WAR: Disruption (31 page)

Wil cursed. “Max can’t hide from thermal imaging and he’s in no shape to fight off Dietrich’s trained soldiers.”

“Right.” Kris shuffled the papers on his desk. “If it’s any consolation, rumor has it that Dietrich wants Max alive. So it’s unlikely the helicopter will fire on Max and Emily unless it’s merely to disable their vehicle.”

“What the fuck? He still has the girl with him?”

“Yeah. But it’s not his fault. They’ve had a string of bad luck, and without an extraction team available to go after her, they’re still together. But hey, at least he hasn’t been arrested for kidnapping her.”

“Not funny.”

“Sorry.”

“All right.” Wil blew out a breath. “If Dietrich doesn’t want Max killed on sight, that at least buys us some time.” But he didn’t sound any happier than Kris felt.

“I’ve issued new orders to MacKay’s team,” Kris said. “Once they finish their current operation, I’m sending them after Max.”

“You run that by Azumah?”

“What do you think?” The head of WAR had a very narrow view of how he wanted his operators to be utilized. And rescuing a rogue element like Max wasn’t included.

Wil chuckled, and Kris’s heart lurched. He wanted to reach through the phone, grab the sound, and hold it close. Not even a full laugh, it still erased all the stress from the tough decisions he’d been forced to make today. He squeezed his eyes closed again. Christ. He really had it bad.

“Thanks, Kris. I’ll cover for you if Azumah causes trouble.” Being the U.S. military’s unofficial liaison with WAR gave Wil some leverage with Azumah.

“I don’t think it will come to that. As long as Max has the briefcase, I can justify sending men after him.” He’d do it regardless of the fallout. No matter what he said, Max was part of his team. Kris didn’t leave teammates behind.

Plus, Max was Wil’s brother. For that alone, Kris would do anything to help. Regardless of whether Max wanted it or Azumah approved it.

Not that Kris didn’t understand Azumah’s hesitation. He did. WAR didn’t have an extensive stable of soldiers. At least sixty percent of its membership consisted of concerned civilians like Rene—doctors, journalists, politicians, and financiers. People working to spread information and money that allowed citizens to oppose both the rebels and those members of their own governments who believed supporting the rebels would be of personal benefit.

Azumah had recruited a few disillusioned soldiers from the region’s official armies, but he had to be careful who he accepted into WAR’s ranks. Men without the proper attitude would only cause WAR to dissolve from the inside out. Soldiers looking to join needed more than just a passionate drive to wrest control from the rebels and regain freedom for their people. Potential members had to be willing to make sacrifices. Take orders. Work well with others. Understand that membership in WAR was not a route to personal wealth or power.

That was partly where Kris and his team came in. Not only did they carry out missions, but they also trained the incoming soldiers and molded them into a disciplined fighting force. Unfortunately, to date they only had about two companies of fully functional soldiers, and with the increased rebel presence their resources were spread thin.

“Thanks, Kris. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Tell me that you feel this attraction, too. Tell me I’m not alone.
The need for such a sign was so intense, Kris’s voice came out huskier than usual. “My pleasure.”

His other line rang.

“Sorry, Wil. I’ve got to take another call. I promise to check in the next time I hear from Max.”

“Thanks.”

Kris stared at the phone, feeling a sense of loss as he replaced the receiver. Shaking his head, his picked up the second line. “Hello?”

It was one of his newer lieutenants reporting on the successful drive to oust the rebels from one of the country’s regional capitals. After taking the man’s preliminary report, Kris hung up and changed the flag on the map from red to green. Finally, for the first time in weeks, WAR had a tangible success. That team would be busy for the next day or so rounding up the last stragglers of the rebel army, helping release and evacuate prisoners, and establishing order so that normal daily activities could resume, but their primary objective had been achieved.

The recent influx of foreign soldiers was having a noticeable effect on WAR’s ability to achieve its military goals. Some of the newcomers were probably only temporary allies—they needed WAR’s help in righting wrongs that had been done while serving in West Africa—but Kris didn’t care. As long as they stayed focused while carrying out an assigned mission, he’d exploit their abilities in order to achieve WAR’s objectives.

Right now, that meant stopping the rebels from gaining more power. Retrieving the weapon before Dietrich turned it over to the rebels’ buyer was one more victory in the attempt to stop West Africa from succumbing to anarchy.

The Republic of the Volta

West Africa

THE NEXT MORNING, Max held onto the stability handle as Emily expertly swerved the Jeep around another pothole. They’d made it without incident to the minor north-south road last night, then driven another half hour before pulling over to sleep. Kris had called at dawn, telling them to meet a contact of his at the next village. The man would help get them safely over the border.

Kris had also warned that sources claimed Dietrich had purchased two Mil Mi-8s with thermal imaging capabilities, which meant the jungle would no longer provide a secure hiding place. In return, Max had told Kris his suspicion that one of the helicopters had been shot down last night.

Now, after two hours of slow, yet uneventful driving in the morning drizzle with no sign of any helicopters, Max thought they might actually make it to safety.

Emily straightened the Jeep and gave it gas. The tires slipped a bit on the muddy surface, but she handled the skid like a pro. “You really—”

Max squinted at the side view mirror. He thought he’d seen… Yeah, there. “Shit.”

“What?”

“We’ve got a helicopter coming in from the southwest. Pull over.” The fact that the helicopter wasn’t coming from the direction of the capital, but from the crash site, didn’t bode well.

Emily did as he said, then glanced over at the jungle and bit her lip. “There’s not enough cover over the road to hide the Jeep, and the spaces between the trees are too narrow for us to drive into the jungle.”

“I know. The thermal imaging will detect the engine’s heat anyway.” Max grabbed the maps and other items from the console and the glove box, then reached for the door handle. “That’s why you’re going to hide in the jungle while I lead them away.”

“No! Max, I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.” Leaning heavily on his makeshift cane, he hobbled back to the cargo compartment. He stuffed everything essential into Emily’s pack, including the phone and its charger, then thrust it at her.

Emily clutched at his arm. “Max. What are you planning?”

He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her temple. Knowing that she cared for him made what he was about to do worth it. “Em, we can’t outrun them and I can’t move fast enough on foot to escape. One of us has to stay alive and free to get the briefcase to the underground movement. That’s you.” He stepped back and handed her the Mylar blanket from his pack. “Find a thick system of above ground roots. Hide deep inside. Get as close to the tree trunk as you can. Put your backpack in front of you, then the briefcase, and drape this blanket over you. It will help diminish your heat signature. This drizzle and fog will also reduce the thermal camera’s effectiveness. Once it’s quiet again, call Kristoff. He’ll send his contact down here to help you. Don’t come after me. I need you safe.”

She took a deep, shuddering inhale. “Max, please don’t ask me to do this. I—”

He took her chin in his fingers, turned her face toward him, and kissed her. The salt on her lips from her tears made his heart ache. “I—”

The sound of the helicopter grew louder.

Emily flinched.

“Quick, take the pistol.” Max snapped the holster to her belt. He pressed the briefcase into her arms. “Go. Now.”

He gave her one last, quick kiss, then turned her around and pushed her away from him. She threw a frightened look over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare die on me, Max Lansing. I love you.”

His heart soared. Strength flooded him. He met her eyes. “I love you, too. Now go!”

With one last glance, she turned and fled.

He watched for a second to make certain the jungle showed no sign of her passage, then climbed behind the wheel and drove north as fast as the Jeep and the muddy road allowed. Minutes later, the helicopter appeared over the nearest trees. It spotted him and turned to follow. When the helicopter fired at the road behind him, Max swerved to the left, slammed on the brakes, snagged his cane, and climbed out.

Hobbling as fast as he could, he pushed his way past wet branches into the jungle.

The helicopter arrived, its rotor wash ruffling the tops of the trees. It made one, two, three passes over the jungle before gunfire erupted back where he’d left the Jeep. Didn’t the shooters know no one was inside? Or were they simply destroying what they thought was his best chance at making a speedy escape?

The sound of the helicopter changed. It was hovering. Probably dropping soldiers.

Max continued limping along, choosing the most difficult path. No sense in making this easy for his pursuers. Still, it took longer than he’d expected before men burst out of the jungle behind him. “Halt!”

Max slowly turned around. Keeping one hand on his cane, he raised the other over his head. Now he understood what had taken them so long. These weren’t the ragtag, undisciplined rebel soldiers that had accompanied Ziegler at the way station. These were Dietrich’s private troops. Which meant they’d carefully canvassed every foot of the jungle between their entry point and this spot instead of rushing in haphazardly like the rebels.

A man stepped out from behind the row of soldiers.

Ah, shit.

“Hello, Max,” Ziegler said. His eyes roamed from Max’s upraised hand to the end of his cane jammed into the jungle soil.

Max tensed. Did Ziegler hate him enough to order him killed in front of all these witnesses, despite Dietrich’s order to the contrary? Because Dietrich would want Max held for questioning about the briefcase. Never mind settling their personal feud.

But Ziegler just gave an evil chuckle. “You have an annoying resiliency, Herr Lansing. After all we have done, you should be dead by now.”

Max raised his brow. “Yeah, well, can’t say that I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He made certain to show no fear and no pain when he met Ziegler’s icy blue eyes.

“I will never understand why Dietrich has been so patient with you. He should have ordered you killed months ago.”

“Like you tried to do at that way station, instead killing an innocent girl?”

Ziegler’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you were close enough to see that, were you? A pity you didn’t step forward to save her. It would have prevented so many other deaths.”

Max didn’t comment. He wouldn’t succumb to Ziegler’s mind games. He knew Ziegler wanted Max to be weakened by guilt over the deaths. But Rene, Kristoff, and Emily were right. Ziegler and his rebel buddies had done the killing. There’d been no warning. No chance for Max to give himself up. The deaths
weren’t
his fault.

So Max kept his head held high and his gaze locked with Ziegler’s. Finally, Ziegler signaled with his hand. “Take him.”

Max felt movement behind him. Before he could turn, something hard connected with his skull and the world went black.

EMILY LIFTED HER head from her bent knees. According to Max’s watch, it had been over an hour since he’d left her to play martyr. She’d heard shooting not long after he left and it had taken all her willpower not to go rushing after him. Yet Max had trusted her with the briefcase. She needed to prove to him that she wasn’t impulsive and emotional. That she could think strategically and follow directions.

Her decision to stay put had been justified when the helicopter began to fly back and forth over the area. Probably searching for her. Thankfully, the Mylar blanket seemed to have done the trick. Or maybe it was the thunderstorm that hit forty-five minutes ago. Whatever the reason, the helicopter passed right overhead. Then, fifteen minutes ago, the sounds of the helicopter had faded. The rain stopped and the jungle settled back into its usual rhythm. Insects buzzed. Birds called. A snake slithered past her foot, completely ignoring her. Trusting that the critters knew it was safe, she slowly unclenched her body and crawled out of her hiding place.

Grief, fear, and anger had long since hollowed her out, and she climbed to her feet with a blessed sense of numbness. So detached that it might have been a stranger brushing leaves and mud off the blanket, folding it and packing it in her rucksack. But the numbness vanished when she went to pick up the briefcase.

Max had given himself up to Dietrich’s men because of this damned case. He’d willingly allowed himself to be put in a position to be tortured again so she could get to safety.

Clamping her hands over her mouth to hold back the sound, Emily dropped to her knees and screamed in rage. When her throat was raw, she pounded her fists over and over against the unyielding surface of the briefcase. It wasn’t fair. She’d finally found a man who loved her. Who accepted her as she was and encouraged her to draw on her inner strength. Yet Dietrich might have already killed Max. Might—

A sharp bite of pain in her hands brought reality crashing back. She sat back on her heels and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She couldn’t help Max, couldn’t do
anything
if she damaged herself in a fit of temper.

A wave of exhaustion and despair hit her and she swayed.

No. Unacceptable. She had to stay strong. She had to get help for Max.

She grabbed a quick drink of water and some dried mango. Giving her rucksack the evil eye—if she never again had to feel its weight bearing down on her sore shoulders that would be fine with her—she lifted it and slipped her arms through the straps. Then she picked up the briefcase and headed toward the road. Once there, she checked that no one was around, then poked her head out and studied the road’s surface. Nope. She didn’t see any telltale human footprints in the mud to indicate that Dietrich’s soldiers had brought Max this way. There were just the usual footprints of small jungle creatures and birds and what she thought were the nearly washed away tire tracks of the Jeep.