by Ronie Kendig
He hopped a step closer, shoulder angling in again. “What if I am God’s protection—what if He sent me to warn you?”
Zahrah tilted her head, surprised at the direction he’d taken. “Well, if it is …” He had a point. Was she wrong? Should she leave? He had the experience and intel to know when things were dangerous.
A strange rush of hope filled her. Should she leave? Be safe, back in Virginia, with Daddy? It’d be so nice. She felt a pang of guilt for the small longing that lurked deep in her stomach.
Should I leave, Lord?
No. The word was simple but strong.
“If God had sent you to warn me, then I’d leave.” And she meant it. She trusted Dean Watters like few others.
Some of the tension seemed to drain out of his shoulders. Just a little. “Then you’ll go?”
Frustration began to nudge aside her soft answers. But she tamed that urge, knowing Dean would feed off that. “I’m supposed to stay, for the children, and for”—some other reason she couldn’t yet name. Was she staring at that reason? Was it him?—“for now. I’m sorry if it makes you angry.” She’d do almost anything to make that expression on his face go away. The one that rejected her answer, rejected her. In her need to smooth the rippled waters, she offered, “Call me to make sure I’m still alive.” She meant it as a lighthearted commented. But his eyes darkened.
“Even if you die? Even if staying means your death?” It was meant as a challenge. Maybe even a threat.
There were many horrible deaths a woman could die here. The thought made her shudder. “Yes.”
Jaw muscle popping, he gave a shrug-nod. “Fine.” He took a step back. “We tried.” A quick nod again. “Good-bye.” Dean pivoted and stalked off, his broad shoulders taut as the rest of his team clustered to him like a magnet before climbing into a black truck a half mile away.
She’d lost one of the most precious children today, possibly her job as a teacher since there was no school, and now … perhaps the only man she might have been able to love.
CHAPTER 19
Camp Marmal, Mazar-e Sharif
05 June—1140 Hours
This couldn’t happen. Not again. First his sister, then Ellen. Screams pierced his thoughts. He clenched his eyes tight against the memory. Against the grief. Dean ran both hands over his head, down the back of his neck. Not again. Not again. Just can’t.
He’d be hanged if he was supposed to send another body home because he came up short and innocents paid.
How—how—was he supposed to fight against God and divine purpose in an argument? There was no fighting conviction like that. No fighting radical faith. Why did it anger him so much that she rejected his solution that maybe God sent him?
He punched the dash. Felt the eyes of Falcon on him, but he had enough sense not to comment. Instead, he accelerated.
Dean’s sat phone rang. “Go ahead.”
“Watters, where are you?” General Burnett demanded.
“En route to the base, sir.”
“Good. Call me up when you get there. Raptor’s on the next plane out.”
He straightened in the seat. Had he heard correctly? “Yes, sir.” It angered him that she’d been right—God hadn’t sent him to protect her. He couldn’t do that if the CIC wanted them in another country. “General wants us in the command center ASAP.”
“Aw man, I had a date,” Hawk muttered.
Falcon chuckled. “You mean with the girl who couldn’t stand talking to you?”
“She was dumbstruck by my wiles,” Hawk said.
“Dumbstruck by your dumbness!”
Falcon returned the truck to the motor pool and the team piled out. As he made his way back to the sub-base, Dean couldn’t shake a dread that had a fist hold on his throat. Zahrah wouldn’t have anyone to contact if something happened. She’d be alone.
Why did she believe in God more than Dean? So willing to put herself in the hands of an intangible God than a man with an M4.
Same reason you tattooed those wings on your back.
He couldn’t fight her logic, but he wanted to. With both hands, feet, his Beretta M9 and M4. God … You did it for me. Do it for her. Keep her alive. Please.
“She say no?” The quiet, firm voice of Titanis punched a breathing hole through Dean’s thoughts.
He slumped back against the chair. Shook his head, still unable to understand her bullheadedness. “She won’t go. Says she’ll trust God.”
“Can’t argue that, mate.”
“Can’t I?” Dean held out his hands and shrugged. “Look, I get faith. I believe in God. I know He works miracles and all that, but … isn’t there a line between faith and”—he hated to say it—“stupidity?” Straightening in the metal folding chair, he placed a hand over his chest. “God has me here, a part of elite security forces. To protect people just like her. But she won’t let me do my job.”
“Tough call that one, but theology later,” Straider said, clapping a hand on his shoulder then pointing toward the sub-base command center.
Rolling up his frustration, his anger at Zarrick, and the unshakeable fear that stalked him down the narrow hall lined with pictures of home, pictures of dignitaries who’d visited, Dean vowed to try once more to convince her to leave. Then if she still refused, her safety was in her own hands.
Undisclosed Location
Someone really should clue the six stooges into the fact that their secure location isn’t quite so secure. Then again, if someone did that, I’d be out of a job.
Huh. More like out of a life.
So far, they haven’t provided quite enough to bring down hail-fire rain on themselves. But it will happen. Eventually. I just have to log a few more hours. Maybe a few more months. Who cares with the eight-digit paycheck sitting in my accounts?
“So, what’d she say? She’s leaving, right?”
Hawk always makes me pay attention. Never know what’s going to come out of the guy’s mouth. He’s not stupid. Just straightforward. I like that.
Annnd … of course, Raptor Six doesn’t answer. Man of few words. But he sits at his computer and starts banging on the keyboard. In seconds, the team gathers around him.
“Guess she said no,” Hawk mutters.
Really, did anyone besides me see that coming? The girl might be sweet and might not have nerves of steel, but she doesn’t strike me as one to whimper and lie down at the first sign of opposition. For cryin’ out loud, she’s a general’s daughter.
The team closes in as Raptor Six ignores the question Hawk posed. Closes in—and perfectly closes off my view via the hidden camera. Dunces.
“C’mon, c’mon.” Seeing what he accesses goes a long way in my filing a full report. Incomplete report equals angry evil overlord. But they still aren’t yielding. I drum my fingers. Growl.
“Move!” Shouting at them doesn’t do any good, but I feel better. Or not. “Your lazy carcasses are blocking my view.” Really, not a bad problem. Unless they stay there the whole time and go silent on me.
“Ah, Raptor … team.”
Angry they’re still blocking my view of the monitor, I hit the voice analyzer and wait as it drums up the information.
“Good. I need you all there anyway.” Hold up—is this the big cheese, Burnett? Sounds like him. But I’m waiting for the computer to verify it.
“Sorry, sir. I just wanted to code in and let you know Zarrick refused to leave.”
Sir. That means a superior, and by my estimation—a noise blips to my right and confirms my suspicions: Burnett, Lance, General.
Alrighty then. Time to listen a little more carefully.
“Yeah, well, we got bigger problems. I’ve got intel from Ramsey that demands you head to Majorca.”
Silence drops on the command center like a concussive boom. Only … quieter.
“Majorca,” Raptor Six repeats. He sounds a little stunned.
Same here. Dude, can I go, too?
Falcon leans one hand on the desk. “Want to expl
ain this very big diversion from our current mission, sir?”
“No.”
I laugh. Nothing like the general’s dour attitude to lighten conversation.
“Ramsey gave me some credible leads on those SCIFs you stumbled upon. The containers have been traced back to Majorca.”
This is when I wish I had taken a course in shorthand. But I’m scribbling as fast as I can. Boss Man will need to know about this.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Tell me what does, Bledsoe.” Burnett never tolerated anyone giving him lip. At least, not while I was listening in. “But we’ve got a lead, and we’re not letting this rest till we’ve stripped away every secret and found out who’s behind it.”
“When do we leave?” Raptor Six runs a hand over his short, dark hair.
“Next flight departs at fifteen hundred.”
“Tomorrow.” Russo huffs.
“Sir, I don’t believe it’s wise to leave Zarrick here unprotected. She’s … she’s in danger, sir.”
“Well, let’s just hope her secret doesn’t make it past this room.”
Oh man. Laughing here is so wrong, but I can’t resist. “Trust me, General,” I say, calling up the boss man on my secure phone. “It does. It goes way beyond.”
Sub-base Schwarzburg, Camp Marmal
Mazar-e Sharif, Balkh Province
05 June—1750 Hours
“Captain!” Hawk, a wad of food in his left cheek, grinned as he leaned back in a chair around the conference table. “You were so ticked out there, I knew she said no.” His grin was enough that Dean saw pearly whites he’d willingly knock out. “What’d I tell you? She’s staying.”
Dean glared at him. At Falcon and Harrier and Knight with Ddrake snoozing at his handler’s feet.
After swallowing whatever he’d been eating, Bledsoe punched to his feet with a “Hooah!” Laughing, he held out his palm to the others. “Time to pay up, brothers.” The others handed over fives to Hawk, who made no apologies for his enthusiasm or being right. He pocketed the money and moved back to his seat. As he went to sit, Dean strode past and gave him a little shove.
He toppled back, caught himself as his face went wide with shock, then righted himself. “Sir, pardon my saying so, but you’ve got some serious attitude going on. She mean that much to you?”
Falcon said, “Unless you want us to pin you down and ink your back like we’ve been promising—”
“Hey.” Hawk pointed toward the Italian he could take any day of the year. “Leave the body alone. It’s mine. A sacred temple.”
“Well, sit your sacred temple down and shut it,” Dean said as he logged into the terminal.
“What do we do about the girl while we’re gone? About both of them?”
“Nothing,” Titanis replied.
“You have to do something.” Knight grunted.
“How many tours you done?” Falcon asked.
Silence drenched the encounter, then, “This is my first.”
Hawk chuckled.
“Let’s remember,” Knight said, “Ddrake saved your butts out there.”
“Easy, chief.” Falcon unwrapped a protein bar. “It’s all in the family.”
“We have a much bigger fish to fry. I’m talking great white.”
At his back, the team leaned in—Dean could feel the cumulative clogging of the air with the five of them gathered tightly. But that was good because they were a tight team. Dean folded his arms and leaned back, staring at the monitor.
Burnett continued, “The intel connects the SCIFs with a cybersecurity group there in Majorca.”
“So the trip to Majorca is legit?” Hawk hooted. “Beaches … babes … bring it!”
Titanis eyed Hawk. “They have tattoo artists there.”
“Brother from another country”—no laughter in Hawk’s voice now—“leave the temple alone.”
Dean fisted a hand, giving the hold signal.
“I won’t kid you,” General Burnett said. “This could get messy quick. I want you to get in, find out who is connected to this.”
Something weird thrummed in the general’s words. “You have concerns about the intel, sir?”
“It came from Ramsey. Need I say more?”
CHAPTER 20
Mazar-e Sharif
12 June—1515 Hours
Doubt crept along the edges of her confidence. A shiver traced her spine. You are my hope and refuge, an ever-present help in times of trouble.
“It is for the best,” Khala Hafizah had said as Kaka Jahandar stood behind her.
Zahrah glanced around the small flat she and Fekiria would now share—“prudent,” her aunt had called it, “a smart, independent move”—until the school building had been repaired and they could return to holding classes there.
Two weeks ago, she would’ve loved the freedom of living alone with her cousin. Freedom! But now? “Imminent danger …” Dean’s words pummeled her courage.
Dean—his name still made her pause—had been so angry when he left. Or should she say, stormed off? While his warning hadn’t convinced her to leave, it compelled her to be a bit more cautious.
Oh, who was she kidding? Flat-out scared was more like it. “Thank you, Captain Watters.” The severity of his expression and his harsh words were like watching a horror movie late at night during a storm. Just added more anxiety where it wasn’t needed.
She placed a hand to her throat. Disappointment tugged at her composure. She slumped onto the chair in the living area and stared at the phone. An ache bloomed in her chest, one that longed to have the tenacious captain treat her more like the friend she wanted him to be.
Friend? No, she had to admit, she’d hoped for— Well, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen. She hadn’t just burned that bridge. She’d blown it with C-4.
A shout outside made her heart skip several beats. Slowly, she rose and moved to the sliding glass door that led onto a small balcony. She looked over the edge, down three floors, and saw a rowdy bunch of college students in the parking lot. As she turned, a glint caught her eye. A silver Mercedes parked in the far corner of the main lot. Window down, the man smoked—
Zahrah shoved back several steps, her heart in her throat. The man from the school. The one who’d threatened her.
“Imminent danger …”
Dean’s words haunted her as a heavy blanket of dread draped her shoulders. She held her elbows and considered the danger. What was Kamran doing here? Watching her apartment? Why? Was he the danger Dean had detected at the funeral?
“You’re leaping without facts, Z,” she whispered to herself. But she couldn’t shake the question—was he somehow connected to whatever Captain Watters wouldn’t name in their conversation? She rushed to the couch and fished her phone out. Who … who would she call? Dean?
You trust God, remember?
The taunt smacked some sense into her. She did trust God. And she did not believe it right to leave Afghanistan. But should she have stayed at the base for a while? Or …? She shoved her fingers through her long hair. Doubts bred like maggots in her confusion.
Keys jangled at the lock.
Zahrah shoved off the couch. Keys. Fekiria. Only she had keys.
The lock turned and the door opened, sucking Zahrah’s breath from her chest.
Fekiria slipped in and released the key from the lock. She pivoted, cheeks flushed from the warm afternoon, and smiled. “Ah, you’re home.”
“Where have you been?”
Fekiria scowled. “You know where I was.”
Fingertips to her brow, Zahrah took a steadying breath. “Forgive me.” She shifted to the curtain. “He’s here, Fekiria. The man from the school, Kamran.”
Dropping her purse, Fekiria frowned as her face drained of color.
“Where?”
“The parking lot—silver Mercedes.”
Her cousin eased up to the balcony and peeked. She returned quickly. “What is he doing here? Back to break another bone? Make s
ure we obey the Qur’an?”
“Shh!” Zahrah looked around the apartment. The couch and coffee table. Kitchenette tucked in the far corner. To the right, the bedroom where twin beds meant she no longer had to share a bed with a cousin—or two. But nothing to serve as a weapon if he tried to come in.
Ha! Right. With his bulk and her size, he’d overpower her easily. She had to do something.
“Okay, enough.” Zahrah went for the door.
“What are you doing?” Her cousin caught her wrist, eyes bulging. “You can’t go to him!”
“Of course not.” She smiled. “I have a better idea.” She slipped into the hall and went down to the lobby where a phone hung on the wall. She punched in the emergency number. “Yes, I’m scared. There is a man sitting in a silver Mercedes in the parking lot. I—I think I saw him before at the bombing where the children were killed. He’s just … waiting. Do you think he …? Oh, I just can’t say it.” Making her voice weak, her words frantic added the dose of fear she wanted the dispatcher to believe.
“Stay in a safe place,” the dispatcher said. “We will send someone over.”
“Thank you.” Zahrah hurried back up to her apartment, knowing the ploy would work this time. But next time … he might not wait. “You should go out, stay away for a while,” she said to Fekiria.
“Where are you going?”
“A bit of shopping.”
“Are you crazy? Shopping—when he’s stalking us?”
Zahrah smiled. “Yes, I’m crazy. You’ve told me that since I arrived.” When she heard the sirens shrieking through the city toward them, she lifted her purse. “Go home with your parents.”
“No. I’ll go to Khaled’s.” Fekiria’s face paled, but then she faked a smile. “He invited me to eat with his family.”
“A boyfriend?”
Fekiria wrapped her favorite pink silk hijab around her hair and neck. “It’s better than grandfathers!” They wound down the stairs to the main level then parted at the back door.
A few blocks later, Zahrah entered a small shop. Three men wandered the cramped aisles while a couple of women chatted with the employee. Nerves skittered around her belly as she gathered the items and headed to the counter. This purchase would halve her savings, but if Captain Watters was right …