SEALed With A Kiss: Heroes With Heart

by Low, Gennita

  “Wait a minute. Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t want the raid out as public news. It could jeopardize our other missions. Do you want that to happen?”

  There was a pause as they trod on. He glanced over hopefully. She was biting her lower lip, her expression serious.

  Finally, she spoke up. “As an army brat, I know how important this is for you, but as a reporter, I can’t just shut up about it, Lucas. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s my job to investigate and report the facts.” She put up a hand when he tried to interrupt. “Wait, let me finish. It doesn’t mean I’m not on your side. It doesn’t mean I won’t be careful with my reporting, but if what your team did save this girl’s life, I can’t just ignore that.”

  “Of course you can,” Lucas said, exasperated. “Just omit it.”

  “I could, but even if I do what you ask, my immediate boss might not. He’s going to listen to the audio file of my interview with Minah, you know. And the interpreter was there with me. Do you expect her to keep quiet too? Lucas, it’s not possible.”

  He stared ahead. There was a bad feeling expanding in his gut and it wasn’t his stab wound bothering him either.

  “Your boss, is it this Sean fella you keep asking about? Is that the guy fighting with the men outside the building?”

  “Yes,” Kit replied.

  “Well, maybe I can have a talk with him.”

  That made her turn her head. “Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not going to have a talk with Sean about what to or not to report!”

  “Why not? Man-to-man, maybe he’ll understand.”

  Lucas realized his mistake immediately. There was a fire in her eyes that would probably burn him into dust if it were real. Damn him and his big mouth. He’d just committed the second no-no crime.

  “Man-to-man?” She repeated, a dangerous undertone in her voice.

  He let out a long sigh. “Okay, that came out wrong.” Say it, Cumber, say it. No one but Kit to hear it. “I’m sorry.” He’d been reduced to apologizing for saying what was on his mind. Forcefully, he added. “But I still think you’re…inappropriate…to reveal my team being here. Or any special ops, for that matter.”

  She gave him a terse look for a moment, then walked off ahead of him. He studied her stiff shoulders, which started shaking. As if…

  “Hey, are you laughing at me?” With a few long strides, he caught up. Oh yes, she was trying not to laugh out loud. “What’s so funny?”

  She gave up and chuckles bubbled out of her. “Oh, my God. You’re so funny when you try to be nice and not cuss. Inappropriate,” she mimicked his look of disgust at having to apologize. “You sounded like Miss Clementine!”

  Lucas gave her another pained look. “Look at what you’ve done to me. Next I’ll be wearing pearls and chasing you around in a pink…condom.”

  She choked, her mirthful glance accusing. “Take that back! You’re just trying to get back into my good graces.”

  “Who’s talking like Aunt Clementine now?” he mocked, then affected his aunt’s Southern accent. “Get back into my good graces, you bad, bad boy!”

  Lucas breathed a quiet sigh of relief. When one couldn’t win with words, one could always fight back with humor.

  *

  Kit was glad Lucas changed the subject, as they continued their way downhill at the side of the dusty “road.” It was an easy guess and he’d all but confirmed she’d been correct. She didn’t want to argue with him, not about this, anyway. The thing was, she could see why he would be concerned. Navy SEALs did a lot of secret missions and some of them not koshered. If this was one of them, her reporting it could get his team in trouble.

  One problem at a time. Her main thing now was to get back to her team and figure out how to reach Minah. She glanced at Lucas and frowned. He looked and acted okay but his breathing was ragged, as if he was a tad out of breath. There was no way he was tired. She’d seen him throw furniture around like they were toys without even breaking into a sweat. That sheen of perspiration on his face right now—was it from the afternoon heat or something else? She looked down at the stain near his waist. How injured was he?

  “They should be looking for us by now,” she said.

  He squinted at the distance. “Yeah. Maybe there were some injured people and they’re helping to get them out of the way. There were many children milling around, but they’re pretty hardened, even for kids. Fire and men shooting weapons hardly faze them.”

  “That’s sad. Those men should be punished for burning a school. They didn’t even care that there were people inside!”

  Lucas grimaced. “You’re lucky they decided not to shoot. Their objective was to get the girl, but you’re right, those guys have very little respect for females in school. They see it as a revolt against their wishes, you know. Those girls and their parents have my respect. The Taliban thugs have been known to throw acid at girls walking home from school as a deterrent.”

  “That’s insane!” She shook her head, horrified at a sudden thought. “We have to hurry back. I’m even more worried about Minah now.”

  She felt stupid for not having thought ahead. She’d prepared for everything—how to dress and behave, bringing the gifts, practicing some Pashto, researching on the custom of pashtunwali. Why hadn’t she thought about the possibility of the young girl’s relatives suddenly appearing? By the time that realization came, it was too late.

  Although Lucas didn’t say anything, she knew he was thinking the same thing, though. How were they going to get to the girl in time?

  “I hear a vehicle coming,” Lucas said quietly. The sound of its engine echoed through the mountainous terrain. “Not going to be here for another five or ten minutes, though. There are no footpaths, nowhere to hide.”

  “Okay,” Kit replied wrapping her head scarf more securely. She slowed down her gait and let Lucas stay in front of her.

  “Been reading up on the customs around here,” he said, approvingly.

  “Don’t get used to it,” she warned. Over here, women walked behind the men. Intellectually, she accepted the cultural differences, but it was still tough emotionally. She had seen it with her own eyes how, when they’d first landed in Karachi, the men leered at women who were alone, sometimes walking very closely to make her uncomfortable. They would even peer into any cars that had a lone woman in it, as if they had a right to check her out. Sean had told her they didn’t do that so much in Mingora, the capital of Swat Valley, where they’d been heading, where women were more traditional.

  Lucas gave a low chuckle. “Trust me, Cupcake, I’d rather be behind you watching your pretty ass.”

  Her first glimpse of women walking around covered from head-to-toe, with the magnificent mountains as a backdrop, was a cultural shock. How on earth did they not trip over, carrying children and shopping bags, and not being able to see? And yet they looked perfectly natural, walking around in the fields or following their male relatives if they were out in town.

  “I really hope it’s either your men or my team,” she said, looking at his back.

  There was already a slight change in his demeanor. Straighter stance. Bigger presence. So damn male, even while carrying her pink bag.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‡

  Shahrukh read the instructions from T’s note, which Vivi Verreau had passed on after the meeting in the US war room. Out of habit, he stroked his chin as he considered his options. The beard had to go soon. The merchants he was meeting at Karakoram wouldn’t be expecting a dirty mountain gun-slinging insurgent-type buyer. For some reason, they expected those men to want the bigger things, not the small sophisticated item in their possession.

  He leaned back against the brocade pillow and took a sip of the coffee set on the low table next to him. He savored its strong, pungent taste, took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. A few hours’ sleep would be nice.

  “Tired?” A woman’s voice floated from the direction of the d
oor.

  Shahrukh opened his eyes. He studied the figure at the entrance. “You look so docile, so traditional, Zerya.” he finally remarked, replying in the same Kurdish dialect she used. “Maybe time can change a person.”

  She smiled and she suddenly looked the same, in spite of those world-weary eyes. “That’s funny coming from a man who is looking more like his Kurdish self than the usual suave New York image he’s adopted.” She came closer, the bangles on her wrists and ankles tinkling. “Yet, I know you haven’t changed. Still looking for broken pieces of treasure. Still playing the game, I bet.”

  Shahrukh shrugged. He hadn’t been in “The Game” for a few years now. There was no harm in letting Zerya think he was still with the treasure hunting organization. His “new” life with the commandos at Command Center the last few years had been even more secretive than when he was one of those working for The Temple.

  “Life is a game,” he said.

  Zerya shook her head. “No, it is not. But we forgive you, since you’ve been brought up by frivolous Western ideals. Your adoptive parents have taken your soul away from the Kurd people.”

  Shahrukh laughed. He’d heard that line so many times since his teenage years when he was “returned” to his people, it no longer hurt him. He had nothing to prove any more, except maybe to keep a promise to an old woman.

  “All Kurds away from Kurdistan have lost a little of their souls,” he agreed in his usual non-committal fashion when dealing with family matters. “As have you. Being among a smattering of Kurds while surrounded by Pathans is hardly your style.”

  “Is that the reason for your visit, then, Rukh? Just curious why an old lover is hidden away here?”

  Shahrukh leaned back further into soft backrest, contemplating the woman standing so serenely. There was a time he’d been in love with Zerya. She was everything he wasn’t—absolutely sure of her place in the world and intensely dedicated to family and honor. He was the total opposite, feeling out of place among his own people and not as sure about his place in a family who had lost him in a war, and now that they’d found him, demanded things from him he didn’t understand. Growing up with his adoptive parents, he’d wanted brothers and sisters with whom to play and quarrel. Then, fate had given him back his lost family and he’d returned—with the blessings of his parents—and he’d found himself among brothers and sisters with whom he’d no emotional attachment. Zerya, the neighbor’s daughter, had been the only one who understood him. Or, so he’d thought.

  She casually sat down, leaning over to refill his cup. “Or maybe,” she continued softly, switching to speaking French-accented English, “you’re, as usual, looking for other people’s treasure instead of your own?”

  Shahrukh smiled. “Sharp as ever,” he said, in English. “Always using everything as a weapon. I half-expect you to be carrying a machine gun under that skirt. Tell me, why aren’t you in Paris with the rest of your unit of Peshmerga fighters?”

  Warrior blood flowed in generations of Kurds. The Kurd Resistance allowed women to join their ranks and as a people, they’d been at war for centuries, fighting for a land for their people. Peshmerga—those who confront death—was the fighting force beloved by the people and feared by the enemies.

  “The CIA has informed us there was danger ahead, that some leaders are targeted for assassination. I was one of the few ordered by my superiors to disappear for a while.” Her voice held a trace of bitterness. “So, here I am, in the middle of nowhere, unable to do much but…entertain.”

  “Liar,” Shahrukh softly chided back.

  She cocked an eyebrow at him, relaxing further into her seat as she bit into a pomegranate. “This is Afghanistan. As a woman, all I can do is stay inside here and be protected. What else could I be doing?”

  “Documenting pieces of a Stealth airplane that is being slowly dismantled, perhaps? Trying to either sell or buy parts in the great bazaar of Karakoram, perhaps?” Shahrukh asked.

  She slowly chewed the fruit, licking the juice on her shapely lips. Her almond-shaped eyes held amusement as she searched his for clues. “Ah. The downed Stealth at the border. Like I’ve asked before, why do you keep going after someone else’s treasure and yet never profit from it? All those treasure hunters you work with, aimlessly running around picking things up and exchanging information—do you ever want to use them for yourselves? Or your people?”

  And there lay the core of contention between his old lover and him. She was all about their people and fighting for land. It was something noble, a way of life to which their clan was dedicated. He’d not lived up to her dreams of being a clan elder’s son, one who would pick up the mantle of blood and glory for revenge and justice.

  “Actually, I have,” Shahrukh said. “I used The Temple’s many treasure quests as a way to look for the lost diamond.”

  “Bah. You listened to your grandmother’s silly stories about diamonds and maps instead doing something tangible.” Zerya sighed then propped her head up with a hand. “Quests. Those people call it ‘The Game.’ You joined a bunch of mercenaries who called themselves treasure hunters, looking for antiquities for collectors. Life, death, and honor, Rukh. No game in those three things.”

  He couldn’t blame her for sneering at his former job. It wasn’t quite as shallow for him. The Temple had roots with an ancient tradition that went as far back as the Kurds; in fact, their histories were intertwined and that was one of the reasons Shahrukh had joined them. Surely, with all the treasure quests these people were looking for, they would have some clues to help him find his diamond.

  But he wasn’t here to explain about history and the Templar Knights to Zerya. Explaining that it was his way of returning honor to his family and clan would be a waste of time. Zerya never believed his grandmother’s stories, anyhow. And if she ever found out he was actually now part of the US government, she would probably see it as a betrayal.

  “Treasure is all about value,” he said. “It’s my quest to find what is of value to me, hence my way of life.”

  “And Stealth parts are valuable to you, how?” Zerya asked, amused again.

  “Not all its parts. I want to know the name of the seller to look for a certain part.”

  After Shahrukh had reached the site and given the mortally wounded pilot a password, the dying man had imparted a secret with his last breath. There was a special missile on board, painted with a newly-designed cloaking paint that made it untraceable to radar. That was the weapon he needed to find.

  “Is that why you were seen with Yakob?” Her smile was sweet. “Don’t worry. No one but us knows you’re anything but an ordinary Pathan trader.”

  Spies. Everywhere. He wondered whether she knew Yakob had been detained and perhaps was now trying to negotiate his freedom by giving back some of the parts he’d stolen or bought. Everything technological taken from the Stealth, big or small, was worth something in the market and everyone wanted to make a profit. Some for revenge. And yes, some for honor.

  “Yes,” Shahrukh replied easily. “He told me he was going to buy it at Karakoram. You have the name of the seller and I need it.”

  Zerya leaned over and placed a hand on his thigh. Her kohled eyes gleamed with feminine invitation. “And what do you have for me and my freedom fighters?”

  *

  Lucas scanned the area. They weren’t exactly in the danger zone but it was the Afghan-Pakistan border, where the situation was nebulous. If he was right, they were close to the crossroads, where everyone with vehicles had to travel through, from mountain passes to the cities, and vice-versa. On any given mile, one might bump into Pakistani border troops, Afghan soldiers, tribal warlords who had been de facto rulers in these mountainous regions for centuries, and freedom fighters from various factions, all moving around traveling merchants, refugees, herders and border farmers.

  This was, in his opinion, the most eff’ed up place in the world, with a people living on two sides of a border trying to survive. They had been doing it fo
r thousands of years, it seemed. Why not another thousand? He’d been in the military most of his life, so warfare was nothing new, but he did feel for the normal, everyday folks who had to go through their daily lives facing possible bombs from any and every side.

  A truck with a cloud of dust behind it came into view. He motioned to Kit to stay off the trail and stick by the thick bushes. If they were Pakistani soldiers, they would leave an American soldier alone. Certain tribal militia would most likely pass by without more than a glance because they had made agreements with some of the US commanders who had visited them. There would also be the assumption he was probably not alone, which was a good thing.

  The truck slowed down as they came nearer. The dust made the sunlight hazy as it floated all around them. A figure jumped off the truck and started charging, screaming an almighty war cry.

  “Get down!” Lucas shouted back at Kit, hoping she was already hiding somewhere.

  If these people had wanted to kill him, they would have shot him already. He crouched lower, waiting for the running man, and slowly straightened up in surprise as the dust settled and the running figure loomed larger…, or actually, smaller. It was a child coming full speed at him and it wasn’t a war cry. It was more like, “Yah! Yah! Yah!”

  A woman screamed. Then another figure jumped off the back of the truck.

  “Daner! Daner!”

  There was an urgent stream of Pashto and some other language Lucas didn’t recognize but since the man was unarmed, he stayed where he was. No sudden moves to panic anyone in the truck.

  The kid stopped a few feet away and his big green eyes stared up at him.

  “Meri-kan!” He yelled at the top of his voice. “Meri-kan! Meri-kan!”

  “Hey, hey, no shooting. Friends! Friends!” The man coming after boy finally reached them and scooped the boy into his arms. He looked at Lucas apologetically and said, in a heavy accent, “Sorry! He’s just boy. Play with soldiers, always stupid. Sorry!”

  The boy’s expression was earnest. He made the sign of a gun with his forefinger and thumb. “Bang! Bang! Me-rikan! Me-rikan dead!”