Exfiltration

by Jillian Anselmi

  It's been commonplace in Afghanistan for militias to enter hospitals with guns drawn and order doctors to treat their comrades instead of civilians. Hospitals and doctors are targeted so often, medical care now has to be provided in places like caves and chicken coops in order to avoid detection by warring factions. The effect these attacks have on those caught in wars and on humanitarian action is nothing short of devastating, but she insisted on going anyway.

  Stubborn.

  She’s been lucky so far, I just hope her luck hasn’t run out.

  Noah’s head shoots off the pillow as the loud ring of the Sat phone fills the small room.

  “This is Witt,” I answer, taking a seat on an uncomfortable wooden chair near the window. Noah turns toward me, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the pillow.

  “Good morning! How was your flight?” Aziz, the Afghanistan station chief, asks. His voice is hoarse, no doubt from the constant stream of dust flowing through the air.

  “Fantastic. Do we know the location of Savior?” All presidents get a nickname from the Secret Service. President Bartlett’s is Sniper, since he used to be a military sharp shooter. All family members also get nicknames, starting with the same letter as the President. Kimberly’s nickname fits her personality perfectly. From the time she was small, she’d rescue injured animals. She went to medical school and became a doctor, and decided to volunteer with International Medical Corps. She’s an amazing soul.

  “Yes. Her location hasn’t changed. She’s right where we said she’d be.”

  Good.

  “Has she been compromised?” I ask, shifting in my seat. My eyes scan the road below, watching the natives walk through the village.

  “Negative.”

  Even better.

  “Good. I’d like to scope out the area this afternoon. Is there somewhere we can meet?” I’d rather see the exact layout in person than trust an old map.

  “Yes. There’s an outdoor café near the field hospital.”

  “What time is good?” I inquire, standing.

  “I’ll be sitting at a table at fourteen hundred,” he replies.

  “Fourteen hundred is perfect. Witt out.” After disconnecting the call, I place the Sat phone on the table and turn to find Noah staring at me. “What?”

  “That gives us a lot of time,” he challenges, sitting up.

  “Time for what?” I counter, knowing full well what he’s implying.

  “Why don’t we discuss it in the shower?” Standing, he saunters over to me.

  We’ve worked together on and off for almost a year now and have gotten close. In more ways than one.

  He’s attractive. Hell, he’s almost perfect. His drop-dead gorgeous smile rivals the way his skin-tight t-shirts cling to his perfect pecs.

  The sex is fantastic—when we get there.

  Problem is, we’re both dominant. I like having all the control.

  So does he.

  One of us has to give up the lead.

  Tonight, it’s not going to be me.

  At least, if I do, it will be on my terms.

  “There’s no need for discussion,” I say as I begin to strip out of my Pakistani garb.

  I stalk past him toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of polyester like breadcrumbs in my wake.

  Piece by piece.

  By the time I reach the shower, there’s nothing left to drop. I lean down to turn on the water and pause just long enough for Noah to come up behind me. He grabs my hips and pulls me toward him, his hard cock smacking my clit.

  “Fuck, you’re enticing,” he groans, sliding his cock against me in just the right way.

  I’m in control.

  Slow and steady, I stand so my back is flush against his chiseled chest. Without a word, I step into the shower.

  I’ll make him chase me.

  He’s going to have to earn it.

  I tilt my head back as the water caresses my body. After a long flight, it soothes my aching muscles, and I begin to relax. The air begins to thicken with steam as the hot liquid trickles down my back. Raising my arms, I run my fingers through my long locks. Once my hair is saturated, I reach over to the bottle of shampoo resting on the edge of the tub and pour some in my hand. The aroma of jasmine fills the shower as I massage my scalp, the suds coating every strand. Lifting my chin, the forceful stream of hot water hits the top of my head, ridding my hair of any trace of soap.

  Every move I make is slow and calculated, knowing he’s watching me.

  I glance over to Noah, who’s engrossed in the show. “Aren’t you going to join me?” I purr as I grasp a bar of soap. Lathering it with my hands, I keep my eyes pinned to his as I circle it around my breasts.

  I’ve got him exactly where I want him.

  “In a minute. I’m enjoying the view,” he utters, then swallows hard. His cock bobs as I run the bar down between my legs, and it makes me smile.

  “Don’t wait too long. I’m almost done,” I taunt, turning so my back is to him. Bending to wash my legs, I wiggle my ass. The sound of him smacking my left cheek registers the same time the sting hits. Before I can object, he’s in the shower. He spins me toward him, then grabs my face, his lips crashing down on mine.

  I don’t let things go too far. I break contact and step out of the shower, leaving him panting. His eyes are wild and confused, just the way I like them. “I told you, I was almost finished.” Reaching for a towel, I wrap it around my body. “I’ll be waiting for you on the bed. Don’t take too long,” I demand, then saunter out of the room.

  I towel dry my hair just enough to stop it from dripping as Noah appears from the bathroom sans towel. “That wasn’t very nice,” he warns, water dripping down his body.

  “I’m not very nice,” I admit, twirling a strand of wet hair.

  “You took the only towel” he quips as he glides toward me. Ripping it from my hand, he dries himself off, his gaze pinned on mine. It’s a staring contest to see who flinches first.

  Noah lunges, then spins me around in an attempt to push me on the bed. I twist, landing on top of him instead.

  I’m in control.

  Sitting on his chest, my hands grip his forearms, pinning him to the mattress. He could throw me off if he chose to, but he won’t.

  His eyes narrow, but the corners of his mouth curve up. “Alright, you win,” he concedes. “Today.”

  I shift so I’m sitting on his thighs. Reaching down, I let my fingernail scape over his stiffness from root to tip. I swirl the pre-cum accumulated around the head of his cock with my thumb. Slow. His sharp intake of breath spurs me on. His hooded gaze tells me all I need to know.

  Sliding my hand down the steel rod encased in velvet, I lean in closer, my breath caressing the tip. I squeeze the base of his cock as I drop my head, taking him all in. I peek upward just as he throws his head back, and a low, pleading groan escapes his throat.

  My mouth opens and closes around him, taking him in as far as my throat will allow. He grunts when the head hits the back of my throat. As I suck, my tongue strokes his length. I run the tip over his slit, like my own personal lollipop.

  He writhes underneath me.

  Knowing I can make him unravel is empowering.

  He starts to thrust his hips to try to take control, but I’m not going to let that happen.

  Not yet.

  I pull back, slowing my pace, then chuckle inwardly at his moan of disapproval. With one last swirl of my tongue, I remove my mouth with a pop.

  Before he can protest too much, I climb up his torso and position myself on top of his thick length. His mouth curves into a smile, now knowing my intentions. I slide over him until his cock penetrates my entrance. Moving slow, I push my hips down, and he stretches me to the hilt. The feeling of him sinking inside me is intoxicating, and for a moment, I forget where we are—and why.

  My entire body tightens from the sensation. It’s been a while since we’ve been this intimate. I forgot how big and thick and long he is.
I move up and down, my pussy throbbing around him. Noah grabs my waist, forcing me to move faster.

  I let him.

  “Fuck,” he cries as I ride him harder.

  Faster.

  I throw my head back in sheer ecstasy, realizing how much I need this release. I let my guard down, and Noah knows it. He tosses me in the air, flipping our positions. He has control now.

  At least he thinks he does.

  He nudges the head of his cock next to my sopping wet entrance, then sinks inside me. My fingernails claw at his back as he drives his erection in and out. I roll my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. He pounds away, his hands latching onto my breasts as he strikes that sweet spot.

  Again and again.

  His pelvis smashes against my clit, sending waves of pleasure through my entire body. Noah pumps harder, jerking my body forward with every thrust. Sparks of light appear in my vision as he continues to abuse me. His face twists as his impending orgasm begins to overtake him. Mine is close behind.

  We’re both at a precipice.

  I writhe beneath him as he pumps through my climax. I don’t recognize my own screams as I grip the sheets underneath me. Noah clenches his jaw and follows me down the rabbit hole. His strained voice is incoherent as he finds his release.

  Noah collapses on top of me, his breath coming in short gasps. Shaking and winded, I lie beneath him, incapacitated. He slides over just enough to be comfortable. As we attempt to catch our breath, we close our eyes and drift off to sleep.

  A noise startles me awake. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Noah says as he picks up the belt he dropped. “We still have an hour. You needed the sleep.” Stretching, I slide out of bed. Noah’s eyes drift to my naked form. “Although, sleep is overrated,” he confesses, cocking a brow.

  Ignoring his remark, I begin to pick up the Hansel and Gretel trail of clothing and carry them into the bathroom so I can freshen up in peace. Once I’m clothed, I exit to find Noah sitting on the edge of the bed. He frowns as I place the hijab over my head. “We should go do a little recon before we meet Aziz,” I insist.

  “You’re correct, as usual,” he answers, standing to put on his belt.

  “Of course I am,” I tease. “Someone has to keep their eyes on the prize.”

  “I thought I was,” he counters, his gaze not wavering.

  “We’ve discussed this. I’m all about having a little fun, but anything more than that won’t work.” He’s been after me for months to date him, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to be involved with someone I work with—especially in this close of proximity. There’s too much at stake for feelings to get in the way of a mission. I’m all for hooking up as a stress reliever, but I won’t commit.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  “I don’t want to argue, so I’m going to be the bigger person and let it go,” he murmurs. “For now.” He strides toward the door, opening it wide. “After you.”

  Walking around during the day isn’t a problem—if you fit the part of an Afghani. We both speak Dari and Pashto, so we won’t be bothered so long as we lay low.

  At night is a different story. No one goes out once the sun sets. Not anymore. They’re in their houses, hiding from militia and bombs flying through the dark sky. Still, we need to be careful at all times.

  Noah and I walk toward the café, weaving up and down the dusty side streets. The village is humming with activity. Noah watches the crowd while I observe any possible hiding places—for both the enemy, and if things go sideways.

  Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

  That’s my motto.

  We take our time, stopping by outdoor shops, appearing to be normal Afghanis. We make it to the café without incident fifteen minutes early. Aziz is already on site, sitting at a table against the clay building, drinking a cup of something.

  Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.

  My other motto.

  Words to live by.

  They keep you alive.

  Noah and I take a seat on either side of Aziz. “Tea?” he asks, motioning to his mug.

  “It’s fucking hot as balls out here and you’re drinking tea?” Noah blurts, his eyebrows shooting up past his Ray Bans.

  “Today is quite comfortable,” Aziz responds with a smile, then takes a sip of tea.

  “You’ve been here too long,” Noah mumbles under his breath as he takes a cotton cloth out of his pocket and wipes his brow.

  “No, thank you. We’re fine,” I assure him before Noah says something stupider than he already has.

  “See that building over there?” Aziz motions with his head. “The one with the corner blown off?”

  “Yeah.” Noah glances in the direction.

  “That’s where Savior is.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask, moving my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose to get a better look.

  “That’s what my assets tell me. We’re here to make sure.” Placing his tea on the table, he rests his arms in front of him.

  As I push my glasses back up my face, I ask, confused, “Make sure?”

  Before he has a chance to answer, Noah whispers, “Three o’clock.” With my eyes hiding behind my sunglasses, I’m able to move them to the three o’clock position without making it obvious. There in front of me is Kimberly walking toward us with a group of women dressed in scrubs.

  “Did you know?” I ask Aziz.

  “They’ve been coming out of the field hospital around this time for the past few days,” he answers.

  “Fuck,” Noah murmurs, his hands balling into fists. “She’s right in front of us.”

  “We can’t risk it. There are too many eyes, and I’m not telling the president we got his daughter killed,” I warn him, knowing his impulsive tendencies. “We stick to the original plan. At least we know she’s really here.” There are too many insurgents around, and she doesn’t know we’re coming. As much as I would love to scoop her up right now, the timing is all wrong.

  “If we would have had that information—” Noah barks as he turns toward Aziz.

  “I just found out this morning,” Aziz insists, his face twisting into a frown. “Otherwise, you would have had that intel sooner.” All three of us watch Kimberly walk right by the café and stop in another shop farther down the road.

  “What time do they leave the facility?” I turn back to Aziz, knowing she might not even be there when we arrive later tonight.

  “She doesn’t. There are cots set up for them on the second floor.”

  “There has to be a way we can get a message to her,” I mumble almost to myself.

  “Too risky. No one knows who she is—or how important,” Noah points out. “Why the fuck did she have to do her volunteer work here?” He shakes his head.

  “This country has some of the world’s highest infant, child, and maternal mortality rates because they lack access to adequate food and nutrition. The combination of the volatile security situation makes it difficult to reach people in need. Between the Afghanis who are sick from a lack in their diet and the one’s being shot up, it’s a hotspot for aid. She’s doing an incredibly unselfish thing.” Aziz’s tone is somber, and it affects both of us.

  “We know what an amazing woman she is,” I agree, my tone soft and caring.

  “All right. Let’s talk about our objective, shall we?” Noah interjects, taking off his sunglasses. He wipes the beads of sweat on his brow again and asks, “What time is prayer tonight?”

  “The last one, the Isha’a, is at eighteen forty-four,” he answers. “About an hour after the sun sets.”

  “That could work,” Noah concludes. “We could go in while everyone is in prayer.”

  “You’d need to be careful. Once prayer is over, all hell breaks loose,” Aziz informs us.

  Not a problem,” Noah promises. “This should be a walk in the park.” Aziz’s jaw twitches. I don’t think Noah has him convinced. I know he hasn’t convinced me. I’m a big believ
er of Murphy’s law: anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Almost always does.

  It’s a matter of being prepared for the unexpected.

  I am always prepared.

  “We’ll speak soon?” I ask as I stand. Noah slides his sunglasses back on and follows suit.

  Aziz gives me a subtle nod as we take our leave.

  After returning to the safe house, we spend the rest of the afternoon going over the floor plan of the compound harboring the International Medical Corps volunteers and doctors. Just above the patient area in the center of the building is a bunch of small rooms. They are bunked in the three rooms closest to the rear of the building, and there’s only one entrance in. We’ll need to enter from the front and walk through the triage area to the staircase located along the back wall.

  “I’ll go in. You watch the front?” I ask Noah, waiting for the refusal.

  “No. We do this together. I’ll watch your six, but you’ll always be within eyesight,” he says, scowling.

  I sigh, knowing he’s right. It would just be easier to do it alone. Sometimes having a partner is a hassle. Aside from needing to be concerned with my target, I need to worry about his well-being as well. “Fair enough.”

  Once the Islamic call to prayer starts to play, we gather our equipment. Noah fills a duffel bag with extra ammunition, night goggles, a first aid kit, and other necessities. I check around the house, making sure we leave nothing behind. Once we have Kimberly in our possession, we’ll head straight for the border.

  Noah exits first, making sure the road is clear. Signaling back with a thumbs up, I follow him out. We walk slow, staying in the shadows. Everyone should be at prayer, but you never know if one of the insurgents is lurking.

  Noah and I scurry across the road, crouching low to stay out of sight. Once we reach the entrance, we press our backs against the cold concrete. I pull my Colt pocket hammerless .25 caliber ACP pistol from underneath my tunic. I could have brought a larger gun, but this has special meaning to me. It reminds me things aren’t always as they seem.

  Noah inserts a magazine into his weapon, tapping the back of it against the palm of his other hand to align the ammunition. At the same time, I rack the slide of my Colt, chambering my first round. Leaning to his left, he peers in the window, then nods, signaling it’s clear.