by Ronie Kendig
She braved one last glance at the depot and felt every ounce of the loneliness she’d trapped herself in. The tragedy at that station had switched the proverbial tracks of her life. Now she’d make someone pay for what they did.
Shiloh turned and hiked toward the government offices. The long trek bought her time to make peace with her decision. Or at least, battle with her decision. Peace wouldn’t be hers. Not this time.
After a quick check of her watch, she quickened her steps. Sajjadi said her window of opportunity would be small. No room for mistakes. She jogged around to the back of the building. Just as promised, a small bag tucked behind a trashcan held a uniform and identification tag. Shiloh changed into the clothes, smeared the dark, heavy base they’d provided over her face, and stowed her pack.
About to step into the early morning, Shiloh spotted her own reflection in a dirty window—and halted. Did she really look that haggard?
As if on cue, a half-dozen women strode toward the entrance, their talk casual and dull. Bringing up the rear, Shiloh entered the facility with the entourage. At the first checkpoint, she swiped the provided card and walked through.
Though she ached to sprint down the long corridor, she hauled in the desire and walked as quickly as possible, remembering her instructions. Once in the kitchen, she tied an apron over the uniform and accepted the ready-made cart from a woman who gave her a long, hard look before motioning Shiloh off .
Squeaky wheels seemed to shriek as Shiloh headed toward Deputy Minister Abdul's special detainment room. Holding her breath, she aimed toward the two guards. Poised at attention, they flanked the door. Either they would let her in … Or they’ll kill me. Yeah. Great.
One guard stepped into her path.
Shiloh pasted a smile on her face and presented her ID. He verified her card. Why did seconds like this tick by with the weight of anchors?
The guard glared at her, sized her up, then grunted and flung open the door.
Holding her practiced smile, Shiloh entered the cell, which was in reality a lavish suite. Persian, hand-woven rugs spilled over the marble floors and rushed toward the mahogany secretary desk and coffee table.
Abdul lounged in a chair at a richly draped round table, sipping a glass of water and staring at the large, flat-screen panel where garish images of some attack in a foreign country splattered over the screen. He glanced back at her before he waved at her in dismissal.
Shiloh nudged the cart toward him. “Fools exult in life while the pious prepare for the journey ahead.” Had she gotten the proverb right? When he gave no indication that he was familiar with it, she lifted a plate and set it on the table before repeating the phrase.
Dark eyes remained fastened on the screen. “And what journey am I preparing for, what journey does he send an American spy to help me complete?”
“You have something he wants.” Wasn’t Ali afraid someone would hear him?
He sneered, the dark circles under his eyes evidence of sleepless nights. “He promised me wealth and power.” Ali motioned around the room. “A prison? This is what I get?”
Shiloh moved around the table and faced him. Palms against the cold surface, she leaned forward and tucked her chin. “He wants the codes.” And she wanted to get out of here before she was discovered.
In defiance he sipped his drink. “I want my freedom.”
This wasn’t going anywhere. She had to force his hand. “Give me the codes, and I’ll give you the antidote.” Letting her gaze rest on the glass of water before him, Shiloh hoped he got her meaning.
He swallowed. Hard. “He would not—”
“No doubt he has predicted your reluctance.” This had to work so she could get out of here before something went wrong. Like the rumblings of a typhoon before it hits, she felt the trouble looming over her now. She gave a small nod. “Very well. May you find your virgins—”
His mocha-colored hand clamped over hers. Dark eyes rose to hers. “Your loved one will not live.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Two.
Ali rattled off the code. “The plan is not what you think. And remember …” His eyes darkened and then drifted to the small barred window as he shoved her aside. “Nobody who works with him lives.”
30
Mumbai, India
WHY?”
The Anubis keychain glinted back at him, mocking. Reece rubbed his thumb over the memento, his heart heavy with grief. She’d left him. Snuck out in the middle of the night. Everything in him railed at her naiveté. She had no idea what she’d walked into. She might think she did, but only those who had traveled that road knew.
The hurt surprised him most. Knowing she didn’t trust him, that she wasn’t willing to let him handle this with the skill and experience he had. Forget the experience. She intentionally walked away from him.
Keychain clutched in his hand, he leaned against the table and hung his head. Ignored the map. Ignored the schematics. God … why? Why would He bring Shiloh into his life only to have her storm out—straight into her own death?
A door flapped open, banging the interior wall of the U.S. Embassy conference room. He straightened and slid the key-chain into his pocket.
Brody Aiken stood with Nielsen, Toby, and a half-dozen other men. “Shiloh was arrested at the Mumbai ministry building.”
Hope stabbed him. If she was being held, he could extract her. “Where?”
“Unknown. But the guys snapped a few photos of her being escorted for transfer. Once in the building, they couldn’t trace her.” Brody tossed three photos on the table and then tapped one. “Look familiar?”
Knuckling the table, Reece studied the pictures. “Kodiyeri.” He eyed the men flanking Brody and noted the tactical stance, the rigid posture, the military haircuts. Special Ops. But not Green Berets if the glares and Cole's taut lips were any indication.
Someone had a plan they hadn’t shared with him. His gaze rose to Cole.
“The girl never made it anywhere.” The dark-haired leader said as he shuffled one of the images to the middle and scooted it closer to Reece. “This is the interior of the building. She goes in. Never comes out. Kodiyeri and his team load up in SUVs and that's the end of it.”
“He has her.” Reece stared at the last image of Shiloh.
“Maybe. But we can’t search for her. Not now.” Nielsen huffed.
This was the way of it. Without legitimate cause to tie up resources, Shiloh would remain MIA. She’d walked out and tied his hands. Just like Chloe. And a rogue agent must be disavowed. He mentally touched the Anubis keychain, remembering the cold, hollow feeling that coursed through him when he spotted the piece on his pillow back at camp.
“This looks personal.”
Staring through his brow, Reece met the steely gaze of the new Spec Ops leader and detected the man's question and challenge.
Brody cleared his throat as he placed another photo on the table. “About twenty minutes ago, a UAV snapped Kodiyeri's ugly mug on The Jannat.”
The very yacht anchored off the coast of Mumbai and from which the Summit of the Agreed would launch their vicious campaign to restructure the political map in the Middle East. Something wasn’t right.
But the proverbial clock ticked out the countdown. The nuclear disaster was his primary objective right now—Sajjadi. Not Shiloh and whatever it was that niggled at him.
“Okay, gentlemen,” he said, eyeing the schematics of the yacht. “Sajjadi has both sets of codes for the missing device, as well as two of our people.”
“That can’t be assumed,” Brody said.
“Until she's back in our custody, that's exactly what I will assume.” Killing two birds with one stone, as it were, kept Reece's hope alive that he would find her before Sajjadi decided she’d served her purpose.
“Just get the nuke back or neutralize it. Do that,” Nielsen said from a nearby chair, “and you have a green light.”
Surrounded by his Green Berets, Cole Miller grinned. “We’re all yours. Tell
us when and where.”
“We’re yours too.”
Reece pulled his spine into line and stared the man down. “And who am I working with?”
“Navy SEALs.”
Why didn’t he know these guys? Had he been out of the field that long?
“Don’t need no squids,” Bronco mumbled.
“Hey, Friction,” a blonde SEAL said, looking from Bronco to the team leader. “I think they’re nervous we’ll blow ’em outta the water.”
Still locked in a visual challenge with the leader, Reece didn’t respond. Something about the guy rankled him.
“They’re on a yacht.” Friction smirked. “In case someone missed the obvious—yachts are usually in water. Like Ditch said, maybe you’re afraid we’ll blow you out of the water. I mean, who better to call than the aces of the sea?”
Arrogant too. Although Reece didn’t trust this stranger, something—maybe the complete lack of control he felt— told him to let it be. “He's right. We need every available shooter.” Studying the map, Reece marked an X. “It's a 300-foot yacht.”
“Top bearing 16 knots, comfortably.” Friction nodded, his grey eyes darting over the drawings. “Aft skiff will be heavily guarded.”
“Agreed,” Reece said. “If we hit the aft, we’ll lose someone.”
“Or make something go boom.”
“This a game to you, frogman?”
That stupid grin. “No, I play for keeps.”
“Trust me.” Ditch laughed. “How’d you think he got the call-sign?”
Friction's attention never left the yacht photo. He tapped the left and right of the image. “We’ll have to hit the sides.”
“They’ve been in the water too long,” Cole said. “Don’t worry, chief. We’ve got you covered. The plan's solid. We’ll get her back.”
The relief at Cole's words swirled through Reece, easing the rising agitation over the new team members.
“So, it is personal.” Friction smiled again. “Good to know.”
Reece grabbed the photos and started toward the door without another word. Because if he did say something, it’d be with his fists and the squid would be laid out flat. Minus one asset in taking down Sajjadi. Not good.
“Jaxon, where are you going?” Nielsen called from behind.
“Meeting someone.” He raised a hand as he pushed open the door. “Get them in place. I’ll be there.” The guy was right— it was personal. And this was his last chance to check his sources and make one last-ditch attempt to locate Shiloh. Help him figure out what he was missing in the intel. Something just wasn’t right. The whole nuke code thing made sense, but something else simmered just out of reach in this whole nightmare.
And still, his mind couldn’t shake the trauma of Shiloh's betrayal. Why had God allowed him to fall in love with a woman who could so easily turn her back on what she believed in?
With each step, the pain pounded into his chest. He had hoped his love would help her abandon this path.
He rounded the corner to the campus. Time to get focused. Reach end game. He stretched his neck and strode past the fountain to the building. Perry always had the missing clues. A good friend, sometime mentor, and all-around good guy. Reece silently thanked God for the man.
He aimed toward the building—and a door flung back. Grey blurred toward the street.
“Perry!” Where was he going? And in such a hurry?
The man carried himself fast, not quite running, but not walking either. At his car, he tossed his briefcase into the backseat.
“Perry!” Reece darted toward the car.
Behind the wheel, Perry met Reece's gaze. A smile washed the tension from the professor's face. He rolled down the window. “Reece, thank God! We had it all wrong, but there's still time, mera dost.”
The engine turned over.
An explosion ripped through the car.
Reece flew backward, struck by an invisible force that felt like a cement wall. Light flashed over the pavement. His feet tipped over his head; his body spiraled through the chilly air. Heat seared his back. Pavement rushed up at him. He tried to brace against the impact. His shoulder slammed into the ground. Pop!
Pain rocketed through his neck and spine. He flipped onto his back, writhing to look at Perry's car—now a hulk of metal engulfed in flames.
Agony worked into his muscles. Reece shifted onto his side, using his uninjured arm to push up. Each move sent shards of pain stabbing through his body. He’d have to jam the shoulder joint back into alignment. But first, he had to get clear of here. Whoever had taken out Perry wouldn’t hesitate to finish off Reece too.
On his feet, he hooked a thumb through his belt loop, hoping to keep his arm immobile. Sweat dribbled down the sides of his face, from both the pain and the intense heat of the flames.
He lumbered back to the city, down the busy streets. What had Perry meant? What did they have all wrong? Still time for what?
Mumbai Harbor
If she had to die, at least it would be on the water.
Sort of poetic. Or maybe that was God granting Shiloh her last wish.
“Move!” The oaf shoved her forward, down the second flight of steps into the belly of the yacht. The beauty and luxury of the vessel belied its purpose. Despite shiny surfaces and leather sofas in the lounge, she knew what would go down here. The giant plasma screen up on deck and the computer rigged to it—no doubt, to enter the control codes she’d extracted from Abdul.
If she could pull this off , honor her father in this one last stand, she’d die in peace.
No. That wasn’t true. She wanted to make peace with Reece first. Let him know she did love him—that she hadn’t turned her back on him the way Chloe had.
As she stepped over a raised threshold, she saw a suit escorting her father across marble floors, past a cream leather sofa to shiny gold-trimmed stairs. Her heart caught in her throat. He didn’t look good at all.
“Dad!”
When their eyes met, he blanched.
Okay, that wasn’t good.
The oaf wrestled her out of the companionway. “Keep moving.”
Prodded forward, she stole one last glance at her father. Concern burrowed into her, yet relief—he was alive. And would be as long as she cooperated. But she had another mission that begged her cooperation.
Who was she kidding? With the firepower on this boat and the brutality of those wielding the weapons, she and her father didn’t have a prayer.
Prayer. Yeah, tried that. Didn’t work.
Tossed in a room, she spun around to find the bad guy pulling the door closed. Shrouded in darkness, she hurried forward, searching for a handle. Smoothing a hand over the slick surface, she realized there was no knob.
She patted her hands over the wall until she found the light switch. Click. Nothing. Click-click. Still nothing. Suffocating darkness swooped in on her like a hungry vulture. Shiloh closed her eyes, pretending to be on a deep-sea dive. Cool waters teasing her muscles and rela—
How could she relax in a pitch-black room and at the mercy of terrorists? Her pulse sped.
She had to calm down. The kingdom, phylum, class … What was it? What came first? A jumbled list of Latin words and images flitted through her brain. Shiloh drove her back against the wall and groaned. She couldn’t even think!
Sun star. It leapt to her mind and just as quickly, the order: Animalia. Echinodermata. Asteroidea. Spinulosida. Solasteridae. Solaster dawsoni.
Miss America.
Shiloh tensed, remembering Khalid's voice. Remembering how he’d died in the train depot. Sliding down the wall, she felt her hope fading. She hugged her knees. Tears, unbidden, sprung free. Whatever gets you killed! Reece was right. He was always right. During their plan-making, her father had mentioned Reece was one of the best operatives he’d ever encountered. And she ached for his strong arms to hold and reassure her. He would tell her to trust those instincts and do what they told her.
Smearing the tears away, Shiloh climb
ed to her feet. This was no different than diving at night. She couldn’t see … but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see with her hands in the darkness.
I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness …
Whoa. Where did that come from? Shiloh paused, stunned as images assaulted her of the pastor standing over her mother's casket as he heralded the salvation of God to the world—those gathered under the mourning tent. It had angered and frightened her that he used her mother's death to scare others to God. Sort of like Khalid. He’d always told her to “get right” with God before it was too late.
Maybe now was too late. She was on a ship about to launch a nuclear weapon. Anyone with a brain knew the world powers wouldn’t allow that, meaning they’d blow this tub to kingdom come.
But this time the verse felt different. Soothing. Like a lifeline. Tentatively, she grasped the thread of hope dangling before her. God, help me. Please. A surge of excitement raced through her.
She took a step to the right. And stubbed her toe. She growled and nudged whatever it was out of the way. Clank!
Shiloh stilled. That sounded familiar. She bent and groped over the wood floor. Her hand hit a cylindrical object and ran up to the top of the small sphere-shape. An oxygen tank! She dropped to her knees, feeling for the regulator. Blind, she attached it, released the valve and felt the cool, distinct flow of nitrox. She smiled and quickly cut it off . Stood and trailed her way around the room, hoping against hope that there was a window. If she could get it open— even if she had to smash it—she’d have a tank and could swim to shore.
Since she couldn’t feel the vibration of the engines beneath her feet, she guessed they were far enough from the coast that Sajjadi felt safe. And minus the sounds of choppers ferrying guests to the upper decks, all the players must be in place. Which meant she didn’t have much time.
Finally, her fingers snagged a window sill. She jerked back the curtain—and precious relief flooded her at the dim blanket of stars that met her. Gold glinted under the tease of moonlight. She traced the ledge searching for the hatch-locks. She found one and released it. The window swung open. Shiloh quickly rigged the counter buoyancy device on the tank and threaded an oxygen cable through it like a rope to lower the tank to the water and anchor it in between the window.