked. “Who would be against that?”
Cassie nodded. What did it mean that he was here, talking to her like she was a normal person rather than avoiding her as if she were the plague itself? Though everything in her screamed to embrace this change, she didn’t dare trust herself. She’d wanted this too long, and she’d once already read into a situation and created a wider divide.