The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set)

by Carolyn McCray

  No one answered. Never good.

  His team was doing the CIA a favor. How had their liaison agent put it? “Just a simple extraction.”

  Well, when you went into Turkmenistan without their government’s approval nothing was simple. And it turned the extraction was of a high value terrorist target, not some low level drug runner as the CIA had implied.

  And now they were in Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan, pinned down by some splinter group of the Hezbollah. This group wasn’t a ramshackle “Pro-Kurd” organization as the CIA had stated.

  Prosper’s team was facing seasoned Hezbollah soldiers, trained in Lebanon and survivors of multiple scuff ups with the Israelis.

  Which all of that would have been nice for his team to know before they tried to execute a rendition on one of Hezbollah’s leaders. Kaffi Mohamnin

  Prosper kept swearing that he would never listen to the CIA again or do them any favors, but when you got a call from the President’s Chief-of-Staff, you kind of put your blinders on and followed orders.

  No more, he swore as another car exploded down the street.

  All of this commotion in the business district of Ashgabat was going to get the attention of the Turkmenistan army and that just wouldn’t do.

  “Raj, do you have Kaffi in your sights?” Prosper asked his sniper who had set up on the far side of the business district. Set up at what should have been their exit route. So much for that.

  “I had him until he ducked into a warehouse to your left. I don’t think he has exited the building.”

  Good news wrapped in bad news. Pretty much how this mission had gone.

  Welcome to his world.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Prosper stated into his mic.

  He was pinned down. He wouldn’t get ten feet down the street. He could only hope that one of his men was in a slightly better situation.

  “Raj, can you take out that RPG shooter?” Johnny J, Prosper’s second asked their sniper.

  “No can do. They are hiding behind three SUVs. I can’t get a clear shot.”

  Perhaps not, but RPGs were pounding the cars around Prosper like a freaking air raid.

  “Screw it,” Nangona Lombi growled in Prosper’s ear. Their transportation specialist wasn’t exactly the patient kind.

  The scream of an engine cut through the firefight. Prosper peeked out from under his vehicle to see a rather large Mercedes SUV come around the corner on two wheels.

  Nangona took out two men before they could even turn around. Once he was on four wheels, he spun a full 360, shooting out his window the whole time.

  Funny how the streets got nice and quiet after that.

  Prosper had to take advantage of the window. He shimmied out from under the truck and ran full out across the street. Not a moment too soon as the truck he’d just been hiding under was blown sky high.

  He angled toward the warehouse that Raj had described. Johnny was hauling ass from the other direction with their medic, Captain Keith Tandy, who was really an MD with an extra PhD in trauma surgery, right behind him.

  They had no time to develop a plan let alone execute one.

  Their point man, Lieutenant Nick Savoy ran full tilt down the street, his gun clutched to his chest with three assailants behind him.

  Prosper pointed to the door.

  Savoy needed no other encouragement than that. He hit the door, at a leg pumping run, splintering the siding off. He recovered from his stumble, to keep the door from slamming back at him.

  Like that, they were in the warehouse. Tandy slammed the door closed behind them as Johnny dragged a barrel over to keep it shut.

  Prosper breathed heavily in and out as he surveyed the large warehouse. The light was murky allowing for plenty of hiding spots for their target and his body guards.

  Once again Prosper cursed the CIA. There was keeping classified information compartmentalized and there was straight out lying.

  If the Agency couldn’t trust them with the truth, how the hell were they supposed to do their job?

  Glancing down at his watch, Prosper realized just how little time they had to snatch the guy and get the hell out of Turkmenistan.

  He gave the hand signals. Prosper and Savoy would go right. Johnny and Tandy would go left.

  Creeping along the wall, Prosper followed Savoy as they made their way deeper into the warehouse. There wasn’t a sound. Maybe Kaffi had made it out of the warehouse after all.

  That would blow their entire mission, but at the least they could leave Ashgabat before the army arrived.

  No such luck.

  A cough from the center of the warehouse. Amongst a tangle of towering crates.

  “Move inward,” Prosper ordered. “Carefully.”

  This could be an ambush. No, it probably was an ambush.

  “Can we light up?” Johnny asked.

  “No,” Prosper answered. They still needed to keep any element of surprise that they had.

  “Did I hear you guys needed some light?” Nangona asked.

  Before Prosper could answer the Mercedes hit the large rolling metal door and burst through into the warehouse, splintering crates.

  “Go!” Prosper ordered. There was absolutely no reason to be in stealth mode. However the surprise element, that they did have.

  The cries and groans beneath the pile of destroyed crates helped locate Kaffi.

  * * *

  Johnny J grabbed a figure out of the mess and hauled him up by his jacket collar.

  Bingo.

  Kaffi.

  “Got him!” Johnny J shouted. “Now can we get out of here?”

  “You know it,” Prosper answered, shooting into the middle of the crates. There were still two to three armed personal bodyguards in there.

  “Raj, cut us a path,” Prosper ordered as they moved toward the Mercedes.

  Kaffi tried to put up a fight. Spouting off in Arabic about their imminent deaths or something like that.

  Johnny J punched him in the face.

  That took some of the wind out of the guy’s sails.

  They loaded into the Mercedes. Once seated, Johnny J patted Kaffi down then zip tied his hands.

  At least they had the package now and could work on getting out of the country before the entire Turkmenistan army came down on their heads.

  Nangona punched the gas, but when didn’t he? They shot out the hole he created in the wall, skidding out onto the street.

  An RPG whistled over their heads and hit the warehouse.

  Interesting. Kaffi’s own people were firing on him. No wonder the CIA wanted this guy so bad. He must have some serious information on the group if his own people were willing to kill him.

  “So?” Johnny J said. “What’s the scoop?”

  The man clamped his lips shut, forcing his long dark beard to spread out.

  “No worries. The CIA will get what they need from you.”

  That made the guy’s pupils dilate.

  “You can’t give me to them,” Kaffi said.

  It wasn’t a plea or a begging tone. It was a factual statement.

  “Why not?” Johnny J asked. He liked to play along with these fanatics. As long as they were talking, they were giving away information.

  “Because I was originally a CIA asset that defected, but now I’m informing for the British.”

  “Right,” Johnny J chuckled. “Good one.”

  “Red Cliff Biscuits,” Kaffi stated. “Call Vauxhall Cross. You will see. Those are the code words for the day.”

  Johnny J squinted. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

  Prosper turned from the passenger’s seat to face them. “And that would be?”

  “He might be an MI-6 asset.”

  “Really?” Prosper said with a frown on his lips.

  “He gave the correct code for the day,” Johnny J relayed. One leg of their journey here and out was being supplied by the Brits. They all had the code words in case anything went awry.

  Did the Bri
ts know the CIA was snatching one of their assets?

  “Great, we’ve stepped in it now,” Prosper groaned.

  Once again, Johnny J was so glad he wasn’t in command. What was Prosper going to do?

  They were acting on the CIA’s behalf, but didn’t want to burn any bridges with the Brits. Besides they weren’t the Agency’s bitch.

  Were they?

  * * *

  Prosper wished he had a cigar to chew on. Today was a cigar-chewing day that was for sure.

  “So why did the CIA want you extracted?” Prosper demanded of their detainee.

  “Because I can prove the Agency is funneling money into Hezbollah.”

  Prosper wasn’t shocked at much, but even he sucked in a lungful of air.

  “No,” the colonel answered.

  Kaffi nodded not at all seeming the crazed terrorist that he was reported as being. “Yes.”

  This made absolutely no sense. Hezbollah was a Shi’a extremist Islamic terrorist organization. Mainly operating out of Palestine, standing off against the Israelis. Not only that but they were aligned with Iran. One of the so-called Axis of Evil nations.

  What the hell would the CIA be doing bankrolling the sworn enemy of Israel and the United States.

  “What proof?” Prosper asked.

  “Banking statements, vouchers,” Kaffi said then leveled his dark eyes at Prosper. “Signed vouchers.”

  Crap. That would be damning evidence. The money trail would be the way to prove if the CIA was involved with Hezbollah.

  A rather close RPG explosion brought them all back to their reality.

  “Whatever the truth, we need to get out of Ashgabat like yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir!” Nangona shouted, somehow pushing the accelerator even harder. They streaked around traffic, going up on the curb when necessary. How large was the noose that Hezbollah created? They should be outside their range soon.

  An RPG hit right at their rear bumper, lifting the back of the Mercedes off the ground for a few seconds, only to have them crash back down again.

  “Raj, you giving us support or what?” Prosper demanded of his sniper.

  “Wait for it,” was Raj’s only answer.

  There wouldn’t be long to wait as gunfire crackled all around them. They’d hit another pocket of resistance. Probably an outer ring of soldiers to come into the battle in exactly this situation. To cut off their escape route.

  And they didn’t seem to care if they killed Kaffi in the melee. Which now made much more sense if they were getting funds from the CIA. Hezbollah would be as damaged as the CIA if the word got out. Terrorists weren’t exactly too accepting of one of their own taking money from the evil Americans.’

  CHAPTER 2

  “We aren’t really funding one of the worst terrorist organizations, are we?” Tandy asked. Being the youngest member of the team, he knew that sometimes he came off sounding naïve. Idealist.

  He found that it was a strength actually.

  “We?” Johnny J answered. “No, the United States in no way is giving money to Hezbollah. But a small group of individuals within the CIA, now they might be.”

  “Isn’t there some kind of oversight for this?” Tandy asked still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

  Johnny J snorted. “For deep black ops? Not so much.”

  “I still don’t understand how this could happen.”

  Prosper turned back as Raj hit a gunmen then continued on. All the windows were cracked and one more even close hit with an RPG was probably going to destroy them.

  “The CIA is made up of fiefdoms. They are nearly as cell oriented as terrorist organizations. Information is horded and sold like spice in a Moroccan market,” the Colonel explained. “Anyone from an assistant director or station chief could orchestrate such a deal and no one else would be the wiser.”

  That just couldn’t be true, could it?

  “Then how do we know who to trust?” Tandy asked.

  “We don’t,” Prosper answered, turning to face the windshield that looked like it was about to split in half.

  Tandy repositioned himself and his hand came back from the seat sticky and warm.

  Blood.

  He looked down to find his palm red stained. Tandy patted Kaffi down. “Are you injured?”

  The man tried to wiggle his body away, “No.”

  The man wasn’t lying. There wasn’t a scratch on him, or at least not one big enough to seep this much blood.

  Tandy pushed Kaffi forward to check the seat behind him and sure enough there was a pool of slick blood on the leather seat. Coming from Johnny J.

  “Change places,” Tandy said, tugging Kaffi over him. He knew they’d put the terrorist between them to keep him from trying to escape, but right now those Hezbollah wanted Kaffi dead so he didn’t think the guy was going to try anything zip tied and all.

  As Nangona tried to outrace the terrorists, Tandy felt Johnny J up.

  “Hey,” the Captain said trying to push Tandy away. “I need at least a three course meal before you try any of that.”

  Tandy ignored his superior officer and tugged Johnny J’s jacket back. There it was a bullet wound.

  “You’ve been shot.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Johnny J responded.

  Tandy pointed to the evidence. He was still surprised five years into his combat career how overwhelming the adrenaline effect could be. Johnny J truly, actually believed that he hadn’t been shot.

  You could tell as his pupils expanded upon looking at the wound and red stain spreading on his shirt.

  “How bad?” Prosper asked from the front.

  That was exactly what Tandy was trying to figure out. He pulled Johnny J forward to check his back. There was the exit wound.

  “Well, it’s a through-and-through,” Tandy reported.

  Everyone else seemed relieved by that news. Which always seemed so odd to Tandy. Just because there wasn’t a bullet still in the body, didn’t mean there hadn’t been significant damage done. A bullet could just as easily nick a major artery on its way out as it could have inside the body.

  Tandy estimated that Johnny J had lost at least a unit of blood. Now most people would be light-headed and falling over, but a special ops solider? No way.

  Digging around his pack, Tandy pulled out some dressing bandages.

  “Here, lean back onto these and put pressure on the front wound.”

  “Yes, heir doctor,” Johnny J teased. Tandy’s medical degree held no great esteem amongst his fellow teammates.

  Which was fine, Tandy had gotten used to it.

  “I’m going to have to place an IV,” Tandy stated “And staunch the bleeding.

  “Oh come on, it’s a scratch,” Johnny J argued.

  * * *

  Prosper checked in every few seconds to see how Tandy was coming along and to make sure that Johnny J wasn’t too horrible a patient. The Captain was never going to be a good patient. Prosper had known the man for over thirty years. He could be as stubborn as the donkeys his family used to raise.

  The other half the time Prosper was checking to be sure Nangona didn’t kill them. Prosper couldn’t chide his driver about his crazed speed since the Hezbollah was still hot on their tail.

  How many were after them? This had to be a major cell. And to think that Uncle Sam’s dollars may be funding this attack on them. It was situations like this that gave Prosper a headache.

  He and Johnny J had joined Special Forces to fight the bad guys. To kill the bad guys when no one else could. To find out that his country, or a small sliver of it was bank rolling these jerks, just made Prosper want to punch something.

  “Hey! Give a guy a warning,” Johnny J shouted from the back seat.

  Tandy finished taping in the IV while having to fend off Johnny J trying to scratch at the site. “Which is exactly why I didn’t warn you.”

  “Settle it down, Johnny J,” Prosper rumbled. His friend gave a glare but stopped fighting Tandy’s efforts t
o save his life.

  “Okay, I’m going to have to shove this nozzle into your wound and spray anticoagulant gel into your wound…on both sides.”

  “So what are you whining about?” Johnny J demanded. “Do it.”

  That was Johnny J for you. During a high school varsity game he’d broken his wrist then laid down an epic block that saved the game…after the fracture. The guy knew how to power through.

  Tandy tried to hand Johnny J a plastic rod. “Bite on this,” Tandy instructed but Johnny J shook his head.

  “You are kidding me, right?” Johnny J challenged. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Nangona took a sharp left, shoving them all over, then took off down an alley, flinging clothes lines and wet clothes all over the hood of the Mercedes.

  Which was fine by Prosper. The RPGs had stopped and there were no longer any foot soldiers.

  “Are we done ‘waiting for it’?” Prosper asked Raj.

  “Nope,” Raj responded.

  Prosper had no idea what the sniper was talking about, but really at this point did it matter?

  “Ah!” Johnny J yelled from the back seat.

  “Hold him down!” Tandy yelled at their prisoner who obliged.

  For all of Johnny J’s bluster, apparently having a nozzle stuck into your fresh bullet wound and foaming anticoagulant into the wound track was a little more painful than he bargained for.

  “You’re sure that isn’t killing me?” Johnny J asked Tandy through clenched teeth.

  “Pretty sure,” Tandy responded. “Now for the back wound.”

  “No,” Johnny said, looking horrified.

  “Yep,” Tandy stated holding out the plastic rod. “Sure you don’t want it?”

  Clearly reluctantly, Johnny J accepted the bit into his mouth.

  This time Prosper could only hear Johnny J’s groans rather than full on screams.

  “Sir,” Nangona said in a tone that made Prosper’s head snap around. Something bad, very bad was happening if it sobered their driver.

  At the end of the alley were three large trucks. A machine gun mounted on one of them and RPG launchers in the other two.

  They had been funneled to this intersection. They hadn’t escaped, they had been lured to the ultimate ambush. There had to be at least twenty armed men at the end of the alley.