Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Rescuing Pandora (Kindle Worlds Novella)

I
want
to thank Becky McGraw for being a genuinely nice person, especially to someone reaching out to make new friends. Your books are amazing and I am completely humbled by your willingness to take me under your wing and introduce me around.

A
nd to Susan Stoker
, whose Delta series inspired this book. I am thrilled to be a part of your world. It’s been such a fun detour from my ex-Marines, and the collaboration was fantastic. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

C
ameron Caffee slouched
in the shadows of a blasted out building on the far north side of Bagdad. Iraq in the summer was almost unbearable for anyone not used to it, but he’d been in-bedded in the city for a while now, so the heat just made every smell more potent.

Including himself.

He had eyes on a different building about a block down the street as he waited for the signal. Adjusting the green and white shemagh over his head, he was ready for this fucking mission to be over. He wanted to shave the scruffy beard off his face, have a beer, and eat a meal that didn’t involve lamb or curry. And he was long overdue for a shower. He might have to take steel wool to himself to get all the sand off.

“’Bout fucking time,” he muttered, as three candles lit up in a window on the top floor, from left to right and then extinguished from right to left.

With so much unrest in the capital, there were always roving bands of Iraqi men in the streets. Cam stepped out of the shadows and joined one such group as they talked and jostled each other. He kept close enough to look like he was a straggler of the group, but far enough back that he didn’t attract their notice. As they passed the alley north of the building he headed for, he slipped away and made his way to the rendezvous location, a smaller building attached to the one with the candles. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up and he knew he was in the sights of a sniper. He had a gut feeling about these things and it had saved his ass on more than one occasion. Lifting his hand to the door to knock, he flipped the bird at the overwatch and waited.

“Go away,” came the terse voice from within after two sharp raps on the wood.

“I’m on a mission from God,” Cam responded, keeping his voice low and almost free of irony.

“God’s busy,” was the reply as the door swung open.

Cam stepped into the dark room. Waiting for the door to close, he heard the snick of the lock and said, “That’s why he sent Delta.”

“Damn straight.” It was echoed five times from all the corners of the large room.

Light flared from a lantern and Cam lifted his hands out to show how empty they were, not that the guys pointing guns at him were jumpy. Just cautious. “I come in peace.”

Weapons lowered and a man stepped forward, “I’m Captain Bryson. And you’re the CIA contact.”

Cam nodded. “You can call me Phantom.”

Bryson cocked his head, but smiled as his men chuckled quietly. “I’m Ghost. This is Fletch, Hollywood, Blade, Truck, and Beatle.”

Cam looked around at the guys. All wearing the same shemaghs around their heads and covered in the long linen garb of the traditionalists. It covered their fatigues and weapons well. “Who’s your guy on overwatch?”

Ghost grinned, “That’s Coach. He said you let him know you spotted him.”

Cam shared the grin, “Tell him he’s good; I didn’t spot him, but I felt the scope on my back.” Glancing at his watch he saw it was another ten minutes until the real meeting would take place. “The asset should be here soon.”

“Good. Fill us in.”

The guys gathered around, alert but relaxed. Whoever Coach was, he was in a good location to see who approached, and they clearly trusted each other. Cam was still tense; he’d been working on this mission for a while now, and if everything went according to plan, they’d have the location of a couple of secret ISIS bases. Both housing high profile leaders. He wanted this to end.

“Our intel is coming from a government official with ties to the terrorist organization. He’s willing to flip for us—if—we get him, his wife, and kid out of the country.”

“Sounds like an easy snatch and grab,” the one they called Fletch said.

Cam shrugged. “These things are never as easy as the brass says they will, you know that. That’s why I wanted one more meeting with this guy. He’s supposed to bring the family as a good faith move, and if he does, we’ll take them now. If not, then I damn well want to know why.”

“He doesn’t know we’re here?” Ghost asked.

Cam shook his head. “Guy’s getting cagey and I didn’t want to spook him any more than necessary. And if he balks, we take him, even if he’s alone. I want the location of those bases.”

“What about the wife and kid?”

His heart was stone cold when it came to anything but his own agenda; it had been for five years now. Cam was out to eradicate every ISIS member from the gene pool. He knew his face must have changed because he saw a couple of the guy’s hands tighten fractionally on their lowered weapons.

“We take him,” he repeated. His voice was soft and devoid of emotion. It’s how he lived now, without emotion, and he was fine with that. He forcefully closed his mind to anything that might happen to the wife and kid. It was a hard land. “My decision, I’ll shoulder the consequences.”

“Your call, boss.” That was from Ghost, who gave him a searching look. “Have we met up before? You look familiar.”

Cam stared at the man for a moment and shook his head. “Nope, we’ve never met.”
In person
, he thought to himself, because he was familiar with this Delta team. They’d been instrumental in recovering hostages in Egypt not that long ago. Cam kept up with Special Ops, since he never knew when he’d need to call them in, and he’d seen the files on Ghost and his crew. In fact, he requested this particular squadron, although he’d never tell them that.

Ghost shrugged and let it go. Then his eyes unfocused as he listened. “Someone’s coming. Coach thinks it’s a woman, covered in a burka.” He touched his throat lightly through the scarf hiding his mic. “If she pulls any kind of weapon, take her out.”

“I’ll step into that smaller room,” Cam said, nodding at the open doorway.

“Worried you’ll scare the woman?” Truck asked.

There was a challenge there, but Cam was more than happy to push back. “You might want to come with me, Gorgeous. She might keel over if she gets a look at that mug.” Then he slipped into the other room. He didn’t want too many people knowing his face. He’d been in country long enough to have a rabbit warren of safe houses, but he didn’t show his face often.

He’d been secretive too long. Once the CIA had you, even your secrets had secrets.

P
andora Jones felt
the sweat trickle down her back, and it had nothing to do with the heat of Iraq. The burka she wore covered her from head to toe and if she kept her eyes downcast, she looked like any other traditional woman. However, she was taking a risk being out on her own like this, and gang rape wasn’t on her bucket list. It was terrifying being out alone, without protection of any kind. Pandora had no weapon, no resources available if something happened. She hadn’t been able to eat at all, and with the nerves and adrenaline, she felt like she was either going to throw up or pass out. Maybe both.

So she moved fast and kept to the shadows, her black robes blending in perfectly. It was just after Maghrib—sunset prayer—so she had some time to get back before evening prayer. She would be missed and she couldn’t afford that. Then this whole thing would be for nothing.

And damn Mohammed for putting them both in this position. If only she had gone to the Embassy—but she couldn’t leave him to die. He’d done so much for her that there was no way she could willingly leave him. So, instead, she skulked through the rubble of bombed out buildings to meet someone from the CIA. If she was caught…

She shivered in the heat, her mind shying away from that thought.

The prickling feeling of being watched grew stronger the closer she got to the rendezvous point. Glancing around, she knew she wasn’t followed, but she couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes on her as she reached the door. She held both hands out, showing she had nothing in her hands and gave a specific series of raps on the wood. It was the signal Mohammed made her practice.

The door opened and she was pulled inside.

“أنا متزوج,” she said, panic making her voice low and husky. She repeated the phrase in Persian, in case the Arabic wasn’t clear. She couldn’t see anything and saying she was married was the only thing she could think of. She followed up with, “Please, don’t hurt me,” in both languages, but no one grabbed at her or harmed her, so she closed her mouth.

Light flared in the room and Pandora was surrounded by large men with even larger guns pointed at her. It should have scared the pants off of her, but she couldn’t help the grin. “Oh, thank God,” she said in English. “You guys have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“You’re American,” said the leader. At least she thought he was the leader. And she was about to reply when another voice hit her. A voice she only heard in her dreams now. His voice.

“Pandora?”

Spinning, the room fell away as she locked eyes on what could only be a figment of her overtired, overanxious brain. She shook her head; it couldn’t be right. Moving closer, she couldn’t see anything of his face, covered the way it was. But she had to see his eyes.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. The other men faded as the man in front of her lingered in the doorway of the room he’d been in, a green and white shemagh wrapped around his head. He blinked as if she too were a specter. And there they were—gray wolf eyes. So light they’d give him away in any life.

“Take off that veil,” he commanded.

“What the hell’s going on?” one of the soldiers questioned, but was silenced. Pandora didn’t even acknowledge the question.

“Cam?” It took everything in her to say the name. She shook her head, trying in vain to clear his image from her head. It couldn’t be him; it just couldn’t be. It was just a coincidence that the man standing in front of her had the same gray eyes. The same height, the same build—only thinner.

He ripped the cloth from his head, completely uncovering his face. His black hair was longer, shaggier. And the beard was full and just as dark in color, but it was the scar that bisected his left eyebrow that did it. She knew where that scar had come from. A childhood accident that almost cost him the eye.

“Goddamn it, take off the veil,” he commanded again, but he didn’t reach for her or move closer. As if he were just as afraid as she was.

She swayed as spots danced in front of her eyes. Before her brain could process the movement, her hand flashed out and slapped him full on the face. The crack was louder than if one of the soldiers had fired his weapon. It startled her and her knees buckled.

“How dare you be alive,” she whispered, as the dark closed in. Her eyes closed and everything inside her rebelled. This was a bad dream. She fought to stay conscious, but her body had other ideas. She went down, no longer caring about staying conscious.

She wanted to savor the torture of seeing Cameron Caffee—alive. Even if her brain was playing a cruel joke on her.

“
S
omeone want
to tell me what the fuck just happened?” Fletch muttered to the quiet room.

Cam was on his knees, having caught the woman in his arms when she passed out. He ignored the men and the eruption of questions. His hand shook as he untangled it from her robes and brought it to her face. It was her, it had to be, but he wasn’t going to fully believe it until he saw her face. Unhooking the veil, he peeled it back and sucked in a breath. Her alabaster skin was sun kissed and she had fine lines around her mouth and eyes that hadn’t been there five years earlier.

Reverently, he pulled the headdress off and revealed a flame colored braid wrapped and pinned to her head. “Jesus,” he whispered and pulled her limp body into his chest. His face still stung from the slap, but he welcomed it because he knew this was real and not some fantasy that haunted his sleep.

Ghost knelt down and put his hand out on Cam’s shoulder. “Hey man, wanna fill us in on what just happened here? And I hate to rush you, but we’ve got a time table to keep.”

Cam nodded, but the lump in his throat wasn’t cleared enough for speech. He realized he’d been rocking Pandora in his arms. Disbelief warred with reality. “She died five years ago in a car bombing outside Kabul.”

“Who is she?”

Cam stared up into the face of the man asking him questions that he didn’t know quite how to answer. “She’s my wife.”

“Oh, shit,” Blade said. “You didn’t know she was alive?”

Cam shook his head. Staring down into the gorgeous face of his wife, he said more to himself, “I was on a mission that went to shit out in some goat herder village. She’d been told I was dead the day before.”

Ghost squeezed his shoulder. “Code name Phantom. Oh hell, man. I knew I recognized you.”

Truck looked at his watch. “We don’t have time for this.”

Cam wasn’t going to let go of Pandora; he didn’t give a shit what time it was. All his plans were shot to hell, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t even going to wonder about his asset. Whatever happened to Mohammed Al’Hadir, wasn’t his business any longer. He was prepared in this moment to take Pandora and jump the next military transport back to the states. CIA and ISIS be damned. And then Ghost had to go and ruin it.

“You’re Cameron Caffee, former Delta. Your whole team was killed in Operation Talon.”

“Clearly, there’s more than one ghost in this room,” Cam answered, his voice thick, but not denying the truth.

He heard a couple murmurs from the guys. The operation was a success, except for the fact that almost his entire team was killed when it was uncovered that they had a traitor in the government. It was only known by key officials and the other Delta teams, so these guys would have heard about it. Only three of them made it out “alive” and when they were debriefed, they realized that the world believed they were all dead and, for reasons unclear at that time, they needed to stay dead. With nothing left to live for, and shrapnel ending his career in Delta, the CIA was the perfect place to be.

And Iraq was the perfect place to die, if necessary.

“What was she saying when we pulled her inside the room?”

Cam’s brow furrowed, because what she said didn’t really make sense, unless she was just using it to ward off unwanted advances. “She was saying that she was married.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking Al’Hadir, his
wife
, and his child?”

Cam’s arms tightened around Pandora, feeling her begin to stir in his arms. Ghost’s question caused an instant reaction and guttural growl that came up from the depths of his soul.

“Whoa, Phantom. I get it. She’s clearly your woman,” Ghost said, backing away a couple of steps. “We’ll do whatever you need us to do, and we’ll protect her like she was one of ours. But we have a limited amount of time here and the game has changed.”

Cam knew that and knew the stakes. As much as he didn’t want some of the answers to the questions stinging his brain like angry bees, he needed to know. And the team he’d called in needed those answers as well. “Pan, honey, I need you to wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered and she moaned as if she were in pain. But then her eyes opened, glazed but beautiful. The smiled she gave him melted him. “Kiss me, Cam.”

Not caring about the audience and unable to resist that come-hither voice, he leaned down and kissed Pandora with all the pent up passion in his heart. Her mouth opened and her tongue darted out to meet his. It was as hot as the surrounding desert, and he was vaguely aware of a couple of “oh, hells” as the Deltas all turned away.

There, on the floor of an abandoned house, surrounded by hostiles, Cam found his will to live. He’d been floundering for five long years, abstaining from women and life, living only for the revenge he could get by taking out ISIS bases and agents. Revenge, that melted away as his wife responded to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him just as hard as he kissed her.

A throat cleared.

“Piss off,” Cam growled, pulling away from Pandora for only a moment. But that moment broke the spell. Her eyes cleared and widened in panic.

“Oh, God,” she said. “You’re really alive.”

“
I
watched
your family bury you,” Cam replied.

Pandora sat up and then got to her knees. Not able to stop herself, she reached out and touched the face of her dead husband. The man she loved more than her life, and the man she’d mourned for five long years. “How is this possible?”

“We’ll have plenty of time to discuss that later, but for now, we need to get out of here.” Cam got to his feet and pulled her up as well.

She couldn’t stop staring at him, but what he said stopped her cold. “I have to get back. Oh, Jesus, how long was I out?”

“Only about five minutes.”

Searching around the floor, Pandora found the scarf that she used to wrap her head and cover her face. Scooping it up, she began to swiftly re-cover herself. “I was supposed to deliver the message that Mohammed is being watched and cannot make the meeting at this time. His cousin is an evil bastard and the one who’s a terrorist. He’s been in our home for a week now, but I was able to slip away.”

“I can’t let you go back,” Cam said. His throat constricted at the words he wanted to say. He wanted to demand she leave with him and not return to danger—or another man.

“I have to, Cam.”

Ghost stepped into their intense eye battle. “Ma’am, if you’re being watched, how will you get back into your dwelling?”

Pandora looked into the handsome face of the soldier talking. Then she really looked at the large, imposing men surrounding her. They were all good looking, even the huge one in the corner with the scowl on his face. There was something about them all. Something she recognized about the way they were, from her time with Cam’s team. “Oh, geez, you’re all Delta, aren’t you? It’s like they have hot guy requirements.” She pointed at the big one that rolled his eyes. “Yeah, even you, Scowly. You got the scary sexy thing going on.”

“Why is she talking about our looks?” Ghost asked. He sounded amused.

“She’s stalling,” Cam said, still grim.

Damn, he still knew her. But she wasn’t surprised, because she remembered every detail of their time together. Of him. Cam was the toughest, hottest, most romantic soldier she’d ever met. “If you do this right, then you’ll be able to get us out and take Aziz. He’s the cousin.”

From the pocket sewed into her robes, Pandora pulled out a detailed map of the home she occupied with Mohammed. Laying it out on the small table in the room, the men gathered around. She talked them through the floor plan and gave them all the information on Aziz Kufi, plus a description.

“We don’t have his name in our database as a high ranking member of ISIS or as a sympathizer,” Ghost said.

Pandora shook her head, “You wouldn’t. He’s not after the glory or the media attention. He’s pure evil. He wants the death and destruction that goes along with terrorism.” He was the lowest of men in her opinion and it made her skin crawl being in the same room with him. His eyes were so deeply brown they reminded her of shark eyes: dead looking, but scary. And when he looked at her—she shivered.

“His family is as wealthy as Mohammed’s, so he’s able to fund those bases you want to find. And, working for the government, he’s able to hide his activities while keeping tabs on the American government.” Her voice filled with disgust as she continued. “He’s quite clever.”

“We’ll get him out, but you need to stay with us. Stay safe,” Cam said.

He didn’t understand and she was running out of time. “I’m not leaving my son, Cam. If something goes wrong and you can’t get us, he’d be alone, and they’ll kill him. I won’t do that.” She watched her words hit him like physical blows. The micro expressions on his face showed anger, regret, and then morphed into determination.

With nothing more to say, she turned away from him and headed for the door. “I have to be back before Isha,” she paused and looked around at all the men, “that’s evening prayer. Everyone will be asleep a couple of hours after that. Be safe.” Then she slipped out before she could do something stupid like throw herself into Cam’s arms and kiss him again.

It was the strangest feeling. To the world, she was long dead. Mourned and forgotten by old friends. Her parents would still think of her, and she’d thought about contacting them time and again, but her life was complicated now. More complicated than anyone knew, and having her resurface but not be able to come home would have caused more grief as well as emotional torture. Better to stay dead for the time being. The only thing that gave her joy in this life was her son. He was her world, and there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect him.

If that included giving up the man she loved, for the second time, then she was prepared to do that. She just prayed to God that it wouldn’t come to that. And the fact that she had two husbands would be sorted out—if they lived through this. As she scurried like a terrified mouse through the city, she couldn’t help but feel eyes on her again. She was being followed, probably by one of the guys or even Cam. She revised her prayer. Pandora knew God had a special place in his heart for heroes. So, as she slipped into the place she had called home for the last five years, she prayed for Delta. Because if anyone could get them out of this alive, it was them.

A
ziz Kufi watched
Pandora slip into the house. Now where had she gone all by herself? Mohammed allowed the woman too much freedom, even allowing her head to remain uncovered in the home. It was blasphemous and, Aziz reasoned, why he couldn’t stop from thinking of her.

He’d wanted her from the first time he’d been introduced by his cousin. Those eyes of hers were so different than what he was used to. And that hair—like flames dancing when she let it loose from the braid. Only a husband should ever see a woman like that. But he’d known his cousin was soft, unfit for the new world that was coming. Aziz had no qualms about killing him when the time was right, and then he’d have the woman. Over and over again, until he’d exorcised her out of his system.

The child would be given to one of the barren wives at one of the camps. She could raise him to be a proper soldier for the holy war, instead of the spoiled, meek child he was now. Aziz shook his head. He’d told Mohammed over and over that Pandora should be beaten for her unsolicited opinions and immoral ways. But his older cousin refused, seemingly delighted by anything the woman did.

It was good that he’d come to live for a short time with his cousin. When he took over Mohammed’s position, he’d have access to more sensitive information to pass along to his brothers in war. And that time was now. He was tired of waiting.

Heading down the second staircase, he saw the child run into the kitchen. “Come here, child. Come sit with me for a moment.”