Lethal Pursuit (Bagram Special Ops #3)

Seven

SEVEN

A DANK, DAMP , musty odor overwhelmed by the slightly alkaline scent of dirt hit Jackson’s nostrils as he struggled toward consciousness.

His eyelids felt like they were weighted down. He struggled to open his eyes, registering the near-darkness, the hard surface he was lying on. His hands were bound behind him and bruises throbbed across his back and shoulders from when the three men who’d attacked him had finally taken him down. As far as he could tell, nothing was broken. Faint male voices floated toward him, too far away to identify or discern what they were saying.

He rolled stiffly to his back and forced his body into a sitting position, all the while fighting to slow his pulse rate. Whoever had grabbed him had stuffed him into the equivalent of a cell carved into rock. The floor was bare dirt with sharp stones in it. They dug into his hip and shoulders as he propped himself against the back wall. He stared through clearing eyes at the crude iron bars forming his cage, his mind racing.

This wasn’t SERE training. This was real.

Shifting to his knees to get a closer look, he examined the bars and where they connected to the earthen floor and ceiling. There were no gaps that he could see in the construction. None of the bars gave way when he tested them with his weight, leaning his shoulder against them. The lock on the front held solid against his kicks.

“There’s no way out. I already checked.”

Jackson instinctively crouched and swiveled around at the tired male voice behind him. His eyes had adjusted to the dimness enough for him to make out the shape of another prisoner slumped against the wall of the cell beside his. The man’s body was swallowed by shadow but if he squinted, Jackson could make out the basics of his facial features. His dark skin made it harder to see him. When he realized who it was, Jackson’s heart sank.

They’d captured the fucking Secretary of Defense.

“Sir,” Jackson began quietly, his voice still groggy from whatever they’d drugged him with. “Are you all right?”

“As all right as the rest of us. And I think you’d better start calling me Doug. What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

“Jackson.”

“You’re a PJ?”

He nodded, glancing down at his uniform, which they’d left on him for some reason. The reflective patch bearing the letters PJ was still there on his left arm. His body armor was long gone. “Are you hurt?”

“Only roughed up so far. Whatever they knocked us out with gave me a pretty good hangover, but otherwise I’m okay.” He sounded tired, strained.

Hangover was the perfect way to describe the pounding in his head and the dryness in his mouth. Jackson twisted his fingers, trying to increase circulation, despite the tight plastic zip tie around his wrists. The damp interior of their prison created a chill in the air that made goose bumps break out over his skin. He kept his voice low, uncertain if more guards might be close enough to overhear him. “Any idea where we are?”

“Side of a mountain someplace, best I can figure.”

Yeah. It looked like some sort of cave, or maybe an underground bunker. “How many of them there are?”

“At least five that I’ve seen, but there are probably others.”

Jackson turned his upper body to peer past the Secretary down the carved-out corridor. It seemed like there were more cells down there, though he couldn’t see or hear anyone else. Didn’t mean they weren’t there. They could be unconscious or keeping quiet. “How many of us?” he whispered, careful to ensure his voice didn’t carry.

“Four. Unless they brought in more while I was out of it. I think there’s a female,” he added grimly.

Maya? Jackson’s gut clenched. They couldn’t have taken her. Last he’d seen her, she’d been fighting off two attackers and other soldiers had been rushing to her aid. She was smart and strong.

They got you and the Sec Def , didn’t they?

Goddammit, he didn’t want her to be one of the prisoners.

Whether it was Maya or not, throwing a female into the mix made a bad situation that much worse. Back in SERE school when the “captors” had roughed up a female airman during an interrogation had been bad enough. He and the other male “captives” had gone crazy trying to take the “captors’” attention off the female, bargaining to take her place. They’d been ignored, of course.

Watching them hurt that woman and not being able to stop them was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to endure. Even though they’d all known on an intellectual level that the interrogators wouldn’t do any worse than rough her up, the male captives had reacted on a primal level. The lesson had stuck with him ever since, all the more horrifying since he came from a home with a single mom and three sisters.

Jackson wasn’t sure what he’d do if something like that happened here. And if it was Maya? Christ.

Because this time, there was no guarantee they’d stop at kick and punches. The thought made him feel sick. Where he came from, real men didn’t beat on women. And these fuckers sure as hell wouldn’t abide by the Geneva Convention.

A thousand thoughts whirled through his mind as he struggled to come to terms with this new reality. Waiting in the dark, anticipating the unknown, was almost worse than having the shit kicked out of him.

The Sec Def was silent beside him. Jackson knew he’d served in the Marine Corps back in the day, but that had been a hell of a long time ago. How the hell had they managed to take him with all his security detail there? He wanted to ask more questions, but each time either one of them spoke it increased the risk of attracting their captors’ attention. And right now they had to preserve whatever hope and morale they could. It was critical for their survival.

A flicker of light came from the far end of the corridor. Jackson’s heart began to thud as it came nearer, bringing the sounds of measured footsteps with it. His palms turned clammy. Stay focused. Remember your training.

But no amount of training ever prepared a man enough to face this for real.

The beam of light intensified, and low male voices drifted toward them. He heard Doug shift against the back wall of his cell, trying to make himself as still and small as possible. They both had to be the “gray man” here, the guy who blended into the background so well that he all but disappeared. The best-case scenario for a prisoner of war, second to escape.

A silhouette appeared, outlined against the light. Then two more. The men’s strides were purposeful, drawing nearer with every heartbeat. Jackson stayed frozen in position against the damp, rough wall.

The man carrying the flashlight stopped in front of his cell and said something to the others. He sounded surprisingly young, but Jackson refused to look up lest he draw attention to himself. A second man halted beside him, wearing the typical baggy pants and sandals common to men in the region. The third man hung back, as if he wanted to watch what happened next. Jackson’s muscles tensed when the first man squatted down but he managed to keep his gaze on the dirt floor just inside the metal bars rather than look up.

The bright beam of the flashlight hit him in the face, blinding him. He squinted and turned his head, gritting his teeth in annoyance that he’d reacted at all. The beam traveled down his body, and the second man grunted something to the one standing in the shadows. A few seconds later, they moved on to the Sec Def and did the same. Checking for life-threatening injuries maybe, since a dead hostage was no good to them.

Two of the men moved on to a cell farther down and started talking among themselves. The squeak of metal hinges reached him, and then came the sound of something heavy dragging across the floor. The younger one called out to the first man standing near Jackson’s cell and he walked toward them. Jackson had only a quick impression of someone tall and lean as he passed by. More low words, then a grunt followed by the groan of the iron door closing once more.

The latch clanged into place and the men came back. This time they stopped directly in front of the Sec Def’s cell. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson watched as the flashlight illuminated the body draped over the second man’s shoulders. Whoever he was, he was already dead. Blood covered his face, head and the light blue oxford shirt he wore. One of the Sec Def’s personal security detail.

The tall man whispered something, and the one carrying the dead man shuffled off down the corridor. Then the tall one, who had to be the leader, hunkered down so that his face was lit by the flashlight beam. Unable to stop himself, Jackson risked a glance at him. He had a full dark beard and a light complexion. His eyes were a strange yellow-hazel. Jackson forced his gaze back to the floor as the leader spoke, in English.

“Hello, Mr. Secretary. I am honored to have you as our guest.” His heavily accented voice was pitched low, but what really upped the creep-out factor was the maniacal gleam Jackson had seen in those hellish eyes.

When Doug didn’t answer, the leader let out a low chuckle, as though his prisoners’ silence delighted him. “We have important plans for you while you stay with us.”

White noise. It was all just white noise, Jackson reminded himself. He had to tune it out and focus on reinforcing his will to survive.

“Eventually we will expect you to tell us about coalition operations in the area and make a recorded statement denouncing the war for the world to see, but you would obviously be unwilling to do so at this point. Unless I am wrong?” Silence was his only answer, and Jackson swore he could hear the smile in the bastard’s voice when he continued.

“Then instead I believe I’ll start with a less worthy opponent. Mohammed,” he commanded and rose to his feet as the young one hurried down the row of cells into the darkness. Another screech of mental hinges, then the sounds of a scuffle, quickly ended. The metal latch clanged into place, and Mohammed returned with another prisoner draped over his shoulders. Jackson could hear the prisoner’s harsh breathing, a stifled, painful moan.

The leader said something, and Mohammed lowered the prisoner to the floor. A sense of foreboding swept through him. Despite himself, Jackson had to look. The man grabbed a handful of the prisoner’s hair and yanked, forcing the person’s head up. The beam of light illuminated a pair of frightened blue-green eyes before they squeezed shut against the sudden glare.

Jackson’s heart stopped beating.

Maya.

He jerked like he’d been electrocuted, barely managing to swallow back the cry of denial lodged in his throat. Staring into her pinched face, he felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut.

“Do you recognize your fellow guests?” the leader purred, swinging the beam of light at Doug, then at Jackson. He squinted but couldn’t make himself look away and when the light shone on her once again, she was staring right at him, her expression utterly haunted. Jackson squeezed his numb hands into fists of helpless rage.

Maya didn’t answer but her devastated expression said it all. She’d seen and recognized him. From the look in her eyes it was clear she understood that whatever hell they put her through now, she’d have to withstand it alone. And somehow he’d have to endure that knowledge while battling the crushing agony that there was nothing he could do to protect her from any of it.

Jackson held her gaze, trying to give her strength. Sweetheart , please hang on. Whatever they do to you , just hold on. Fuck, he wanted to throw up.

“No? Ah, well.” The leader sounded almost disappointed in her lack of reaction. “Now that you have seen your fellow guests, I think you and I should become better acquainted.” He jerked Maya’s hair, forcing her to her feet, which were still bound.

She shot a look of terror in Jackson’s direction that made his guts churn and it took everything he had not to call out in protest as they dragged her away. He thought he’d understood what fear felt like before? Not even close. But he did now.

* * *

M AYA WAS TRAPPED in a waking nightmare.

They’d bound her hands and feet to a metal chair and left her alone in the middle of the small earthen room. The waiting was almost worse than the pain she knew was coming. Old fears rose up like specters to haunt her. In the dark, heart thudding in terror, she was nine years old all over again, locked in the closet when her uncle’s footsteps came down the hall toward the bedroom she shared with Pilar.

Don’t come out , whatever happens. Her sister’s urgent whisper was still razor-sharp in her memory. I’ll let you out once it’s safe , but stay hidden and stay quiet.

Even at nine, it had been perfectly clear to her what Pilar had endured to protect her. Those masculine grunts and muffled cries of pain from beyond the closed closet door of their bedroom had painted a vivid picture in her brain that she’d never been able to erase. The hand-me-down double bed she’d shared with Pili had squeaked ominously, the oak headboard banging against the wall in a relentless rhythm until Maya thought she’d go mad.

Many times her fingers had curled around the handle of the wooden baseball bat in that closet, prepared to burst through the door and cave his skull in to save her sister. But time after time, she’d done as her sister said and stayed hidden in the safety of their closet. And she’d never be able to forgive herself for her cowardice as long as she lived.

Instead of acting, doing something, anything to save Pilar, night after night she’d remained locked in that stygian closet with her hands clapped over her ears and silent tears streaming down her cheeks. The other adults in the house had ignored those pitiful cries tearing from her sister’s lips, either in denial or because they were passed out somewhere next to an empty bottle of wine. It had gone on for nearly two years until Pilar had finally agreed to run away because she’d at last deemed Maya old enough to endure life on the streets.

But no one can outrun the past. Though they’d escaped, in the end it hadn’t been enough. The memories had killed Pilar as surely as the coarse rope looped around her slender throat when Maya found her hanging lifeless from the shower rod in the dingy bathroom of the apartment they’d shared. The note Pilar had left on the kitchen counter was permanently etched into her mind.

You have to live , Maya. Living is the only way to get revenge on the bastard who did this to me. Swear to me you’ll never give in. Swear it.

She’d dedicated her life to upholding her sister’s dying wish. Here in this dark prison, that final promise was about to be tested to its limits.

Male voices came from outside the small room they’d placed her in. Maya swallowed but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her dry throat. Her heart thudded a hard, pounding rhythm and a cold sweat broke out over her skin.

These men lived by their own laws, their own code of conduct. Islam was supposed to be one of the most peaceful religions, but these men twisted it into an extreme, violent facsimile. That they were Muslims didn’t necessarily protect her from rape, though she hoped it would. They perverted their religion to suit their own agenda, so it was possible rape wasn’t an aberration to them.

Maya’s skin crawled. Having to endure that cruel degradation at their hands would be almost as bad as dying. All the SERE training in the world couldn’t prepare her for the brutal reality of that.

Her mind wandered back to a conversation she’d had with Pilar shortly after running away from their abuela’s house.

How did you stand it , Pilar?

I left my body and went somewhere else in my head. Someplace he could never find me or touch me again. A place where fear and pain don’t exist.

Maya had mentally prepared herself for the possibility of capture and rape as much as any female service member could before deploying. It had been something she’d thought about only in passing, telling herself the chances of it ever happening were miniscule. Now that the moment was here, could she take it? She would rather die than break under torture.

Someone swept aside the corner of the carpet covering the entrance and two men strode in, carrying a lantern. One remained by the doorway, while the other set the lantern on a crate close to her and came to stand directly in front of her. She fixed her gaze straight ahead, staring at nothing, careful not to bow her head or give any outward sign of fear. Given how frightened she was, it wasn’t easy.

A hard hand flashed out and gripped her jaw, forcing her head up. She didn’t bother resisting because she didn’t have much choice and it would be a waste of energy, but she refused to meet his gaze. His hold was forceful, bordering right on the edge of painful, his long fingers digging into her flesh like talons.

She stared stubbornly at the V in his throat, where his thick dark beard stopped a few inches above the collar of his shirt. She could see the edges of his defined pectoral muscles there, sensed the raw power in his arms and shoulders, his formidable will. This man was hard as steel inside and out. He radiated a cold, controlled anger she had no desire to see unleashed on her. It took everything she had to keep from trembling.

“Name.”

The cold rasp of his voice sent a chill down her spine. She drew in a breath, ready with the standard name, rank and serial number response, surprised at how steady her voice came out. “Lieutenant Maya Lopez, five-seven-two—”

“Enough.” He dropped his hand.

She clamped her jaw closed and waited.

He circled her slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey. He was tall, around six feet or more, somewhere in his thirties and built lean. The traditional baggy clothing he wore did nothing to disguise the raw power seething inside that whipcord body.

A shiver crawled through her as he spoke again. “It sickens me how weak Americans are to let women wear a uniform. Tell me, Lieutenant Lopez, why you are fighting this war.” His voice dripped with disdain at her rank. When she didn’t respond, he paused in front of her. “Answer me.”

“I can’t answer that question.” Now her voice shook.

“You will. Now. ”

Here it comes. She tensed, preparing as much as she could for that first blow. It didn’t fall, and eventually Maya allowed herself to relax a fraction. All her senses were tuned to the man in front of her, locking on him with a kind of hyper-focus she’d only ever previously experienced during combat.

He shifted again, and Maya could feel the frustration pulsing off him. His hands flexed once, his fingers curling into fists of rage. Then he turned to the man at the doorway and barked something at him in another language. Pashto, maybe. The rug covering the opening lifted as the man rolled it back, then his retreating footsteps echoed until they faded into silence.

In the midst of that suffocating void, the waiting, the anticipation of pain was almost unbearable. She didn’t understand why he’d asked the man to unroll the rug and leave. Unless he was coming back with something. Another prisoner, or maybe a weapon? A torture tool? A list of possibilities ran through her mind. Pulling out her fingernails. Gouging out her eyes. Cutting her. Her breathing sped up, despite her effort to control it. Shit, she didn’t know if she could withstand whatever he had in store for her.

A low chuckle filled the vacuum of silence. “Very good. You should be afraid,” the man said softly, the satisfaction in his tone making her skin prickle.

Half hidden in shadow, she didn’t see his arm move. His open palm flashed out and hit her cheek with a resounding crack that swung her head around. Maya gasped and clenched her teeth together to keep from crying out. Her heart gave a terrified jolt as she collected herself. The left side of her face stung and her eyes watered.

During the brief SERE course, they’d told her to cry out, to vocalize her pain and fright if a captor beat her, because it usually made them go easier. Now that it was actually happening, that stubborn part of her demanded she stand her ground and refuse to give in. And she knew in her heart that crying and begging would do no good anyway. This man had no mercy in him.

Another blow landed on the opposite cheek, this one with more force. She flinched and instinctively cringed away, but her arms were tied too tightly for her to move much.

“Why are you fighting here?” he demanded ruthlessly, towering over her.

“My country asked me to,” she answered in defiance, breaking the protocol of only giving name, rank and serial number.

“It is not your place to invade and occupy our sacred homeland. We will expel you as we have all the other occupiers.” This time his fist slammed into her stomach.

Though she’d tensed her muscles, the punch still caught her off guard. She doubled over with a grunt and sucked in a shallow breath as the blow set off a blaze of fire across her damaged ribs. Her face was clammy with perspiration when she managed to open her eyes and force her body upright. In the light she saw him unbuckle his belt, heard the leather slither through the loops holding it around his waist and wanted to vomit.

You can take this. You will take this. Pain and humiliation won’t kill you. You have to survive. You promised. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. The gnawing fear, the sense of disbelief that this was truly happening, were paralyzing.

He lowered his hand and waved the belt slightly, making the leather strip come alive, slithering along the ground like a snake waiting to strike. Her stomach rolled.

But he didn’t drop his pants or make a move to undress her. Instead he raised his arm and brought the belt down sharply across her thighs. Maya arched under the bite of the leather through her pants as pain exploded in her nerve endings. A jagged gasp ripped from her throat before she could control it. She strangled on it, fighting to hold it back, not let him see how frightened she was or how much it hurt.

“Say it.”

Say what ? What the hell did he want her to say? She could barely breathe, much less speak.

He brought the belt down again and again in angry yet controlled movements, lashing her thighs, her upper arms, across her upper back, wherever he could reach. “Say it! Tell me how much it hurts.”

Maya squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on the insides of her cheeks, something primal in her refusing to cry out. She was a lieutenant in the United States Air Force. It was her duty to fight. She’d vowed it to her fellow airmen, to her country. Her only power now lay in resistance. She couldn’t give in, couldn’t show fear now, because it would only fuel his cruelty.

His open hand slapped her across the face again, and this time she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. A strange roaring filled her ears, her heart racing too hard, too fast. Sparks of light flickered behind her closed eyelids, her body fighting against the agony sizzling along her nerve endings.

The man was panting now, and she knew it was more from rage than exertion. Not only was she his enemy, she was a woman. In his mind, that made her lowlier than an animal. “Infidel whore,” he spat, and punched her beneath her left eye. His knuckles plowed into her cheekbone with a sickening crack.

She screamed, her head snapping backward with the force of the blow, the momentum throwing the chair back. She hit the floor with a thud. The back of her skull smacked into the hard ground, her left wrist taking the brunt of her weight as she fell, crushing it beneath the chair back. She felt the bone snap. Shards of agony splintered through her arm, ribs and across her damaged face.

A strangled cry tore from her, her lungs compressed against her ribs. Gasping for air, whimpering now, she turned her head weakly to spit out a mouthful of blood, wondering if she would die in this room.

And he wasn’t done with her yet. Without raising her up, he wrenched at the laces of her boots and tossed them aside. Disoriented and nauseated from the blinding pain encompassing her, Maya tried to lash out with her feet, but the bonds held her ankles to the tipped chair’s legs. He yanked off her socks and before the cool air on her feet registered in her whirring brain, he raised the belt high in the air and lashed it down with a loud crack on the tender soles of her feet.

The first blow tore through her nerve endings like a blowtorch. Maya forgot how to breathe, her whole body going rigid with the hot shock of it. He did it again. And again. The merciless leather bit into her ultra-sensitive skin with each lash. It was electric, unlike anything she’d ever imagined. Every cell in her body was on fire, writhing in agony.

She dimly realized she was screaming and gritted her teeth to stifle the noise. Her body arched and twisted with each cruel lash of the belt in an effort to escape the torment, despite her other injuries. The pain was hideous, inescapable, hitting her everywhere at once, overloading her nervous system.

Maya shook and fought for each desperate gasp she drew into her aching lungs. When he stopped, she pried open her wet, swollen eyes a fraction of an inch to stare up at her tormentor with undisguised loathing.

Her show of hatred seemed to amuse him. One side of his mouth curled up in the midst of that heavy beard. “Scream,” he taunted piteously, the amber glow of the lantern transforming his face into a terrifying mask of hollows and shadows. His yellow eyes gleamed like a demon’s. He was getting off on her pain, she realized distantly as she fought the despair swamping her.

“I’ll keep going until you give me what I want. Scream to your infidel God to save you. I want them to hear you in their cells, woman,” he snarled, once again raising the belt.

Something inside Maya shriveled and died at his words. In that terrifying moment, waiting for the next vicious lash of the belt, she finally realized what he was after. More than just her suffering and degradation. He had a more malevolent intent in mind.

He was going to use her as a weapon to break the male captives.

Tears of horror and pain stung her eyes and she managed to shake her head, a last show of defiance. “N-no.” Please let me make it through this. Please don’t let him break me.

Those hellish eyes glowed in the lantern light. “Scream,” he commanded and brought the belt down on the tender soles of her feet in another cruel, whistling arc, this strike harder than all the others.

She screamed. She couldn’t help it. The agonized cries tore out of her without her permission and she couldn’t stop. Time and space lost all meaning. Her entire existence shrank into a red haze of pain. The uncontrollable sounds of her suffering rang unchecked off the cavern walls and down the corridor to where the other cells lay.