The man stuttered, his steady stream of words faltering under a crushing wave of fear. No, the name Jack Mankel meant nothing, but the name of the most prolific terrorist in the entire country of Afghanistan meant life or death to this poor poppy seed farmer.
Hassan fell to his knees and prostrated himself on the floor. “Sir, please, I did not know. Please, please take the girls, I ask for nothing, only that you not speak of this to Zafar.”
Mankel embraced the surge of power running like white lightning through his veins. This job was so much more satisfying than acting as a middleman in the CIA, running teams here and there, but ultimately at the mercy of whatever punk managed to promote above him because his daddy knew people. Jack Mankel had been a nobody. He’d worked his way from the ground up, making the right connections, gathering intel. Using his above average intelligence to climb higher. But it had all meant nothing in the end.
Jack learned the hard way that blood was thicker than friendship and even his best friends would betray him for greed.
He’d taken that hard-learned lesson to heart.
Here, he held power over life and death, had slaves at his beck and call, and enough money to buy a small island and retire. But not before he finished his plan. There were people in the States that had to pay, and no matter what he did, he would make sure they knew who destroyed their life. Besides, he was having too much fun toying with Hassan. Mankel tapped his lower lip. “I don't know. You've bungled the whole thing. These girls are barely alive. What if they die on the way back?”
The man crawled like the filthy pig he was across the floor, grasping at Jack's polished shoes to kiss the tips. Jack clenched his teeth and looked up at the ceiling, having to fight with every fiber not to jerk back and kick the man in the face.
“I beg of you sir, please, please, he will kill my family. My entire village.”
As if this ridiculous little village wouldn't be better off wiped from the face of the earth. Mankel glanced at his Rolex and said, “I'll need to think about that.” He stepped back and walked to the door, ignoring Hassan, who scrambled after him.
“I beg of you. I will do anything. Anything.”
“I will let you know my answer within the hour.” Mankel nodded to his security guard, who opened the door to the last black Range Rover in the line of SUVs. The girls had already been loaded into one of the other cars without hassle.
“Bless you.”
Mankel's security guard blocked Hassan from getting within five feet of the car. “Let's go. Now.” He'd been here as long as he could tolerate.
The guard blocking Hassan shoved the man back and got into the waiting car, and they drove off. Trent, a hired Australian mercenary, turned around and said, “How do you want me to handle the peasant?”
“Clean sweep.” He couldn't afford to leave one scrap of evidence behind. Trent would send in his men and make sure Hassan ceased to exist.
Trent nodded and turned back around, pulling out a secure phone to complete the call. “Wipe him clean.”
Mankel relaxed into the seat. His plans were set in motion, and so far, everything had gone off without a hitch, except for the matter of Celine Latimer. Mankel stiffened. She could be a problem. “Call Katar. Have him come to the compound within the hour.”
“The slave trader?” Trent asked.
“Yes,” Mankel answered.
“Yes, sir.” Trent immediately grabbed his phone again, his ability to follow orders was one of the reasons Mankel had kept him on the payroll for so long. Not only would Trent kill without question or compunction, but he had developed an attachment to Mankel.
Something Jack made sure to enforce with plenty of bonuses and free access to his slaves.
Loyalty could be bought; a lesson he'd learned more than two decades ago when Tom Cotter bribed and stole his fiancée, Sarah, leaving Jack to watch as the love of his life married his best friend. She’d gotten pregnant within the year, given birth to twin baby girls and died from complications a day later. Insane with grief and jealousy, Jack kidnapped one of the girls from the hospital, longing for a piece of his dead love and for a piece of retaliation.
And now, after years of plotting his revenge, his plans had finally aligned. He’d waited and bided his time, studying his opponent and learning his weaknesses. Tom Cotter had two: his power and his daughter.
Jack had both his daughters now. Next, he would take his power.
Chapter 4
The archaic window air conditioning unit sputtered and coughed to life, fighting a losing battle against the heat, as the small multicolored plastic streamers snapped and crackled out from the vent. The Pit took up the entire end of the trailer, with one long table in the middle and metal folding chairs strewn in clusters around the room.
Fresh from the shower, Aaron swiped newly formed sweat from his forehead, wishing for something more than a 1980s-era window unit to cool this place down. But the heat of the desert was nothing compared to the heated pressure he felt when it came to finding Celine. He sank into the nearest empty chair. The insanely difficult training sessions he put his body through had managed to take a little bit of the edge off his need to hunt and kill, but not all.
Delta Force, a specialized team who’d also been assigned to track down the Senator’s daughter, would be here any minute and he might finally be able to find his girl. If he could force himself to wait.
Aaron closed his eyes and leaned back, crossing his ankles and threading his fingers together over his belly, appearing for all the world a man relaxed, but his thoughts tumbled relentlessly to last month and the last time Celine had smiled at him. The last time she kissed him.
She'd launched into his arms, leaving him no choice but to catch her, and her delicate arms wrapped around his neck. She'd taken that first kiss from him, sweet, sensual and commanding, she demanded that he respond. And he'd been completely helpless to resist.
“I swear, you can take a nap anywhere.”
Aaron opened his eyes to see Merc towering over him, feet shoulder width apart and arms crossed.
“If I'm not mistaken, I caught you dozing a time or two, too.” Aaron closed his eyes again. The meeting wouldn't start until all of Task Force Scorpion, TF-S, and Delta Force assembled.
“Yeah, you caught me napping one time. I'd gone two days straight with no break. Pretty sure that is a record.”
Aaron smiled, that was the only time he'd ever seen Merc display the slightest weakness. They'd been set up in a blind, cooking in the jungle heat on a drug cartel recon mission. When he'd seen Merc's eyes closed, he'd almost poked him to see if he was dead.
“It's okay, brother. I'll babysit you anytime.”
Aaron heard Merc snort and his heavy footfalls as he walked across the room. “Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to put this ancient piece of shit in here for an air conditioning unit?”
“Uncle Sam I bet. If you wanted coddling, you should've joined the Air Force.” Actually, their headquarters wasn't half bad compared to some of the places they'd been. At least here they had a roof over their head, an attempt at a/c and real beds.
“You got that right. Probably be put up in a four-star hotel right now drinking a beer with a chick on my arm,” Merc replied.
And just like that Aaron was thrust back into the vortex of guilt. He'd had female company and he'd been lazy and sloppy and lost her. Hell, why was he having such a strong reaction? It wasn't like he spent years with Celine, or that they had really even dated. They’d had sex. That was it. One time.
And that had rocked his very core.
“Shit, man. Sorry I forgot for a minute.”
Aaron sat up and shoved a hand through his brown hair, not surprised that it was already dry in this heat. Normally his hair was thick and straight, but here it curled a little bit. “It's all right. When’s the rest of team supposed to get here?”
He was so tired of the guilt eating him alive. He needed action, needed to do something to fix the problem,
but more than anything he needed to get Celine Latimer back in his arms even if he didn't understand why.
“How about right now?”
Aaron spun around to see Hunter enter the room, dressed in desert BDUs and carrying a “Got some new intel.”
Their team leader, Hunter, and his brother, Ranger, assistant team leader were followed by Jared, Hoyt and Cord, the team’s snipers. Riser, weapons specialist and assistant medic came before Ethan.
The men circled around the long table and watched in silence as Hunter pulled some papers from the folder he'd been carrying. “Our satellites caught an explosion here, in Helmand province.”
“Helmand? What the hell is out there?” The province was nearly all desert, a few poor farmers spread out over the whole area, definitely not populated.
“Not much, but one of our drones happened to be on a fly by and caught some movement and started recording. About thirty minutes later, satellites detected a fairly large explosion. We pulled the feed from the drone and this is what we found.”
Hunter threw down the papers, which turned out to be photographs. Aaron snatched up the nearest one, nearly crushing it in his grip when he glimpsed the photo. A line of black SUVs parked in front of a ramshackle village. Multiple men with guns. Two women being carried to the line of vehicles.
Aaron pulled the photo closer. One girl had short blond hair, just like Celine.
“How the hell did you get this?”
“Luck, man. The drone was in the right place at the right time. That’s it.”
Explosions in the Middle East were about as common as popsicles in July in Mississippi, but not out in the middle of the desert with no witnesses and minimal casualties. That was the exact opposite goal of any terrorist organization's standard operation procedures.
“You able to track the vehicles?” Aaron asked.
“We got a plate on the first one, the other is unmarked. Traced the number back to a compound in the middle of Kabul. Pulled the satellite footage, it’s about a four-hour ride from here.” Hunter handed over another aerial photo of a compound surrounded by a large concrete fence.
“You get a name?” Aaron asked.
“Just a fake. Abdul Jamar. He came into existence about a year ago. But I've still got intel searching for records, just in case he's used that name before.”
Hunter's phone chirped at his belt buckle and he answered it, stepping from the group of men. “What do you have for me?”
While Hunter stepped into his conversation, Aaron tapped on the girls’ photo again. “Did you get a shot of them being carried into his compound?”
“No, unfortunately. But I'm working on it. Can't tell if they were unconscious. We'll have to plan on carrying them out.”
“And make sure me and Riser are on the ground for medical. I've got my bag ready to go.” They could be drugged or knocked out or worse.
His stomach knotted just thinking about all the possibilities of what Celine and Caroline had been through. He'd been in enough battles to see the truly ugly nature of some men and the vicious evil they were capable of doing to women. He nearly broke out in a cold sweat thinking about what he'd seen before and the fact that Celine could be suffering right now without anyone there to protect her.
“Ranger, interrupt me if you disagree, but I think we should break into two teams. One for assault/breach and one for support by fire. We can put our snipers on over watch,” Aaron said.
Hunter shoved his phone into his pocket. “Change of plans. A’idah just confirmed they've contacted Sven Panchenko. He's supposed to arrive this afternoon.”
“You sure?” Ranger paled.
Aaron tried to read him, but he avoided his gaze. “Who the fuck is Panchenko?”
Hunter's deep voice filled the silence. “Russian human trafficking. His boss, Dmitri, has a particular fondness for young blondes.”
Dread rolled through Aaron. Girls that went into Russia that way never came out alive. “We move, now.”
“They're moving the girls for the drop. Meeting in Herat Province, remote location. Mountains are thick up there, so if we move in early, we can set up high for an ambush,” Hunter said.
“That's at least four hours from here,” Riser said. His second for medical went to the large topographic map on the far wall. “We might need a bird to extract the girls if they're non-mobile.”
“We can get a helo in from Bagram Airfield,” Ranger said, “I've got a buddy there right now.”
“So, let’s set up Jared on the south mountain, and Hoyt on the north mountain for over watch. The rest of us will break into teams, each moving in from different locations and set up blocks on the road in and out of the meeting area,” Hunter joined Riser next to the map, pointing as he spoke, his dark hair a stark contrast next to Riser's blond. “What do you think, Aaron?”
“I like it. Our snipers can take out anyone if they get past our road blocks after the meet and drop. We try to keep as many alive as possible for intel.”
Ethan stepped forward. “But if the girls’ lives are at risk...”
“We take them out,” said Hoyt Crowe, his lips pulled to the side from a deep scar up his cheek. Before his captivity and torture, he'd been all smooth and easy going, but now, the sniper rarely left his fiancée, Hayden, or spoke. In spite of or because of his trauma, his accuracy with a rifle had only improved after he recovered and Aaron wouldn't want anyone else guarding Celine.
“I agree,” Aaron said.
“Me, too,” Hoyt’s brother Jared chimed in.
Merc, the silent one, stepped in and rapped his knuckles on the plastic table. “Anyone else ready to kick some ass?”
Chapter 5
Celine eased back onto the incredibly plush cushions of the low-lying white couch and inhaled the sweet aroma of jasmine. Polished white granite floors with veins of gold streaking throughout were dotted with huge columns that ran up to domed hand-painted ceilings. Priceless vases filled with bright colorful flowers. Plush, different expensive rugs and a gigantic bed adorned with silk throws and pillows. The entire room was out of an Arabian fantasy.
While stark desert lay as far as she could see beyond the walls, the palace itself bordered on a tropical oasis with potted palm trees and bright green and pink flowers filling the surrounding courtyard, trapped much like herself in a world she didn't belong.
Her servant, A’idah, dressed her in a hijab; a long tunic that fitted about the waist with a matching long sleeved skin-tight type of slip to wear underneath. She'd also insisted Celine wear the matching head scarf, but Celine put her foot down. She had no intention of being here long enough to worry about adopting the Muslim dress code.
What she wouldn't give right now for her tiny apartment and cramped bedroom littered with clothing and shoes strewn across the floor. Her friends always laughed at the fact that her home looked more like a nuclear bomb site, and Celine laughed right along with them. She'd never been one of those people who needed everything clean and in order; in fact, this place was so spotless she was afraid to walk on the carpets.
She’d made it about five minutes in the ride from their captivity before passing out and waking in this seeming paradise. She’d had no further contact since she’d woken with anyone but A’idah. She’d questioned the girl, who proclaimed to be her servant, relentlessly about Caro to no avail. A’idah was tight lipped and seemingly only concerned with Celine – that reality even more disconcerting. She’d never had anyone worry about her. Ever. Having a complete stranger seem to devote her entire existence to Celine threw her off completely.
“Miss, may I offer you some fruit?” A’idah picked the silver tray up off a hand-carved table nearby and held out her offering.
“No, thank you. When is Mr. Mankel coming by? How is Caroline? When can I see her?”
“I'm sure he will be by soon to answer your questions. Perhaps you would prefer a soothing tea?” A’idah replaced the tray and stood before her, the perfect picture of modesty, everything but
her face covered in a traditional hijab of bright blue and yellow.
“Could you take me to see my friend?”
A’idah ducked her head, avoiding Celine's gaze, and an anxious sort of dread moved through her. Celine had been here a day and a half and hadn't been able to see Caroline. This morning when she'd insisted to see her, she'd been refused. And still now, with the deep orange and gold of sunset painting the room like a masterpiece, she couldn't get a straight answer.
“A’idah, I demand to see Caroline.”
A’idah edged backwards to the door. “I'm sorry, miss, but you must wait on Mr. Mankel to escort you. It is not safe for you to roam the halls unprotected.”
“Is that why my door is locked?” Celine spit out. She'd discovered her gilded cage only today, when she'd tried to go exploring.
“Yes, miss. Your protection. I will inform Mr. Mankel of your wish. Please, try and eat. I worry about your health.”
“I am fine, really, you worry too much.” Although Celine silently enjoyed A’idah’s company, she didn’t completely trust her. How could she?
“You have been very kind to me and I seek to return the favor.” A’idah sighed, “But I’ve come to recognize your stubborn streak and know you will not eat. I will leave you to rest now. I placed the bell next to your bed if you have problems with sleep again. Ring if you need company.” A’idah ducked out of the room.
Celine heard the lock snick into place and sighed. Could she hope she only had a little while longer and she'd be stateside and could put this whole nightmare behind her? She limped over through the large open archway and out onto her second story balcony, the short walk leaving her breathless. Her chest and face throbbed from the attack. But worse than that was the nightmares. The horror movie of her captor ripping away her shirt while she lay helpless beneath him plagued her nights. A chill worked down her spine despite the heat.
The horrors of the past two weeks wouldn't be shaken in a day, she knew that, but her newfound weakness was a pitiful pill to swallow.
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