Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (41 page)

A lanky Arab stalked toward Dean with a burlap sack. He met Dean’s gaze evenly, calmly.

Dean stared at the guy. Nodded.

Nodded? Why was he nodding?

The man stuffed the sack over the captain’s head, secured it, then turned to Sal. He scowled at the man. “Who are you?”

The leader shouted at Sal then jerked him forward and bagged him, too. Darkness swam and the heat of the desert smothered him with the burlap over his head. Somewhere he heard the squawking of brakes and the crunch of an axle. The grumbling noise of a diesel engine growled to a stop nearby.

Iron grips clamped around his arms and yanked Sal forward. Dean didn’t want them to fight, so he wouldn’t fight. He’d learned to take the lead from him, but this… Walking himself to his death?

“Just move,” came a heavily accented voice near his ear. “Soon it be okay.”

It’d be okay? In what way?

He heard the pleading in the voice but couldn’t piece together this puzzle. Maybe Dean had seen or known something. Sal’s foot hit something. But the men urged him forward still. He found himself climbing an incline of some sort.

A ramp into a truck!

No no no. He’d seen this before. Men herded like cattle off to a butcher shop.

The thought put a boulder in his path. Sal hesitated. His muscles twitched in resistance. One of the goons hauling him off shouted at him.

Which only made Sal more resistant.

Pain exploded against the back of his shoulders, pushing him forward. He stumbled. Used the momentum to dive to the left. Into the man who’d struck him.

Men pounced on him, wrangling him. The more force they applied, the more it forced Sal to apply pressure, too.

His feet went out from under him. He fell forward, pain scoring his palms and knees.

Darkness thudded into the back of the truck.

Sal froze. Was this it? He’d die in the desert? What about Cassie? And Mila—she’d never get to know him. He’d never find out if she liked ice cream.

The truck shook back and forth, bouncing.

Sal bumped against something solid.

“Sorry, mate,” came a grunt.

“Titanis?”

Light snapped through the bed of the truck.

Sal stilled. What the…?

“Forgive us for the roughness,” came the thick voice who’d reassured him earlier.

Someone fumbled with the sack over Sal’s head. Then ripped it off. Light blinded him and he blinked feverishly to gain his bearings.

A man stood at the front of the truck. With Dean.

Sal came to his feet, the vehicle trouncing them. “What’s going on?”

“I am Waris. My friend invites you to his home for a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Your friend has a sick way of inviting people over for tea and scones.”

Sal made his way to Dean. “You knew…?”

Dean shook his head.

“But I saw you—”

“I recognized Waris.”

Wait. Waris. Right hand of— “Takkar.” When Dean nodded, Sal felt sick. They’d infiltrated the man’s building. Left it heavily damaged. And left Hawk, too. “Think this is about payback?”

Kabul, Afghanistan
8 April—1215 Hours

“I’m proud of you.” Delicate arms wrapped around his waist as he stood in the kitchen getting a glass of water.

Sajjan encircled her small waist, tugging Nina closer. “And why is that, my bride?”

Nina wore elegance like a fine diamond. With her platinum blond hair and expertly applied makeup, she was in a class all her own. “You are extending patience and peace when your hand has been slapped by these men.”

He gave her a quick squeeze and nodded. “They will know of my displeasure.”

She smiled up at him, with eyes that had dazzled him since they first met at a premiere for his friend’s movie. “Ah, but not your rage.”

He kissed her. “You make me too soft, Nina.”

“No, my love, you have a good heart and you know when justice must be meted out. You are a fair and honest man. It is why you are so well loved and respected wherever you go.”

Her words were as honey on his ears. But Nina only saw the side she wanted to see. The side she’d fallen in love with and married. He must also be the strong arm of a law bringer if he was to be taken seriously. Swift justice showed those who only spoke with bullets and swords that he knew how to play that game as well.

It was why he did not fit completely in either world—not the civilized, nor the barbaric. It was why he had gained this position. He knew how to deal political cards with a quick hand.

“I must go.” He kissed her again.

“Timbrel’s not happy that you’ve involved Tony.” Disapproval hung on her lips.

“He hasn’t
involved
me in anything,” Tony said as he appeared from the hall. Then nodded to Timbrel who had followed him. “She’s ready to head to Dubai for that trip.”

“How did you convince her?”

“Promise of a vacation alone, just the two of us.”

“Far away from anything combat.” Timbrel shot Sajjan a fiery look.

As Nina’s son-in-law joined him, Sajjan walked toward the elevator and gave her a good-bye look over his shoulder. They entered the elevator and he pressed his access button.

As the car carried them to another level, Sajjan shifted roles. Shifted his mind-set. “You sure you can handle this? They are your brothers.”

“They won’t understand at first, but in the end…” He nodded, his beard once again scraggly. “They’ll know they would’ve done the same.” He shrugged. Then he cast a speculative look back. “You going to tell them?”

“About my guest?” When Tony nodded, Sajjan almost smiled. “That depends.”

“On?”

“On how receptive they are to my demands.”

Head throbbing from the whack they’d given him, Sal strode with the team through the parking structure and into the steel trap. Waris had said little since his brief apology and seriously lacking explanation of what was going on. Did Takkar plan to chew the team out? Take the damages out of their backs? Or turn them into slave labor to repair the building?

None seemed likely, and yet, knowing the elusive and mysterious Takkar, all were likely. The guy hadn’t earned a reputation by being soft. Show favoritism to one side and another rebelled.

That was why Sal hated politics. Action—give him action over cheap talk any day. Crammed into the elevator like cattle, the team said nothing. Tense shoulders and wary glances spoke enough. Half unsettled, half angry, they all wanted answers just like Sal.

But Cassie.

Pinned at the back of the steel box, he wondered where she was. Where the kidnappers had taken her. There’d been no word of a ransom video, so he had no choice but to believe she was still alive. And he was glad to believe. Wanted to believe 100 percent.

Mila needed her mom. She didn’t even know her dad.

My fault
. Totally his fault. But it didn’t change the fact that life would be really hard for a little girl put in that situation.

Why on earth did he keep thinking about Mila? Why… why was she so important? He didn’t know her. Hadn’t met her. Hadn’t even spoken to her. Yet somehow… she seemed like the most important thing. An urgency filled him to fix the things he’d just mentioned—talking to her, meeting her in person, getting to know her.

But not without Cassie.

“Holding it together?” Dean asked as they filed down a long hallway with no doors and too many flickering lights. Like some really bad horror flick.

Sal tried to nod, but he wasn’t sure it happened. “I don’t have time for this. Cassie—”

“We’ll work it out,” Dean said. “I promise.”

A set of double white doors swung open. They stepped into an entrance with some serious security protocols. Fingerprint, eye, voice. All coded in before what Sal thought was a wall whooshed up out of the way.

Waris held a hand toward the opening. Sal noted the others hesitating. He didn’t blame them. That area beyond the vanishing door looked an awful lot like the often-nondescript warehouses where men are tortured and left for dead. Or worse—left alive with festering wounds that turn septic and kill them slowly and excruciatingly.

Sal moved forward, the nerves in his body thrumming in anticipation of an attack. Of finding himself waking up hours later with a few body parts missing. But inside, he only found moderately cooled air, a half-dozen bulbous cameras dangling from the ceiling. But no chairs. No people. Just an empty cement area.

A clink sounded beneath his boot. He lifted his foot and stared at the hole with a metal ring encircling it. His gaze rushed the room, noting a dozen more. Evenly spaced. He looked up and his power bar curdled in his stomach.

He swung around—right into the others filtering into the room—and took a step toward the door. “Hey! What is this?”

“It’s a freakin’ torture cell,” Schmidt announced.

As if answering Sal’s question, the door whooshed back down, sealing them in. Waris hadn’t joined them.

“Son of a—”

“No doors.” Dean noted as he joined Sal. “Think they plan to have some fun with us?”

“You know what they say about payback,” Riordan said. “And I can promise Takkar didn’t take our incursion into One lightly.”

“So, what?” Schmidt turned a slow circle. “He’s going to punish us?”

Dean muttered, “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“He should talk to us, find out why—”

“I agree, Mr. Russo,” a mechanical voice boomed through the cement prison. “But you did not extend me that courtesy when you and these men raided and damaged my property.”

Sal held up his hands, acknowledging the point but not agreeing or apologizing. War was tricky territory. Admitting to a grievance like this could get the entire U.S. military hung up for weeks. Limit their operational capabilities. Raptor had bypassed Command for a reason.

“We appreciate your position,” Dean said in a clear voice. “Unfortunately, we are on an urgent mission. One of our own has been taken hostage. We do desire to sort this incident out with you, but we request—”

A hissing noise in the far corner silenced Dean as their attention focused on the sprinkler head spewing water over the heads of the SEALs and Titanis. The men instinctively moved out from under the spray.

Just in time, too.

A crackling noise chased the water. Hissing. Popping.

Electroshock therapy.

“Holy…!” Eagle and Titanis shuffled farther back, the men pushing for dry ground to avoid getting shocked.

“I find your lack of respect and consideration for me and my business quite shocking. Have I not worked as an ally with you, cooperated with you, and even helped you in many ways over the last few years?”

Dean held his hands out again, glancing to the water racing toward them. “You have. Burnett saw you as a friend. He worked hard to preserve that relationship.”

“And Captain Watters? How do you see me?”

Dean hesitated. And every second that he wavered, the water didn’t.

“Dean,” Sal hissed as the team crunched together, cursing.

“I see you as a man who must establish boundaries. One who knows what levers to pull to gain cooperation. Are you a friend?” Dean shrugged and indicated the water. “That remains to be seen.”

“You would tell me how to conduct my business?”

“I would encourage you toward diplomacy and friendship.”

Sal balled a fist. The captain was a far better negotiator than him. This Sikh was threatening the team. If an enemy had pulled this stunt, Sal would’ve thrown himself at the guy. But there was no visible enemy. Just four walls, spigots, drains, and zapping electricity.

This was ridiculous.

Crack! Pop!

“Augh!” Schmidt hopped around, shaking out his hands. His team tugged him back and they all huddled away from the water, grateful for the drains that diverted some of the electricity conductor.

The clatter of teeth followed a meaty thud. Eagle lay, head in the water, thrashing as currents tormented his body.

CHAPTER 37