Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2

by J. L. Saint

  God he’d never be able to forgive himself for what he let happen to everyone. A firing squad would be too soft a punishment for him.

  He had to see Angie and he’d been around hospitals long enough to know there’d be too much crap he’d have to go through to get to her quickly. Assuming she was in this hospital.

  Once the alert went out that he was missing, everyone would be looking for a guy in a gown, so clothes first. Then Angie.

  Dazed he moved forward and realized that left ended up being the wrong damn way to go.

  He was in the maternity wing and stood out like a naked, neon cowboy at a Southern Baptist retreat. Moving toward the elevators, about twenty feet away, he encountered a young aide in green scrubs wheeling a cart that held a mother and newborn babe, pots with a rainbow of flowers, and a large bunch of pink congratulation balloons tied to the back.

  Rico smiled at them as he approached, looking lost. “This obviously isn’t the right floor for the snack bar.”

  The aide stared at his face a moment then laughed a little nervously. “You want the basement. I’m sorry to be nosy but what happened to you?”

  Since she couldn’t see the dressing on his stomach and was still staring at his face, he reached up and felt what she had to be seeing.

  Tiny cuts from the exploding concrete and glass covered his face along with some sort of ointment. He’d forgotten that part. He should have taken time to assess his injuries first, to realize what he needed to conceal. Just clothes weren’t going to be enough. Not with his face messed up. “Glass from a car accident,” Rico told the aide.

  The mother glanced his way then. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Life is so fragile.” Her gaze moved back to the tiny child cuddled securely in her arms. The love shining from her was so powerful, so pure, so clearly unconditional that Rico had to look away.

  Angie would look beautiful holding a baby. She’d love a child just as deeply too. Provided she was all right.

  “It is too fragile,” Rico told the mother and then shivered with fear. Throughout his military career, he’d marched through life-and-death situations with a cavalier attitude, never grasping the precious nuances that grabbed him by the throat now.

  What if Angie wasn’t all right?

  He never feared death more than at this moment. Never loved life more and yet was never this less deserving of it.

  Don’t think about Angie yet. He struggled to stay on track. Find clothes. Then Angie. Talk. Act normal. The elevator opened and he moved inside, holding the doors open for the mother. Through the dancing balloons, Rico caught a glimpse of a nurse coming from the direction of his hospital room. He stepped out of view and prayed the elevator would close before the nurse reached them or asked the aide any questions.

  “You should really have on slippers,” the aide said once she had the mother on.

  Rico stabbed the Close button. “Forgot them,” he said under his breath.

  The doors started to close and the aide went for the Open button. “It’s not too late to go back and get them before you go down.”

  “No.” Rico blocked her finger with his hand. “I forgot them at home. My friend will bring them later.”

  The doors began closing and Rico heard someone shout. “Hey, have you seen—”

  The rest of the sentence was cut off and Rico exhaled with relief as the elevator descended. He’d have to move fast.

  “You really need to go back and wait until you have slippers. You can’t go around the hospital barefoot. Once we get to the first floor, I’ll have an aide wheel you back to your room.”

  Rico exhaled, needing patience and strength. “I’m hungry. I’ll hurry.”

  “Here, use these,” the mother said. She reached into a bag on the tray in front of her and pulled out a pair of unopened blue hospital socks with rubber white dots on the soles for traction.

  “Thanks.” Rico took the socks. As badly as his side hurt, he didn’t dare try and put them on while standing. The scrubs the aide wore had the hospital’s initials on them just like his gown did, which meant he’d find scrubs in the laundry.

  “Put the socks on this time, but wait for your slippers before you leave your room again, okay?” The aide pushed the mother and child off when the elevator reached the first floor. “The snack bar is to your left, next floor down.”

  “Got it.” The doors closed and Rico sagged with relief that no one else was waiting for the elevator. He went down then exited. Within fifty feet, he saw double doors marked Employees Only. Once through them, he found carts lined up in the hallway outside of two service elevators. They were all covered in distorting plastic. What looked like stacks of bed and bath linens were on most of the carts. He moved quickly down the line and had just spotted a cart full of green when the elevators opened.

  No time left. Rico wedged himself between two carts and watched a security guard pass quickly by with his radio crackling. Hospital personnel were already on the hunt. Once he was in the clear, Rico put on the largest scrubs. Farther down, he pilfered a hair cap and a surgical mask. He’d likely still stand out, but it was the best he could do.

  Next he followed signs to the Intensive Care waiting room. If he didn’t find what he didn’t want to find there, then he’d use the available phone to track Angie down. Unfortunately, he saw Angie’s mother, Liz, through the glass doors to the waiting room. Beside her, in a wheelchair with a hospital aide at the helm, was Franz—pale, with his left arm in a sling from the bullet wound to his shoulder. That the man held Liz’s hand made Rico’s stomach clench with fear. Careful not to draw attention, Rico kept his head down and walked purposefully into the Intensive Care Unit when the double doors opened to let some other visitors out.

  Designed like a horseshoe with a nurses’ station in the center and patient rooms along the perimeter, Rico moved forward, sure someone would stop him from reaching Angie. Then he realized that one of the patients was having a medical emergency. A number of people were in and about a room, moving with fast, efficient purpose.

  Was it Angie? Dread filled him. He hurried forward, reading posted names, and glancing into the patient rooms as he passed, praying he’d find her. Praying the patient in trouble wasn’t her.

  He found the name Freemont posted on the fifth room, just one room away from the patient in trouble and slipped inside. Angie laid completely still, eyes shut. She faced the window, where filtered sunlight came through the slit blinds, highlighting the vibrant red of her impossibly curly hair.

  “Angie?” She didn’t respond. Moving forward, he circled to the side she faced, taking note of her condition. Vital signs on the monitor were stable, IV infused via a pump, everything appeared normal. He clasped her small hand in his, threading his fingers through hers. She was cold. Very cold. Releasing her hand, he grabbed a blanket from a shelf. As he covered her, he slid his hands along her legs, stomach and shoulders and found no bandages, no evidence of surgery. He leaned in close as he tucked the cotton around her shoulders. If possible, she appeared even paler than she had just after the car accident.

  His hand shook as he brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Angel?”

  No visible injury but apparently unresponsive since the accident. His stomach wrenched into a knot and his heart raced as he put the pieces together. She had to have suffered trauma to her brain. The impact with the taxi, the air bag, something had gone wrong. His cavalier dance with life and death had harmed the one person he’d grown to care more about than anyone he’d known before.

  His eyes burned, and he blinked, unable to see as he brought his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft though cool. The scent of strawberries practically jerked him to his knees. He leaned heavily against the bed, his body trembling from pain, his shoulders shaking with a sob. “God, Angel. Please wake up.”

  A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “We’ve been looking for you, Corporal. You should be in a hospital bed.”

  General Dekker. It was all Rico could do to resist planting his
fist in his superior’s face as he eased back from Angie. Rage unlike he’d ever known gripped him, but as he swung around to look at Dekker, he realized that rage was with himself and the horrible shit he’d brought down on everyone. Dekker was just a convenient target. The man looked like hell with two black eyes, scorched hair, cut cheek and a sunburn that left tiny blisters on his forehead.

  “I am exactly where I should be, General, sir.”

  Dekker’s gaze met Rico’s and must have seen what he wanted to see, because he nodded. “Can’t keep a good man down. I’m glad to see you’re just as pissed as the rest of us. We need your help. First though, the doctors aren’t quite sure why Miss Freemont hasn’t regained consciousness. It’s not a good sign. But on the other hand, tests for intracranial injury, swelling or bleeding are negative. That doesn’t rule out a brain contusion, but it does indicate her condition has the potential to be less serious than it appears right now.”

  Rico sucked in air and grasped on to the straw Dekker just handed him. Then he saw SA Gibson and SOO Dick de Jerk in the open doorway.

  “I’m not going back to the police station, General. You might as well shoot me where I stand because dead is the only way I’m leaving this room.”

  A new respect had tempered Gibson’s sharp gaze and he nodded. “No station. Though you need to be in a hospital bed, you can come and go as you please. We just need your input.”

  Dick de Jerk still looked as condescending as ever. “What we need to do is to lock him up. Everywhere he goes there’s trouble. Who the hell needs terrorists when—”

  SA Gibson elbowed de Jerk in the gut. A good thing, because Rico was already on the move, his fist ready to make ugly with the SOB’s face. He was one target Rico had no problem letting loose on.

  “Later,” Dekker said under his breath. “I need to check on Holly—uh, Senior Airman Gear and then we need for you to go through the bank’s video. Caught quite a bit of activity over the past few days in and out of the motel’s parking lot. The entrance to the room doesn’t show on the video and today’s feed was destroyed by the blast.”

  “Holly? She’s alive?”

  “Two rooms down. It’s been touch and go, but she’s going to pull through. Ruptured spleen, collapsed lung, blood loss.”

  Rico couldn’t believe it. The flood of relief nearly buckled his knees. He fought for balance. Then he remembered the emergency. “You sure? There was an emergency just minutes ago. People in her room and—”

  Dekker shook his head, looking a little dazed, now that Rico could see better. “She woke up and did the same thing you did. Pulled her IVs out and tried to leave, except she’s in much more serious condition than you. Come see for yourself.”

  Rico looked back at Angie. “Give me a minute.”

  “You got it.” Dekker moved to the door. “We’ll be right outside.”

  Rico returned to Angie’s side. This time he didn’t hesitate to brush his lips over hers before he brought his mouth to her ear. “You gotta wake up for me, Angel, because I’ll die if you don’t.” He took off his Saint Christopher Cross, the part of his soul he never shared with anyone else, and put it around her neck. “My heart and my life are in your hands.”

  He kissed her good-bye.

  On Twitter….

  BREAKING NEWS: NYC. Five Shot in Central Park.

  BREAKING NEWS: DC. Lincoln Memorial Massacre. Ten dead in minutes.

  BREAKING NEWS: South Beach, Miami. Swimmers picked off by sniper on boat.

  BREAKING NEWS: Seattle. Broad Street Tram drive-by shooting. Four dead.

  BREAKING NEWS: Chicago. Millennium Park. Sniper. 3 dead. 2 injured.

  BREAKING NEWS: Dallas/Ft. Worth. Six Flags over Texas. Sniper kills seven on ride.

  BREAKING NEWS: Beverly Hills. Bride and five others shot at Greystone Mansion Wedding.

  Chapter Thirty

  River of Blood Camp

  Union County, Georgia

  1700 hours

  Desperation had clawed Roger’s soul so raw that he couldn’t even put the miracle he needed into words anymore. In the hours he’d lain gagged and bound with Mari in the back of the black van, he’d prayed to God, bargained with God and begged God for something…anything to stop this hellbound journey to death. He’d gotten nothing.

  Not that he deserved a miracle, but Mari and the innocent child inside her did. He was so worried about the baby, especially since she had the cramping scare after Dugar’s attack and he kept praying that she’d get some sort of relief somehow. But there had been no stops for gas. No stops for the bathroom. And no response to Mari’s duct-taped moans for help from her siblings even though Mari’s sister had vehemently argued with Mari’s brother about their father’s plans for Mari. The situation was killing him inside.

  When the Taser had taken him down, he must have hit his head pretty damn hard because he remembered falling—his muscles a spastic mass of pain—then nothing until he’d awakened to the urgent jab of Mari’s knee against his thigh, her womanly curves pressed all along his side and the blessed scent of sweet jasmine. Seeing her tear-stained face, anxious gaze and duct-taped mouth had filled him with relief that instantly morphed into a fear unlike any he’d ever known as he translated bits and pieces of her sister and her brother’s argument. He discovered that her family was involved in a terrorist plot against the United States and Mari was to be executed within the bosom of her family.

  “I thought you were different, Fahran. You are the same as our father. The same as Salaam. You lied to me. You did not come to help Mari and bring her to Father for forgiveness but to harm her.”

  “I am honoring our father. That she has married a kafir only proves him right. Allah is punishing us all because of what she has done.”

  “What has she done other than marry a man who protects her? She has only known brutality from men of our faith and condemnation from the men in her family.”

  “She was wrong to go to the village alone.”

  “You were wrong too. You told her to forget her necklace when she told you she had left it. Should you be condemned to death as well, Fahran? And what of the men who attacked her?”

  “They still have not been found.”

  “Maybe Allah is displeased because they go unpunished yet Father unjustly condemns Mari. He was wrong when he imprisoned her and he was wrong to leave her in a cell to die when we fled.”

  “You have no understanding of important matters, Maisa. If one impurity is allowed to go unpunished then all will become impure.”

  “Punished by death, Fahran? We both know the only ones deserving of that punishment are the men who defiled her. Father was wrong before and he is wrong to seek her death now. Everything he and Salaam are doing here is wrong. What does more death of innocent people gain but more death?”

  “Enough! Or I will tell Salaam of your nonsense. You should be proud that Salaam leads the fight. What is being done—to us, to our country, to Islam—by America and its allies is wrong. They struck our hearts and homes. We are doing the same. Salaam is a highly revered Mullah deserving of your respect. What would he do to hear you speak like this?”

  “He would punish me. Severely. But then, he may do that no matter what I do or don’t do. I have not borne him the son he so desperately wants and he grows angrier every day. What punishment do I deserve for my failure, Fahran? Death?”

  “Cease this. You don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Uppermost in Roger’s mind, aside from the danger to Mari, was that America’s hearts and homes were under attack. The sniper situation. The murder of his uncle. Were Mari’s sister and brother connected to that?

  Only one thing was concrete. Hope for escape lessened with every passing mile.

  He hadn’t just screwed up. He’d fucked up. Royally. He’d broken a smart soldier’s sacred rule—he had no backup. No one knew where in the hell he’d gone and he was minus his Kimber and his cell phone. What the hell had he been thinking? Quick trip off base to see
her family. Simple. No big deal, right?

  The van slowed and left asphalt for gravel. Mari looked up at him as if the end of the world had come and rightly so. Their final destination had to be close. She shivered and he urged her closer to him by snagging her leg between his and pulling her more on top of his body until he could feel the pounding of her heart against his aching chest. Rage, frustration and something white hot and pure burst inside of him as he met her gaze.

  The conversation between her sister and brother had filled in the gaps for him. He’d learned the source of her pain. The source of her fear. What Neil had saved her from. It had completely undone him. He couldn’t even let himself think about what had happened to her in the past and stay sane. So he’d pushed it to the back of his mind and had focused on what she would face when the van stopped. It killed him that he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop this death ride.

  The metal floor of a black utility van had made an uncomfortable prison bed. His attempts to rip through the duct tape binding her wrists and his had failed. His fingers were raw. He hadn’t found a raised bolt or an edge sharp enough to saw through the thick layers of duct tape either. He’d tried to ease her discomfort by pillowing her head on his shoulder but had lost the feeling in his extremities so many times that they were practically useless at this point.

  The back of the van was windowless, eliminating any chance he had of figuring out where they were. From the drone of the engine and the smoothness of the ride until the gravel just now, the van had been driven for hours at a good speed on even asphalt with very few traffic stops, which meant that the driver had had no worries about being followed or traveling on an interstate. A pair of men’s hiking boots with red mud caking the soles sat in one corner, hinting that they’d headed south instead of north or west. Iron oxide in the dirt was characteristic of several southern states. The constant side-to-side turns and up-and-down inclines yelled mountainous terrain. And gravel usually meant remote. But that had been all he’d figured out.