The Echo of Violence sj-3

by Jordan Dane

  If Kate is still alive, she almost said. She knew the little Haitian girl had told Kinkaid last night that Kate was still alive, but there were no guarantees she’d be breathing today. And even though they both knew the odds of his friend surviving her ordeal, neither of them talked about the worst-case scenario.

  “They know we’re coming.” Kinkaid wiped a hand across his face. “They’ll be ready this time. We can expect more men. And we won’t know who to trust in Baracoa.”

  Alexa knew they’d stand out in town. And for every contact they made, they’d have to expect trouble and be more guarded. They couldn’t trust anyone.

  “You speak the language?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Good. That’ll help.”

  If the rumors were true about Kinkaid having links to regional drug cartels, she had a pretty good idea he spoke several languages fluently. His unsavory affiliations would pay off in Cuba.

  “I’m going to call home base.” She retrieved the satellite phone from her gear and pointed. “I’m heading to that ridge. It’s not far. You can keep an eye on me from here.”

  “Be careful,” he replied.

  Alexa took her assault rifle to look for higher ground and better reception for the SAT phone. As she headed up the slope in the rain, she dug her boots into the dirt and pulled through the heavy brush, looking for a clear shot at the sky. The climb was short, but strenuous. Sweat trickled off her neck and down her back. Following the terrorists had brought them to a lower elevation, and the muggy heat was back. The air was downright steamy with the rain. And if it was possible, the bugs had gotten worse.

  Near the ridge, she found good cover with a view below to Kinkaid’s position. She caught his eye and he waved to let her know he’d keep watch. Within minutes, she had Garrett on the line.

  “The Home Shopping Network is sending you a package.” Garrett gave her an estimated time of arrival in code. “Give my regards to the bounty hunter.”

  In cryptic fashion, Garrett had informed her that help was coming, and Jessie would be a part of the backup team. Alexa suspected that Garrett hadn’t been pleased with her decision to help Kinkaid find Kate, but to his credit, he hadn’t mentioned it…so far.

  “Copy that.”

  Between the voice delays inherent in a satellite phone, she gave him a brief report on their plan, purposefully sticking to protocol and communicating in code when necessary. When she was done, Garrett surprised her with information on the terrorist leader they were chasing. Their target’s name was Abdul Kabir Sayed. Using the man’s name had violated procedure. Garrett had taken a risk to get her the information she’d need to track the bastard when they got to Baracoa.

  Kinkaid would be pleased that he would have a name.

  “Thanks for the ID on our target. I’ll contact you…”

  Before she finished, Garrett interrupted her.

  “We need Sayed alive, Martini One. Do you read me?”

  In a hostage-rescue mission, the priority was to save innocent lives. Extracting the hostage had priority over the lives of the captors. And with Kinkaid along, she had a feeling the mission would be search and destroy—with extreme prejudice. Any man who had taken his Kate would pay.

  “I read you. And we’ll do our best,” she acknowledged, but Garrett wasn’t done making his point.

  “This is imperative, Martini One,” he insisted. “This isn’t a request. Consider it an order. Even if the pawn is at risk, we’ve got more at stake. The pawn is expendable.”

  Alexa narrowed her eyes, not believing what she’d heard until he clued her in on why he was ordering a change in plans. Although he only spoke briefly, what he told her broke protocol. That couldn’t be helped. He knew she’d need more reason to go against her instincts.

  Risking the life of the hostage they were trying to save made no sense. Garrett was asking her to place more importance on taking the terrorist leader into custody than in saving the life of the hostage Kinkaid had risked his life for. Her mission would be at odds with Jackson’s personal stake in all this.

  What the hell would she tell him?

  When she had remained silent too long, Garrett clarified, “If there’s a choice, the nun is collateral damage. Is that clear?”

  Alexa wiped the beads of perspiration from her lip. “Say again, sir?”

  What nun?

  All she heard was static. She didn’t know if the SAT phone lost its link, but she stayed on the line, hoping Garrett would explain. Kate was a nun? Had Garrett known all along? He’d sent her on this mission because of her past with Kinkaid. He owed her an explanation, especially now that he’d complicated things with a new directive. If Garrett were standing in front of her now, she’d be in his face, demanding to know more. Why Kate was expendable compared to the despicable coward who had waged war on innocent women and children?

  Garrett’s voice finally came on the line. “He hasn’t told you about her?”

  “No. Not a word.”

  “She has a direct line to the Almighty…and the uniform to match. They met at a hospital outside Boston. Years ago.”

  “A hospital?” she questioned. “Was our boy wounded?”

  She watched the rain roll down her arms and waited for his answer, not fully realizing she was holding her breath. There was a long stretch of silence before Garrett came back on the line.

  “A psychiatric hospital, Martini One. Our boy was a patient there.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Alexa’s throat tightened as she turned her gaze down the hill and spotted Jackson Kinkaid staring up at her. Garrett’s words replayed in her head.

  The nun is collateral damage. He hasn’t told you about her?

  They met at a hospital…years ago. A psychiatric hospital…our boy was a patient.

  She tried to get more out of Garrett, but sharing details over the SAT phone was not the way to do it. Even though she had a feeling that her boss knew more about Kinkaid’s hospital stay, Garrett wouldn’t say any more about it. She had ended the call with more questions than she had answers. For her to think that Kinkaid’s mental state was part of his feud with Garrett would be pure speculation.

  If she wanted to know more, she’d have to pick the right moment to get it from Kinkaid—even if she didn’t have the right to ask.

  “What happened to you?” she whispered under her breath as she watched him through the rain.

  The life they both led certainly wasn’t for the faint of heart. All operatives had their own reasons for the choices they made. And each mission tested their ability to live with what they did. She understood that. But for a guy as mentally tough as Jackson Kinkaid, what would have driven him over the edge and forced him into a psychiatric hospital? And what did a nun have to do with his mental breakdown?

  As she headed down the slope, Alexa thought back to her initial infatuation with him. They’d had chemistry from the start, yet despite her wanting more, he never let the attraction go anywhere. They shared a few missions for the Sentinels, but after a while she lost track of him. And since he never talked about his private life, she didn’t know much about him beyond the job.

  She slid down the bottom third of the hill and wiped her hands on her BDUs as Kinkaid joined her.

  “What did Garrett have to say?” he asked.

  “He’s got a team coming. They’ll make contact when they get here,” she told him. “And he gave me the name of the man in charge of the terrorist cell, the one who has…Kate.”

  Kinkaid fixed his gaze on her. “Who is it?”

  “Abdul Kabir Sayed. You know him?” she asked.

  Kinkaid thought about it for a minute and shook his head.

  “No. Name’s not familiar.” He narrowed his green eyes. The glint of the predator was back. “But I can’t wait to meet him.”

  Alexa could have shared what Garrett had told her about taking Sayed alive for the sake of the greater good. Interrogating Sayed was imperative. Kinkaid would have under
stood her new directive—if Kate hadn’t been the one who was taken and the woman’s life wasn’t still hanging in the balance.

  No, Kinkaid wouldn’t listen to reason. She’d keep the information about Sayed to herself for now and deal with Kinkaid later, when she had a team to back up any decision she might be forced to make.

  “Let’s get moving,” she said. “We’ve got ground to cover before this rain gets worse.”

  Alexa had a hard time looking him in the eye.

  Baracoa, Cuba

  Dusk

  On the horizon loomed a recognizable landmark that Alexa remembered from her map, a distinctive plateau named El Yunque. Normally, Baracoa was a quaint colonial village surrounded by secluded beaches and a pristine rain forest, but it had become a virtual cesspool in the wake of the hurricane. The annihilation the storm had brought looked more dismal in the waning hours of an exhausting day as Alexa accompanied Kinkaid through the carnage.

  Neither of them spoke. They couldn’t. No words would describe the devastation.

  The overcast skies stole the last remnants of light, and the drizzle had been unrelenting. They were drenched and waded cautiously through knee-deep dark water as they followed a side street into town. To the right, churning seas brought whitecaps into the already flooded shoreline, with spindly trees protruding from muddy waters. The salty smell of the ocean mixed with the stench of raw sewage. Alexa found it hard to breathe.

  Even at this hour, scantily clad survivors were still sifting through rubble in search of anything worth saving. Soggy mattresses, damaged but usable furniture, and clothing were piled high along the road, ready to salvage for those desperate enough to need it. And heaping piles of splintered wood, corrugated metal, and sandbags were stacked to create a barricade against high water. The refuse had been pulled from the wreckage of shops, office buildings, and dwellings in preparation for cleanup.

  They had trailed Sayed to Baracoa, and their search for him would take top priority even though Kinkaid looked dead on his feet. Alexa feared Kate wasn’t the only one out of time.

  “You holding up?” she asked.

  “Yeah. No worries.” He avoided her gaze.

  “Liar,” she muttered as she returned the stares of locals watching them from a distance.

  She had stowed her assault rifle in her pack so she wouldn’t draw attention. Kinkaid had done the same, but they both kept their handguns in reach and under cover. Although most residents would be focused on recovering from the storm, Alexa knew there would be men who had other priorities.

  Opportunistic men.

  Sayed would seek such men for different reasons.

  “We should get to higher ground. This water is filled with sewage,” Kinkaid said. “Our target will be looking for a safe place to hide. If there’s a Muslim connection here, he’ll find it. His food. His culture. His people. That’s what we’ll hit first, as soon as we find a place to stash our gear.”

  “Preferably a place with a hot shower,” she added. “Not that I’m complaining. I’ve gotten used to sweat and bug juice. It makes a heady bouquet.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” Kinkaid gave her a sideways glance. “Hot water may be too much to ask.”

  “A girl can dream.”

  Kinkaid pointed left. Wedged into the hillside were buildings that had fared better in the storm. The structures looked as if they might have escaped the flooding. And with downed power lines, some streets were dark, but other places had electricity. They headed for high ground and the light. Once they got past the flooding, Baracoa’s cobblestone streets were lined with single-story buildings with roofs of weathered red tile. The brightly colored structures were jammed next to each other. Despite paint peeling from the heat of the sun, remnants of the town’s colonial charm remained.

  It took them an hour to find a functioning motel with an available room—one room. Kinkaid took it without asking her opinion. And judging by the looks of the place when they opened the door, he had cultivated his low standards to an art form.

  They dropped their gear on the floor and stared at the room in stunned silence. Two bulbs were out, making the place dark. But from where she stood, that was a blessing. The old carpet had a musty stench to it, made worse by the muggy stale air. And the bed was rumpled. Who knew when they had last changed the sheets? The walls could have used a good coat of paint…ten years ago. And behind the curtain, the annoying buzz of flies pinging off the window capped off the ambience.

  “Promise me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “No matter what happens. Don’t let me die in this fuckin’ shit hole.”

  She sighed and cocked her head.

  “Not funny, Kinkaid.” Not funny at all.

  Near Baracoa, Cuba

  Blood loss had made Kate weak. Last night, Sayed had cut into her skin with his knife and torn clothes from her body. She knew parts of her were exposed. The air that hit her bare body made her skin prickle. And her tunic was shamefully dirty and tattered, making a mockery of her faith. If his intention had been to humiliate her, he had succeeded.

  She had no idea how severe her wounds were. No one had tended to her. And she tried not to move. Moving opened the gashes and started the bleeding again. Without stitches, she would have no way to stop it. And infection would set in soon, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t live to see that happen.

  She still had no idea where she was. They’d brought her to this new place with her head under a black hood. Sayed and his men were the only voices she heard until they locked her into a cell, tied her up, and yanked off the hood.

  Her hands were bound above her head with rope, and her body hung from the ceiling under a stark light. In these conditions, she would not sleep. And to punish her further, Sayed had not given her water or food since the night of the raid—just like George. With her body depleted, she knew this did not bode well for her survival, but she was beyond caring.

  Except for one bright moment of hope—Jackson Kinkaid. She was still shocked that he had risked his life to save her.

  Apart from the friendship they shared, Kate knew he could be a dangerous man. She figured that out after their many talks at the hospital. And between each confidence he shared was the underlying pain, the sadness that would never leave his eyes. To this day she saw it. He’d never gotten his life back, not after what had happened. But he had come to rescue her, giving her hope until—

  Kate heard footsteps echoing down a hall outside her cell. She gasped at the sound. And her heart thrashed in her chest as a deep ache clinched her belly. When the footsteps grew louder, she knew they were coming for her.

  A key slid into the lock, and the door opened with a creak. She blinked her eyes to clear her blurred vision. A dark-skinned man stood in front of her. Sayed had come for her, the man who had taken such pleasure inflicting pain with his knife.

  He had a tall glass of ice water in his hand. Taking his time, he drank and watched as she licked her lips, unable to hide her thirst. Her throat was parched, and her lips were so dry, they were cut and bleeding. She felt the sting of peeling skin and tasted the tang of blood every time she moistened her lips with her tongue.

  “Ah, refreshing.” He grinned as the ice settled back into his glass. “I was very thirsty from the trip, but soon I will be enjoying a feast fit for Allah. My host, who is a man of my faith, has been most generous. He is preparing a banquet to celebrate my great victory. Curry chicken, roasted rabbit, olives, pomegranates, succulent sweet dates—these foods remind me of my home.” He narrowed his eyes, and his face turned into a scowl. “The fact that I am here with you is a true insult.”

  Without warning, Sayed threw the glass across the room in a sudden fit of rage. The glass shattered against the wall, and the shards splintered. Pieces flew and glinted in the light. She hid her face on pure instinct. When she turned her head, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. For a long moment, he glared at her as his fingernails dug into her skin.
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  “Jackson Kinkaid. You must think him a hero, yes?” he said.

  When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer and intimidated her with his intimacy. She felt his warm acrid breath on her face.

  “Your hero was responsible for many of the hostages getting killed in that cowardly raid of his.” He nodded and glared at her. “It’s true. I was after ransom money, completely. These people would have been returned to their families…in time, but not now. Now, is too late.”

  He stepped around her, where her eyes couldn’t follow. Having him behind her made her skin crawl. Her body tensed. And she held her breath.

  “And as for your precious children, would you like to know who will not be going home?” He grinned and she heard the sick satisfaction in his voice. “Perhaps I will save this for another time. You are not worthy to know such things…unless I decide to tell you.”

  He headed for the door to her cell, but turned at the last minute.

  “Do you still think Jackson Kinkaid is a hero?” Sayed sneered. He left her alone again and locked the door.

  Debilitating grief mixed with blind rage. Her eyes welled with tears, and her body fell slack. She wouldn’t have the strength to survive much longer. She wasn’t worth saving if the cost meant others would be killed. Kate wanted this to be over, and she no longer cared how that would happen. The faces of the children flashed painfully through her mind. Why had God forsaken her to this merciless man? And why had he allowed so many to be killed? Doubting God hurt far worse than anything Sayed could have done to her—and the wound had been self-inflicted.

  Before dinner, Sayed went to the guest room he’d been given. He looked at his watch and calculated the time in his head. He had waited long enough. Back home in his country, his handler was an early riser.

  Sayed had made a video of his own words and would transmit the uplink now. His teachings would be posted for the world to see. And this time, he would not hide behind a mask to gain deserved attention for killing his enemy. He would convince his handler to post his personal message to followers he was sure would soon know his name. Raising money to fight the oppressors of his people had value, but others were more suited to pursue this endeavor. He had a different calling. A much greater purpose. Of this he was certain.