Avenged (Hostage Rescue Team Series) (Volume 5) (16 page)

“Enter.”

He opened the door to find two mid-level members of The Brethren and their host seated around a TV, eating snacks and watching a movie. Ayman’s stomach rumbled and resentment shot through him. He and Jaleel had been working nonstop since they got here without any food, and these guys were sitting around on their fat asses doing nothing while his and Jaleel’s lives depended on finding their target?

He forced his anger aside. “We may have found a lead. It’s not totally solid yet, but it’s a good starting place. We think she might have called her family from outside of Virginia Beach, and then talked to the District Attorney soon after.”

At that, Darwish stood, stroking a hand over his dark beard. “Show me.” He and the others followed Ayman back to the study.

Jaleel had his headphones back on, working on some coding, and stopped to explain everything. “We know the Feds moved her, and that she’s been in contact with the prosecution. Chances are good it’s her.”

“It’s her,” Darwish said, his voice laced with anticipation, a smile curling his lips beneath his heavy black beard.

Ayman’s heart began to beat faster. Finally, a solid lead. “Where is she though?” he asked Jaleel. “Can you pinpoint it?”

Jaleel shook his head. “I keep trying.” He typed in more commands, looked at the information popping up on screen. “The phone she’s using must be encrypted because it’s scrambling the signal. I can’t get a lock on exactly which tower the call was routed through.”

“We’ll go down there,” Darwish said. “That call was made hours ago so they might already have moved her. You’ll keep searching on the way,” he said to Jaleel. “She has to be in the area someplace, hopefully still within range of that tower. That’ll give us our search radius.”

Glad that they were finally taking action, Ayman strode to the couch where he’d dumped his backpack and set his extra ammunition on top. His pistol was still safely tucked into the back of his waistband. When he looked up again, Jaleel was packing up his laptop and Darwish was pulling something from the closet in the corner.

The man turned toward him and Ayman saw the automatic rifle in his hands. “You’ll need this,” he said to Ayman.

Ayman took the weapon, a rush of excitement ripping through his bloodstream. The Brethren were well funded and had many connections here in the States. They wanted the whore badly, and they had the money and equipment to make it happen.

Darwish gave him a knowing smile, but there was a deadly edge there that sent a warning shiver up Ayman’s spine. Unlike him, Darwish would take great pleasure in the actual killing of the target, or anyone else who got in his way. He loved watching his victims suffer in their last moments. The more painful the better. “Let’s go hunting.”

****

Taya set aside the book she’d found in the bookcase next to the fireplace in her room and rubbed her burning eyes. After a long day of isolation and two seemingly unending conference calls with the prosecution, she was ready for a good night’s sleep. Only she was pretty sure it would be a while before she’d be able to shut her mind off long enough to fall asleep.

The Department of Justice was going ahead with the original date of the trial but switching the order of witness testimony, which meant she’d be called to the stand sooner than initially planned. One more thing for her to worry about, though she’d rather just get this whole thing over with and behind her.

Since breakfast she’d barely seen the HRT agents. They’d all taken turns rotating through various positions and posts during the day. She’d mostly kept to her room but the few times she’d ventured downstairs for something to eat, the men had acknowledged her with a nod and a polite word or two, but that was all.

Nathan had been conspicuously absent all day, except for when she’d seen him this morning from the porch and when she’d caught him just as he was leaving the inn a couple hours ago. Both times he’d walked away without anything more than a wave or a smile.

She understood that he was here as a bodyguard and that he took his job seriously, but after everything they’d said to each other, this abrupt transition to him being so distant still hurt. Maybe he didn’t want his teammates to think anything was going on between them. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to force her presence on him.

A sound from the adjoining room caught her attention. She’d heard Nathan go in there just over an hour ago. She focused on the door between their rooms, listening intently. It had sounded like a low cry, or maybe a muffled shout, followed by a light thump of something hitting the floor.

When she didn’t hear anything else over the next two minutes she put it out of her mind and decided to get up and change into her pajamas. She paused in the act of rising from the bed when the floorboards creaked in the other room. A few moments after that she heard the sound of the shower running, the old pipes groaning in the walls.

Taya frowned. She knew he’d been out doing other things most of the day and that he’d been sent up here to get some sleep before his next watch. They seemed to work in four to six hour shifts, so he still had plenty of time before the next one started and he’d looked so tired this morning. After barely sleeping last night, he had to be exhausted. He should have been fast asleep right now.

She drew her knees up to her chest and set her chin atop them, still staring at the door between their rooms. Something was wrong, and she had a fairly good idea of what it was.

She’d meant it earlier when she’d told him he could talk to her about Afghanistan. She’d give him the option once he was out of the shower.

****

Palms braced flat on the tile wall of the shower, Nate bent his head and let the hot water pound over his shoulders and back, washing off the film of clammy sweat he’d woken covered in. He’d been dreaming about Taya, but not in a good way.

In his dream she’d died right in front of him, bleeding out while he’d desperately fought to staunch the flow, her eyes staring up at him, begging him to help her.

Just a dream.

His heart rate was almost normal again but he couldn’t shake the memories cascading over him as he closed his eyes, transporting him out of his nightmare to back in time five years ago. It all played out in his head like a high-definition movie on the big screen, vivid and unstoppable.

Automatic fire cracked in the distance behind them, the three uninjured SEALs from the quick reaction force dealing with the lead element of Qureshi’s force that had been chasing them for the past three days. Three damn days stuck in enemy territory with no hope of extraction due to adverse weather and logistical problems with launching the QRF waiting at Bagram.

Out front his teammate, pararescueman Staff Sergeant O’Neil led the way, checking to make sure their front was clear. Hassan was behind him. Their American-born undercover DEA agent principal was already bleeding from two bullet wounds to the torso, sustained during his escape from the village back before Nate and the others had been called in. His American wife, Taya, stumbled on behind him.

Acting as rear guard for their group, Nate had a close up view of her and his medical experience told him she couldn’t go on like this much longer. She was thin and pale, covered in scrapes and bruises, and had likely endured many hardships during her time as a captive.

Hassan had a tight grip on her wrist as they scrambled up another incline, their sandaled feet slipping on the loose shale and soil. Taya fell to her knees, struggled to get up even though the man was pulling her. He was weak too, having lost a lot of blood. Nate had patched him up as best he could but the man needed surgery and several units of blood. He was going on pure adrenaline at this point.

Nate slung his weapon, ran over and grabbed Taya, putting her over his shoulder as he dug the toes of his boots into the hillside and forced his way up. His thigh muscles burned and his lungs ached from the thin air at this altitude but they couldn’t slow down. The three SEALs could only hold off a force that big for a short time, buying them maybe a few more minutes’ lead-time at most. If they were going to have a shot of making it to the extraction zone where the Blackhawks were supposed to meet them, they needed air support, fast.

One of the SEALs contacted him over the radio link via his headset. “We’re falling back before they overrun us. Air support inbound. Haul ass to the LZ, over.”

“Roger that,” he panted, then set his jaw and pushed hard to the crest of the hill. At the top he could see the area where the LZ lay in a small valley a little over a kilometer away. Still no sign of the incoming birds though, or their CAS. “Keep moving,” he shouted to Hassan and O’Neil.

Hassan was lagging now, the blood loss and drop in adrenaline sapping his strength. On the other side of the ridge he went to one knee and bowed his head, gasped for breath as he pressed a hand low on his side to the bandages there. “Give me a weapon and go,” he gasped out, his English perfect and without an accent despite his native appearance. He’d been living hard during his undercover op. “Take her and get her out of here.” He indicated Taya with a sharp jerk of his chin, still draped over Nate’s shoulder.

“No, we’re not leaving you behind.” She struggled on his shoulder and Nate set her down. The long robe of the burqa she wore covered her from neck to ankles. She rushed forward and grabbed Hassan’s hand, pulled him. “Come on.”

“Let’s go, people,” O’Neil shouted from out front.

Hassan gazed up at his wife, his features set, then struggled to his feet and pushed on.

But the sound of the gunfire behind them was louder now. Getting closer with each second.

“Coming up on your six,” the SEAL’s voice said over the headset.

“Roger,” Nate responded. He waved the others forward. “We gotta move fast.”

With his M4 to his shoulder he pushed them on down the slope and into a dry stream bed for cover. They’d just reached a slight bend when he heard the faint roar of jet engines approaching. The shooting behind them grew more intense, coming closer still. In the distance he spotted a single dot in the clear blue sky, breaking through the solid deck of clouds below the mountain ridge. From the sound he already knew what was coming. A Warthog.

He’d never been so glad to see an aircraft in his life.

The SEAL spoke again, his voice choppy and out of breath. “Fifty yards behind you. Pilot’s bringing the rain. Get ready.”

“Take cover!” Nate yelled to the others.

Out front, O’Neil looked back at him over his shoulder.

A burst of gunfire erupted from the left.

O’Neil and Hassan both went down, the second man dragging Taya with him. Nate charged forward and returned fire where he’d seen the muzzle flashes, spraying the brush off to the left.

Shots exploded from his right. He hit the ground on his belly and raised his rifle to his shoulder, searching for a target. The fuckers were trying to surround them, he realized. He could hear the SEAL over the radio as he fired, then the scream of the A-10 drowned out everything else. It dipped low above the battlefield and unleashed a barrage of 30 mm fire on the enemy from its Gatling gun as it streaked overhead.

Nate got up and ran toward O’Neil and the others. His partner was on his knees, still returning fire despite the blood soaking his pants. He’d been hit in the left thigh and was bleeding bad. Hassan was down, not moving. Taya was crawling toward them.

Nate heard the SEAL’s voice again. “Incoming, danger close!”

Immediately Nate dove for cover. “O’Neil, get down!” He was too far away to reach them. The A-10 had swung around and came back for another pass as his buddy dropped to his stomach. This time the Warthog unleashed a Maverick missile.

Nate watched it streak toward the ground. Everything went slo-mo, each heartbeat a separate eternity. A huge fireball erupted in the main enemy position, the impact of the warhead ripping through Nate’s body. The ground seemed to ripple beneath him, rattling his bones. Intense heat blasted over the back of him, followed a split second later by chunks of dirt and rock pelting him from above. In the wake of the explosion he couldn’t hear anything. When he raised his head he saw two things.

O’Neil was lying on his back, unmoving. Taya was scrambling to her knees. She lunged for him, throwing her body over top of O’Neil’s, shielding his head as more debris rained down. She was covered in blood.

Heart in his throat, Nate didn’t even look around him as he surged to his feet and tore across the remaining yards between them. He spotted Hassan up ahead lying face-down in the streambed, a baseball-sized hole in his head. Without pause he kept running, intent on getting to his buddy. “O’Neil!”

His fellow PJ didn’t move, but Taya did. Slowly she pushed to her knees and looked up at him. Her face white with shock, her eyes wide and glazed, one hand pressed tight to the wound in the side of her neck.

“He’s hit,” she rasped out, blood spilling down her throat and chest in a scarlet rivulet.

She’d been hit too, pretty badly by the looks of the bleeding. Nate tore his gaze from her and looked at his teammate. Half of O’Neil’s face was missing.

“Fuck, no,” he breathed.

Plunging to his knees beside him, Nate immediately set his fingers over O’Neil’s carotid pulse, already knowing what he’d find but unable to accept it.

No pulse.

With an inarticulate sound of denial and grief, Nate checked to ensure he still had an airway, then stacked his hands on O’Neil’s sternum and started compressions. Blood gushed out of the horrific wound with every push of his hands. He ripped a bandage from his gear and slapped it over the mangled side of O’Neil’s face, holding it there as he banged out another fifteen compressions.