Rekindled (Titanium Security Series) (24 page)

He took a step to the side, leaned his body weight to the left as he geared up to make a desperate spring for his freedom.

This time he knew Rycroft spotted him. Before Malik could take another step, the man reached over and ripped the hood off the prisoner, exposing his face.

Malik jerked to a halt when he saw Bashir staring back at him.

Rycroft raised the pistol, pressed it to Bashir’s temple. His friend was tense, his face bathed in sweat. Malik could read the fear in his eyes even from this distance. Bashir had fought and bled and suffered with him. For him. And then he’d risked everything to secure Malik’s freedom. He couldn’t abandon him like this.

Despite his instincts screaming at him to run, Malik couldn’t make his feet move. Couldn’t force himself to run from the only true friend he had left on earth, even though it would likely prove his undoing.

Rycroft would die for this.

Thank you Jesus, the bastard was actually hesitating.

Alex kept his gaze pinned on Hassani, standing in the shadows of the hangar’s roofline, and prayed this would work.
That’s right, you bastard, I’ve got a gun to the head of the only person you care about. How does it fucking feel?

He had Hassani’s full attention. Everything now hinged on him holding it for a few more minutes. “Jordyn, go,” he murmured to her via the team’s earpieces, too low for Hassani to hear.

Alex pushed the rage and fear aside, kept a firm hold on Bashir in case he tried anything, and stared Hassani down. With every heartbeat Alex was aware that Grace was locked up in that hangar just across the runway from him, trapped and terrified with possible chemical weapons ready to be released. During the drive here, Hassani had sent him the live video link that showed Grace and her assistant bound in the hangar. No sign of the chemical weapons she’d mentioned, but he believed her.

He ran his gaze over Hassani, looking for a possible detonator of some sort. He couldn’t see anything except the bandage around his left hand, the pistol in his right.

Alex drew in a deep breath and got down to business. “I’m here to do an exchange,” he called out, aware of Jordyn hauling ass just beyond Hassani’s peripheral vision. She only had about forty yards to cover to reach the shed and work her magic to disable the vehicle. She’d told him she only needed a minute or two once she reached the shed, and Blake and the other guys had her well-covered from their positions. They were under strict orders to kill Hassani only as a last resort. Alex had to capture him, bring him in for more questioning to unravel his network and so the Paks could put him on trial for everything he’d done.

When Hassani didn’t respond, Alex jerked his chin at Bashir, thrust him forward a little. The bastard didn’t think he’d shoot him?
Don’t bet on it.
“Him for Grace and her assistant. You let them go, you and Bashir can walk out of here together. You’ve still got time before the rest of the backup gets here. Let me have the hostages, and I’ll give you Bashir, plus a head start to Islamabad.”

A humorless chuckle answered him, and Alex knew if he’d been close enough Hassani would already have taken a shot. “You expect me to take your word for it?”

“Yes.”
I know you want me dead almost as badly as you want to take control of this country.
“Your buddy’s counting on it.” He jammed the barrel of his SIG harder against the man’s temple.

“And your girlfriend’s counting on me escaping here as planned,” the sonofabitch countered with an evil smile. “The bomb’s set to go off in eighteen minutes.”

Raw fear grabbed Alex by the throat. He shoved it down deep, kept up the pretense of control when it felt like his whole world was crumbling around him. The CIA and NSA wanted Hassani taken alive. But with the shortened timeline Alex had to either disable or capture Hassani within the next few minutes in order to give Hunter and Gage time to disable the bomb and get Grace out of there. Alex still couldn’t see a detonator on him. Was Hassani planning to remote detonate it on command, or was it set to an automatic timer? Alex had to somehow convince him that running was futile.

“I’ve got snipers in position, a gunship on the way and security forces will be crawling all over this place in a matter of minutes. You want out, this is your chance.” It was a long shot, but the only one Alex had. It had to work.

Grace’s life depended on it.

****

He was lying. Malik knew Alex would never let him walk away after the exchange.

Yet even then something stopped him from turning and running for the shed. Bashir, yes, but also Rycroft himself.

Malik had been hunting him for months. The chances of escaping to Islamabad now were minimal, and even if he did, it was unlikely that he’d live long enough to stage the coup he’d wanted so badly for so long. If there really was a gunship en route, he might not even make it off the ground even if he boarded his incoming helicopter in one piece.

But he could still get Rycroft before one of the snipers got him. Malik knew they wouldn’t shoot to kill unless he brought Rycroft down, because they wanted to save the hostages and bring him back in alive. That wasn’t happening. None of it.

“Let the hostages go,” Rycroft called out.

Malik’s right hand curled around the grip of the pistol, his index finger sliding up to find the trigger. Rycroft was wearing body armor; he’d have to get a clean head shot. And though he was wearing a protective vest as well, one shot was all he’d get off before a sniper would put a round through his head. Malik’s arm muscles tensed and he started to raise his weapon.

The wail of distant sirens made him jerk his head to the right. Rycroft’s backup.

Malik glanced back at Bashir, saw the awareness, the resignation on the man’s face. He knew what Malik had to do, knew he had no choice anymore. The sirens were louder now.
I’m sorry, old friend.

Tearing his gaze away from Bashir, he turned and raced for the shed, using a zigzag route to try to avoid a sniper’s bullet. He reached the shed without incident, something that surprised him. Was Rycroft really going to let him go just to save the hostages? Wrenching the rickety wooden door open, he jumped into the vehicle and turned the key. A whining noise answered him. His heart slammed against his ribs. He turned the key again, pumped the gas. Nothing.

Denial and outrage flashed through him as reality settled home. Someone had disabled the engine. There wasn’t enough time for him to figure out what they’d done and fix it, not with only one hand. And there was no way he could run out of here on foot.

He was trapped.

Swearing, he yanked out his phone as he exited the vehicle and called his ISI contact. No answer. He tried the pilot next. “Where are you?”

“I’m ten minutes out,” the man replied to his frantic demand.

“The rendezvous point is compromised,” Malik blurted. “Pick me up at these coordinates instead.” He rattled off the location of the old airfield. “I’m in the small shed across from the hangar.” And those sirens were even closer now. The snipers had likely moved in closer. Rycroft would be either hunting him or trying to rescue the hostages.

“I copy. New ETA, four minutes.”

In four minutes he might be dead. Malik ended the call and grabbed the high-powered rifle from the floorboard of the SUV’s backseat. He would not die without a fight, and not without taking Rycroft with him. His girlfriend would die soon enough. Maybe they’d all die after the bomb went off.

“Malik! Come out with your hands up!” Rycroft yelled from somewhere close by.

Never.
Malik’s lip curled up in a defiant sneer. He gripped the rifle tighter, barely feeling the pain when his wounded left hand cradled the underside of the barrel. If he could stall long enough for the helo to arrive, the gunners could clear off Rycroft and any others on the ground. Three minutes was all he needed—

A shot rang out and the lock on the shed door exploded. The wooden panel swung open slightly. Malik jerked back from the thin slice of light coming inside and raised his rifle’s scope to his eye. He waited, slowing his breathing as he got ready to fire between heartbeats.

Another round slammed into the wood paneling just above his head, making him duck. A warning shot. Where was that bastard? Malik wanted to kill him, wanted the satisfaction of putting a round through his brain and watching the life fade from his eyes before a sniper took him out.

“Come out
now
,” Rycroft barked.

Was that the faint thump of rotors in the distance? Malik pulled in a deep breath, unsure whether the sound was his helo, or the incoming gunship Rycroft had called in. He wanted his enemy dead, by his hand. The man knew time was running out for his girlfriend; he was running out of patience and wouldn’t wait long before swarming the shed. Malik was cornered like an animal again, just like he had been back in those tunnels. Rage built inside him.

When another bullet buried itself into the side of the SUV with a solid
thunk
, Malik’s temper snapped. He charged forward and opened fire, spraying the doorway with bullets. Shards of wood flew around him. The door disintegrated, sagged on its ancient hinges to reveal…

Nothing.

Malik’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a lungful of air, his body quivering. Those bullets had come at him from his one o’clock. Rycroft should have been—

“Hands up!”

At the shout on his left, Malik spun in time to see Rycroft on one knee, the pistol aimed at Malik’s head. The thud of the chopper’s blades were clear in the air now, maybe a minute from him.

“The gunship intercepted your ride,” Rycroft growled, the satisfaction in his voice scraping over Malik’s spine like a dull knife. “You’re all on your own. Last chance. Put your weapon down and get your hands in the air.”

A wry laugh bubbled up his throat. Really? Rycroft thought he’d actually accept a life behind bars after this? Dying here and now was preferable to wasting away in a prison or suffering through the agonizing death his bomb would cause.

In desperation he swung the barrel of the rifle toward Rycroft and squeezed his finger around the trigger. He didn’t get a single shot off before Rycroft’s bullet hit him between the eyes.

Grace tensed when she heard the distinctive popping sounds of gunshots outside the building. Some spaced apart, then a long burst of automatic fire that made her belly shrivel. She stilled and jerked her head up, waiting for an assault or maybe an explosion, but nothing happened.

She threw a frantic look over her shoulder at David. “Hurry!”

“I’m
trying
,” he snapped, fidgeting behind him with the tape holding her wrists to the back of the seat. Hassani had re-taped them after the call, but not as tightly as they’d been secured the first time. It was like he wanted her to be able to get free. She frowned at the thought but kept going. She could wriggle her fingers now and the tape seemed to be loosening. Just a little more and maybe she could—

“God dammit, I can’t feel what I’m fucking doing,” David muttered.

“It’s working, just keep going,” she urged. “Help is out there but they can’t get to us yet. We have to be able to get out on our own.” The gunfire was making her heart pound almost as much as whatever Hassani had left in that crate. She wanted as far away from it as possible.
Please let Alex be okay.

Using his limited range of motion, made extra awkward by the angle his arms were pinned back at, David kept working at the flap of tape he’d managed to pull loose. Each little tearing noise meant she was that much closer to freedom. Grace kept her arms taut and her wrists cocked up to give him the best access possible and had to remind herself to breathe.

David grunted and yanked, nearly fell over, but a long tearing noise shot another punch of adrenaline through her veins. “Almost there,” she encouraged, feeling some give in the restriction around her wrists. The muscles in her shoulders and arms were on fire, the joints aching from being held in such an awkward position for so long.

Another tear. “Now?”

She struggled to pull her wrists apart, sweat trickling down her spine and dampening her face and armpits. “Almost…” The slight give was maddening, pure torture. Gritting her teeth, she growled deep in her throat and forced her burning muscles to the limit, pushing, pushing—

Her wrists jerked apart. She sucked in a breath. “Quick! Grab the end of the tape again.”

David cursed as he blindly fished around for the end, grabbed it and pulled forward. They struggled and strained together and finally the tape gave with a sharp pop that sent David flying forward onto his face on the concrete. But her hands were free.

Grace twisted them out of the tape, groaned in relief as she brought them forward and bent to frantically rip at the tape holding her ankles to the chair leg. She had no idea how much time passed before she finally got her legs free but it had to have been a few minutes. There had been no more shots from outside. She knew Alex was out there somewhere. Why wasn’t anyone coming in after them?

She surged up from her chair and scrambled over to help David. He was lying on his side now, still strapped to the chair, his sweaty face white and his mouth pinched from the pain in his arms. “Hold still,” she murmured, heart racing as she attacked the duct tape holding him. She got his hands undone then went at his ankles. With a last urgent rip, the tape came off and she grabbed him by the hands to haul him to his feet. He swayed for a second, then steadied himself and looked around.

“This way,” she urged, tugging him toward the window high up overhead. Hassani had locked the doors at the far end—they’d both heard him wrap the chain around them before he left—and the only other way out that she could see was that window. That red light on the damned camera was still flashing, so whoever was watching the feed would know they were both free and trying to escape. She didn’t care. She would have kicked it over and smashed it if she hadn’t been afraid that the bastard had booby trapped it somehow. If she was going to die, it would be while attempting an escape, not while cowering here like a frightened animal, praying that someone would save her.