Digitalis

by Ronie Kendig

  “What’s with the ninja guys, Frogman?” The Kid’s expression was taut. “Please tell me they’re not who I think they are.”

  Max frowned. “They have their orders, which is to protect and back us up. Our end goals are the same.”

  “What’s that?” Midas leaned forward, his weapon laid over his legs.

  After a furtive glance to Piper, Max sighed. “The assassin and Rosenblum were right. There’s an attack scheduled for tomorrow during some holiday with a bunch of kids.”

  Her heart skidded into her ribs, knocking the breath from her. “Purim.”

  Max nodded. “We neutralize seven messengers and get out of here.”

  “Seven?” The Kid balked. “That’s—”

  “The assassin brought reinforcements—”

  “I don’t trust him,” Legend said, his deep timbre voice rattling.

  “With good reason.” Max gave a curt nod. “Still, we are short on time and resources.”

  Legend sat forward. “You think we should do this?”

  The muscle in Max’s jaw flexed and popped. “I do.” When Legend started to object, Max patted the air. “We have backup. We have autonomy.”

  “Backup?”

  “The Israeli Army is on alert and made aware of our presence.” Max looked at each man—Colton, Midas, the Kid, Legend, Squirt, and Scar. “I have complete confidence in Nightshade. But if anything goes wrong, the onus is on me.”

  “This ain’t about you,” Legend said. “We’re a team. We get it done. Together. Remember, Frogman, in all things prepared.”

  “What’s the plan?” Midas asked.

  “We split into teams of two and spread throughout the city.” He turned to Colton. “I’m teaming you with Scar. He has experience sniping. I want you two on the roof of a building—I’ll show it to you. The entire mission will hinge on you stopping the seventh contact from reaching his target.”

  “Destination?”

  “Still Be’er Sheva. But the assassin’s people believe the final messenger has a very specific and different target. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot someone with a backpack emitting chemical signatures.”

  Colton leaned forward, his fingers threaded. “What target?”

  “Dimona.”

  “Dimona?” A heavy weight dropped against Piper’s stomach. No, it couldn’t be. She blinked. Drew away. Blinked again.

  “Why?” The Kid’s face went slack as he looked at her, then to Max. “What’s she afraid of?”

  Max held her gaze as he answered the Kid. “It’s a nuclear power plant.”

  A heavy sense of doom descended, but nobody argued or objected. They were a team on a mission. Everyone was in. No questions asked.

  “So, even if we hit our marks,” Squirt said and nodded to Colton, “and he misses …”

  Legend banged the back of his head against the wall of the truck twice. “I knew that assassin was trouble.”

  “It’s not his fault.”

  Everyone turned toward Piper, and she glared back.

  “She’s right,” Max said. “Azzan’s trying to stop this. He didn’t start it.”

  “My cousin may be many things, but he is first and foremost loyal to Israel.” He always had been, and if he was with those men—Mossad—then that proved his loyalty.

  “Cowboy, you good?” Max slapped his knee.

  The question jerked Piper round. She looked at Colton, her concern ratcheting. Even when he gave a short nod to Frogman, she knew there was too much of a storm behind his ocean-borne eyes.

  As the team worked out the details, Piper prayed—prayed hard and silently that Yeshua would be with them, would help guide their actions and alert them to danger, and that she could restore her relationship with Colton. She wouldn’t give up on him. Not now. Not ever.

  About a half hour later, the vehicle came to a slow crawl. When the rear doors opened, Azzan stood there with three men.

  Max joined him and glanced around the vehicle. He shifted back to their vehicle. “Legend, Kid, your stop. Let’s go.”

  Azzan handed them radios and papers as they huddled together. He was too far away for her to hear his instructions, but within seconds, Legend and the Kid jogged down the street, the early-morning darkness enshrouding them, even against the white plaster buildings.

  A few more stops divested the rest of the teams into the city, leaving Piper, her father, Raiyah, and Azzan with Colton, Scar, Frogman, and Midas.

  Max scooted toward Piper. “You’re going with Azzan.” It seemed he expected a reaction or something from her. “You realize … who and what he is.” Dark eyes probed her, then her uncle.

  “My nephew has made decisions I question—”

  “He’s Mossad,” Max said pointedly.

  Her father nodded. “But if he is truly Mossad, there is nothing he will not do for Israel.” Though she heard her father’s brave words, the inflection in them told her he was concerned, too.

  But what worried Piper more was Colton. The flashback he’d had when they were under attack back at the house. The distance in his gaze now.

  “Piper?”

  She jerked her focus back to Max.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “He’s my cousin.” She turned to the girl. “I believe she is very important to him, as well. I will be fine.”

  “Okay,” Max said. “You’ll be within a klick of Colton. If anything goes south, find him.”

  “What is this place?”

  Azzan powered up the laptop and bank of computers. With a look back, he confirmed they were all inside. He pointed to a side door and looked at the medic, who helped his uncle into the room. “Take him in there. There is a couch—but angle it so he can see the monitors.”

  Midas nodded and helped his uncle into the room.

  Azzan glanced at Lily, then pointed to the entrance they’d just used. “Lock it.”

  Irritation skidded across her features, no doubt unhappy that he hadn’t answered her questions. Again. She’d always been too curious, even as a child. Still she complied. And that was all he cared about right now.

  The monitors sprang to life. He slipped the ear mic into place and tested the coms. “Bravo One, this is Eagle. What is your twenty?”

  “Bravo One in position.”

  At the sound of Frogman’s voice, Azzan felt a measure of relief. Somehow he knew he could depend on the Americans, though it went against everything in his training. “Teams two, three, and four, report.” Once the agents reported their situation, he accessed the grid that Nesher had set up, allowing them to monitor the square.

  The blue hues of dawn did little to chase away the specter of night. Even on this fine spring morning, clouds shifted and moved, forming a formidable backdrop. Rain? That would complicate things.

  “Azzan, why … how?”

  He smirked at his cousin. “Lily, sit down before you hurt yourself with all the worrying.” But he could not resist stealing a glance at Raiyah, who sat next to him, eyes fixed on him. The adoration was apparent. The trust implicit. He wished it weren’t.

  “Dod, I need you to monitor the screens.” He nodded to the instrumentation in front of him. “Tell me if you see anything that causes you concern.”

  “Me?” his uncle called from the room.

  “Yes, you’ve researched this the longest, which means you’ve studied things I couldn’t begin to contemplate. It is my hope that something in your large brain will be triggered and put us on the path of our seventh messenger.”

  “Why did you never tell me, Baba?” Lily’s plaintive voice carried hurt buried amid anger and outrage. “You would trust an agent of the Mossad over me?”

  Azzan stood and walked to a small cabinet, where he retrieved a bottle of water. “Of course he did.” He could not help but taunt her. It’d been their way since they were children. He returned to the command station. “You have always been too sensitive, too moved by feelings.”

  She whirled on him. “What do you know of
my feelings?”

  Oh, he couldn’t resist. “Your feelings for the one they call Cowboy are quite obvious.”

  Her cheeks glowed.

  Azzan laughed.

  “And what of your feelings,” she shot back.

  “My feelings?” What did she mean?

  “Yes, for her.” Lily shifted toward Raiyah and glowered at her. “Your father is our enemy. Which means, there is no greater enemy on

  Israeli soil than you. Don’t you realize, his job—even above family and faith—is to kill Israel’s enemies?”

  Raiyah flinched and tucked her head.

  “Leave her!” Fury rose within Azzan. “She is here because I killed her father.”

  “But … it doesn’t make sense. If you killed her father, why is she still here? Why would she trust you?”

  Azzan couldn’t answer that. He wasn’t sure why she’d ever trusted him. Or why he’d felt such a powerful desire to protect her. “She is none of your concern.”

  A shadow near the door moved. “But she is very much my concern.”

  Heat jolted through Azzan’s gut as the man materialized to the side. No visible weapon. But the threat lingered all the same.

  “Hamzah!” Raiyah started for her brother, but Azzan grabbed her hand. Held her back. “What are you—”

  “What do you want?”

  Raiyah struggled against him. “He’s my brother. What are you doing?”

  Azzan knew the man standing before him was Hamzah al-Jafari. Which was exactly why Azzan lifted the weapon from his belt holster.

  “I am no threat,” Hamzah said as his gaze locked with Azzan’s.

  Lily slipped out of the room as Midas rushed into the open, his M4 trained on the intruder.

  The reinforcement bolstered Azzan’s confidence. “I’ll decide that.” He lifted the weapon toward the Iranian. “What are you doing here?”

  “Yes,” Raiyah said to her brother. “Why are you here? How did you find us?”

  Hamzah pointed to her. “The necklace. Our father did not trust you.”

  “A tracer.” Why hadn’t he thought of it? Azzan cursed himself. “How many are with you?” What capabilities did it have? How long had they been tracked? Is that how they’d found them in the village and nearly killed Dod? Or in the last village where the team had to fight their way to safety?

  “I am alone.” Arms out, Hamzah looked too serene.

  Uncertainty stole over Raiyah’s beautiful face. As her hand curled around the pendant, she hesitated and looked at Azzan. “I—I … did not know.” She snapped it off and let it fall to the floor.

  “Turn around and walk out the door.” Azzan stared down the sights at the man’s chest. The Iranian wouldn’t get across the threshold with breath in his lungs. Azzan would make sure.

  Raiyah leapt in front of the gun. “No, please! He’s not our enemy.” Behind her, Hamzah’s face darkened. “Azzan, please. He is not like my father. He’s not wicked.” She looked up at the hulking man with complete adoration. “Hamzah has always been kind and generous to me. I trust him. You should, too.”

  The silent challenge in the brooding eyes told Azzan otherwise. He backed toward the control panel, toed the cable leading to the outlet and dragged it under his shoe. The screens zapped off.

  Hamzah’s eyebrows rose.

  “Eagle One, this is Team Three. We have movement.” Azzan flinched at the message coming through his ear mic. He couldn’t verify what was happening or provide aid with the monitors down. He motioned to Midas.

  “Take him into the hall and secure him.” Azzan nodded to the American medic. “Keep him covered. If he moves, kill him.”

  Azzan waited until the men had cleared the room, then hurried back to the computers. It took several long, agonizing minutes for the systems to reboot. When they did, he scanned the positions of the various teams. His heart backed up into his throat.

  Team Two … the camera showed them down. Dead.

  Azzan gulped down the panic seizing him. “All teams. Eyes out. We’ve been compromised.”

  CHAPTER 27

  What does he mean, compromised?”

  Stomach pressed against the roof of the three-story building, Colton propped his arms under the rifle and peered through the scope. It bothered him that a team had been taken out and he hadn’t heard a single thing through the coms, nor had he been able to intervene—which he should’ve considering his situation on top of the roof and being a sniper.

  This reminded him of Emelie’s death. The vacuous pressure of the explosion had sucked his hearing out. A concussion had slammed him backward. He’d woken up … to a crumbled building. And a dead sister.

  “Nightshade report.”

  His mind hauled itself back to the present at Max’s order. With a practiced eye, Colton swept his weapon up the lonely stretch of road that led to the plant.

  “Midas here. We have an uninvited guest to our little party.”

  Tensed, Colton listened—Midas was with Piper at the command center. Who’d shown up? Their team was still in control if Midas wasn’t calling for backup or screaming for them to beg off.

  “Keep your eyes open, folks. I have a bad feeling.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Scar said.

  Swallowing, Colton aimed the weapon back at the plant. Black of night surrendered to the blues of dawn. Few people moved about the city at this hour, and even fewer a mile out at the plant. Crosshairs on a mother and her child opening a fruit stand, Colton’s mind zigzagged through the information. The people were just going about their days ready to celebrate Purim. And some sicko was out there, wanting to wreak devastation on the people.

  Piper’s people.

  The thought pushed his eye away from the scope. The mile-off plant blurred as the scene around him came into sharp focus. Piper had kept the wool over his eyes all this time. Her father. Her cousin. Who knows what else. Staring out over the roof to the white buildings where the first streaks of the sunrise bled against the sky. Why am I here?

  Because. He believed in missions like this. In protecting the innocent.

  But he’d had enough. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to sear images into his brain and live with them night after night so someone half a world away could sleep when he couldn’t? Was it right? Sacrificing his peace for theirs?

  “Cowboy, report.”

  Max. Max wanted his progress, wanted his observations. Though Colton felt Scar look at him, he fixed his gaze on the horizon. They wanted him to nail the mysterious seventh messenger. Nobody knew what he looked like. Nobody knew what to expect. It could be a woman. Or a child.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  A child …

  The ten-year-old they’d rigged with a bomb to ambush him. Hold him captive. Torture him. The stench of his own flesh burning during interrogations. His screams echoing like a warble as if his head had been dunked underwater. He blinked, sweat dribbling down his temple despite the cool morning temperature.

  Israel … Israel … I’m in Israel.

  His pulsed increased.

  Easy … Israel …

  “Cowboy!”

  Colton shook his head. Wiped his face. Scanned the plant. Tried to push his mind into focus, which felt like trying to squeeze Jell-O with his bare hands.

  The … plant. Watch for … backpack.

  “Scar here. We’re in place.”

  Ear trained on the guy, Colton monitored his own heart rate. His errant thoughts. He had to hold himself together. A subtle buzzing at

  the back of his brain warned him to relax, bring his heart rate down.

  It went up.

  Dawg. He could feel it coming. He fisted his left hand.

  “You okay?” The voice snapped against his conscience. Agitated him.

  “Eyes on target.”

  What if the target was in a car, and they couldn’t get a bead on him in time? What if the teams were all killed, and they were left to fend for themselves? Why was he here and trying t
o get himself killed—for Piper? Her father? For a country he’d never lived in? True, God had chosen this land for His people. And Colton could appreciate it. But—

  Crack! The sound streaked through his coms, followed by curses and grunts.

  “Team Four under fire.”

  There. That was a sound familiar to him. “Where are they?” Colton asked without thinking.

  Scar dragged the map that lay between them closer “Quadrant B2, center.”

  Colton adjusted his sniper rifle and nudged it to the location just outside the site where the Purim celebration would take place within the hour. Shadows drifted in and out of view. Finally he had the team in his crosshairs. Sorting friend from foe proved difficult. But finally, he assessed the situation. “Target acquired.”

  “We aren’t supposed to engage them,” Scar said. “Our orders are to focus on the plant.”

  Colton eased back the trigger. The tiny sonic boom almost proved a sound of relief and familiarity that he could relax with. “Broke one-third mil right.” He immediately chambered another round and located another target as he waited for Scar to report on his accuracy.

  “Cowboy! Negative. Stand down. Stand down. Do not engage.” Azzan’s voice nearly shouted through the coms. “I repeat, do not engage.”

  “They’re killing our men,” Colton finally barked.

  “I don’t care if they take everyone out. Do not compromise your position.”

  “A bit late,” Scar said.

  Anger roiled through Colton. Who was this assassin to tell him how to manage his position and operations?

  A wall of fire rushed over him. He ducked, slid to the side and buried his head in his arms. Pebbles rained down on him. Screams tore at the very fiber of his being.

  “Cowboy!”

  Looking up, he frowned. The overcast sky vanished into a broiling, sun-baked morning. Heat blasted him. Crunching beside him jerked him around. A man, a soldier hollering at him, but the voice was lost. Who was he? He didn’t remember bunking with this man or riding out with him on the Black Hawk.

  A disguised enemy?

  Fear sped through Colton’s body as if a direct IV. He scrabbled away from the man. Drew up his weapon.