Raptor 6 (11 page)

Zahrah refused to take offense. But still, he’d basically just diminished what she did to something controversial rather than the mission field that brought her. And all the same, he had a point. “True, but that trouble is more common in the south—Kandahar and Helmand provinces.”

His eyebrow quirked. “Only 5 percent of children receive a primary education in Afghanistan.”

She smiled. “True, but again—the vicious attitude toward girls getting an education is more prevalent in the south. Far from here. It’s not so surprising that I would know and love my mother’s country so well, is it?”

“Most who come over don’t care. They get in, do the job, and get out.” How did he look casual yet powerfully intense?
Just like Daddy
.

“Ah, that’s the difference.” She smiled.

“What?”

“You said ‘job,’ but I don’t see what I’m doing as a job.”

“Then what is it?”

“Passion. I grew up with a mother who performed during my father’s military balls, entertaining officers’ wives, doing her duty, but she would then be in bed for days afterward. She never felt like she measured up to the American woman because she struggled with the language. She felt isolated and so very alone. My brother—I think it embarrassed him that she could not speak better. But rather than help her, he rebelled. It drove her depression deeper till she could not take it anymore.”

His silence warned her that he probably already knew.

“It’s been almost three years since her death, and I can still remember coming home from school and finding her sitting in the living room. No lights on. The curtain parted the way she always did. My dad was deployed, my brother gone….”

“You found her?”

Zahrah gave a slow nod. “No, I lost her.” The twist of words was unfair but opened the wound she had struggled with for so long. “I lost my brother then, too. Guilt, I think, consumed him. He hasn’t spoken to us since. He got a job as a consultant with the CIA because he is bilingual. It was as close to government work as Jay was willing to go.”

“Jay?”

She nodded, squinting against the sun as she remembered Jay, five years her senior and so unlike her in every way. He embraced neither their mom’s culture nor their father’s. “Jahandar Peter. My mother named him after the brother she left behind—Kaka Jahandar.”

“So, your brother is at Langley?”

Another nod. A fire that had fueled her heart and forbidden her mind from taking any other path. “So this passion drives me to be here. To teach. To make sure no girl faces what my mother faced. Which is why I want your help.”

His eyebrows shot up. “My help?”

“You and your team. The school—they can’t get the site cleared, and Ara is still missing. I know you can talk to some higher-ups and get a team together.”

He seemed to consider the request.

And she knew where his thoughts would go. Or should. “You can gather more intel on the school.” She stretched her chin toward the door Russo had left through. “Your man there, you sent him off when I mentioned the men. This would give you the chance to look over the school, possibly figure out who the men were. Right?”

He just watched her.

“Will you help us clear the school so we can resume classes?”

“No promises. I have to clear it with Command.”

Zahrah breathed sweet relief. “Thank you. I’m going straight there after Razia is done visiting.”

“I’ll do this, on one condition.”

Now it was Zahrah’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

“We escort you in.”

“I …” It wouldn’t be so bad to be with him more, but she feared the fallout. The castigation for being seen alone with the American soldiers. And Razia certainly wouldn’t be willing to ride with them. Atash would beat her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Sorry. It wasn’t a suggestion.” He was resolute. Immovable.

“Normally, I wouldn’t object, but in light of the bomb, I think it could be risky.” She did not want him to think her defiant or ungrateful for his gestures. “If whoever did this sees me enter with American soldiers, they might be more inclined to strike out again, and personally.”

He angled a little closer. “My team knows the people of this town. They know us. The show of force will go a long way in protecting you.”

Her pulse did this crazy dance as she held his brownish-green eyes, so pure against his heavily tanned face. It tapped a line direct to her heart and knotted her stomach.

“I’m going to make sure,” he said, his voice deep and husky, “nobody hurts you again.”

Stirred, she struggled to think beyond his declaration.

But then he shifted. “Me—my team, it’s what we do.”

She touched his arm, a breach of protocol, but something in his vehemence tugged at her heart. “Captain Watters, that’s not your job.”

“Beg to differ.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but whatever happens to me, you can’t control that. Neither can I.” An insane peace surged through her again, one that had been with her since she set foot here. A peace that said she had a purpose driving her. She had to pull herself from his gaze and turned toward the door. “God wants me here, and I’m surrendered to Him. He will protect me.”

He grinned. “That’s why
I’m
here.”

Surprise tugged her around, forced her to face him as she smiled back. “Are you saying you’re God’s guardian angel?” The words swirled through her like a branding iron, unnerving her.

Captain Watters laughed. “I’ve been called worse.” He folded his arms. “Listen, a compromise.”

Oh she liked this guy. Daddy would go ballistic. “Go on.”

“We’ll get a civvie driver to take you to the school, but Raptor team is coming in right behind you.”

Undisclosed Location

T
wizzlers. Fun to eat. Makes mouths happy.

Or something like that. Whatever—they keep me happy and my mouth busy. Sitting up in this cave 24/7 would drive normal men crazy. But then, I’ve never been normal.

Wow. Is that a lame line or what? Like something you’d see in a bad Hollywood movie or read in a clichéd psycho-thriller.

But seriously. I defy the norms.

Voted most likely to succeed.

Check. When one sits on a multimillion-dollar contract like this—
hello? Success!

My mom said I’d never hold down a desk job.

I’m dying laughing over this one. Desk job? I think she meant some stock broker or something on Wall Street. But yeah, I’m at a desk. And yep, this is my job.

Loner. That’s another thing you always hear about people like me.

Hmm, maybe not like me. I’m not a loner. Okay—yes. I’m in this hole night and day, but it’s pretty much driving me crazy. Thus the PS Vita, online gaming subscriptions, chat rooms. No animals. Just don’t get what the attraction is to having some flea-bitten four-legged animal crawling around your feet or lap.

The feed brightens, light from an open door blasting through the command center. And who walks in but our own Raptor Six, along with his right-hand guy, Falcon. Sure makes it easier taking notes.

“Welcome to the main event,” I boom in my best announcer voice and again check the dials. After stuffing another red licorice between my teeth, I grab my notebook and make a log. There are any one of a dozen spec ops teams basing out of this center, so I gotta make sure I record everything. Detailed notes make nice with the boss.

But hold up. Who’s the beauty?

Craning my neck, I stare at the feed. Wearing a hijab? In the SOCOM sub-base command center? “What the …?” With a few clicks, I snap her picture. “So,” I mutter as I transfer the image to another computer. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my feed, your hotness?” Transferred, the image runs through the codex, trying to get a facial-recognition match. Get her name, rank, and serial number, if you catch what I’m saying.

Right. Like Raptor Six would give me an inch when it came to this babe.

I’m not digging how attentive Raptor Six is to this woman. And by the looks of things, what with Hawk and Falcon eyeing the two … they notice the difference, too.

And just as quick, they walk right back out.

Sub-base Schwarzburg, Camp Marmal
Mazar-e Sharif, Balkh Province
29 May—1315 Hours

T
hat girls is going to be the death of me
.

Outside the sub-base, Dean watched Zahrah Zarrick vanish with Specialist Homewood, who’d secured native dress to act as escort for Zarrick. Pushing a thick breath through puffed cheeks, Dean pivoted and entered the sub-base. He punched in the AHOD code. Texted the guys to meet up ASAP at the motor pool while he updated Burnett.

“Augh!”

Crack!

Dean stopped short, reaching for his weapon, as his gaze hit Todd Archer, the man he’d once dubbed Pops. Now known as Eagle on official reports where his real name had been blacked out.

Face red, palms flat on either side of the hole he’d just punched in the Sheetrock, Archer kicked the wall. His hands fisted.

“Archer.” Dean approached slowly. “What’s up?”

His buddy turned, slumped against the wall as he slid a pained expression toward Dean. He banged his head back and groaned.

At the guy’s side, Dean waited. Assessed. This reaction, the tears … “What happened?” He had a sinking feeling. A very bad one.

“It’s Amy,” he said and ducked. Jaw muscles danced. “Cancer’s back.”

Words proved inadequate. But he had to say something. “Aw man. I’m sorry.”
Is that the best you can come up with?
“What’re they saying?”

Archer pursed his lips tight. “Not good. They”—he bit down on his words—“they don’t—” He swiped a hand over his mouth and nose. His gaze pierced Dean. “I’ve got to go home.”

“Agreed.” Even as he said it, Dean wondered how things would fare with the team. Archer was a top-notch sniper. Raptor’s sniper. While everyone had qualified sniper, nobody held a bead to this guy. Integral part of the team beyond sniping. Wisdom, experience, sage advice. “I’ll do whatever you need, Todd. We’re here for you.”

Archer peeled himself off the wall and started around Dean.

“Keep me posted.” He gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. “I’ll … pray.”

Shouldering out the door, Archer winged up an eyebrow with a crooked grin. Light haloed around his reddish-blond head and beard. “I’d like to see that.”

“Hey.” Dean spread his arms. “Don’t knock it. The Big Guy and I talk … on occasion.”

Smiling, Archer nodded before sunlight swallowed him. He then vanished behind the closed door.

Alone with the grief of his buddy and the nagging sense that the shift of the tide had only begun, Dean headed into his office and powered up his computer, haunted by his own words about prayer. While he couldn’t pretend to be as close to God as Archer, Dean had had a few too many deadly encounters to doubt God was up there watching over him.

“God,” he whispered, feeling woefully inadequate. “Help Archer. Help Amy.” Okay, so he wouldn’t win a scholarship to a Bible school with that prayer, but he meant it. He hoped it made it to God’s ears.

Dean logged in and lifted the phone from its cradle. He dialed and waited.

“Make it good, Watters.”

Dean smiled at Burnett’s gruff tone. “Team and I are heading to the school. Zarrick said some men were there—”

“You talked to General Zarrick again?”

Dean hesitated, confused. “Uh, no. I meant Zahrah Zarrick.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve got a hunch they might be the Taliban who hit us in the village. We’ll help them clear the debris and search for a missing girl, but that will also give us good reason to be there and gather intel.”

“Agreed. Keep me posted.”

Dean stuck a hand on his knee. “Todd Archer’s wife’s cancer is back. Doesn’t look good. I want him to go home to be with her.”

“We need him here.”

“Not if his head is back home.”

Burnett grunted. “I’ll get Hastings on it.”

Dean nodded. Then his mind drifted to Zahrah. Once again, it nagged at him that he hadn’t figured out what General Zarrick had meant about her. “Sir, is there something I should be aware of about Zarrick?”