Six
SIX
H OURS AFTER THE boy had been airlifted to the hospital, Maya stood talking to one of her airmen as the publicity stunt finally started to wrap up. The SF team and the PJs had all packed up their gear in anticipation of their trip back to base. By all accounts, the MEDCAP had been a huge success. That was great, but to Maya, the best thing about the whole day was when Jackson had helped save that kid’s life by diagnosing him and getting him evacuated to base.
All day long there’d been a steady trickle of patients coming by to see one of the “doctors,” Cam and Jackson. Most of them were women and children or old men, and a large percentage had come from neighboring villages, some many difficult miles away. Word traveled surprisingly fast out here among the people. Another reason why she and the others had to stay vigilant. There’d been no incidents of any kind at the security checkpoints, and keeping the Secretary of Defense’s arrival a secret to everyone but the higher-ups made the entire event that much more secure.
Haversham was far off to her right next to a cluster of mud-and-brick houses, wrapping up some photo ops with a small group of local children who were making good use of the toys the PJs had brought along. She hoped he was truly interested in them and what they were playing with, rather than just pretending to be for the cameras’ sake. She hated two-facedness in general, but especially in leaders and officials who were supposed to represent and look out for the best interests of the people they served. If someone was tasked with protecting others, then said person better damn well take it seriously. Including the Sec Def.
“Helos are inbound. ETA thirty-five minutes, Lieutenant,” an army major said over her headset.
“Roger that.” Since she hadn’t slept much last night, she was actually looking forward to getting back to Bagram and crawling into her snug little bunk between Erin’s and Honor’s. It also meant she’d get a reprieve from having to see Jackson again. All day long, part of her had been aware of him, her subconscious pinpointing exactly where he was at any given time. Right now he was back inside his tent, packing up all his gear and supplies.
It was best for both of them if they simply avoided each other, but part of her still wanted to be near him. He had a calm, confident energy that drew her in. In his presence she now felt admired, rather than annoyed. Deliciously feminine, and maybe even beautiful. She’d never felt that way before. She liked it too much for her own good.
Maya shifted her grip on her weapon and turned her attention back to what was happening around her. Everyone seemed to be relaxed, talking among themselves or watching Haversham with the kids. The Sec Def’s protective detail remained at ease but watchful near the LZ, where the inbound helos would touch down. The SF team brought in for the MEDCAP was near them, the lieutenant and team sergeant talking to a couple of village elders, and she spotted a few Afghan troops mixed in among them. They must have arrived only recently because she hadn’t noticed them before. No one seemed to be paying them much attention.
“Hey, LT, we outta here soon?” one of her airmen called out to her left, at his post beyond Jackson’s tent.
“That’s affirm,” she called back. “Our ride should be here within the next twenty-five minutes.” Looked like there was nothing more for them to do here anyhow. Haversham’s security detail had things under control, and there were only local civilians remaining.
The words were barely out of her mouth when a sudden explosion rocked the ground behind her. She crouched and whipped around in time to see the small fireball erupt into the air less than a hundred yards down the hill from the designated LZ.
“Report,” she said tersely into her mic. The civilians around her were all shouting, rushing their terrified children back into their primitive dwellings.
“Didn’t see anything, LT,” one of her airmen replied. The others reported the same.
There was nothing moving on the side of that hill and no one moving on the ridges above them that Maya could detect. That explosion was too big for an RPG strike. Someone had to have planted explosives there ahead of time. Bastardos.
“Probably remote detonated. Do a perimeter search and report back to me.” Whoever had blown that thing up was close by, and there might be others. Maya moved closer to the edge of the steep hill. Behind her, soldiers rushed into motion, others remaining hunkered down in defensive positions around the village, scanning the hills for further threats. Jackson had come out of his tent to stand beside Cam, taking in the situation, weapon at the ready.
She glanced back at the Sec Def’s security detail, already rushing to surround him while he walked quickly toward them with a calm expression that belied the tense situation. He was halfway to them when one of the SF troops shouted something and went to one knee, bringing his weapon up. The security detail whirled to face the threat. She did the same, her gaze landing on some newly arrived ANA troops near the LZ.
They were all in the middle of pulling masks up over the lower part of their faces.
Her stomach dropped. Everything went into slo-mo. Her gaze instantly flew to their hands as they raised their weapons, and there was no doubt who their target was.
“Ambush!” She shouted the frantic warning into her mic and raised her own rifle to return fire, but it was too late. The bastards had already taken aim and fired at the Sec Def’s security detail, the sheer volume of fire dropping three of the five men before they fully realized what was happening. The remaining two had reached the Secretary and thrown themselves on top of him, acting as a living shield.
Chaos erupted. More insurgents dressed in Afghan army uniforms rushed at them, converging from different directions. The assholes had been biding their time, waiting for just the right moment to strike when everyone’s guard was relaxed.
The air was alive with screams and shouts, the crack of rifle fire. Maya took aim and squeezed the trigger in a double tap, hitting one of the insurgents in the back. He went down with a cry and rolled over, aiming his rifle in her direction despite the debilitating wounds. A bullet zinged past her shoulder, close enough for her to hear it sizzle through the air.
She took aim, applying pressure to the trigger when another larger explosion rent the air, much closer this time. Maya felt the concussion deep in her chest, her bones vibrating like a tuning fork. The powerful shock wave rippled through the ground like an earthquake, knocking her feet out from under her. Her helmet and back slammed into the hard earth with enough force to knock the breath out of her.
Struggling up on to her elbows, she blinked and shook her head to clear it, gasping for air. From the corner of her eye she saw Jackson running toward her flat out, an expression of naked fear on his face, his mouth open as he screamed a warning at her.
His weapon was gone. It took a moment for his words to register over the roar in her ears.
“Maya, run!”
Reading the urgency in his gaze, she whipped her head around. Two men were rushing straight at her, rifles aimed. They wore ANA uniforms and had masks covering the lower parts of their faces. She instinctively reached for her M4, now twisted behind her.
No time. Her hands flashed down to where her sidearm was strapped to her thigh. They were only steps away. The pistol’s weight barely registered as she grabbed it. It didn’t even clear the holster before they caught her.
One hit her in a flying tackle. He drove her back into the ground with a bone-jarring thud that rattled her teeth. His hands were locked around her wrists. He twisted the weapon out of her grip. A low snarl erupted from her. She fought him, arching her body with all her strength to throw him off. He didn’t budge, and increased the force of his grip on her wrists.
Her fingers were already going numb but she didn’t let go. She could not relinquish her weapon. The man straddling her was too strong to dislodge. She snapped her head forward to bash him in the face with her helmet and caught his shoulder instead. He cursed something at her and held her wrists, while the other man grabbed her web gear and flipped her over, the kicks and punches she dealt having little effect.
She lashed out blindly with her boots in an attempt to break free. One of them slammed the butt of their rifle into the right side of her back, just below her shoulder blade. The force of the impact drove right through the plate in her body armor. Something cracked.
She went down with a soundless scream, white-hot pain sweeping through her, stealing her breath. Spots danced before her eyes. For a long, frozen moment she couldn’t breathe. She fought to stay conscious. Her fingers slipped around the pistol grip. They wrenched it from her grasp.
No! The agonized scream of denial echoed in her head.
Hard hands flipped her over roughly. Her injured ribs hit the ground, sending another searing shock of pain through her. Through the haze of agony and fear, she realized something.
They could have killed her easily a handful of times by now. Instead they’d disarmed her, were pinning her down. Because they wanted to take her prisoner.
Rage and terror sent her into pure survival mode. She would not be taken. She would not be a victim. Not ever again.
Maya screamed in rage and twisted hard, despite the bright stabs of pain in her back, managing to dislodge one of her attackers. She flipped on to her hands and knees and had almost made it to her feet when the other knocked her down. She brought her knees up and slammed her feet into his chest, knocking him back a step.
The initial wave of strength from the adrenaline rush was still driving her survival instinct, but it wouldn’t last. The pain was so bad she didn’t get to her feet in time. One man grabbed her upper arm, narrowly avoiding the elbow she threw at his throat, and caught both wrists behind her back, wrenching upward.
She caught a glimpse of Jackson through the panicked stampede of civilians racing past him. He was down, lying on his side facing away from her, rolling over with difficulty. Had they shot him? No. Not Jackson. Rage and sadness pulsed through her, fueling her strength to fight.
The man struggling to subdue her didn’t let up with his grip. ?Cabrón! She yanked at the hands holding her prisoner, thrashed with all her might. The man gave an angry grunt and hauled her up against him, so close she could smell the cloying stench of his body odor.
Panting, blinded by sweat and dust, Maya dropped to her knees in a last-ditch effort to break free. Instead of releasing her, he followed her down, rapidly securing her arms behind her. A screech of pure fury ripped free when one of them threw a hood over her head, enveloping her in blackness. She wrenched her head from side to side, to no avail.
The dark intensified the terror slithering inside her, made it a living, breathing thing until she all but choked on it. Her heart galloped, pounding against her ribs. A wave of nausea rolled in her gut. She could not let them take her. Her best chance of escape was now. Maybe her only chance. With her strength dwindling and her body immobilized, she was left to face the terrible realization that she was powerless.
Gathering her strength for one last defiant bid for freedom, she bucked and then gasped at a hot sting in the side of her neck. A needle.
No , por favor , no!
The sedative burned as it spread through her bloodstream, paralyzing her muscles. The pain in her ribs began to recede into the background. Her head lolled, eyelids drooping, too heavy to force open. She fought it, but the drug was too strong.
Someone hauled her limp form upright and dumped her over their shoulder. The shouts and now sporadic gunfire around her faded into nothing as the blackness took her.
* * *
M AYA SURFACED WHEN someone yanked her upright and hauled her into the air. Her stomach did a slow roll and her head pounded sickeningly. Her hands were secured behind her back.
Weak, fighting through the drug’s effects, she struggled to make out the sounds of men’s voices, distantly registering the bobbing motion that meant she was being carried somewhere. Air caressed her bare arms. They’d taken her jacket and body armor off, leaving her in only her T-shirt and pants. There were no more screams or shouts, no gunfire. She could feel the material of the hood pressing against her face. They’d managed to abduct her.
Focus , she commanded herself. Every wasted second meant she was losing the precious opportunity to fight for her freedom and possibly her life.
Her body remained limp, uncooperative, despite her attempts to move. Her head felt fuzzy, like she was drifting through fog, but her brain was fully functional. It was like being buried alive. She could do nothing but suffer the indescribable frustration of lying draped over someone’s shoulder as they took her inside a place that was much cooler and smelled musty and damp. A building? There was a scraping noise ahead of her, a few grunts. She didn’t understand what the men were saying, but they were dragging something heavy along the ground near her. Other prisoners?
The Sec Def , she thought with a jolt of horror. They couldn’t have gotten the Secretary and Jackson too. A lump formed in her throat, almost choking her. Was Jackson still alive? He’d been lying in the dirt, unmoving. The thought of him dying like that tore her up inside, filled her with fury.
A male voice behind her said something, and the man carrying her bent to slide her off his shoulder. She hit the hard floor and sprawled on to her back. Shards of pain radiated up from the right side of her back. Someone ripped the hood off her. Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut. She managed to force them open a bit and got a vague impression of a dirt floor, a small, black space beyond where they’d dumped her surrounded with iron slats covering the opening.
A cell.
The sour bite of terror filled her mouth. Someone prodded her sharply in the back with a boot, right against her injured ribs. Agony splintered through her, stealing her breath. She barely had time to gasp in a tortured breath before she felt someone shoving her forward into the black hole awaiting her.
Her mind screamed in protest but her body remained unresponsive, heightening the horror threatening to suffocate her. She’d taken basic SERE training. She was fully aware of what male captors did to female POWs and knew firsthand how cruel a man could be to a woman.
A cold fist squeezed her heart as she envisioned being tied up and helpless while she was beaten and raped, humiliated. Would she break? That terrified her the most. Succumbing to the pain and torture, shaming herself and defiling the oath she’d taken when she’d sworn to defend her country. She mentally recited Article 3 of the U.S. Code of Military Conduct.
If I am captured , I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.
The floor was hard and cold beneath her. Metal squeaked and clanged as they shut a cage door nearby, then her captors’ footsteps retreated, abandoning her to her fate.
It was almost a blessing when the drugging fog returned again, stealing her awareness.
Her last conscious thought before she went back under was that she would rather die than endure what her sister had in order to help them both survive.
* * *
K HALID TURNED OFF his handheld radio and attached it to his belt as he entered the complex where the prisoners were being held. Tunneled into the side of the hill, the structure was deceptive. From the outside it looked like just another village dwelling. They’d been careful to leave the trucks at the base of the hill and used ATVs to bring the prisoners up the steep trails. A few of his men were out destroying any evidence of tracks now.
His eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the tunnel entry. It was much cooler here, and damp. He walked through the anteroom disguised as a simple living quarters and pushed aside the heavy carpet covering one of the hidden entrances that led to the holding area. Down the narrow corridor, he could hear his men dragging the prisoners toward the cells. His heart raced with excitement. He could hardly believe they’d done it. With only three of his men lost in the initial firefight, they’d managed to kill or wound dozens of Americans while taking hostages. Including the biggest prize of all, whom Khalid was now going to check on personally.
They’d slipped across the border into Pakistan without a single incident and melted into the hills, thanks to a little help from some of Kahlid’s most powerful allies.
Up ahead, Youssef, a hardened soldier in his late thirties who had come to him through the Pakistani ISI, glanced back at him from where he observed the containment of the prisoners. In the darkness, Khalid could barely make out the other man’s profile. “They’re all still out,” Youssef reported in Pashto. “Their pulses are strong. Should be waking up within the hour.”
“Good.” While he wasn’t overly concerned with their comfort or health, he had to be careful to keep them all alive long enough for him to get what he wanted. Khalid strode forward to oversee the Secretary of Defense being loaded into his cell and nodded in satisfaction when his men placed the American official in a cell made up of carefully spaced iron bars. “Keep him where the other men can see him. I want them all to know what has happened when they awake.”
“What about the woman?” Youssef asked, indicating the heap lying at his feet.
He gestured to the farthest cell with a jerk of his chin. “Put her in there against the far wall. Keep her away from the others. And I want you to remain here until she wakes up.”
Youssef bent to pick her up without a word and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, a metallic clang echoed throughout the corridor as the door to her cage shut.
Perfect.
Khalid had commanded his men to take her alive because she provided him with a huge advantage, and he planned to use it against the prisoners at every opportunity.
A few months ago, General Nasrallah had set his sights on a different American female soldier, intending to use her for publicity and to earn a hefty ransom.
Khalid had a far better motive for taking a female prisoner than his inept predecessor.
A shaft of light penetrated the dimness as someone pushed aside the carpet covering the entrance.
Khalid turned, squinting at Mohammed. “Yes?”
“Rahim wishes to speak to you, Khalid-jan.” He held up a satellite phone.
Smiling, Khalid headed back through the entrance and took the phone from Mohammed. “It is done,” he said.
“Praise Allah,” his mentor replied. “You know what to do?”
He knew exactly what to do. “I will begin as soon as they awaken.”