by Ronie Kendig
“Listen!” Darci took a breath. “I’ll distract them, then backtrack.”
Only heavy breathing met her words.
Arms trembling, she guided Badria over her legs and toward Alice. Cold fingers latched on to Darci’s, the tiny fingers digging into her flesh as the little one yelped.
“Shh, shhhh.” In Pashto, she explained to Badria that she needed to go with Alice to save the others, that they’d meet up at the foot of the mountain. “It’ll be okay,” Darci said with little confidence. “Alice, take her. Get down the mountain. Get to Bagram, ask for General Burnett. Don’t stop for anyone and don’t talk to anyone else. Burnett. Nobody else. Got it?”
“What about you?”
“What was his name? Tell me who you’re going to talk to.”
“Only General Burkett.”
“Burnett. Nett, Alice.”
“Right. Burnett.” She huffed. “What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you. Even if you can’t see me, just keep going. I’ll find you at the base.” There was a greater chance of not being able to evade the Chinese, of getting drilled full of holes. “Okay?”
“I … yeah.”
Mouth drier than the land around them, Darci gulped. She didn’t have much time. And she had to buy them time. “Then let’s do this.”
“Darci, wait.” Alice’s fingers swiped over Darci’s side, then caught her arm. “Are you … what are…?” A weighted breath. “Please don’t do anything … heroic.”
“Who?” She winced at the knife that sliced through her courage again. “Me?” Slinking back into the somber glow, Darci looked for movement.
“I hear something!” a voice shouted.
Darci pointed to the other tunnel. “Go!” She nudged Alice to prevent her from arguing.
Wobbling into a crouch, Darci fell back against the tunnel wall. A gasp behind her told her Alice was hesitating. “Go,” she ground out and pushed herself off the rocks and toward the opening.
Her feet felt like writhing snakes, tangling and thick. She had a mission. She had to get this done. Had to protect the others. The river of light drew closer, spilling over the rocks and glinting in her eyes. No, not just glinting. Glaring.
Hand just inside the lip of the cave, Darci paused. She closed her eyes, shutting out visual cues that would deceive her and trained her mind on the sounds outside. Wind. Cold, bitter wind. The temperature had dropped since they’d entered. Would Alice and Badria be okay? Would the storm hit before they made it to the base?
A bird squawked in the distance, but she could sift no other sound from the surroundings. They must’ve—
Rocks dribbled against each other.
A grunt.
Darci smiled. Ready or not, here I come …
She drew in a breath for courage and blew it out. God, help me do this. Help me to not get killed, so I can go home and have tea once more with Ba.
A rumble of noise and shouts froze her. But only for a second—they’d spotted Alice!
Darci stumbled into the open. A three-foot ledge provided minimal protection against a fifty-foot drop. Her stomach squirmed as adrenaline exploded through her veins.
She straightened and turned toward the noise. “No!”
Her panicked shout stopped several men.
She widened her eyes in a pretense of fear.
Though she pretended to scramble away, Darci glanced back. To her pursuers, she’d look like a terrified woman. But for her, it was her reassurance that Alice and Badria would get away.
“There! It’s her—Meixiang! Grab her!”
Yes, come and get me.
She went down. Glanced back and threw her arms up to protect herself against their blows.
Two men still followed the girls.
“Please,” Darci said loudly. “Don’t take me to Colonel Zheng!” In her periphery, the other two hesitated.
“Please,” she said in a begging tone. “Jianyu will kill me.” Okay, there was too much truth to that for her to fake. They saw it, too.
With one last glance to Alice and the little one, Darci surrendered to her fate. The major towering over her leered, then raised the butt of his weapon and slammed it into her temple.
Nineteen
FOB Murphy, Afghanistan
Stretched out on his back, Heath stared at the slats of the bunk above where Jibril slept, a snore filtering the awkward quiet. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch-scritch. Heath lolled his head to the side where Trinity lay pressed against him, her legs racing to an unseen dream destination. Maybe she was making the same route he was—straight to Jia.
Three feet away, Timbrel lay on her side curled into the fetal position. Vulnerability cloaked her in a somber embrace. But he knew better than to think that girl was vulnerable. Then again … maybe she was. That tough-mama persona, the GI Jane attitude, probably concealed wounds beneath that stone mask. He’d never tried to find out.
Good thing he hadn’t made it into the chaplaincy program—he hadn’t been able to look past big attitudes and loud mouths to see a person’s wounds.
Because, in truth, explosive anger and powerful defensive mechanisms served one purpose: to conceal and protect what lay beneath the surface of that superficial display of strength.
So, what’s eating at you, Hogan?
A swish of material drew his attention to the top bunk where Aspen dropped back against the gray mattress. She stared up. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She lifted a hand to her face. Wiped something …
Concern pulled Heath up, his elbow under him for support.
Aspen glanced over—then jerked her gaze away.
In that split second, her watery eyes cried out to him. No way he could let that go. God had put him here. Didn’t Hogan say something to that effect—that he had a purpose for being here? Heath climbed off the mattress. As he slipped over to the bunk, he heard Trinity sit up and start panting. He touched Aspen’s arm.
A tear rolled down her face, and as she brought her gaze to his, the tear splatted on the mattress.
Soundless, he mouthed, “C’mon.” Heath lifted Trinity’s lead from the table and motioned for the door. Behind him came the sounds of Trinity’s nails clicking on the cement and the gentle groan from Aspen’s body scooting across the mattress. Then the soft thump of her landing on the floor coupled with a sniffle.
“Hey,” said a drowsy Hogan. “Where you … going?”
“Nowhere. Rest,” Aspen whispered as she eased out and pulled the door closed.
Sunlight streamed into the building through a narrow slice between the door and the foundation. Strange to think it was midday since they’d put a blackout blanket over the window so they could sleep.
Heath walked to a bin with water bottles and withdrew two. He handed one to Aspen. “Drink it slow.”
Red rimmed her eyes, but they weren’t puffy and swollen. Either she hadn’t cried long, or it wasn’t a hard cry. “Thanks.” Blond curls akimbo, she brushed them back and took a mouthful, swished it, then swallowed. “I need to let off some frustration. I need a speed bag.”
Arching a brow, Heath considered her. “Speed bag?”
Amused blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “I did ten months in Iraq when I was enlisted, but I got stuck in a building doing paperwork all the time.” A breeze swept along the alley formed by the buildings and tousled her hair. “Drove. Me. Nuts.” She flashed him a smile, and it was a good thing he didn’t feel attracted to her because her beauty had killer written all over it. “Austin taught me to box to work off the mind-numbing boredom, but he also wanted me to be able to defend myself against predators.”
“And Austin is …”
“My brother.” She looked down the road, but he guessed what she saw wasn’t down that empty road to the mountains but the road to the past.
Heath started walking, Trinity trotting ahead a half-dozen feet, nose to the ground, tail wagging. “He the one you’re crying over?”
“Yeah.” She took a sip of the water. “He vanishe
d on a mission.”
Heath was tracking. “Talon’s handler, right?”
Another nod. “He and his team were ambushed. They didn’t tell me much, only that in an explosion, Talon was thrown away from Austin and found twenty feet away. Broken leg, but that was it as far as visible wounds.”
As they rounded a corner, an armored personnel carrier rumbled out the gates and into the open terrain. Boots crunched. Trinity zigzagged the way she was trained.
“Yeah, it’s those invisible wounds that get tricky.” Heath considered Trinity, who sauntered through combat like a walk through the hills of A Breed Apart. “So that’s why he has doggie PTSD.”
Aspen sniffed a laugh but nodded. “Yeah, and that’s the only reason they let me have him. He had too much baggage for them.” She shifted toward him, thoughtful.
“What?”
“Ever heard of someone declared MIA, presumed dead, that came home?”
This was delicate ground. “No, but since we’re taught to never leave a man behind …” He tread carefully. “You think he’s still alive?”
Shoulders drawn up, she stuffed a hand into her jacket pocket. “Don’t know.” She shoved her fingers into her ringlets, holding them from her face. “Look.” She pivoted toward him. “I appreciate what you’re doing here, getting me to talk things out.” Aspen wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “But I’m not interested in dialogue.”
“Only a speed bag.” Bottle in hand, he motioned to a tented area. “Will that work?”
Relief swelled, pulling her straight, then it whooshed out. “Perfect.” Aspen smiled. “Thanks for understanding.”
“No worries.” He backed up and waved. “Trinity and I are going to take the grand tour.”
“Okay, catch you later.”
Jogging wouldn’t alleviate his headache but he’d feel better. Heath whistled to Trinity nosing through a couple of crates outside a building. She loped into a run and caught up with him. This team thing with the people of A Breed Apart might just work after all. And to think he’d joined to find purpose again, to feel useful. To get back out here, in the action. Okay, so he never expected to actually fulfill that dream, but it’d happened.
Heath slowed, hands on his sides as he walked the fence to snuff out the burn in his chest and muscles. He’d gotten his dreams back—well, somewhat. But if he could book some more gigs through ABA, then who knew what opportunities would arise.
A niggling wormed into his thick, pounding skull.
Hand a few inches from the fence, Heath hesitated, listened for the familiar hum of electricity. Convinced it wasn’t hot, he gripped it and arched his back, stretching muscles wound tighter than a primed trigger.
He dropped back against the links and held his knees. What was bothering him? Why couldn’t he ferret out the truth the way he’d ferreted out terrorists in the desert?
Heath mentally reached for the tenuous threads of that niggling. What was it? What was hanging there like a phantom? Present but intangible. He felt it—not with his hands. It was stronger than that. Bigger.
God, I’m missing something here. That probably wasn’t anything new to Him. Just … help a guy out, okay? God had shut down his career. Removed the chaplaincy option. Now … what? What was he doing here, in a place where it couldn’t be clearer that he didn’t belong anymore?
What do You want with me?
Trinity lunged, rattling the chain links as she pounced against the fence. She barked.
Heath flattened himself against the ground and rolled, expecting to see someone there with a weapon. Wouldn’t be the first time. But only as his gaze streaked the horizon did it register.
Her bark. Not aggressive. It was …
Trinity whimpered, stalked back and forth. Attacked the chain link. Pawed at it. Another whimper.
Heath pulled himself off the ground, squinting as he searched the road and field of brown, tan, and pocks of green. Heat plumes wavered—
Wait. It wasn’t hot enough for heat plumes.
That was someone … coming, wavering, staggering like a drunk.
Or one seriously dehydrated. Or wounded.
Heath spun around and sprinted to the tower guard. “Nocs, where are your binoculars?”
Wide-eyed, weapon resting against his chest, the specialist handed him a pair. “What’s wrong, man? D’you see something?”
“Get your boss out here. Now!” Heath darted back in the direction he’d come, vaulted up on an MRAP to see better.
“Hey!” someone below objected.
Trinity raced around the vehicle, then sprinted back to the fence, barking.
“Good, girl.” Heath knelt awkwardly on the steel trap and aimed the binoculars toward the figure.
Commotion ensued around him. Several asking what was up, others jogging to the fence to figure out what he saw.
Seconds after a door banged against a wall came Candyman’s shout, “Whaddya got, Ghost?” His voice and pounding boots drew closer.
“A woman—she’s …” He strained to focus the lenses. “American!”
Curses and orders flew through the cool wind. A vehicle revved to life.
Heath craned his neck, as if the few inches would make that much difference. Whatever she held in her arms made her steps uneven. Clumsy. Something near her shoulder moved. His heart catapulted over what tunneled through the lenses to his brain.
“She’s got a kid with her.” Just as the words left his lips, the woman collapsed.
“Move, move, move!”
Camp Eggers, Kabul, Afghanistan
“I don’t like it.”
The words grated on Lance’s conscience, and he glared at Zeferelli. “That’s a lame line from a bad book.”
“Yeah, but he’s right,” Early grumbled.
“I don’t care if he’s right.” Lance pushed to his feet and paced in front of the one-way glass. “Nobody likes this. Besides, every time someone says that, something bad happens. And I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve got enough bad without adding to it.”
Zeferelli and Early exchanged a look.
Fingers pressed to the cold table, Lance leaned over the surface. “What?” The growl in his voice seemed to prowl the walls.
Zeferelli touched his nose, then spoke. “There’s a blizzard whipping up, pretty mean, over the Kush. It’ll hit here in a day, two at most.”
He needed an exorcist to get rid of those demons. What else could go wrong? Head tilted back, Lance held then let out a long breath. They didn’t know about Darci, so he needed to tread the fine line. They also didn’t know about her mission because of its extreme sensitivity. And if Early figured out Lance had placed an operative in his territory, he’d go off like a scud.
He traversed a very slippery rope. With Darci out there, Wu Jianyu skulking through the country, and Zheng in here …
Maybe two exorcists. “How bad’s the storm?”
“Bad. We’re prepping supplies for the troops and SOCOM guys in remote locations. Command suggested pulling our guys back from FOBs till this blows over.”
“Oh, and Burnett,” Early said. “I think you best haul those geology freaks back before that storm hits. Lord knows I don’t want the deaths of civilians on my head, too. The media would scream holy terror.” Early leaned back in his chair, stretching.
Lance couldn’t yank Darci now. She’d been convinced something was there. He’d seen the light in her eyes, and before they had another string of attacks against the men, they needed to know what sort of numbers they were dealing with.
He wanted to curse. “You know what kind of money we put into that team? If we don’t let them get this done, that grant money is down the tubes. That’s going to look real bad when I go up against the Hill trying to justify our funding and programs.”
“Imagine how bad it’d be trying to justify leaving them there and dragging home frozen corpses.”
“It just can’t get any worse.”
“Unless someone comes through t
hat door with bad news.” Early chuckled.
Lance glared at Early. Yet at the same time, a squall of warmth washed down his spine and pushed him into a chair. “If someone does come through that door, I’m pinning it on your head, Early.”
Laughing, Early and Zeferelli shot nervous looks to the steel barrier that kept them safe from the surrounding chaos.
Mischief-laden eyes locked on Lance as the general thumbed toward the door. “Frank, take a load off the general’s mind, please, and lock that.”
With a rumble of laughter, Frank came out of his chair. “Yes, sir.”
Lance again shot another glare at Early for taunting him. “Sit down, Lieu—”
Bang! The distant, hollow thud of a door hitting a wall reverberated through the building. Shouts climbed the cement hull and snaked along the floors, stretching closer … closer. “General. General!”
The weight of the next few seconds anchoring him to the chair, Lance cursed. God forgive him, he didn’t mean to, but he did. He waited with the foreboding that had been inescapable since he rolled out of the rack this morning.
“Where’s General Burnett?”
At the sound of Major Otte’s shout, Lance shoved to his feet. He pivoted and strode for the very door they’d almost locked. He yanked it open and stepped into the coffin of a hall. “Otte.”
The lanky officer turned, eyes bulging. “General.” The rush of relief flooded his words. He pulled himself back in line. “Sir.” He saluted. “Sir, I have news.” His gaze drifted over Lance’s shoulder to where he could sense Zeferelli and Early hovering.
Another flurry of noise filled the narrow space behind, and Lance knew the void where the ominous news lingered would soon be filled with anger, revelation, missions … “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen.” He took his aide by the shoulder and guided him into the room. As he closed the door, he essentially closed out the other two.
He flipped the lock. Sucked from the dregs of his courage and faced the man.
“Sir. We’ve lost communication with the geology team.”
Lance felt prepared for just about anything at this point. “Sat imaging?”
A nod. A breath. “Not good, sir.” Panting. “It’s a mess. From what we can tell, they were attacked. Fire. Everything’s destroyed.” “Who’s responsible?”