Lethal Pursuit (Bagram Special Ops #3)

Eighteen

EIGHTEEN

A LTHOUGH SHE’D VOWED to stay awake, Maya finally lost the battle and dozed. The coughing woke her from a deep and dreamless sleep.

One moment she was under, the next she was hacking uncontrollably. Maya rolled on to her side and braced for the pain as it tore through her. She coughed so hard it made her stomach roll. She gagged, gasping for breath, and when she finally got a chance to breathe, she collapsed onto her side in a trembling, sweaty mess.

She heard movement beside her and snapped her eyes open to find a shadowy face peering down at her. It was dark in the room and she was disoriented enough that it took a moment to remember where she was. The thin pallet she lay on cushioned her from the hard dirt floor, and someone had placed a woolen blanket on her during the night.

A wrinkled face hovered over her, soft words that Maya didn’t understand coming from the old woman’s lips. She placed a hand behind Maya’s neck and brought a cup of warm tea to her lips. Maya gave in and took a few sips. God, she hurt all over. Even her bones ached. And she was freezing, despite the heavy wool covering her.

Even with the coughing fit over for now, it was hard to breathe. Her chest felt tight, like her lungs were closed up. Exhaustion pulled at her, sapping the strength from her muscles until she had no choice but to relax into the old woman’s care. She said something to another person in the room, and a young girl appeared at her side. Around eight maybe. The girl’s face looked worried as she watched Maya.

Maya reached down to ensure her weapon wasn’t within the girl’s reach and discovered it was gone. A moment’s panic hit her before she calmed herself. These people weren’t going to kill her. She didn’t think, anyway. If they’d wanted to do that, they’d had ample opportunity while she’d been sleeping. Unless they’d somehow alerted Khalid of their presence and were planning to keep them here until he showed up?

The girl continued to stare at Maya. She lifted a tentative hand and laid it on her hair. Maya stayed very still, partly from surprise and partly so she didn’t scare the child. A moment later, that small hand began stroking her hair, then she felt a tug at her scalp and realized the girl was brushing out her hair gently. Maya closed her eyes, fighting the upsurge of emotion. Pilar had done this whenever she was ill, to soothe her.

She lay there, taking shallow, wheezy breaths while the girl pulled the brush through her hair, and when the old woman came back and placed a spoonful of something to her lips, Maya opened her mouth. She made a face at the sharp bitter taste of whatever it was but swallowed. The woman made a kind of encouraging, crooning sound. The rough, dry hand she placed on Maya’s forehead felt blessedly cool. Too tired to stay alert, she didn’t even fight it when the dark wave of sleep rushed at her and pulled her back under.

* * *

T HEY HAD YET another big problem on their hands.

It had been more than a day since Maya had gone into the women’s quarters, and she hadn’t come out once. Jackson had heard her coughing through the night from where he’d slept off and on, lying against the wall, taking quick combat naps because he couldn’t afford to let himself go deep and be caught off guard. The people in the house carried on with their normal routines and the old woman had brought him and Haversham their meals.

Once last night he’d insisted on checking on Maya; as much as it scandalized his host, he hadn’t taken no for an answer. He’d found her fast asleep, the fever burning in her skin. He hadn’t liked the sound of her breathing, a bit shallow and raspy. If he’d had a stethoscope, he knew he’d hear crackles and rales in her lungs.

Shifting on to his back in a shaft of early morning light coming through a slit in the door, Jackson debated what to do. The militants likely knew where they were by now, and if they didn’t, it was only a matter of time before they found out. Haversham hadn’t improved and wouldn’t until the bones in his leg were surgically repaired, and now Maya was too sick to be ambulatory. So he either left them here with their host and hoped the old man continued to offer his protection while Jackson set out to find a way to contact friendly forces, or he stayed here with them to face the militants when they showed up.

Given how desperate things were, the decision seemed obvious.

He rose, careful not to wake Haversham, who was dead asleep after taking a dose of poppy juice their host had given him. These people made their livelihoods off their goats and opium poppies.

The old woman looked up from her mending when he passed by the doorway to a smaller room at the back. She stared at him questioningly, and he pointed to where Maya was. Frowning, the woman pursed her lips and shook her head. Jackson pointed again, less patiently this time, and she finally heaved to her feet with an irritated sigh. He stayed outside the room just long enough for her to warn the other women and give them time to scatter, then entered.

Maya was curled on her left side in the fetal position and even in the dimness he could see how red her cheeks were. He kneeled beside her and put a hand to her face, not at all surprised to find her still burning up. Her breathing had deteriorated more overnight. There were full-on crackles every time she inhaled. Noticing the spoon resting on a dish near her head, he picked it up and sniffed it, smelling the bitter tinge of the opium.

Shit.

He turned to the old woman and met her wary gaze, then lifted the spoon and gave a sharp shake of his head. “No more.” Opium might ease her pain and make her sleep, but it was also a narcotic analgesic that suppressed the cough reflex in her brain stem and prevented her lungs from clearing. If she didn’t have pneumonia already, she would eventually if she didn’t cough up the phlegm gathering in her lungs.

Setting the spoon down, he leaned over her. “Maya. Maya, wake up.”

Her lashes fluttered. She drew in a raspy breath and started to cough, jackknifing up with a grimace as the dry, hacking coughs took her. He quickly moved in behind to support her, trying to take the strain off her ribs. Her gasping breaths in between fits made his heart rate accelerate. Finally, after what seemed like endless minutes, she shuddered and collapsed into his hold, her upper body against his chest and her cheek resting on his shoulder.

“What time is it?” she rasped.

“About an hour after dawn,” he responded, resting his cheek against the top of her head. He could feel her shivering in his hold and rubbed his hands over her gently. “Feeling pretty shitty, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t want to leave her when she was sick and defenseless, but the way he saw it, it was their only chance of getting help. “Baby, I’ve gotta go.”

Her head tilted back and she regarded him in confusion. “Where?”

“To find a way to contact friendlies.”

Her brows pulled together and she turned her attention to the doorway marking the women’s quarters. “Is Haversham here?”

Jackson nodded, his cheek brushing against her hair. “He can’t walk and it’ll slow me down to carry him.” He tightened his arms around her, letting himself hold her a moment longer. “You know why I have to do this, right?”

“Yes.” It took him by surprise when she shifted around gingerly and cuddled into him. “But...in just a minute?”

The vulnerability in her voice and the fact that she’d just asked him to hold her for a minute longer shredded his insides. He gathered her as close as he could without hurting her, wishing there was another option for them. “I’m not deserting you,” he promised in a whisper, needing her to believe him, to hang on. “I’ll get help and come back for you. I’ll come back, I swear.”

She nodded but didn’t answer.

“These people will protect you until I get back. Rest when you can, but don’t take any more of the poppy juice, okay? I know it hurts to cough but you need to in order to clear your lungs.” He pressed a kiss to her hot temple. “I’ll give you your pistol—”

“You took it?”

“Didn’t want you shooting someone by accident when you’re outta your head with fever. You do what you need to and keep you and Haversham safe. I’ll come get you as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” she whispered, looping her good arm around him and squeezing, the effort it cost her telling him just how weak she was.

Jackson buried his face against her tangled hair for a moment and held on, then forced himself to let her go. “Here,” he said, handing her the weapon as he helped her lie back against the pallet. Once he pulled the blanket up over her, he paused to stroke the uninjured side of her face, staring down into her one open sea-green eye. Battered and desperately ill, she was still the most beautiful, amazing woman he’d ever known. “I’m coming back for you.”

A small grin tugged at her cracked lips. “You better. Kick your ass if you don’t.”

Heartened by that show of attitude, he bent over her to kiss the bridge of her nose. “See you soon, baby.”

“Bye.” Her voice was hoarse.

It took an act of will to tear himself away from her, but Jackson made himself get up and leave. Haversham was awake, his gaze hitting him as he stepped out of Maya’s room. “She okay?”

“No.” Not by a long shot. “I have to go, Doug.”

The Sec Def studied him for a second then nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

“I told her to take care of you,” he said on a laugh.

“Then we’ll take care of each other.” His dark eyes were somber. “Good luck out there, sergeant.”

“Thanks.” Because he was damn sure gonna need all the luck he could get.

After gathering a bladder of water and loading more ammo from the spare magazine into his pistol, he left.

He squinted against the bright early morning sunlight. The villagers were all out going about their daily lives but the ones who saw him stopped dead, eyeing the weapon in his hand. Scanning for threats and finding none, he began heading east out of the village, hyper aware of each second that ticked past. Ahead of him the mountains loomed, the peaks capped with snow that was beginning to melt. Out there somewhere lay either his salvation, or his death. Only time would tell which.

He was almost to the edge of the village when a commotion broke out ahead of him. Someone started shouting, and the women and children scattered, fleeing for their homes. Jackson ducked behind a low wall, expecting to find a mob of militants coming at him. Instead he saw his host running headlong toward the houses, long tunic flapping behind him, his protruding belly bouncing with each stride. What the hell was going on?

Jackson rose slightly, his finger on the trigger. When the old man noticed Jackson standing behind the wall, he skidded to a halt and pointed back the way he’d come, panting for breath, saying something in an urgent way that made the hair on Jackson’s nape rise.

One word stood out from the others and it made every muscle in his body tighten.

Jihad.

The man said it again, his expression anxious, pointing at the entrance to the village.

Fuck. Jackson checked his perimeter. No one was rushing at him yet. Maybe he still had time to get back to the old man’s house to grab Maya and Haversham and haul them out of there. He couldn’t leave them there now.

He dodged the end of the low wall and took off toward the house. He’d taken two running steps when a prickling in his spine told him it was too late. Whirling, weapon up and ready, he found himself staring down Jihad.

The man stood frozen at the village entrance, maybe thirty yards away. Big bastard, probably taller than Jackson, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. His dark head was bare, he was dressed in tribal wear and he had an AK slung across his chest. With that nearly black gaze fixed on his, the man slowly raised his hands into the air in a nonthreatening gesture. Jackson didn’t move. Whatever game that fucker was playing, Jackson wasn’t letting him get past. He was the only thing that stood between this asshole and Maya, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Heart thudding a hard rhythm in his ears, he was completely unprepared for what happened next.

Jihad smiled and actually chuckled, the sound of his amusement carrying across the tense and deadly space between them. “You don’t wanna shoot me, Thatcher, since I’m the guy they sent to get you out of here.”

It took a moment for Jackson’s brain to process what he’d said in such perfect, accent-free English. How many big men who spoke perfect English were running around these parts? No way was it a coincidence. He frowned in disbelief, trying to put everything together. “ You’re the one who helped the LT escape?” The bastard had stood back and watched them get tortured without lifting a finger to help them, not even during that fucked-up game of Russian roulette.

“Yeah.” He kept his hands in the air, his expression totally calm, as if he stared down the barrel of a gun every day. “Now I’m here to get you guys home.”

“That right? Even though you seemed happy enough to watch us get ready to blow our brains out back in that room?”

Jihad shook his head. “He handed me the revolver and asked me to take out every bullet except one. I took them all out instead. He just didn’t notice.”

So that’s why the revolver had been empty when Khalid had tried to shoot them.

Jackson kept his weapon aimed at the center of his chest, still not trusting him for a second. If what Jihad said was true, and so far it seemed to be, it meant he was part of something much bigger than anyone else knew about. Some secret undercover sting sanctioned by the military or the government.

He was aware of the tense silence, of the many anxious eyes focused on him in the village. His host stood nearby, rubbernecking between him and Jihad with wide, anxious eyes, no doubt wondering if his village was about to be shot up. Jackson glared at Jihad. “Who the fuck are you?”

Jihad’s black eyebrows went up. “Mind if I come closer for this conversation?”

“Yeah, I do.” His index finger stayed snug around the trigger.

Another grin, but he didn’t try to approach. “Name’s Sandberg, and we don’t have much time to talk. Khalid’s group is less than five hours’ march from here and they’ve got help on the way. Another force is coming in from the southwest, and there could be others. Trust me, you do not want to be here when they show up, especially Rahim’s men. Now, Tarik, he knows me,” he said, nodding toward the old man. “We go back five years now. We’re buddies.”

“He doesn’t look very happy to see you,” Jackson pointed out, his grip steady on the pistol.

“He was running to warn you so you wouldn’t shoot when you saw me. I told Lieutenant Lopez to take the trail here because I knew you’d be safe here. Tarik told me all about the American soldiers who saved his grandson at the MEDCAP. I knew he’d look out for you until I got here.”

Since Tarik had carried his grandson to the MEDCAP in the first place, the village couldn’t be too far from where Jackson and the others had been captured. “So we’re still in Afghanistan?”

His eyes danced with amusement. “Almost. Just a few miles back that way.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder.

With his suspicion wavering, Jackson slowly lowered his weapon, keeping it in front of him at the ready just in case.

Jihad—or Sandberg, if he even had a real name—sighed in exasperation and lowered his hands. “Look, if I’d wanted to kill you I could’ve taken you out with my rifle long before you even realized I was here.”

Much as Jackson hated to admit it, the guy had a point. “Okay, so say I believe you.” And he wasn’t saying he did, since he didn’t trust him any further than he could fucking throw him. “What do you want?”

“I’ve got a ride coming for you all in ten hours at a pre-designated LZ to the northeast,” he answered, pointing over his shoulder as though Jackson didn’t know which direction that was.

“Who do you work for?” Because it wasn’t the regular military, or even Spec Ops. No, this guy, if he was for real, worked for a government agency.

“The good guys.”

That didn’t convince Jackson in the slightest, since he knew how quickly allegiances changed in this part of the world. There was no shame in working with the U.S. and their allies one day, and pledging your allegiance to the Taliban the next. Whatever served your purpose for the moment. It was how these tribal people had survived in this harsh land for centuries, and how they would go on surviving until the end of time. “What branch did you serve with?”

“Special Forces, a long time ago. Look, man, I know where you’re coming from but we don’t have time for this. You might not like it, but you just have to trust me. We have to get Haversham and Lieutenant Lopez out of here right the fuck now if we’re gonna stay ahead of the bad guys and make our rendezvous with that bird.”

If something seemed too good to be true it usually meant it was , but he couldn’t afford to dismiss Sandberg’s words. Not if there was a chance they were true. At this point, Jackson’s only options were to go with it or shoot Sandberg and make a run for it. And if the enemy really was closing in, then he couldn’t abandon Maya and Haversham. “They’re both too far gone to walk out.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here to carry one of them, huh?”

Setting his jaw, Jackson eased his stance and glanced at Tarik to let him know everything was okay, then spoke to Sandberg. “You do anything that smells outta line, I’ll take you out.” His clipped tone made it a promise.

Sandberg shrugged, his cocky expression telling Jackson he was welcome to try. “Fair enough. Now can we go to Tarik’s?”

“Yeah,” Jackson muttered, and waited for Sandberg to pass him before falling into line. Even if this guy was promising them a ride home, Jackson wasn’t taking his eyes off him for a moment.