Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (20 page)

“I don’t.”
I want to know when he’ll be gone actually
.

“You may think you are the smart one, Cassandra, working for the military intelligence division, but do not think so little of me to believe your lies.”

Wow, Kiew was competing with Elsa from
Frozen
this time. “I don’t understand.”

“That is more than clear. Stay out of it. Stay away.”

“Not if he’s hurting you.” Her heart pounded, remembering the marks. The timid actions of her friend. Classic abuse signs. “I won’t let that alone. I care too much about you.”

“You do not even know me,” Kiew said, her words thick with chilled venom. “I will not warn you again. And your soldier friend can tell you what I’m capable of, I believe.”

Accosted by the animosity, Cassie stared blankly. “You’re threatening me? I just want to help.”

The line went dead. Cassie let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. After a disbelieving glance at the phone, she returned it to the cradle. Quickly, she mentally catalogued the words, the inflections to include in her report to her handler.

Who’d be ticked as all get-out about this development.

Kiew was giving her a kick to the curb. Cutting her off. “She
threatened
me,” she whispered around a weak laugh. Was it real? Was her warning about taking care of Cassie real?

What else could it be?

I got too close to the truth
.

Why else would Kiew threaten her like that? Resolution carved a hard line through her soul. She had to do this—had to get her out of there. Of course, she couldn’t do it by herself. If Kiew was in such danger that she resorted to scare tactics, Cassie would need an army to help get Kiew out alive. She had to convince someone.

Gearney. She should ask her handler for help in formulating a plan. Cassie grabbed her satellite phone, punching the code even as she hurried outside.

“What?” Irritation weighted the single word.

“I talked with Kiew Tang.”

“And?” Not quite so much irritation. Maybe even a little respect.

Ha. Right. Keep dreaming
.

“She promised bodily harm if I didn’t stay away.”

“That’s a problem, Walker.”

“It is, because it means I got close to the truth.”

“Or too far from it. You need to pull out. It’s too dangerous. If you push her, she might kill you.”

“No, I don’t believe that. I think she was concerned for me.”

“Which leads to the supposition that Daniel Jin is aware of your presence in her life.”

“Of course he’s aware. I don’t think that man misses anything. But Kiew’s voice held fear, not the warning she threw at me. She’s afraid. He’s beating her, Gearney.”

“Names!”

Cassie cringed at her mistake. “I want to get her out. But she won’t walk out of there with just me. I believe Daniel has her afraid for her life. If I go in there with a show of force, I believe she’ll come with me.”

“Raptor is not going to help you rescue an abuse victim. And I’m certainly not going to authorize that or help.”

“But what about securing a national asset? You’ve seen her college education and what she’s capable of.”

His silence screamed a small victory.

“She’s a brilliant forensic computer scientist, and she’s been right there with Daniel. She knows what he’s doing. She can”—might need to leave out the
probably
for assurance—“help us take him down, but she has too much to lose doing it from the inside.”

A heavy sigh was his answer.

Cassie fisted a hand, knowing she’d hooked him. “I just have to know how to get Raptor onboard.”

“Have them think they’re capturing her.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Tell them what you know. Tell them you need to get her out.”

“And then how am I supposed to get her out of their custody?”

“You won’t. I’ll have an asset waiting to take her to a safe house.”

So… lie? Lie to Raptor team. Lie to Sal.

Again.

“I… I’m not sure that’s—”

“Do it, Walker. That’s an order.”

“Sir, it will compromise me.”

“You won’t be there after it goes down. If we get Tang, your mission is over.

CHAPTER 16

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
31 March—1500 Hours

S
al scurried up behind the guard and hooked his arm around the man’s neck. He pulled him up, flexing his bicep and then adding pressure to the back of the guy’s head until he went limp. He hoisted the man over his shoulder and hustled him into the supply closet. Back at the station, Sal lifted the keys and sprinted down the hall, gun aimed at the guard posted outside the cell.

He fired twice as the guard looked up. Alarm widened the guy’s eyes and mouth as the two darts found their mark. His body went limp.

With a lunge, Sal caught the guard. Verifying the soldier hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest and died, Sal pressed two fingers to his carotid and detected the steady thrum. “Sorry, man. Just doing my job.”

He eased him to the dirt floor. At the steel-barred cell door, Sal quickly unlocked it and dragged the guard inside. He kept his head down, in case the monitors were live, though Harrier had promised to take care of it.

The prisoner lifted his head. Confusion wavered through the kid’s expression.

“Don’t talk and do as I say,” Sal ordered in Farsi. “Understand?”

With a hesitant nod, the kid watched him. “Why are you—?”

“You speak English?”

A crimson stain bled through his face as he lowered his gaze a little.

What else did this guy know? “How old are you?” When the guy didn’t look up, Sal shook his head. “Never min—”

“Eighteen,” the kid said at the same time.

“Don’t talk,” Sal repeated as he knelt and unchained the prisoner.

English. The guy spoke English but never let on before.

“But why—why are you helping me?”

“You’ll die if you stay here.”

The kid looked at Sal. Intently. Eyes bright with understanding and a thick dose of confusion considered him. “Why do you care what happens to me?”

“Quiet!” He hooked an arm through the kid’s and hauled him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

The kid nodded but tripped as he came upright. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Sal made it to the door and pushed the kid back as he peeked out, hand on his weapon. “Okay. Stay close. Got it?”

Again the kid nodded. “He will kill you if he finds out—”

Sal yanked the kid’s shirt. “Run!” He kept a fist hold of the material as they darted down the hall and out the rear door to a waiting rusted-out Jeep. Sal thrust him toward it. “In. Now!”

The man stumbled but grabbed the door handle and pulled himself inside. Sal leapt around to the other side and dove in. Cranked the engine. Gunned it. “Don’t say anything. I talk for you. If they ask—you don’t speak English. Got it?” Sal shouted, the wind ripping at them as he barreled toward the gate.

“It won’t work.”

“Got it?” Sal shouted louder.

The kid nodded.

But even as they revved northward, Sal noted the MPs jogging to the gate with their weapons. Crap!

He nailed the brakes. Slammed it into R
EVERSE.

“No,” the kid said, touching Sal’s shoulder. “He won’t let me leave. I know this.”

What in blazes?
“No way.” Not only had Sal committed to this mission by walking into the holding area, but he’d committed the prisoner’s life as well.

“Even if we leave, he will kill me.” Though the kid was only eighteen, he had a maturity of forty. Brown eyes bright with conviction, he fisted a hand on Sal’s tactical sleeve. “Listen. Takkar Towers—you know it?”

A crazy sickening dread erupted in Sal’s gut.

“The towers. Tallest buildings in Kabul.” He shook Sal. “You know it?”

MPs shouted as they ran behind them. Military police vehicles pealed away from the gate, giving pursuit. He’d have a heck of a time explaining this—

Again, the kid shook him. “You know it?”

“The towers—yeah. Why?”

“There is a planter out front,” the kid shouted over the roar of the engine. “To the right of the fountain. A stone is loose. You will find a book there.”

“What the—?”

“It will tell you what you need to know.”

“To what?”

A vehicle shot out from between two buildings. Right into his path. Sal yanked the wheel hard to avoid a collision. The Jeep tipped. Sal tried to correct. The vehicle whipped left. Lifted into the air.

Sal braced himself as the Jeep flipped. His head rammed into the door. Then the roof. He bit down on his tongue. Tasted a wash of warmth. Something hit him from the side. The vehicle flipped again.

When the world stopped smearing in myriad colors and sounds, Sal found himself bent in half, his backside almost through the windshield. He extricated himself, his mind buzzing. His vision blurry.

A large form filled the windshield with blood and broken glass. The kid!

Sal lurched toward the guy. “Hey! You okay?”

A meaty groan answered as he drew the guy free. Blood gushed down the side of the man’s face, pooling in the hollow of his throat. “Easy, easy.”

Eyes rolling, the kid struggled to stay alert. “You must…” A gurgling sound rumbled through his chest. He coughed. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. “Stop… him.” His hand slapped at Sal. “Book… find…”

“Hey, hey, stay with me, kid!”

His brown eyes went wild. “Gun. Give me your… gun.”

Sal frowned.

The kid flapped his hand toward the holstered weapon. Groped at it. Did he want to kill himself?

“Please…” He tugged on it.

“Hey—”

The weapon came free. The kid tightened his grip.

“Hey!” Sal’s heart thudded. “Don’t—”

“Put it down, put it down!” three MPs shouted, aiming their weapons at the kid.

Sal’s heart rapid-fired as the scene coalesced in his mind, what the boy intended. What the MPs intended. “No! Don’t shoot.” He thrust a hand toward the MPs. “He’s—”

Thunk
.

The weapon dropped against the door, surprisingly loud amid the chaos and shouting. The kid’s hand flopped. His body sagged. Sal lunged for him. Checked his pulse. “No!”

“Sir, you okay?” An MP bent into the overturned Jeep.

This kid could not die. Their only possible break in this insanity where the enemy had been one step ahead—heck, he’d been a mile ahead of them and concealed in a dusty cloud of mystery. “Yeah—help me with him. He needs a doctor!”

“They’ll take care of him, sir. Let’s make sure you’re okay.” The MP assisted Sal out of the Jeep. “Pretty mean cut on your temple. You feeling it?”

Sal’s hand went to the sticky spot. “Yeah…” Add it to the concussion-inducing headache. He watched two other MPs haul the kid onto the ground. They laid him out and checked his pulse and began CPR.

Crap. This could not happen. He’d be blamed. Get cut from Raptor. And he didn’t care about that. This meant the truth died with the kid. Roughing his hands over his face, Sal bit back the frustration and a curse.

“Got a pulse!” No sooner had the words been said than the boy was being rushed to the hospital.

“Did he hurt you, sir, taking you hostage like that?”

Sal couldn’t pry his gaze or thoughts away. Hostage? He finally dragged his attention to the MP. His ears rang with the word. The kid… the kid faked his aggression with the weapon. Why?

“He won’t let me leave. I know this.”
Who was the kid talking about?

“Yeah—he had a gun on you. In fact, looked like your own weapon.”

“It was.” And in taking the weapon, the kid had absolved Sal of any responsibility—at least in appearances.

Why? Why would he do that?

The book.
“It will tell you what you need to know.”

Shanghai, China
1 April—0925 Hours

Crossing his penthouse, Meng-Li Jin shed his silk jacket as easily as he did the Americanized form of his name. The fine apparel he could appreciate and savor the experience of wearing. But the name? Infuriating and humiliating.

A man exited the rear of the penthouse, leaving the private residence apartment. He had a black briefcase and a condescending expression. Behind him waddled the fat nurse he’d hired to tend to his mother.