Was Max alive? Or had someone already broken in there when the team arrived?
“Oh my word,” DeMatteo muttered.
And then he saw it—two vans and a limo. Tactical teams rushing the building. Twinkles of light through the grime-blurred windows. Muzzle flash. The light in the office winked out. In fact, all light vanished. Someone must’ve killed the breaker.
In numb shock, Olin stared at the screen as his worst nightmare unfolded. His men dragged out of the Shack in various conditions, one carried out as if dead. Fist to his mouth, he counted. The images were too blurry to say who was whom. But he saw four men. Three tossed in the van, one in a limo.
“I want the tags on that car.”
“Yes, sir.” Jernigan worked feverishly, then he looked up with a frown. “No tags.”
A white flash shattered the night. Balls of fire shot out of the warehouse.
Jernigan cursed.
Others gasped.
Olin paled as his gaze drifted to the black-and-green satellite feed. His lunch dropped to his toes, then bounced back up and threatened to heave as he stared at the daunting information. “Dear God…” Sweat broke out over his brow and upper lip. This wasn’t possible. How…how would…?
“Who did this?” Heat spiraled, pumping inordinate amounts of adrenaline and fury through his veins. “By God, I’ll kill them, strangle their ruddy necks!” Something in the footage snagged his attention. “Freeze it!” Olin shouted as he leaped toward the wall of screens. “What is that?”
Silence.
“Sir?” Sparks asked.
Olin stabbed a finger at a dark blur. “That. Right there. Enhance and magnify.”
Before his eyes, the image tightened.
Olin chuckled. “Nightshade Alpha.”
Flying through the air, followed by a volley of fire and debris. And if a call had come in on Sydney Jacobs’s phone while she was in the mountains, then it was probably Max who’d called her from Wolfsbane’s phone. Which meant Max believed a threat existed against his wife and sons or he wouldn’t have risked the call. They watched Max haul himself out of the water, climb up the wall, then hustle back into the burning warehouse.
The man had more gumption than Olin realized. Nothing could keep him down. It was as if he didn’t have a fear threshold. Minutes later, Max and another man—“Enhance!”
“Snakeroot, sir.”
“I want the fastest chopper out of here.” Olin grabbed his jacket and briefcase. “Okay, people. We’ve got six high-value targets who have been attacked and kidnapped—on American soil. I want our men back.” Olin rushed toward the door. “Jernigan, use every surveillance you can to find out where those vehicles went with our men and get ID on that limo. DeMatteo, see if you can get a team on those images and get names. I want to know who did this.”
Sparks motioned to him from his chair.
Olin hurried to his side and blocked the monitor and their discussion from the others. “What have you got?”
“Four signals, sir.”
He’d run everyone’s except Firethorn, who was wrongfully imprisoned for a murder he didn’t commit. A fact that still infuriated Olin. “Who’s missing?”
“Snakeroot and Nightshade Alpha.”
Normally a dead signal meant a dead objective, but he’d seen both Dighton and Jacobs survive the warehouse attack. Had they been caught and killed after that phone call?
Okay, they needed to focus on what they had: four live objectives. He hurried from the secure bunker room.
“Sir,” Jernigan shouted from behind. “Chopper’s ten minutes out from the cabin.”
Olin pointed toward him. “Then guard that location. Destroy anything that gets close without explicit clearance from me personally.”
“Yes, sir.” Jernigan turned back to the headset.
Sparks looked at Olin, who still hadn’t moved. “I’ll pulse the trackers in random increments so nobody is tipped off to where they are.”
“It may not matter,” Olin said as he gulped the acidic taste in his mouth. “If those trackers are right, they’re as good as dead.”
Acholi, Uganda
Show me.”
Night embraced Scott Callaghan as he hurried into the blue-gray hues of dusk. Even in the early evening the lush green fields were apparent, evidence of the man-made lakes and the mountains rimming the plains on the northern side. He’d fallen in love with the land, then the people—even the young man jogging ahead of him. Scott thought of him as a brother….
A familiar, lonely ache wove through him at the thought. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in fifteen years. Regret stood as thick and taunting as the cornstalks that slapped his arms as he and Ojore ran to the mine. But Scott was here, helping those who could not help themselves. He wouldn’t walk away as everyone else had.
Anger pushed him through the bean fields, forced him to keep quiet and harness the misplaced anger. Or maybe it wasn’t misplaced. If what his apprentice had said was true, he had bigger trouble than venturing out beyond curfew and being angry over something in the past he couldn’t change. Dembe had chastised him relentlessly for clinging to the past. But here in Acholi, he felt like he could make a difference for Ojore, for others who’d been roped into the Lord’s Resistance Army. Help the young boys find meaning in life, help steer their paths toward good futures.
Like nobody did for me.
“Shake it off,” he said in a low growl to himself.
Twenty minutes carried them down dusty roads, past another village, and beyond the border of the area that had provided an income for hundreds, if not thousands, of locals. Dirt and rocks crunched beneath their feet as they approached.
At the entrance to the tunnel, Ojore signed in—filling in their names and time of entry.
Hanging back to avoid giving the man behind the desk a line of sight on him, Scott waited. Unbelievably, shifts went round the clock here. No inactivity. No downtime. No doubt whoever owned this mine made a fortune. He couldn’t begrudge the wealthy—the source of their gain also benefited the Ugandans, brought hope back to a bleeding, starving people.
Hope he’d never had growing up. Ojore—the age difference between him and Scott reminded him of his own brother. Half brother. When he’d needed the guidance, the advice, his brother hadn’t been there. Told Scott he was better off on his own. It’d cut Scott to the core. The one person he thought would “get it,” hadn’t. He’d never do to Ojore what his brother had done. Scott was here, to the end, with the young man.
“Weebale.” After his thanks, Ojore turned, producing two work hats with mounted lights.
Scott slipped one on, tugging it farther down his brow than necessary. Though he had dark skin, thanks to his father’s Cherokee heritage and a decade at the mercy of the sun, his complexion was still considered “white” to the natives.
They stepped into a cage—an elevator that would take them down more than seven hundred feet. Groaning and creaking pervaded the wire cell, vibrations worming through Scott’s boots as they stood in silence. He suppressed the questions racing through his mind.
Twelve years in the Lord’s Resistance Army had forced Ojore to grow up fast, commit enough atrocities to last several lifetimes, and understand the importance of integrity and honor. So if Ojore said bad things were happening here, they were. But Scott needed to know what to report back to the UN and U.S. government.
The cage heaved and jerked to a stop.
Ojore pushed back the gate, stepped out onto hardened bedrock, and twisted on his headlamp. Scott did the same as he followed the man down a narrow tunnel, across a small bridgelike structure, then into another tunnel. Fumes and dust coated his face and nostrils as they moved deeper into the earth. Shinks, thuds, and grunts carried through the area. On the far side, men slung picks into the rock, hacking out chunks, while others searched the bin for precious gems. A conveyor hummed to life, the squeaking of the belts penetrating the dirty, thick air.
Amazed at the hundreds of f
eet of cored rock, striations marking ages, Scott let his gaze take in the surroundings. Several tunnels sprouted off the main atrium-like area. The muscles in his shoulders tightened at the thought that only one exit existed—the cage he’d just escaped. But they’d be fine.
Just as long as they didn’t find trouble.
At a juncture, Ojore stopped and cranked off his light, and once again Scott took his cue. With only the shadows and crunching of rock underfoot, they slunk forward. Ahead fifty meters, light escaped a large opening. A droning sound grew deafening as they approached. The massive vents and fans drew his attention.
With a pat on Scott’s forearm, Ojore pointed to the area that had already captured his attention, especially the man lifting a large chunk of rock. Several men clapped his back and laughed. Dread consumed Scott at the sight of the ore. He wasn’t a geologist, but he’d seen enough reports and been briefed on the mineral during his stint in black ops.
“Watch out!”
It took two full seconds for Scott to realize those words had been in English. His gaze struck a suited man who stood amid Ugandan miners. By the slick suit, clean hands, and manicured appearance, he didn’t belong here. Clearly American. Apparently checking up on his gold mine. And in charge by the way he shouted and ranted at the miners.
Better get moving. Scott nudged his friend and started backing up, out of sight. Out of the tunnel. Out of whatever snafu they’d stepped into. Because if there was one thing he knew—these miners weren’t digging for diamonds. They were funding terrorism. Not because they were Ugandan. Or in a diamond mine. But because of what they mined: U3O8.
Aka yellowcake.
Uranium.
For nuclear weapons.
Thoughts colliding, he stared at the man—and tightened his muscles. The guy was staring back.
“Yimirira! Stop!”
CHAPTER 4
Log Cabin, Blue Ridge Mountains
Phone clutched in her hand, Sydney Jacobs turned and stared over the large living area of the log cabin. On the thick Oriental rug, McKenna Neeley played with her new best friend, Tala Metcalfe. Their mothers sat on the sofa, both holding infants and talking casually. Sydney had invited them up for the weekend to celebrate the birth of Owen Metcalfe, the newest Nightshade offspring. And now…she might have just killed them all.
Whatever happened, whatever forced Max to make the call and give her that code, it was really bad.
Oh Max… Would she ever see him again? She squeezed off the thought and strangled it. Of course she would. But not if she stood around, frozen stupid.
“Okay,” she said, her voice cracking. Sydney cleared her throat. “Okay, listen.” She swept her fingers over her forehead, thinking. “Something’s wrong. I…I don’t know what, but I know we need to move fast.”
“Hey, dude, what’s wrong?” Three-year-old Dillon came barreling toward her and threw himself into her legs.
Sydney caught him. Any other day, she would’ve laughed, but today the move made her cry. It’d been the way he greeted Max every time his father came through the door. The boy had twice the amount of energy and intensity as his father. She honestly wasn’t sure she’d survive parenting him. And now…
“What do we need to do?” Danielle crossed the room with Piper, cupped little Owen’s mop of white-blond hair, and angled him away, bringing herself closer.
“PIG—it was Max’s code that I’m to destroy anything that can be tracked.”
“Tracked?” Rel Dighton, sister to one of the newer Nightshade members, had joined them for the weekend after taking time off at the hospital where she put her superior nursing skills to work. “Who would be tracking us?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Dani hurried away as did Piper. Sydney retrieved her beloved iPad. “Dillon, come here. I’ve got a job for you, little man.”
Her son climbed up onto a bar stool and stood on his knees.
She pulled a wooden mallet from the drawer, handed it to him, then set her phone and the others on the counter. “It’s a game, Dillon. I need all these broken into tiny pieces so nobody can tell what they were.”
Coal black eyes held hers fast. “Break them? Daddy will be mad!”
“No, not this time.” She leaned closer. “Guess what? Daddy told me to break them!”
“No way!”
“Here ya go.”
He hesitated, eyes wide.
Sydney knew he was grappling with being allowed to be destructive.
“We want to help,” McKenna said as she stood hand in hand with Tala. Danielle and Piper returned quickly with phones and MP3 players.
Then with Rel, they dumped their devices on the table.
“Have fun,” Dani said.
“Okay, while they’re doing that, let’s get the cars loaded.”
“Wait,” Dani said. “Can’t they be tracked?”
“Max disabled anything that could be tracked on mine.”
“I have no idea on mine,” Piper said.
“We can use my rental.” Rel stuffed her hands in her back pockets. “Nobody knows who I am, right?”
“I seriously doubt they don’t know, but it’s our best choice. Let’s hurry. I don’t know what our timetable is, and I’d like to be on the road to the safe house soon!”
“What safe house?”
“Less said, the better.” Sydney met each woman’s gaze and was relieved when they all nodded.
As she closed the rear hatch, a sound stilled her. Hands on the white SUV, she cocked her head. Listened. Then braved a look over her shoulder. Ice dumped down her spine. A helicopter loomed in the distance, heading straight toward them.
Sydney sprinted up the steps. “Move, let’s go. Now! There’s a chopper coming.” She lifted Dakota in his carrier, caught Dillon’s hand, and all but dragged him toward the front door, her gaze sweeping the living room. Piper had her son bundled up and reached for McKenna’s hand, who sat playing with Tala, the Filipino beauty-of-a-child.
“Tala, come on, sweetie. Time to go.” Dani rushed toward Sydney with her newborn son.
As Sydney hurried toward the door, she realized kids outnumbered available seat belts. She hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” Dani cupped her hand around Tala’s silky black hair. If anyone hadn’t met the two before Dani married Canyon, nobody would know Tala wasn’t her biological daughter.
What would she do? Sydney couldn’t ask Dani to separate from one of her kids, especially if the vehicles got separated. “I only have five seats.”
“Tala can ride with us,” Piper said.
Dani’s hesitation screamed through the seconds. She squatted next to the little one. “Tala, go with McKenna, okay?”
Tala’s pale-blue eyes widened, and slowly she nodded.
Sydney cringed. The girl had a very rough early childhood and now suffered separation anxiety. Only recently had she begun to trust Canyon and Dani.
The drone of the chopper grew louder. “We have to go.” Her own fear was mirrored in their worried expressions. But right now, she had one goal: get to the rendezvous site.
Dani scooped up the little girl in her free arm and stood.
They hurried out the door, armed with kids and terror.
Boom! Crack! The ground vibrated beneath her feet. The small blue sedan Piper had driven flipped into the air and landed, upside down, engulfed in flames.
Sydney shielded her face. The children screamed. The chopper hovered over them, wind, smoke, and fire whipping into a frantic frenzy. She lifted the carrier closer and pulled Dillon to her leg as she looked into the sky at the big black bird. Was someone leaning out of the side?
She sucked in a breath as he aimed a weapon at them.
Dublin, Ireland One Week Later
Kazi stood at the pub counter, her fingers stroking the glass. Squeak. Squeak. Tina was gone. Really gone. All because of Kazi, because Carrick wanted her to remember all he had done for her. That he could reach her anywhere, anytime, force her will to his. To remind her t
hat she owed him everything. Even the very breath she breathed. For saving her.
And he had. Plucking her, a then homeless girl, off the streets after two years of living as one of Boucher’s girls. Thanks to Roman.
Laughter, smoke, and bodies pressed in around her. Kazi stared at the foam head of her Guinness.
“It’s got more head than Carrick,” Tina said.
A smile pulled back the gray clouds that had formed over Kazi’s mind as the infectious, annoying laughter once again filled her thoughts. Then, swift and deadly, like a trip wire, memories killed that ray of sunshine.
Tina’s dead. Murdered by Carrick.
I’ll make him pay.
She didn’t have a plan yet, but she’d struck gold yesterday in a rendezvous with an American general. She would locate and retrieve four missing men. Her prize? Millions. She could vanish. That would do more damage and create more pain to Carrick than she could do any other way. She’d amassed significant proof that could put him away in a dozen EU countries and bury him beneath the White House’s ever-green lawns. The information she had, nobody would want made public. And lording this over Carrick would force him to stay away from her.
“She wouldn’t want you to do it, you know.”
Kazi blinked and glanced to the side, to the hand cupping a tall glass of golden beer. “Leave me alone, Mick.” She dumped some of the warm stout into her mouth and braced herself. While it was a good drink, she wasn’t one for alcohol or the buzz that fried the synapses afterward.
“Now, that I won’t.” He shifted on the stool, his hazel eyes peering beneath a mop of curly brown hair. “She always wanted me to take care of you, help you find your family.” One leg propped on the bar, one on the floor, he caught her fingers.
She shook them free. Stabbed him with a fierce glare for the comment about her family.
“Tina wanted you to be happy,” he said, his brogue thick and quiet. “She wanted both of you to find fellas and start families.” No doubt he’d volunteer for that. Mick had never been quiet about his attraction for her. “She wanted you free—“
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 5