Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (37 page)

What if Mila died and he never got to know her?

He punched to his feet. Though he wanted to throttle someone, wanted to scream and rage over the brutality against these children, Sal hooked the teen’s arm and pulled him away.

The teen blinked, his mouth hanging open.

He wanted to beat the crap out of him and ask why he didn’t stop her, but you got more with honey than a baseball bat. “What’s your name?”

“F–Fariz.”

“Fariz, who is that woman?”

The teen seemed to see Sal clearly for the first time since they made it to the clearing. “My mother.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you.”
Breathe, bring it down a notch. Don’t scare him off
. “Thank you for alerting me.”

The teen started.

Sal put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad because you saved the lives of those children—your brother and sister.”

Something in the boy seemed to melt at those words. “Do you know why she did this?”

The shock snapped away, replaced by a bloody rage. “Him. He told her if any soldiers came to the village, they would take them—us. Take us and torture us. They’d rape her and then she’d never see him again.”

“Him?” The tremor raced through his veins, twitching his fingers. “Who?”

Fariz lifted his head. “My father.” The way he said that last word curled his lip.

“Your father?” The words knocked him for a loop. “Why would he—?”

“My father is General Ramsey.”

CHAPTER 33

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
7 April—1240 Hours

S
ir, I really think we need to look at this seriously.”

“I am
seriously looking
at the disaster you were heavily involved in at Takkar One.” General Phelps’s displeasure couldn’t be clearer. “You’ve inadvertently handed a rogue operator information and access—and now he’s vanished again. And now, this. Do you realize the cost of the damages we’ll have to cover?”

“Sir, we were there, but we did not set the explosives.”

“No, that was the very woman you’re now claiming is communicating privately with you.” His caustic tone poked at her courage. “Am I right, Walker?”

“I believe she—”

“Am. I. Right?”

Deflated, Cassie cradled her head in her hand. “Yes, sir.”

“Then until we have proof of clear and present danger—”

“She told me herself they’re going to kill everyone!”

“‘Everyone’ is both vague and nondescript. When? Who exactly?” he barked. “Until you can hand me those answers, this discussion is closed. In fact, why don’t you start packing up. You’re heading home.”

Jaw hanging, Cassie stared at her keyboard. “Sir—”

Buzzing grated through the connection. He’d hung up. The general hung up on her. Fired her, for all intents and practical purposes. She tossed down her phone and placed her other hand over her head. “God, I know You sent me here… I just didn’t think it was to mock me and tear me down.”

And it wasn’t. She knew that. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why He had sent her. At first, she’d thought it was to reunite with Sal.

So not happening.

Then she thought maybe it was Kiew.

Phelps said it wasn’t happening.

What do I say?

The question bubbled through her, warm and powerful. Not her own words. She looked around. Glanced back at her computer. Kiew’s message seemed to glow and leap off the monitor. Kiew. She had to do something.

Discouragement might have a fist around her throat, but God had a mighty hand around her life. He’d placed her here for a reason. Maybe for both Sal and Kiew, though the reason and understanding might never occur to her in this lifetime.

But she wasn’t going to tuck her tail and scamper away. She’d go boldly and intentionally. Starting with Sal first. So, he wanted to be a part of Mila’s life. Accessing a website, she downloaded a power of attorney form and a form to alter Mila’s birth certificate. She filled them out then retrieved a manila envelope. She’d find a notary, but first…

Kiew… Kiew… what could she do about that? Talk to Sal. She laughed. Right. He wouldn’t talk to her. He told Cassie to fix things. Well, okay. She would. But how…

Takkar.

Another laugh plucked from her. She’d been in his building chasing Kiew. Would he listen to her? He might be many things, but she’d never seen him vengeful. Reasonable. Thoughtful. Well-connected.

Yeah. She had to talk to Sajjan Takkar. If she called the corporation, she’d probably get blown off by some admin. That wouldn’t work. Time was of the essence, if Kiew’s warning was right. And she didn’t doubt that. She knew Kiew’s heart, even beyond the terroristic things she’d done. Kiew could be doing all these things because Meng-Li held something over her head.

You have no proof of that
.

Because it was a gut instinct that Kiew wasn’t evil. Who would listen to her? Help her talk to Mr. Takkar, one of the most powerful men, politically, in the world?

Candyman!

Cassie’s fingers flew into the system until she found the personnel file for one James Anthony VanAllen III. She lifted the phone and dialed. Erratic and frantic, her heart beat double in between each ring.

“This is Tony,” a voice finally said.

“You’re Candyman, right?”

Hesitation screamed through the line.

“I’m Lieutenant Cassandra Walker with—”

“I know who you are.”

Cassie sucked in a breath. Swallowed. “Then you know if I’m calling—”

“What do you want?”

Okay, so no we’re-all-fighting-for-the-same-team camaraderie. “I want to talk to Mr. Takkar.”

He laughed, a nice, deep one that vibrated against the line. “Sorry, you seriously want me to ask the man whose building you about blew up to let you come here and do more damage?”

Cassie breathed, reminded herself to stay calm.

“See, maybe you people are forgetting, but this man is part of my family now.”

“What family is that? Because the men I’m with, the ones I’m fighting alongside, they were your brothers once.”

“Wrong approach, Walker.”

The line went dead.

Cassie stared at the phone. Then gripped it hard, wishing she could crush the thing with her bare hands.
“Augh!”
She pitched her phone into her purse, snatched it up, and grabbed the manila envelope before heading to Brie’s office.

“There has to be a way,” she muttered as she made her way down the hall. She banked right into the small office.

Brie looked up from her computer. “Hey.”

Holding up the envelope, Cassie sighed. “Who’s a notary on base?”

“I am,” Brie said, lifting a stamp. She set it on her desk then pulled out a logbook. “I notarize stuff all the time for the brass. What do you need?”

Finally. “Something finally goes right.” Cassie handed over the documents. “I need to get these in the mail ASAP.”

“Okay, I can do that for you. Sign the book.” Brie opened the flap and drew out the envelope as Cassie bent over the log with a pen. “Are you serious?”

Cassie glanced up. Saw Brie’s white face.

“You—Russo… you two have a kid?”

There were no words nor an explanation. Cassie sighed. “I really would rather—”

Brie held up a hand. “Forget I said anything.”

“Sorry, I just—”

“Nope. It’s your business. And obviously a painful one.” She stood and took the documents into another room then returned and finished logging and stamping. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Cassie resisted the urge to flee the building and race to the mail center before she lost her nerve. Giving Sal this much legal right terrified her. He could take Mila away. But he wouldn’t.

Right?

Her phone rang, jarring her. She fished her phone from her purse. The caller ID was blocked. “This is—”

“Tower Two, tonight at six.”

Leaving the base on her own and with nothing more than strong willpower and determination… well, it sounded good in theory. But not so smart practically. The route to Kabul was long and arduous, and at times—as in when people were alive and breathing, so pretty much every hour of the day—a deadly conduit for ambushes and attacks.

Three hours in and she’d had plenty of time to consider the stupidity of her adventure. Maybe it was a good thing she’d signed the POA for Sal with Mila. If anything happened here, at least she’d be taken care of. Not what Cassie had had in mind when she’d printed and filled it out.

Ahead, grape huts jutted out of the desertlike area. Life and people defied the elements to oppress them, much as the terrorists had defied innocents to cross their paths. She couldn’t help but wonder if they would dare her to enter. Statistics had shown that terrorists favored villages where roads cut through, so they had a high vantage point. And multiple ways to hide and surprise attack the passerby.

White-knuckling the steering wheel, she whispered a prayer and didn’t slow as she approached the village. No people out wandering the streets. Wind swept dirt in a cloud, making it appear as if dancing.

“So,” Cassie muttered, her gaze tracing the rooftops. “A dance of joy or dance of death?” She searched the shadows between the structures. “Right. Be morbid. That helps so much.”

Her phone buzzed in her purse, but there was no way on earth she would take her eyes off the road and this village now that she’d spooked herself.

A ball bounced into the street.

Cassie yanked her foot from the accelerator to the brake—then second-guessed herself. A ball but no child. Her toe hovered between the two, the vehicle still rolling onward. No child. She hit the accelerator. “Not going to fool—”

A boy burst from an alley.

Cassie nailed the brake. Rocks crunched and popped. Dust plumed, pressing against the windows like some phantom trying to blind her.
Go, go
, she urged herself, but moving forward when she couldn’t see? What if she wasn’t in the middle of the street? What if she hit a house or the little boy?

She let the car roll forward.

Thunk!

She hit the brake again. The dust started clearing, and with it, her breathing leveled out. A little. She wasn’t sure she could breathe easy until she reached Takkar Two.

Four men stood several yards ahead, assault rifles in hand. Threatening but not moving.

Cassie froze.

Her side window shattered. Cassie screamed as the door flopped open. A man leaned in, grabbing her by the collar. She slapped and scratched, but his grip was made of steel. He hauled her out of the car. With a jarring thud against her shoulder, she hit the ground.

Something sharp hit her head. She ducked as another pecked against her neck. Though she tried to stand, someone shoved her back down. Another rock. And another. Rocks dribbled around her—they were stoning her!

Feet closed in. One swung into her ribs. She cried out, fought against the urge to arch her back and instead, curled in to protect herself. Shouts went up as a mob set upon her.

A fist swung at her face. Though she dodged, she wasn’t fast enough. Something cracked against the back of her head. Cassie whimpered and held her head. Dust puffed into her face as sandaled feet connected with her face, her chest, her back—everywhere!

They would beat her to death and leave her for the vultures.

She would not die easily! She pressed her hands against the dirt, but another well-placed kick sent her sprawling. Tears slipped free as she struggled. But then… then she noticed something.

Vibrations wormed through the ground, tickling her fingers. It grew stronger. The noise louder. The chaos and frenzy of the crowd lulled.

Cassie seized the moment to search for an escape.

But as the roar increased, the bloodthirsty mob broke up. Rushed for houses as the growl of an engine roared up alongside the left of her vehicle. A black SUV. Sleek. Clean. Amazing how a vehicle could look fierce simply because it was black and had tinted windows.

Another one followed. And another.

On her left as well—three more.

Two large Hummers lumbered up on her six.

Cringing at the pain that exploded when she stood, Cassie scrambled for her car and dragged herself inside. She shut the door. Numbly stared at the shattered window. Still, she punched the lock. Tucked herself—painfully—behind the wheel.