Raptor 6 (42 page)

Zahrah was there again, arms around his shoulder as she slowed his descent.

“I guess I’m getting old.” Dean swallowed again, this time his throat a little less dry as he looked up at her. “You … you did good.” He folded himself against the wall.

Concern smoothed from her face, replaced by a shaky smile teasing the edges of her lips. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked down at him.

He closed his eyes. “Thanks.” Relaxed, still feeling the buzz zipping through his veins.

“For what? I did nothing.”

“Yeah.” Dean tried to smile. “You didn’t cry, didn’t show them they were right.”

Sub-base Schwarzburg, Camp Marmal
Mazar-e Sharif, Balkh Province

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Sajjan Takkar, his face sheer granite, betrayed nothing with his dark eyes. “It was necessary.”

Lance tossed his phone on the desk in the semidarkened office. Only the hall light and a small desk lamp provided illumination. With a heavy exhale, he went for the fridge. “Do you realize the damage you did?”

“On the contrary,” Takkar said, the epitome of calmness and confidence. “If I had not secured your safety, far greater damage would’ve resulted. I know you do not like that I intervened, but I could not let an asset like you die when I had the means and power to stop it.”

“Asset? I’m not
your
asset—you’re my spook!”

“I am owned by no government.” Pride glinted in the man’s eyes. “I did not say you are
my
asset.”

“What you mean is that I can still be of benefit to you.”

Takkar said nothing. He didn’t have to. Lance had no misconceptions about where power truly existed. Who held the better hand. Lance popped the top of a Dr Pepper and took a greedy slurp, savoring the fizzle that trickled across his tongue. “Half the time, I’m not sure if you’re working me or I’m working you.”

“We are working. Together. For the mutual good.”

Hiking a leg over the edge of his desk, he sighed. “I’m not going to kid you, Sajjan. I need that
mutual good
to swing in my favor in a really big way. I need them back—Watters and Zarrick’s daughter.”

Takkar turned toward the door. “I have done what I can.”

Lance slammed the can on the desk. “What in Sam Hill does that mean?”

“It would be cliché to say you have no idea what you are dealing with.” Olive skin and brown eyes seemed to grow darker. “But it is true. The players on this chessboard are”—he shook his head, concern digging into the practiced facade of indifference—“I have not seen a game this big in a long time.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Though Lance tried to smile, he wavered and slipped beneath the surface of his exhaustion.

“Do not think you can throw brute force at this one and win, old friend. Your enemy in this game is experienced and lethal. They are not simply one step ahead. Not even two or three. They are a dozen. They know your every move. They know your countermoves. They have studied you. They have prepared for you.”

Lance muttered a curse and slumped into the chair beside Takkar. “You sure know a lot about this ‘they’ you keep referring to.”

Hands in his pant pockets, Takkar said nothing.

Defeat stunk up his office like a dead skunk. “What are you saying—give up? Because I’ll tell you—that’s not going to happen. I’m not leaving my man out there, and I’m sure not leaving Zahrah Zarrick for them to manipulate so they can systematically take down our secure network.”

Takkar remained an immovable, impenetrable mountain of mystery.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lance growled. Bit back another curse. “I’ve never seen you lay down your weapon and walk away like this.”

“I have laid down nothing but the truth. The fight … is not only at your doorstep. It has invaded your base, your command center, your men.”

“Tell me something I don’t know!”

Takkar inclined his head in cockeyed way. “Very well. Do not think this is something you can solve quickly. Do not think even if you get them back, that this will be stopped.”

Lance frowned.

“This operation—I’ve been reading the underpinnings of it for years. Whoever is behind this—and I would tell you if I knew—”

“You know who
they
are, but you stand there and lie to me, say you don’t know.”

Anger sparked in the dark eyes that always kept Lance wondering if the guy had switched sides. “It is not hard to finger the subordinates, the ones who will take the fall. They will be hard to find, but you
will
find them.” Meaning flashed through his irises. “But the top player, the one driving this?” He gave a grave shake of his head. “I am not convinced he will ever be found.”

“Not good enough. We have to kill this at the source or we remain compromised and vulnerable.”

“The horseman of your apocalypse is headless, unidentifiable.”

Lance tugged at his collar and straightened his tie, fidgeting against the omen cast by Sajjan Takkar. And as he did, something ominous wormed into Lance’s mind. “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute—
invaded my base? The command center?
”

Coldness spilled into Lance’s gut, and it wasn’t his Dr Pepper this time. He swiped a hand across his brow, his mind racing. He traced the thoughts across the vinyl, across the chairs, his desk. “Mother of God, help us!” Dread replaced his rage. “We have a mole.”

Somewhere in Afghanistan
02 July

M
y father always told me I was stronger than any son he could’ve had.” Zahrah arched her back, stretching aching muscles and straining to shake off the gloom hugging the shadows. “I’m not convinced.”

“I am.” Dean had been an impenetrable rock since the guards dumped him in here three days ago. They’d beaten him and used electroshock, and his determination, his focus, never wavered.

She sat close to him, hoping, praying she could siphon strength and courage from the Special Forces warrior. They were almost shoulder to shoulder against the cold stone wall. He with his legs bent and arms over his knees. She with her legs crossed as she held the chunk of bread the guards had tossed in minutes ago. She lifted it to her mouth—

“Hey.” Dean reached over, took the bread, and tore it in half. Then in fourths. “Ration it. They aren’t dependable with sustenance, and as we hold out, they will too.”

Eyeing the pieces he’d returned to her hands, Zahrah thought of Jesus. If He could feed the five thousand, surely He could feed Dean and her. And maybe … maybe that’s what he’d done by having Dean come.

“How … how do you do it?”

He shifted his head a bit so he could look at her. “Do what?”

Her gaze traced the walls, the dirt, the metal door. “Keep your wits. Stay in control.” When he didn’t answer, only closed his eyes, Zahrah felt foolish for asking. He sat there as if waiting in the chow line. He’d been trained. That was the answer. “You make it look easy. I’ve been here a week longer, watching them kill those men, people I didn’t even know, and I can’t shake it. Then the way you were able to focus when they strapped you to that bed—”

“Hey.” Dean’s head came off the wall and he turned to her, his features as stern as his tone. “Don’t do that.”

Confusion darted through her.

“Don’t doubt yourself—you’re right. You’ve been here longer, but I’ve also been a prisoner longer.”

Zahrah scowled. “You’ve only been here—”

“Ten years ago, I was held for six weeks with my unit—what was left of my unit.” He shifted as if saying that caused him pain. “We were ambushed. Death by IED.”

“I–I’m sorry.” And yet, she wasn’t. That he survived the experience gave her even more hope. It meant he’d
been there, done that
. He put his training to use, and it’d worked for him. “How—?” She looked at the bread again. No, it wouldn’t be right to ask that.

“It’s okay. You want hope,” he said. “We need every lifeline we can dig up in here since they have no rules of engagement. They don’t fight fair.” Dean nodded. “I was newb, barely wet behind the ears and on my first deployment.”

“So, you weren’t Special Forces then?”

He grunt-laughed and shook his head. “Signed up at seventeen, chomping at the bit to get away—” His lips snapped into a fine line. He looked to the side. Then back to where she laid out the bread crumbs in her lap on the long tunic. “It was an out, joining the Army. I had no goals of heroism or good deeds. The only good I wanted to do was for myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Joining was an escape.”

The question hung on the tip of her tongue, but Zahrah had the incredible feeling of standing on sacred ground—that piece of information he’d bit down on was something he didn’t talk about. At least, that was her best guess. But she wanted to know. “Escape from what?”

Another grunt-laugh. He sat there for a while then finally turned to her. Caught the back of her neck and tugged her close, so his mouth was almost on her ear. A tickle skidded down her neck and spine as he whispered, “They’re listening in, but they know everything, Z. They know how you feel about me and that I’m here to get you out. They’re going to use that against us. In every way possible.”

Zahrah swallowed—hard.

“We need to play their game, but only better.” He leaned back, his nose almost touching her as those green-flecked eyes searched hers. “One way or another, we’ll get you out.”

She took a shuddering breath and nodded.

“No matter how bad things look, do not lose hope.”

A smile she couldn’t stop seeped through her, soaking her weary muscles and heart. “I can’t lose hope—God sent you.”

“Yeah?” Dean snorted. “Just wait. You’ll get to where you feel like you’ve lost everything.”

She smiled bigger. “They can never take God from me—”

With a half shake of his head, Dean let out a huff and dropped back against the wall.

“What? What was that?”

“Nothing.” He reached over and took her hand. A thrill raced through Zahrah as she looked at their intertwined fingers. “You’re undauntable.”

“I’m not sure that’s a word.”

“It should be—and right next to the definition is your picture with that chocolate hair, sans hijab.”

Zahrah’s hand went to her hair before she could stop it.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“So you do know how to flirt.”

Something zipped through Dean’s face, but he looked away just as fast.

“You know, I can’t figure out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing you’re here.”

This time, he looked offended.

She laughed. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad. I wouldn’t want any other hero with me right now.”

“I’m not a hero. I’m a sheepdog.”

She smiled. “Some people are sheep, some are wolves, and then—”

“There’s sheepdogs.” He almost cracked a smile. “Hooah.”

“My dad loved that.” Why was he holding her hand? He’d never made a move like that before. “You’re a lot like him.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Of course.” And then without warning, she felt very shy. “He’s the best man I know.”

Voices drew close to the cell.

Like lightning, Dean was on his feet. He leapt to the corner, back to the wall, shoulder pointing to the door as it groaned open.

A guard stepped in, weapon lazily held in front of him.

Breath stuck in her throat, Zahrah froze.

Dean threw a hard right, followed with his left and snatched the weapon from the guard just as Dean’s fist connected with his jaw. The guard spun and stumbled. With the butt of the weapon, Dean slammed it into the guard’s face. His neck snapped back.

Another guard entered.

“Behind!” Zahrah yelped.

Angling, Dean dropped and swung his leg back. Caught the second guard’s foot. He flipped him. Dean pounced, punching the guard. Again. Again. He’d moved so fast. Neutralized the guards in seconds. Hope surged. She might actually survive. Dean knew what he was doing. He kept his fight, his head in the game.

Dean’s face, alight with the fight, jerked to her. He held out a hand. “C’m—”

Zahrah took a step.

A board swung out of nowhere. Smacked into the back of Dean’s head. He pitched forward. Went to his knees. But didn’t go down. Not all the way. He groaned and shook his head, apparently trying to shrug off the daze.