Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2)

by Ronie Kendig

  The chopper swung around. Came back.

  “Hide against the rocks!” Fekiria pointed to the jagged outcropping of boulders that had tumbled down from the higher peaks. After grabbing Sheevah’s hand, she ran, dragging the girls with her.

  Pressed against the snow and icy boulders, she scooted in as close as she could and wrapped her arms around Sheevah as they burrowed down.

  The deafening thunder pounded her ears. It grew louder. Fekiria could not help but wonder if they’d been seen, if someone was coming—

  A peppering of noise made her still.

  Was that…?

  Bullets pelted the rock by her face. Fekiria grabbed Sheevah’s head and pulled her down then covered the two girls with her own body.

  Gunfire continued. Only… She trained her ear to the side—it sounded like…

  Shouts. From behind them.

  Fekiria glanced over her shoulder.

  Saw a Pashtun farmer in the trees waving frantically at her. “Come. Hurry!”

  Then she noticed the other Pashtuns with assault rifles firing at the chopper.

  She drew Sheevah up and pointed to the men. “Go!” They hobbled and jumped over the rocks, climbing toward the trees. Whether friend or foe, at least this might be a chance to stay alive.

  A boulder flicked shards at her.

  Fekiria winced but kept moving, all too aware of the chopper spitting bullets at them. Arms folded around them, ushering them into relative darkness and a strange warmth. Not like a fire gives off but of a lesser cold. Because of the forest.

  They hiked a worn path up and around the side of the mountain. Then down. Fekiria glanced back, her heart jamming into her throat at the half-dozen men trailing them with weapons. They led her and the girls into a small village of no more than a dozen plaster dwellings. Three women welcomed them by wrapping thick blankets around them and placing hot cups in their hands, urging them to drink.

  Relief over the shelter and food warred with Fekiria’s need to get help to Brian. But she sat and sipped the warmed broth, so much better than the one she’d made last night. Only as her limbs grew heavy did Fekiria think they might’ve put something in it. Something to kill them. Or knock them out. With a hard swallow, she set aside the cup.

  The stocky woman kneeling in front of her lifted the cup back to her. “Drink. You need it.”

  Her head began to swim. “No, I need to call my captain. I’m in the ANA. My helicopter crashed.” It wasn’t entirely untrue, just the truth spread out a little. But she would never call the base. She would call her cousin, the only person she trusted right now.

  The man who’d rescued them from the rocks handed her a phone.

  Fekiria breathed a little easier, fighting the dizziness. Even as she dialed Zahrah’s number, she noticed Aadela and Sheevah were sleeping soundly.

  God, help me. They drugged us!

  “Hello?”

  “Zahrah,” she said, her words slurred. “I—help me,” she said in English. “I’m—”

  “Fekiria?” Her cousin practically screamed. “Where are you?”

  “A Pashtun village. In the mountains…” Her words sounded like they were echoing. She braced a hand over her forehead. “Brian…” It was so hard to talk. To think. “Help him. The house…” She licked her lips and tried to look at the woman, who blurred. “Where…?”

  The woman gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Help me, Z. They drugged me. They’re…kill…me.”

  THE OFFER

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  25 February—0915 Hours

  I think it is time for you to take a position here at Takkar Corp.”

  Daniel coiled the near insult beneath his dignity. “What do you propose?” It was odd, the dragon and the Sikh coming together once again, more than two decades after the original commitment had been set forth.

  Sajjan turned his laptop around so it faced Daniel. Did the man think him a puppet? To be shifted at will? “I think it will please you.”

  Was he to trust this man? Daniel forced his eyes to the monitor. Surprise tugged up his eyebrows. A logo stared back. He shot the man a look. “What is this?”

  “Long overdue.” Takkar sat in the oversized leather chair, fingertips steepled. “Do you not think?”

  The symbol entwined the Takkar lion with a dragon amid a flame.

  “Why now?” If he did not work to tame the dragon within him, there would be flames. Heated, scorching ones cast at the man who had withheld what belonged to Daniel.

  Sajjan met Daniel’s gaze with a steady expression. “It has been awhile, yes, since you lived in Afghanistan?”

  “Since we were children.”

  “Exactly.” Sajjan lifted his head a little. “You have shown interest, and reports are positive with what you have achieved in Shanghai. You’ve done well.”

  “You patronize me?” Daniel came to his feet, ready to free himself of this insult. Of this man who held an illusory power, a power that had not been meant for him alone.

  “Indeed not,” Sajjan said. “I applaud you. What you have accomplished in Shanghai is worthy of every praise I could give. Your interest in efforts here in Afghanistan speaks to me.”

  Was this a trap? Why had Sajjan suddenly decided to let him in? “I’ve asked for years to partner—”

  “You asked, but you did not show me your interest.” The man’s face was a mask of civility and yet a stone mask impenetrable by emotions. “Words are cheap, Jin. You have come, shown me your interest, not just demanded a position and power, actively sought what your father sought and began.”

  Vindication swarmed through Daniel. Trembling with the satisfaction of hearing this man speak those words, Daniel worked to maintain his resolve. His determination that he would upend this man. This corporation.

  “It is time to bring to fruition what our fathers dreamed here twenty years ago.” Sajjan cocked his head. “Would you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we will make it happen.” Sajjan stood. “One week. Here at the tower, let’s meet again with our lawyers and teams to make it official.” He extended a broad hand.

  Daniel wanted to grab the hand, twist it at the wrist, and push this man’s face into the highly glossed floor. Instead he simply shook hands. “Next week.” He needed to act grateful. “Thank you.”

  “There is no thanks needed. This belongs to you.”

  Yes, Daniel hissed inwardly. Offering only a nod, he walked himself to the door, not trusting himself to speak. Did this man seriously think it was his place to say what belonged to Daniel and what did not? What it was time to do and not to do?

  Sajjan Takkar overstepped once again. And Daniel would make sure that next step was right off the roof of the thirty-something-story tower.

  By the time he reached his hotel room, he shook with indignation. Slamming the door did little to appease the demons screaming within him. “My father built that corporation with as much blood as his!” He moved to the bar and spread his hands on the marble counter. Then fisted them. “How dare he—”

  “Sir!”

  Daniel spun, ready to skewer his man for interrupting. Instead, he went ice cold.

  Two men hurried in with Kiew propped between them. Blood smeared across her face, almost shielding the swollen eye. The busted lip. “What is this?” he demanded to the two men. “You were to protect her!”

  “The American soldier was in Location Four. We weren’t expecting him.”

  Daniel spun back to Kiew. “He shot you?” She shook her head, looking at his guard. “No. We fought…”

  “How did she get shot?” Daniel demanded of the guard.

  Reluctance tied the man’s tongue. “I…I manned the gun on the chopper. When I saw the American running, I tried to cut him down.”

  Fury tore through Daniel. “You? You shot her?” In a rage, he rushed them. Yanked the weapon from the man’s holster. Fired into the man’s chest. Aimed at the other.

  “No!” Kiew
whimpered as she stumbled into Daniel. She twisted and slid to the floor as a crimson stain blossomed over her abdomen.

  The guard cursed.

  “Get a doctor!” Daniel shoved the guard toward the door. He jerked and dropped at Kiew’s side. As his beautiful Kiew lay there bleeding out, Daniel knew more than ever he would do anything to crush the American soldiers. “I will cut them down like dogs.”

  BORIS

  An hour into the frantic thoughts of betrayal, I fire up the tin cabin’s engine. Start driving. I’m not even a mile out when I realize I need gas. I mutter an oath. If I’d waited the two more hours like I’d planned, I’d be out of luck and petrol. Gas stations would be closed.

  My little island unto itself lumbers up to a gas pump. Grabbing some cash from the console, I still can’t shake the disbelief that they got so close to finding me again. With Zmaray, it was more an invasion of privacy. A breakdown of mutual respect.

  This is more. Bigger. It’s an outright threat that they’ll kill me.

  I’m no fool. I won’t be that stupid. Just because I dig a fat bank account doesn’t mean I’m willing to be someone’s lackey. Doesn’t work that way. A good business relationship has respect flowing both ways.

  With a wave, I greet the store attendant. Shove a wad of bills into his hands then start pumping. He goes back inside. Through the grimy window, I watch him to make sure he’s not making calls or talking to anyone. That’s right. I’m paranoid now. And with good reason. But the owner stretches out on a bed, the blue hue of a TV glaring across his face.

  Jamming the nozzle into the tank, I curse myself. How could I have been so stupid? What mistake did I make? I stare at the cyber beast, disbelieving. What was the weak link? How did I show my hand, reveal my identity?

  I’ll get away. Vanish. They’ll never find me.

  An icy wind blows up the back of my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle in a very clichéd, overdone way. And I know. Know—

  Something’s wrong.

  I look up just in time to see the gas station owner staring out the window. At the same time, I hear an almost inaudible swish.

  Something cracks. Pain explodes across the back of my skull. My forehead slams into the extended-length van. “What the—?”

  A hand lands on my shoulder, shoving me forward, back into the van. “Not a word.”

  Heart hammering, I obey. I’m not stupid—there’s a gun to the back of my head, and the man seems much larger, so my hands go up. Like a good little boy.

  How the heck did I end up here?

  There’s a pinch in my neck, and then the world swims out of view.

  CHAPTER 46

  Tera Pass, Afghanistan

  25 February—0845 Hours

  The percussive thwump-thwump of a chopper dragged Brian from the black void. He groaned, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears. As he bent to the side, around the laptop, he used the rocky, snowy terrain to pull himself to his knees. He glanced down, expecting to see a cannonsized hole through his abdomen. Instead, a large hole in the military-grade casing of the laptop stared back.

  Brian almost laughed—but another noise yanked him around. Sounded like…a dog. Up here? Goats, he would understand, but a dog? Middle Easterners viewed dogs as dirty or something, didn’t they?

  Wobbly legs made it hard to stand, but he wasn’t going to die on his knees. But sure as the mountain tried to bury him in snow and Fekiria left him, a dog—a big ugly dog—came bounding over the rise barking his fool head off.

  Leading them straight to me.

  Brian took aim at the dog’s brindle coat.

  Wait…

  His heart thudded when two men in tac gear appeared over the rise. Then three. Then four.

  “You just standing around, waiting for a rescue?” came the voice of Captain Watters.

  Potent relief blasted through Brian’s veins as the brute of a dog slid to a stop at his feet. The brindled Bullmastiff’s bark echoed through the mountains. “Yeah, well, never work harder than you have to.” His knees gave out. Propped against a rock, he tried to avoid the tears. Tried to avoid the emotion drowning him.

  But then he remembered— “The attack.”

  The captain jogged to him. “Easy, easy.”

  “The attack. Osiris. They’re hitting the team. Tomor—what day is it?”

  “Easy, Hawk. Easy.” The captain’s gaze swept over him, that thick brow knotting. “You’re pretty messed up.”

  “Listen.” He tapped the device strapped to his abdomen. “I’ve got it. I’ve got what we need to stop the attack. Stop Osiris.”

  Hands probed his shoulder.

  Fire lit through Brian. His hand swung up on its own. “Augh!”

  “Shoulder’s tore up,” Harrier said. “Frostbite. Fever. Sprained ankle. Bullet wound in his thigh.”

  Brian looked down, confused. Surprised. Disoriented.

  “C’mon, Hawk. You’ve played hero long enough. Let’s get you back to the base. You can tell us everything there.”

  Titanis slung his arm up under Brian’s and lifted him to his feet. Brian was frozen and numb. Didn’t care about pain. Just wanted to get home and— “Fekiria!” He twisted toward the captain. “Did you find her? Is she okay?”

  The commander’s eyes said everything.

  That meant— “She’s out here. Struck out before sunrise.”

  Captain Watters tugged him onward. “At the base, Brian. Tell us at the base. We need to get you warmed up.”

  “I’m not leaving without her—”

  “If you die, you can’t help us find her. If you die, you can’t tell me what you know about that laptop,” the captain shouted as the rotor wash of the helo drowned out any further argument.

  It didn’t touch down but hovered a foot above.

  Brian hoisted himself on board then laid back. A medic went to work, tending the visible wounds, not removing his clothing. And that’s what Brian dreaded—finding out what damage had been done to his hands and feet. To his shoulder.

  To Fekiria.

  God…bring her back to me.

  CHAPTER 47

  Camp Eggers, Afghanistan

  25 February—1835 Hours

  Hell hath no pain like frostbite.

  Brian growled as the the pain dug through his skin and tissue layers. Forget the bullet they’d extracted from his shoulder and leg. Forget the sprained ankle. His fingers were swollen and borderline purple, as were his toes. His little toe was black. The doctor promised he’d be a freak show losing that one. If not more.

  Forget all of that.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Brian bit out, his irritation growing when he spotted Captain Watters and Falcon enter the room. Double Z waited in the hall.

  “You’re hypothermic,” the nurse said. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “A woman and two girls are out there dying because—”

  “Hawk, stand down. That’s the hypothermia talking—makes you combative. They’re okay.”

  “No, I am combative”—he gritted his teeth and hissed as pain dug its way through his fingers—“when nobody listens to me.”

  “We’re listening. Are you?” The captain leaned forward. “I said they’re okay.” He twisted his torso and looked at his girlfriend waiting outside. “Fekiria was found.”

  Brian stilled. Stared at his commanding officers. “You’re not just saying that?”

  The captain smiled. “Fekiria called Zahrah on a phone—some farmers found them in the mountain. Took them in. Let her use their phone. We sent a chopper out to pick them up.”

  “Seriously?” Brian felt like he could cry. “How are they? The littlest one, she was coughing—” He saw the look Captain Watters gave, and every ounce of his body froze again. “Tell me she’s not dead.”

  “She’s unconscious and critical.” The captain rubbed a hand over his face. “It doesn’t look good.”

  Brian tried to swallow but couldn’t. His heart rate bleeped rapidly on the
machine. “And…the others? Fekiria?”

  “Same condition as you. Maybe a little worse.”

  Brian closed his eyes. Fekiria…he didn’t want her to go through the pain he was experiencing. Frostbite was nothing to sneeze at. In fact, with the purple hue on his nose, he might not have a nose to sneeze with.

  At least they were alive. At least they were alive. He repeated the words over and over, but it didn’t make him feel better. “What about the laptop?”

  Again, Captain Watters went all serious. “The bullet that saved your life might have destroyed it.”

  “But the hard drive?”

  “Bullet went right through.” The captain stood at his bedside. “Techs are flying the hard drive to a lab at CECOM to see if they can pull any data off it still.”

  Communications-Electronics Command would take time. Time they didn’t have. A low growl turned into an all-out shout. Brian squeezed his eyes. Was it all a waste? “The attack.”

  “Burnett’s on his way. We’ve got a team assembled to review what you’ve said.”

  “Slusarksi?”

  “Missing.”

  “Son of a biscuit,” Brian groused. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

  The captain laid a hand on his good shoulder. “Hey.” Their eyes met. “You’re alive. You saved three women. Now, tell me what you know.”

  “Ch–Chinese.” Tremors violently shook his body, but he fought to speak around it. “There was a woman in the shanty. She was Asian. Chinese, I’m pretty sure. There were others there before Fekiria and I took shelter, but they left. Probably because of the storm. I guess. Anyway, I woke up to this Asian chick sticking a gun in my face.”

  Captain Watters eyed him, as if he didn’t believe him. As if Brian was talking about dragons and fairies.

  “What?”

  “You’re sure they were Chinese?”

  “Dude, I might be losing fingers, but the frostbite didn’t get my brain. I know a Chinese chick when I see one.”

  Falcon shrugged. “She could’ve been North Korean, Japanese…”

  “She said zăoshàng hăo.” Brian glared at Falcon. “That’s Chinese for ‘good morning.’ ”