by A. J. Quinn
“Yes.”
The rain that had been threatening all day finally started to fall, and as drops splattered against the window, Tate peered sightlessly into the thin mist. She could hear the mournful sound of the ferry horn in the distance. And for the first time, the horror and pain of losing Evan began to recede. “So what do you need me to do to make this happen? What’s our plan to bring Evan home?”
Chapter Nine
Near Kandahar, Afghanistan
“It’s going to get a little rough, folks. Just hang on tight and enjoy the ride.”
The pilot’s disembodied voice had barely registered before the C-130 Hercules began to lift and dive, like an insane roller coaster. Tate was terrified of roller coasters. Strapped into a jump seat along the wall of the plane’s belly, she gritted her teeth, clung to the heavy webbing that made up her seat, and did her best to survive. But surviving gracefully was proving to be a difficult if not impossible task. The aircraft was designed to carry passengers. But it had never been designed to carry passengers comfortably.
The Kevlar over her jeans and T-shirt simply added to her discomfort.
Turning her head slightly, Tate saw a grimace flicker across the face of the foreign-service doctor who had been assigned to travel with her. Greg Turner, wasn’t that his name? He was a tall, lean man of about forty, clean-cut with a tanned complexion. At the moment he appeared to be fighting back a wave of nausea as he swiped at the sweat trickling down his face.
“I hope it won’t be much longer,” he said, shouting to be heard.
I hope so too, Tate thought and nodded vaguely.
It had taken three adrenaline-fueled days to pull it all together—a miracle that owed its existence to the grace of God and Althea Kane’s connections. But while the combination of endless logistics, frayed tempers, and jet lag had long since sapped her strength, the drone of the engines and the shaking aircraft made sleeping impossible.
This was Afghanistan. A place where the enemy sometimes looked like a friend and would be quite happy to kill you.
And the enemy didn’t only fire missiles. According to the intelligence reports she had read prior to leaving the US, insurgents were known to target incoming aircraft with machine guns, which helped to explain why they were ordered to wear Kevlar.
The aircraft emptied within twelve minutes of the wheels touching down. The soldiers and equipment they’d flown with were picked up and taken by ground transport to unknown destinations. That left Tate and the doctor standing alone under a blazing sun beside the runway.
Exhausted from the flight but almost giddy with anticipation, Tate pulled sunglasses out of her backpack. Slipping them on, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the brightness, using the time to try to clear her head and focus. She also tried pinching the bridge of her nose in a futile effort to vanquish the tension sitting there.
“Headache?”
Tate nodded and tried not to think about the fact that other than catnaps, she hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours.
“It’s going to be a long day. Can I give you something for it?”
“Thanks, but no. I’m good,” Tate replied, her eyes never leaving the distant horizon, knowing the end of her nightmare was near. Evan was out there. Closer than she had been in months, although still far enough away to cause concern.
A cloud of dust heralded the arrival of a small military convoy that included several armored personnel carriers. Tate’s heart rate spiked, and she watched them with a critical eye, knowing the soldiers in the convoy were charged with escorting her safely to and from the prisoner exchange. More importantly, they would be responsible for ensuring Evan’s safety once they got her back.
Before the dust had settled, an army major exited the lead vehicle. “Ms. McKenna? Dr. Turner? I’m Major Campbell.” He extended both hands, offering bottles of ice-cold water. “My team is standing by as soon as you’re ready.”
The major projected a quiet competence Tate found reassuring, especially since she wasn’t in a position to accept anything less than a win today. She gratefully accepted the water and drank deeply, trying to ease the dryness in her throat.
When she lowered the half-empty bottle, her eyes were immediately drawn to an approaching civilian in jeans and a faded desert-camouflage T-shirt, ambling slowly from the convoy. And then she started to laugh.
Jackson Thomas Dupree’s face was as apple-pie wholesome as the last time Tate had seen him, in Kuwait almost three years earlier. His thick, unruly hair was sun bleached nearly white, and with his slow, lazy stride, he resembled a laid-back surfer. But he was one of the sharpest CIA tacticians she had ever met, and his presence had Tate beginning to believe they would really pull this off.
“Damn, but it’s good to see you, JT. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you here.”
“You look good, Slim. Real good.” His drawl still carried a trace of what had once, a long time ago, identified his connection to Louisiana. “And you don’t look all that crazy. So you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing getting mixed up in this? I thought you were smarter.”
Tate shrugged. “This one’s personal. Evan Kane is—she’s a good friend. A really close friend.”
“Jesus, Slim, you like to live dangerously, don’t you?” He stared at her a moment longer, then nodded toward the line of waiting vehicles and military personnel. “But it don’t matter none as long as you know what to expect.”
“And what’s that?”
“It should take us just over two hours, if all goes well, to get to the exchange site. But the roads around here are among the most dangerous in the country.” JT scratched the faint stubble on his chin. “And convoys are popular targets, particularly VIP convoys. Personally, I’d have liked our chances better getting in and out by chopper, but we couldn’t get that bastard Khalid to agree. I’d swear he just wants to see us sweat a bit first.”
The mere mention of Khalid caused Tate’s shoulders to stiffen. The dossier she’d received through one of Althea’s staff indicated no one trusted the young insurgent brokering this deal. Probably because, although born in Helmand province, he was the son of an American engineer currently living in Oregon.
She could feel JT watching her, sensed his concern. “I’m aware of the risks,” she said finally.
JT cocked his head, then shrugged and grinned. “Then I think our two pilots have waited long enough. If everything goes according to plan, we should have all of you safe and sound in Germany by early evening.”
*
Once onboard the sand-colored Humvee, Tate sat in the front opposite JT, watching while the doctor moved to the rear of the vehicle. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the vehicle had been modified to serve as an ambulance.
“You’ve got all the bases covered.”
“Hope so. Word has it both packages sustained some damage a couple of days ago,” JT said. “We don’t really know how bad, so we just want to be prepared.”
“Damaged? They’re hurt?” Tate choked on the words. “Why the hell wasn’t I advised before now?”
JT shrugged. “I’ve been told they tried to escape two days ago. Unsuccessfully, and the damage occurred when they were recaptured.”
Fear and fury hummed hot in Tate’s blood. “Why the hell would they try to escape? After all this time, why now?”
“I can’t answer that,” JT said, “but I’m guessing they had no idea an exchange had been negotiated. Once we get back to the air base, we’ve got a team of top-notch medical people on standby, and a medical transport waiting to take Commander Kane and Lieutenant Walker to the hospital in Germany.”
A sharp, frustrated sound escaped Tate. Squeezing her eyes tight, she shook her head.
She just wanted to have one more chance with Evan.
Was that too much to ask?
As the convoy progressed deeper into the lawless lands of southern Afghanistan, Tate reached for another bottle of water, trying to stay hydrated in the already oppressive
temperature. Through dust-covered windows, she could see the landscape shimmer in the late-morning heat as the sun baked the earth below it. Heat mirages rose in waves and, from time to time, she could make out the bombed-out hulks of tanks scattered across the rugged landscape. Rusted symbols of the Soviet failure to occupy Afghanistan in the 1980s.
But slowly the landscape changed, and instead, it started to resemble something out of Star Wars. Dun-colored nomad settlements made up of ancient mud buildings began to appear sporadically. Still, Tate could see no evidence of villagers. Just ghost villages, collapsed mud walls, and an oppressive eerie silence.
“How much longer?” There were nerves in her voice, and hearing them irritated her.
“Maybe another twenty minutes or so.”
Swallowing dryly, Tate rested her head against the seat. “Do you suppose they have any idea who they’ve got? Who they’ve been holding all this time?”
“I wouldn’t think so. If Khalid knew who Evan Kane was, he’d have asked for a hell of a lot more than the eight losers we’ve got in the transports behind us.”
“He’d have gotten it,” Tate said with certainty. “He didn’t have to threaten to behead them.”
JT cursed softly. “He didn’t mean anything by it. That’s just his way of doing business. In any case, as near as we can tell, Khalid’s cell has only had Kane and Walker for a little over a month.”
Releasing a long, jagged breath, Tate sat up straighter. “They aren’t the ones who shot them down? Is that what you mean?”
“According to the intel we’ve managed to gather, Kane and Walker got traded between two cells about five weeks ago.”
Tate inhaled sharply.
JT sighed. “Tate, you need to look at it from their perspective. Life here has very little value, and Kane and Walker are just commodities. They got traded for RPGs. Or maybe potassium chlorate. Ammonium nitrate. Whatever someone needed to make more IEDs. The fact they were perceived to have some value is probably the only thing that’s kept them alive all this time.”
Tate’s lips compressed into a thin line. The thought of Evan being traded for a rocket propelled grenade made her nauseous.
A short time later, the convoy came to a full stop as they topped a small rise. Pulling up just behind one of the lead vehicles, JT motioned for her to follow him.
“Whatever you do, don’t walk on the shoulder. Better still, stay behind me, walk where I walk, and keep your eyes peeled for any signs of recently disturbed earth,” he cautioned.
Tate nodded and slowly eased out of the Humvee. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she followed JT, then waited as he conferred with Campbell. After a brief discussion, JT surveyed the area ahead through high-optic binoculars.
“I’d say they’re ready for us.” He paused as a marine handed Tate binoculars for her use. “Now we just have to wait for their signal to proceed.”
Tate felt the trail of perspiration trickle down her back, and she bit her lower lip as she surveyed the scene. She could see a group of hard-eyed men dressed in baggy cotton trousers, loose cotton tunics, and traditional rolled round-topped hats and armed with what looked like assault rifles.
No one else was visible.
After almost a minute had passed, one of the men separated himself from the group. He was young, Tate noted, as she zoomed in on his face. But even from a distance, his expression seemed to lack any emotion. It made her stomach recoil. She couldn’t read his lips, but it appeared he was issuing instructions. As if to prove her right, another man stepped out from a nearby hut and into her line of sight, dragging two people, bound, limping, and tethered behind him.
And then everything stopped.
Tate hung suspended in the moment. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. Unable to speak.
Then she was breathing again, feeling again. Her heart jumped, her eyes filled, and she felt herself come apart a little. Weak-kneed and dry mouthed, she forced herself to remain calm as first Deacon Walker and then Evan came into focus.
It was only then she knew, finally, and with absolute certainty.
This was real.
Evan was really alive.
Chapter Ten
Evan flinched.
She bit back a cry when the rope binding her wrists chafed against already raw and bleeding skin as she was dragged to her feet. Blinking, she tried to bring her surroundings into focus. Tried to see where they were taking her as she was pulled from the mud hut. But the brightness of the sun made her head throb almost as badly as the pain radiating from her leg.
Aware only that Deacon was being pulled just in front of her, she abandoned her efforts to see where they were going and tried to let the guard they’d nicknamed Moe pull her along. But with her hands tightly secured and her balance compromised, she had to struggle to stay on her feet and stumbled behind him.
The guard paused, drew closer, and looked down at her impassively, then dragged her off the ground. The movement brought forth a wave of dizziness, caused her stomach to roil, and she found herself wanting nothing more than to surrender to the combination of exhaustion and pain and fever. Wishing she could sink back into oblivion where nothing mattered.
“Are you ready to die today?”
Evan shuddered involuntarily at the sound of the soft voice.
Khalid. She recognized his scent. Knew the pain his touch brought. Her heartbeat instantly accelerated until its wild, erratic pounding resonated in her ears. She felt perspiration trickle down her face, drip down her back, and tried to keep perfectly still. Almost didn’t breathe.
But it didn’t help.
She hated that he could still do this to her—hated that after all this time, he could still elicit any kind of fear response. A conditioned stimulus, she’d decided. Like Pavlov’s dogs.
But she hated it. Almost as much as she hated him.
She drew a fortifying breath, found the strength to lift her chin in defiance, and issued a deliberate response, even as she told herself that sarcasm wouldn’t be appreciated. But she was so very tired of his games, and with her body already battered and bruised, she didn’t think Khalid’s likely retaliation would make much difference. Maybe she simply wanted to feel something other than fear.
“Let me make sure I don’t have any other plans first.”
Or maybe she just wanted to know she still existed.
In either case, it was the wrong thing to say. Without preamble, he backhanded her, bloodying her mouth. Pain shot through her, wringing a sharp gasp from her lips as she felt something explode in her head and then reverberate through her body. But before she could do more than stagger back under the force of the blow, he hit her again, this time dropping her to her knees.
She would have cried out if she could have drawn a breath. But as it was, she was well past the point of caring. Dazed and disoriented, she heard Deacon call her name, thought she saw him struggle against the guards holding him back. An instant later, she felt the hard barrel of Khalid’s assault rifle against her temple, and she froze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of struggling. Fighting to hold back the sound that rose in her throat.
“Would you have me execute you here and now?” Khalid’s face was emotionless, as always. His question sounded calm, almost reasonable.
But Evan could still feel his rage. It was always there, held barely in check. Her own anger started to surface in response, but she held it at bay. He wanted to kill her and she was helpless to stop him. She remained still, waiting to see what he would do.
From somewhere beyond her line of vision, he produced a jug of water. Immediately forgetting his question, Evan heard only the sweet sound of the water sloshing inside the container. Her eyes were drawn to the condensation clinging to the sides of the jug, mesmerized by the sight of the fat drops that fell, only to evaporate in the heat before they could touch the ground.
Bastard. She watched Khalid drink deeply and she could only stare at the water dribbling down his chin and swallow painfully.
“Do you still believe someone will save you from your fate, Commander? Should I behead you now and prove you wrong? Is that what you want? Do you want me to decapitate you and send your head home to your lover?”
Evan stared back, unblinking. Chills racked her body in spite of the sizzling heat. She knew most of the cuts on her torso and the bullet wound in her leg were infected. Knew under the present conditions, without any antibiotics, it constituted a death sentence. And until now, she had thought it likely the infection would do her in before Khalid could finish her off.
But now it appeared he had changed his timetable. Quite possibly, she’d reached the end of the line. She bit her lower lip, worked to keep her emotions at a distance, then dug deep and squared her shoulders.
“You could have made this easier on yourself by cooperating with me,” he told her. “Now it seems we’ve run out of time.”
Uncertain what he meant, she remained silent. She could feel the warmth of blood pooling at her knee and knew the wound in her leg had opened again. Her vision blurred and the fever was making her mind slow. But she knew she would die here.
She closed her eyes.
God, she really didn’t want to die here. She wanted to see Tate again. Alex. Her parents. She hadn’t survived all this time so Khalid could kill her now.
No, she had no intention of dying. Not here or anywhere else.
Please.
It was a one-word prayer.
*
The sight of Evan threw Tate off balance, but she couldn’t risk looking away, not for a single second. She was fearful Evan would simply disappear. Afraid she had not really been there. Terrified she had been made real solely by the power of a wish.
Everything inside her grew still, and the flood of sensations was almost like the first time they’d met. The same rush of awareness. Her mind clouded with emotions and images of Evan.