Raptor 6 (15 page)

The accusation stung. Perhaps he did not know she was American by birth. Perhaps it’d be best not to educate him on that detail. “It is said, ‘There is less goodness in the one who is not friendly or likeable.’” The words were bold.

“Then you consider yourself good?”

“I am only a servant,” she muttered then tried to move around him.

He inched to the side, blocking her path. Touched her face.

Zahrah sucked in a breath and jerked away. “Sir, it is not right that you touch me.”

“Kamran, do not defile her,” the director said. “Her kaka is a generous donor to the school.”

A crooked smile snaked into the man’s mouth.

Heart thundering, Zahrah barreled around him, chased by a wretched fear and his taunting laugh.

“Remember, Zahrah Zarrick, I am watching you. Would be a shame to rid the world of your pretty face.”

Zahrah hooked her arm through Fekiria’s, and together they hurried from the building. “What does he want?” she hissed.

“If you do not know, we are in more trouble than I thought.” Fekiria’s breathless laugh hinted at her nerves.

Her cousin’s bad attempt at humor only tightened her agitation. “Why is he still here?
What
are they doing?”

“Did your American boyfriend find anything when he was here?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and how would I know what they found?” Zahrah felt enmeshed in warmth even as the face of Captain Watters filled her mind. They made their way around the gate, which had been strung together with wire and cord after the explosion, and headed back to the house. “I would suspect they didn’t find anything, or we wouldn’t be here.”

“Or better, he would be here.”

Zahrah stopped a few blocks away and scowled at her cousin. “I do not understand you. One minute you hate them, you’re yelling—”

“No, not here.” Fekiria took her arm, her gaze locked on something behind Zahrah. “Wait.” They hustled a few feet before Fekiria added, “They’re following us.”

Arms linked, they walked with heads tucked and voices low. “Why? What have we done?”

“It’s your American soldiers.”

“They’re
not
mine.”

“But they show up wherever you are.”

“Not true. They showed up at the explosion because the fire drew them. That had nothing to do with me,” Zahrah said.

“What of the day Kamran hit us? Will you tell me that had nothing to do with you?”

Zahrah swallowed.

Fekiria started to turn then glanced back. “Later. In the house.”

“I have a phone number….”

Her cousin’s bright eyes flashed.

“For if I remembered anything else. I could call….”

“No. He is too far anyway. And it would mean trouble if he came to your rescue again. Let me call Adeeb.” She fished her phone out of her bag. Dialed. “Adeeb, men are following us … Yes, almost.”

They turned onto the narrow road and spotted their bright, coral-colored home. Such a stark contrast in the city to the drabby outlying villages. The wide gate swung out and Adeeb stepped into the open. Zahrah quickened her pace. Though he didn’t display a weapon, the bulk beneath his vest made it obvious he was armed.

A surge of giddy relief rushed through Zahrah as he welcomed them as if nothing were wrong then ushered them into the courtyard. “Go!” He urged them to the safety of the house.

They darted up the stairs and into their room. Zahrah dropped against the bed, panting hard, aching to shed the memory of that disgusting man towering over her, touching her—

“You’re holding that like it’s sacred.”

Zahrah blinked at her cousin leaning against the door. “What?”

“Your phone.” A knowing smile sifted the fear from Fekiria’s expression.

Zahrah glanced at the silver device clutched to her chest with both hands. Like a lifeline. “I … I …” When had she taken it out of her bag?

“You must give up the idea of him, cousin.”

Zahrah tossed her phone on the bed, right along with her cousin’s advice. “Why?”

“Because he is American! And a soldier. Fighting
our people
.”

“He isn’t fighting our people—he’s fighting terrorists. And I am also American like him. Or have you forgotten?”

“You certainly should, especially with the attention of those men on you. They would as soon cut your throat if they thought you’d been corrupted.”

“You are double minded!”

“Me?”

“Yes, one minute you are chiding me about Captain Watters and the next you’re taunting me about him. I cannot make sense of what you’re doing, why you do this.”

Fekiria bristled. “I only want—”

“I know what you want.” Zahrah recognized her anger and frustration. She scaled it back. “You want your country back.”

Fekiria slumped on the thin mattress. She toyed with her gold necklace. “Is it too much to ask?”

“It’s understandable.” She joined her cousin. “But there is a restlessness about you that I do not understand. You love it here, yet you rail against it.” She brushed a black strand away from Fekiria’s brow.

“The same could be said of you.”

“I …” Zahrah checked herself before she went on. “I do not think I rail against it.”

“You came here to help girls learn, but did you not also come to change it?”

“No—”

“Do you not wish me to become a Christian?”

Zahrah felt the wind knocked out of her with the direct question.

“I … yes, I would like that—”

“Then you do rail against it.”

“No, not rail. I love Afghanistan’s people, her heart. A cloud of evil shrouds the land, strangling freedom, and I do not like that.”

“But you believe we’re wrong to believe in Allah.”

Toeing a treacherous line, Zahrah prayed for inspiration. She had not expected this conversation. And she could do serious damage to her relationship with Fekiria. And yet she could not deny a conviction she held dearer and truer than life itself. “Does it not make you wonder why even the Qur’an mentions Isa as
the
Messiah, and all others are mentioned as
a
messiah?”

Her cousin studied her.

A thought lashed through Zahrah and she sighed, shaking her head. “You’ve done it again.” Just when she thought her cousin sincerely wanted to engage in reasonable dialogue about their lone difference …

Fekiria frowned.

“You’ve turned this on me when I asked about you. What are you hiding, Fekiria?”

Silence held them in a tight grip, her cousin’s grim expression deepened then flashed into a smile. “Nothing.” She punched to her feet. “I’m hungry. You?”

If only Zahrah could figure out what was going on in that pretty head. But she’d been here long enough to know there was no prying out of Fekiria Haidary things she was unwilling to discuss.

“No. The last thing I want right now is food.” She rubbed her thumb over the phone.

Fekiria slipped out without another word.

Heart heavy, Zahrah sat with her back against one wall, her shoulder against the side wall. Knees pulled to her chest, she wished she had a friend to talk with. Someone to help her sort what was happening at the school, someone to reassure her she wasn’t alone, to figure out what on earth was going on with Fekiria.
A friend. I just need a friend
.

She flipped open the phone and scrolled down … down … Heart pumping a little faster than it should, she hesitated for a second, thumb poised over the TALK button, then pressed.

A woman answered, her words so rapid and riddled with acronyms that Zahrah couldn’t process them.

Zahrah sat up, gathering her thoughts. “Uh …”
What am I doing?
“May I speak with Captain Watters, please?”

Hindu Kush, Afghanistan
02 June—0230 Hours

T
emperatures had dropped to a biting forty degrees. Enough to chill a guy but not kill him. But Dean chose to appreciate the cold elements. Keep his focus. Remind him he was alive.

“Oy,” Titanis grunted, tapping Dean as he nodded toward their objective. “Lights out.”

On his knees, Dean traced the darkened compound. Just as the Aussie had said—no more lights in the large building, their focus considering the security and the number of ins/outs.

“Hawk, Harrier, and Knight, on me,” Dean said, nodding to the handler. “Falcon, Titanis, you have overwatch.” The three nodded as Dean went through a gear check, his mind replaying the facts: at least a dozen unfriendlies, two leaders, possibly more. The large building at the back had a lot of foot traffic, along with more than average security measures. That was his focus. Get in there, find out what was drawing the terrorists like flies to a carcass.

On his haunches, he pivoted to face Hawk, Harrier, and Knight. “Quick sneak-peek. Keep it tight and clean. Do not engage. Again,
do not
engage.” He met their eyes, all but glowing—whereas Ddrake’s
did
glow beneath the bright moon—to make sure they got the point. “Take a look-see then hoof it out.”

“We’ll cover, be your eyes and ears,” Falcon said.

“If we get separated, rendezvous two klicks south of our present location.”

“At the well?”

Dean gave a quick assent, remembering the stone well with the wood planks over it. Like something right out of biblical times. “Stay sharp.” With a hand signal, he pivoted and pushed up into a crouch-walk. Weapon trained on the surroundings, Dean slid his NVGs down. The dark blue night washed green.

A double-pat to his shoulder stopped him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Knight stood. “Ddrake and I should take lead.”

Considering the soldier’s comment forced Dean to also weigh what could happen. Another IED. A bomb. Getting limbs blown off, if not his entire body, blown past the pearly gates.

Dean relinquished point but not control. “Stay close.”

Step by step, gut cinched inch by inch, Dean made his way forward. The pant of the dog went almost unnoticed. Rocks slipped and crunched beneath his boots. Each sound like the report of a weapon in the still, dark night. The incline worked against him, forbidding him from making a 100-percent-stealthy approach. He counted on the enemy’s belief that they were here unnoticed. That the UAV they shot down two klicks west didn’t get the skinny on their compound.

As the path wound out to the north, Dean stepped off the beaten earth and headed south. More treacherous but it’d deliver them down the backs of the terrorists. They sidled up to a rock and knelt, eying the compound. The dark alley straddled the gap between the long line of huts built together.

Dean tapped Knight.

The handler nodded. “Ddrake, heel.”

Dean scouted the compound, made sure they hadn’t been spotted, as Knight moved into position. “Go.”

Knight hopped down the three-foot drop, landing with a soft thud. He crouch-ran into the shadows of the building. Dean swept up the east and west end with the muzzle of his weapon. “Clear.”

“Ddrake, hup.”

The dog sailed silently through the night to the ground.

“Hawk,” Dean said, but the Raptor team member was already in motion. As soon as he made solid footing, Dean followed. Hustled up to the building and pressed his shoulder against the plaster. “Bravo, we’re in.”

“Copy that. You’re clear,” Falcon said.

Dean turned on his helmet cam and eased around the wall, clearing the corner and holding it while Knight and Ddrake hustled across the open to the first large truck. Dean signaled for Harrier to follow. Then Hawk. Bound and cover. Until they established a secure perimeter. With Hawk as his cover, Dean eased aside the tarp on the first truck’s cargo area. His NVGs revealed nothing. “Empty,” he whispered.

They moved to another. Using as little motion as possible in case someone waited inside one of the trucks, Dean peeked inside. Nothing but an empty bed. “Same.” And the next.

The mission just escalated. They’d have to breach the buildings. That shot up their chances of getting seen, of being engaged. He keyed his mic. “Going in.”

“Copy, going in.”

Dean moved to their primary target—the larger building. To get to it, they had to pass through three smaller buildings, all attached and with only one entrance. The one right in front of him. He blew out a thick breath. Nothing like a bottleneck to get good men killed.

He moved into position. Hand on the door, he waited for the others to group up. He tested the handle, relieved when it twisted without objection or noise. Kicking in a door didn’t make for a quiet entrance. They slipped into the dark hall, grateful for the darkness.

With stealthy movements, he and his team snaked into the building. Moving quickly. Quietly. Farther into the building. Farther away from the exit. Farther from safety.

Safety doesn’t exist
.

They navigated past a series of closed doors. Dean noted the doors, knew the possibility that armed Taliban were in each and every room. Like walking into a veritable lion’s den. Bound and cover delivered them to a door.

With Hawk, they breached.

Two conference tables stretched the length of the room. Parts strewn over the surface raised the hair on the back of his neck. He walked the length, staring down at what he, at first glance, thought had been a mess. Now, standing over the pieces, he saw a deliberate pattern. His gut tensed.