by Jordan Dane
Her thoughts drifted to Jackson Kinkaid, and she pictured him alone in the cave, thoroughly pissed at her for leaving him and even more angry at her for drugging him. If he hadn’t been seriously hurt and in need of a doctor, she might have smiled at the thought of pulling one over on such a cagey guy.
But their situation wasn’t even remotely entertaining.
“Got a call from home base,” Hank Lewis whispered as he caught up to her and handed over the SAT phone. “Urgent.”
She gave the signal for her team to stop and take cover while she fielded the call.
“Martini One.” She kept her voice low. “Talk to me.”
It took a long moment for her response to make connection with the caller. SAT phones worked with a delay. She even heard the echo of her own voice.
Eventually the caller said, “We’ve triangulated the position of the target.”
She recognized the voice of Garrett Wheeler. He gave her the coordinates, and she relayed the information to Hank.
“Confidence is high on this intel, but we’re showing two active beacons. Can you confirm?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes and thought about what he’d told her.
“Only one beacon active. X marks the spot for a pickup, with second beacon anchored.”
“That’s negative, Martini One. We show two beacons on the move. I repeat, two on the move.” Although Garrett’s voice sounded strained, he didn’t break protocol to reveal too much on the transmission—or ask obvious questions.
When he gave her the coordinates, she shrugged at Hank and relayed the information. At first her mind reeled with what it meant; but if Garrett showed two tracking beacons moving, that meant only one thing.
Kinkaid hadn’t stayed put. He was on the move, and that wasn’t possible, not in his condition.
“What’s going on, Martini One?” Garrett finally asked.
“We’ll evaluate the situation and contact you when we know more. Martini One out.”
Garrett wouldn’t be happy with her cutting him off, but her team had to move. If she knew Jackson Kinkaid, he’d be pissing in the wind of a real shitstorm. And from what she’d seen of his feelings for Kate, he’d have little regard for an exit strategy. On this mission, the guy hadn’t backed down or compromised. He’d been reacting on pure instinct and showed no fear—as if he had a death wish.
“Damn it,” she cursed.
“What’s going on?” Hank knelt by her.
“I’m willing to bet our FNG is channeling Chuck Norris.” Alexa used an acronym Hank knew well. Fucking new guy meant Kinkaid. “I think he’s flying solo and found our hostages. Those coordinates will get us there.”
“You got orders?”
“Yeah.” She raised en eyebrow. “Let’s give him a hand. He can’t hog all the fun.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hank grinned. To the men, he gave a hand signal, and they moved out, double time.
Alexa cursed Kinkaid under her breath and joined her men. She should never have left him behind. Damn it! If he weren’t already dead when she got there, she’d be tempted to shoot him herself—if that weren’t a waste of ammo.
A pungent smell filled Kinkaid’s nostrils in the heat—and rightly so, it stayed. The blood of the dead sniper not only left its odor and stained his clothes. It marked his soul. The memory of the nightmarish moment would plague him in the days and years to come. And he had no doubt another face would haunt his nights.
He’d pinned the smaller man down with a hand over his mouth. The sniper bucked under his weight until Kinkaid plunged the blade into his neck. Warm blood gushed onto his hand, and arterial spray pulsated onto his clothes and face. It was over in seconds, and the man stopped struggling. When Kinkaid pulled his hand away, the guy’s mouth gapped open, and his eyes stared at nothing.
An eerie stillness replaced his desperate last breaths after his lungs emptied for the last time.
Few would understand, but Kinkaid felt it was his duty to remember. Taking a man’s life should never be easy, no matter what the reason. And forgetting or dismissing it would be an even greater offense.
Darkness had settled onto the gorge, leaving only a sliver of moon to cast its dim haze across the rock cliffs and trees. He crept down a slope toward the outskirts of the village. Digging his bootheels into the soil, he crossed the steep hill at a slant and braced an arm against the incline to steady himself. He avoided the dense underbrush and stayed clear of the established trail, fearing it might be booby-trapped.
When he made it to the canyon floor, he got a bad case of the shakes, and dizziness forced him to stop. He found a dark shadowy spot to hide and gulped more water, splashing some on his face and neck. The fever had gotten worse. His neck and shoulders ached, and sweat drenched his clothes. The infection seethed through his body in a constant clash between churning heat and a rush of chills. He chose to believe that the pain racking his body was only weakness relinquishing its hold on him.
Push through it, Kinkaid.
When he peered through the trees using the thermal infrared imaging capability of his binoculars, the tactical gear allowed him to see in the dark, and ghostly colored images were magnified. The village had quieted down. Not much foot traffic. And the fire pit in the center of the clearing had been reduced to glowing red ashes. No one tended it.
Kinkaid did a quick head count of the guards he’d seen before and watched their movements until he felt ready to go. He stashed his pack in a safe spot to retrieve later—alongside the weapon he’d taken off the sniper—and grabbed his HK G3 assault rifle before he headed out. He’d have to travel light to move fast.
Come on, Kate. Be there with the kids. He figured there would be only one reason Kate wouldn’t be with the children. She was already dead. Kinkaid steeled himself for that reality. He’d know soon enough.
Twenty minutes later
Kinkaid dragged the dead man’s body away into the brush, the last of the guards keeping watch over the hostages. He stashed the AK-47s with the two bodies. More armed men patrolled the camp perimeter. He’d have only a brief opportunity to speak to the captives and convince them to come with him.
Carrying his assault rifle, he crouched low and crept toward the hovel where he’d seen the children. If he found Kate there, he wouldn’t have to persuade the kids to follow him. Kate would know what to do, and she could help with the other captives, too. When he got to the tent, he avoided the side facing the clearing. That side of the tent was too risky and would force him to turn his back on the other guards.
Instead, he moved to the rear of the tarp and used his knife to cut through it. He opened the torn flap and found the children cowering in the far corner. When he used a small penlight to see inside, the beam flashed across the terrified faces of the kids. They squinted and held up small hands to block the light.
The oldest girl shielded the others. Her eyes were brimming in tears. And even though her chin was jutted out in defiance, her lips trembled. The child didn’t say a word, nor did she make a sound. Brave girl…and smart.
“Sister Kate. Where is she?” he whispered, and looked over his shoulder for any sign of movement. When the girl didn’t respond quickly enough, he repeated his question in French.
At the mention of Kate’s name, the expression of the oldest girl softened, and she whispered something to the other kids before she crawled toward him.
“Why are you asking about Sister Kate?” the girl questioned in English, letting him know she spoke his language.
“My name is Jackson Kinkaid. Sister Kate is my friend. I’ve come to rescue you…all of you.” He craned his neck over the tent and looked into the clearing. A guard was edging closer. With three more tents to check out, Kinkaid was running out of time.
“Where is she?” he asked again.
The girl reached for his arm and tugged at his sleeve to bring him inside. And even though every move brought him pain, he followed her lead. She crawled toward the other side of the tent and p
ointed across the clearing.
“They have her there, the third tent to the left of the fire.” She pointed a tiny finger, keeping her movement masked in shadows. “She is very sick. They beat her. I thought they’d killed her.” The girl sobbed when a rush of emotions hit her.
He stroked her dark hair and kissed her forehead. “I’m getting you out of here. What’s your name, honey?”
“Joselyne.” She wiped tears from her face with a dirty hand and took a ragged breath.
“You’re a brave girl, Joselyne.”
He tapped her nose with a finger and forced himself to smile to put her at ease. Having the children and the other captives separated from Kate made things tough. He knew what he had to do, but the decision to leave Kate for last wasn’t an easy one for him to make.
“I have to check on the other hostages. Which tents are they in?” he asked. After the girl told him what he needed to know, he said, “Stay quiet. I’ll come back for you. I promise. Then you’re all going home.”
The word “home” struck him and brought unexpected and bittersweet memories. He hadn’t had a real home in so long that the word sounded like a foreign language, but by the look in Joselyne’s eyes, she knew what home meant. And he was determined to make it happen for all the children.
With reluctance, he left the kids behind while he made contact with the other hostages. Scrambling from tent to tent had taken time. After he’d gathered the others, Kinkaid kept them moving and quiet. He positioned himself between the captives and the remaining guards on duty. If they were spotted, he didn’t want innocent lives caught in the cross fire. When they reached the children’s tent, Joselyne had the kids ready to go. In silence, they crawled through the opening he’d made in the back of their tent.
He counted twelve hostages—men, women, and children. When he got them far enough away, he’d come back for Kate. Lucky number thirteen.
Kinkaid crouched on the edge of the clearing with his G3 aimed toward the camp. After he nudged his head and gave the signal for each hostage to move into the trees, he kept his eyes alert for the other guards and any signs of movement. One by one, the captives made their escape from the camp. And two of the men helped the children. When the last hostage crept by him, he backed away from the camp with his assault rifle leveled and melded into the shadows. He took a detour to retrieve the two AK-47s that he’d stashed with the bodies of the guards and joined the men, women, and children, who were waiting for him.
Under the cover of darkness and shielded by the trees, the hostages huddled in a spot away from the camp and stared at him with expectant and scared faces. Dealing with dizziness and a queasy stomach, he knelt in front of them with clinched teeth to mask his nausea.
Kinkaid fixed his gaze on the three men in the group.
“Do any of you know how to use an AK-47?” he whispered, holding up one of the rifles.
When he pointed to Joselyne—and waited for her answer—the little girl finally broke down and smiled with a shake of her head. He winked and turned back to the men. Only one had raised his hand and nodded.
Kinkaid gave instruction to the men as he handed over the confiscated assault rifles. He had no expectations that these civilians would know how to fire a weapon or become marksmen after one quick lesson. His goal was simple. He wanted them to make noise if they had to and avoid killing each other in the process.
“Follow me single file. Do as I do and watch over the kids,” he said in a low voice and looked into the eyes of each of his charges. “After we get going, not a sound, okay?”
He led them back to where he’d stowed his gear. The location was far enough away from the terrorist camp and had good cover for them to hide until he returned. He stayed off the path and navigated through brush. It made the trek slow, especially with the kids.
When they got to his stashed gear, he said, “I’m going back for Sister Kate.”
Joselyne chewed a corner of her lip with a worried crease between her eyebrows. She didn’t complain, but the little girl looked frightened.
“You.” He pointed at her and shoved his pack in her direction. “Watch my stuff. I’m coming back for it.”
Joselyne nodded with a fleeting smile. Her worried look had softened when he talked about returning. She took a step toward him and touched his arm, saying, “Please…find her.”
He crooked his lip into a half grin and tapped a finger to her nose. “Whatever you say, sweet girl. Now go on with this nice lady here. I got something to tell these guys.”
The men with weapons stayed put while Joselyne and the others pulled deeper into the shadows and hid. When Kinkaid knew he was alone with the men, he spoke in a hushed voice.
“All hell is about to break loose,” he warned them. “Don’t panic. Stay down until it’s over. If I don’t come back, this is what I want you to do.”
There was only one reason he wouldn’t be back, and by the looks on the men’s faces, they understood what he meant. After he shared his contingency plan, he went back for Kate. From where her tent was located in the center of camp, he would need a diversion that made him look like an army.
He knew exactly what to do.
Alexa got a signal from Hank that they were getting close to the coordinates Garrett had given them. The location her boss had relayed for the terrorists was dead ahead. If she had any doubts about the validity of the locale or Jackson Kinkaid’s whereabouts, her doubts vanished in a hail of bullets. She heard shots fired. And she recognized the sound of Kinkaid’s HK G3 assault rifle. Downrange of her position, muzzle flashes lit the night sky and sent orange streaks through the trees. And the assault escalated when grenades erupted. Fire-balls exploded with a thunderous boom that echoed off the canyon walls.
“Oh, hell,” she cursed.
She used her night-vision binoculars to evaluate the situation and gave her orders through a series of hand gestures. Her men moved out like the well-trained team they were. With her men in formation, she cut through the brush and down a steep embankment, heading for the fight with her M4 assault rifle clutched in her hands. With enemy bullets ricocheting off stone and cutting through the trees, she stayed low and steadied her breathing, despite the pounding of her heart and the adrenaline rushing through her system.
Whatever happened now, they’d have to end it and get out. News of the incident would precipitate an investigation, and the world would soon know what happened here. If Garrett expected them to keep a low profile—to get in and out—she had no choice but to end it and have her team gone before morning, with no trace left behind.
But nothing would be that simple with a guy like Jackson Kinkaid.
Kinkaid felt the blowback off the grenade as the blast erupted. The fierce explosion radiated heat and a burst of hot air hit his body. Red embers spiraled into the night sky and sparks set tree limbs on fire. Shadows of men were silhouetted against the intense flames as they ran through the camp and into the hills. While they searched for cover, Kinkaid kept on the move.
He threw another grenade, which ripped apart a stone dwelling. A body in flames blew through the door and rolled into the clearing. And when shards of stone and wood splinters rained down on Kinkaid, he ducked and kept running through the billowing black smoke that drifted into a thick haze.
Heading for Kate’s tent, he raced through the encampment firing his weapon for cover, tossing spent magazines and reloading on the run. Two men bolted from behind a shanty and fired their AK-47s. He felt the high-pitched whine of bullets whizzing by his head and fired back. His assault rifle bucked in his hands and jolted with every round as he fired on the run.
One man toppled to the ground after he was hit several times. Kinkaid shifted his aim and took out the other guy. As the rounds hit his body, the man jerked with every strike. His face went slack, and he collapsed to the ground.
More shots were fired and Kinkaid felt the burn of a bullet that grazed his arm. He dove for cover behind a shack made of cinder blocks and, with his back pr
essed to the outer wall of the hut, peered around the corner. Sweat stung his eyes, and another wave of nausea hit him.
Not now. Stay focused, lightweight, he chastised himself.
One man fired cover rounds as the other two raced by the fire pit. They were trying to surround him and put him in the middle of cross fire.
“Fuck that.” He backed into the shadows and maneuvered until he got all three men facing the fire. With him staying in the dark, he would screw with their night vision. The advantage would be his for a split second.
It would have to be enough.
All three men fired at once, aiming for where he had been. Chipped stone flew into the air as bullets pounded the wall. Feeling cocky, the bastards kept firing. With smug expressions, they came out from cover firing. He waited until he had a clear shot at all three—and opened fire.
Everything slowed to a painful crawl. He was locked in the moment with three armed men. He kept on the move. Brass glinted in the firelight as his shell casings flew. His G3 assault rifle bucked in his hands in fierce recoil. The men turned to face him as he flanked them, but they were too slow. The first man was hit again and again. He staggered into the cross fire. And when bullets riddled his body, he died where he stood and dropped to the dirt. Kinkaid didn’t stop firing, and he kept his feet moving. When he shifted his aim, his rounds pummeled the last men standing. And he didn’t stop shooting until they hit the ground.
The firefight was over…for now.
With his ears ringing, Kinkaid knew time was running out, and he’d lost the element of surprise. He tossed his spent mag and loaded a new one. When he raced to Kate’s tent across the clearing, he pictured her face. He wanted to see her…to see that first look of relief to know she’d been rescued.
“Kate!” he yelled as he got to her tent and flung back the tarp. “Kate, it’s me. Jackson Kinkaid. I’m taking you home.”