Lethal Pursuit (Bagram Special Ops #3)

Twenty

TWENTY

J ACKSON WAS SO fucking angry he was shaking. He’d flat-out ordered her to stay put and she’d deliberately disobeyed him, taking an unnecessary risk with her life.

She met his gaze with a maddening calm. “I just saved our right flank and mortally wounded Mohammed,” she replied in a heated whisper.

Jackson shook his head. If they hadn’t still been in danger and if she hadn’t been so banged up, he would have grabbed her and shaken her. “Don’t pull that shit ever again.”

Her mouth parted in shock. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect our position, Sergeant. ” The last word was a hiss.

She was pulling fucking rank on him now ? “Not. Ever. Again,” he bit out. He didn’t care that she was an officer and he wasn’t. Out here at this moment, rank didn’t mean shit. It was his duty to protect her, not the other way around. “We had the flank covered.” And she’d scared him shitless by risking herself like that. They were so close to making it out of here—he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t get her out safely. Maya didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to. Her one good eye and the other that was open a slit were boring holes in his face.

“Don’t see any movement over there,” Haversham whispered. “Think he’s got more men left?”

“At least a few dozen more,” Sandberg replied, crouching behind the smaller boulder. “What do you think?” he asked Jackson.

“I think we find another way outta here and haul ass to the LZ,” he said to him.

Sandberg nodded. “We’ll double back. Let’s go.” He reached for Haversham to help him up.

Staying low, Jackson rushed over to Maya’s position. She was already up, hunkered down behind the pitiful cover she’d chosen. Her eyes shot sparks at him when he came down on one knee beside her. “I’m down, but I’m not out,” she snapped in a harsh whisper. “You need to remember that and lose this protective alphamale bullshit. Just because I’m the only female doesn’t mean you—”

He cut her off with a single, slicing look. “Save it. I’m done arguing about this. I’m carrying you outta here, and you’re gonna get home in one piece because I’m gonna make it that way. And you’re never gonna put your ass on the line like that again unless the rest of us are dead. And I mean every last one of us. Got me?”

A muscle in her jaw worked as she glared at him, and when she spoke her voice was unsteady. “I don’t want you risking your life for me.”

His anger evaporated at the fear on her face. Though he wanted to touch her and reassure her, now wasn’t the time. And if he relaxed his stance for an instant, she’d take that slack and run with it. “Too bad, because that’s what I do.” He’d done it for complete strangers in the line of duty without a second thought, but with her it was personal. Every single instinct he possessed was focused on protecting her, because she was his and she’d come to mean more to him than she’d ever realize.

Something moved in her expression, a weird mixture of wonder and apprehension before she put the calm mask back in place. Without giving her another second to argue, he checked to make sure the coast was clear and lifted her over his shoulders once again.

Sandberg was already a few paces back up the trail they’d taken. Jackson followed, half turning every few seconds to make sure they weren’t being followed. The hell of it was, they all knew the enemy was still out there. They just didn’t know when the next attack would come.

* * *

W HEN THE MEN dragged Mohammed into the rock crevice where he waited, Khalid took one look at the fatal wounds in the boy’s belly and felt his knees give out. Denial shot through him as he reached out a hand to brace himself on the rock before he fell. The men set Mohammed down and glanced up at him in uncertainty.

“Leave us,” he whispered, his throat so tight he could barely get the words out. The men left to tend to the other wounded. Khalid swallowed hard and went to his knees beside Mohammed. His young face was lined with agony, the scent of his blood strong in the air as it poured in a continuous stream from his body beneath his clutching hands.

“I am s-sorry,” Mohammed gasped out, eyes glazed with pain, glimmering with unshed tears.

Khalid couldn’t stand it. Ignoring the fiery burn in his ruined shoulder, he placed one hand atop Mohammed’s, over the terrible wounds. With the other, he cupped the boy’s bearded cheek. His own bullet wounds throbbed, sending needles of agony along his limbs until he thought he’d vomit. “Do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” A helpless rage twisted inside him. So young. So full of promise and goodness. The very best of their cause and a future leader who would have shone as brightly as the sun someday. All wasted.

Because of that traitor Jihad and the female who had helped the others escape. May they all burn in hell for this.

“I d-didn’t...listen...”

He hadn’t listened when Khalid had shouted at him to come back, screamed at him not to make the reckless charge. He closed his eyes and bit down against the overwhelming tide of grief crashing over him. When he opened them, he was unashamed of the tears stinging there. “I’m not angry at you, Mohammed. You were so brave.”

Those dark, trust-filled eyes stayed on his. Searching for acceptance and trust. Things Khalid had been searching for his whole life until Mohammed had given them to him. “Wanted to...p-prove myself.”

Because he feared Khalid had blamed him for the prisoners’ escape. The knowledge was almost too much to bear. “You already did.” He stopped talking because his voice had cracked and he couldn’t go on.

Mohammed’s brave facade began to crumble. His legs shifted restlessly on the ground in a futile effort to escape the pain and he rolled his head, eyes squeezed shut. “ Hurts. ”

“I know, son.” And there was nothing he could do to ease it for him or speed the process of dying along for him. He didn’t even have anything to ease his pain—here, where opium grew more plentifully than anywhere else on earth. It could take another hour or two for him to die, maybe more. Khalid could not stay that long if he hoped to catch the enemy. But he refused to abandon Mohammed here to die alone. The boy deserved a better fate than that.

No. There was something he could do, he realized. He could give Mohammed one final act of mercy to repay him for his loyalty and kindness.

Fighting back a growl at the surge of pain in his left arm, he reached behind him into his belt and took hold of the knife hilt. He paused there a moment, fingers wrapped around the cool metal.

Allah , let me be swift. Let me strike true so that he does not suffer a moment longer.

“Mohammed, pray with me.”

The boy’s eyes opened and fixed on him, the fear and despair in them driving a different kind of blade into Khalid’s heart. Holding his young friend’s gaze, he began citing one of his favorite verses from the Quran. Mohammed’s lips trembled a moment, and then he joined in, saying the words of the martyr’s prayer. Together their voices filled the rock crevice, sending the prayer heavenward to Allah through the opening above them where the sky was a pure, endless blue.

Allah , forgive me.

Near the end of the last line of the prayer, Khalid gathered his will and brought the knife up, then plunged it down with all the remaining strength in his wounded arm, driving it deep into Mohammed’s heart.

The boy lurched up with a horrific gasp when the blade buried deep, his hands flying up to grasp at the hilt, his expression stricken, accusing.

Khalid kept his gaze locked with Mohammed’s, letting him see that he wasn’t alone. “Peace be upon you, Mohammed,” he whispered, holding the hands grasping the knife’s hilt until they went slack. The boy’s head lolled back, the horror and betrayal in those wide eyes fading, softening to nothingness.

When it was over, Khalid yanked the blade out, roaring at the pain in his shoulder and in his heart. His cheeks were wet above his beard and he didn’t bother wiping them dry. Rising on unsteady legs, he stumbled out of the crevice with the bloody knife in his hands to order the survivors to assemble, intent on killing every last one of the enemy.

There was no one there.

The only men left were the dead scattered before him in the distance, their lifeless hands lying empty on the ground. Everyone else had deserted him, taking the fallen men’s weapons with them.

A strange ripping sensation in his chest made him gasp and double over. All his life he’d fought for the chance to matter, for the chance to lead. Now, in his hour of greatest need, no one was willing to follow him.

The blood rushed loudly in his ears, panic setting in. Rahim was coming. He knew about the traitor Jihad and wanted to exact revenge, as well as recapture the Secretary of Defense. If Khalid didn’t get the prisoner himself before Rahim arrived, he was a dead man walking.

Denial and bitterness filled him, hardened his resolve. He was alone, weak from pain and blood loss and without a weapon, and he had only one more chance to save himself. He took it, striding over the sunbaked ground and across the field of dead to where the enemy had retreated. But instead of following their tracks, he skirted down the hill to a thin trail that snaked its way up and over it. Dizziness and exhaustion slowed him. The chance at redeeming his reputation gave him the endurance to push forward.

With every step, he battled the doubt nipping at him. Voices from his past filled his head, words spoken by the elders bringing fear and resentment so thick they nearly choked him.

You should never have lived.

We should have killed you while you slept in your mother’s whoring belly.

Your existence is a sin against Allah and your life will be cursed because of it.

Khalid shook his head to clear those hateful voices, forcing the ugly words aside. They didn’t matter because they weren’t true. He was still the master of his fate. It wasn’t too late. Allah wanted him to carry on, or the bullets would have killed him, rather than only wound him.

He followed the trail to its summit and down the other side, trusting Allah to guide him. And when he reached the bottom and heard the distant sound of coughing, his heart filled with hope.

Peering through a gap in the rocks, he took in the scene before him. The prisoners were on the intersecting trail, headed toward him, unaware of his presence. The PJ was out front this time, scouting out their position, because he’d left the female resting at a spot back along the trail. The traitor Jihad carried the Secretary a fair distance behind them. They were separated and exposed, as vulnerable as he could ever hope for.

He fought to slow his breathing. Aware that he had only this final chance, Khalid hunkered down to wait for the perfect moment. Exhaustion pulled at him, weighing his limbs down. He struggled through it and held fast to his purpose. His nerveless fingers tightened around the hilt of the bloodstained knife.

He still had strength enough for this.

* * *

M AYA SIGHED IN relief when Jackson set her down to rest, and the sigh immediately turned into a coughing attack. She doubled over and clamped her good arm around her ribs to shield them from the force of the coughs, though he doubted it did any good. Sweaty and shaking, she wiped her forearm across her face and opened her eyes to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed in a whisper. He didn’t know why she’d bothered trying to be quiet when every living thing within a two-mile radius must have heard the coughing.

He didn’t believe her for a second, but faced forward and continued creeping ahead to do some recon. It would take a while for Sandberg to make it up here, and when he did he was going to need a rest. He’d insisted they were still going in the right direction, despite the detour, and Jackson agreed. Along with the physical exertion, the constant drain of having to be on his guard was taking a toll on him. They were closer to freedom now than they’d ever been since the capture, just under a mile from the designated LZ. Right now that mile seemed more like a hundred. He wanted nothing more than to get everyone on board that helo and get the hell out of here. The minutes were dragging by.

It was too damn quiet out here. Made him uneasy.

On one knee, he paused to check his perimeter again. He could see trails leading up into the hills surrounding him. Lots of places for the enemy to hide.

Satisfied they were still okay, he crept forward another ten yards or so when something tripped his internal radar. Off to the right lay the foot of another path, this one leading up and over the hill they’d just come around. Since he couldn’t see any movement, he kept going, wanting to make sure the trail was clear before the others caught up.

A flash of movement was the only warning he got.

A man burst out from behind the rocks. Jackson tracked the knife in his fist and raised his weapon. Khalid’s enraged face registered just as he pulled the trigger.

His weapon jammed.

Fuck!

Khalid was steps away, knife held high, eyes gleaming with the promise of death.

There was no time to clear his weapon. Jackson threw it aside and launched himself at his enemy. They collided in midair with a bone-jarring grunt and fell to the ground on their sides. Jackson’s fist wrapped around the hand holding the knife, forced it back. His muscles strained and shook at the effort.

Khalid was ranting something in Pashto and Jackson could hear Maya screaming his name in the background. Those evil yellow eyes were narrowed on him with naked hatred.

The muscles in Jackson’s arm quivered as he held the weapon at bay. In those few seconds, all his fury intensified, so hot that he couldn’t contain it. This fucker had orchestrated their kidnapping. He’d beaten and tortured Maya, forced her to hold a gun to her head and pull the trigger. The memory of Maya’s cries as Khalid had beaten her filled Jackson’s head in a deafening roar. His heart pounded against his ribs. Instinct took over.

He reared up and drove his left fist into Khalid’s wounded shoulder with every bit of strength he had left. The man went white and howled in agony, his fingers releasing their death grip on the knife. It dropped to the dusty ground with a thud. Jackson didn’t even glance at it. He pounded Khalid in the face and shoulder to unleash the toxic rage seething inside him, still caught up in his memories.

He’d hurt Maya . Beaten her with his fists and belt. Broken her bones. Deprived her of food and water. Locked her up in a cage too small to stand up or lie down in.

He barely felt the blows Khalid managed to land with his elbow and knees in between punches. They rolled and twisted in the dirt, locked in mortal combat. One of them wasn’t walking away from this. Jackson knew it. And it wasn’t going to be him. He was weakened and dehydrated, but he was still stronger than Khalid and his demented fervor.

He came up on top and straddled Khalid to drive his fist into that sneering face when he caught the flash of metal out of the corner of his eye. At the last moment he saw the blade slicing toward him in a deadly arc. He jerked out of the way just as the knife swept past his chest, so close he felt the breeze it stirred.

On instinct, Jackson twisted them around and captured the bastard’s head in the crook of one elbow. He added the other arm and squeezed hard, locking the choke hold down. His hands clamped around Khalid’s skull. Held tight as Khalid flailed in his grip. With an enraged snarl Jackson wrenched the head around as hard as he could, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch.

The knife hit the ground with a metallic clang and the body beneath him went instantly slack, those eerie yellow eyes turning glassy.

Panting, Jackson released him and slid off to the side. The adrenaline crash hit him hard. He was shaking all over and gasping when Sandberg raced up with his AK aimed at Khalid. Maya was right behind him, her face full of terror.

She dropped to her knees next to him, grabbed his shoulder with her good hand. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” The fear and desperation in her voice broke through the numbness.

“I’m fine.” He forced himself to his feet on shaky legs and turned to block her from the sight of Khalid’s body.

“What the hell were you doing ?” she wheezed, face pale.

“Rifle jammed,” he answered. “And I wasn’t letting him come near you ever again.” He’d wanted to kill Khalid with his bare hands. And he had. That shook him. He’d never known he could hate anyone that much.

He watched the words register, the truth of what he’d said sinking in. She gave a tiny nod and reached up to cradle the side of his face with her palm. “Okay. But don’t ever do something like that again.”

“That LZ’s not coming to us, people, and it’s not getting any closer standing around here,” Sandberg said, returning for Haversham where he’d left him back down the trail when Khalid attacked Jackson.

He knew they had to get moving, but Jackson didn’t move out right away. Instead he covered Maya’s hand with his and closed his eyes to lean into her touch, letting her know what the gesture meant to him. Her hand was hot, too hot, and dry. Her breathing was raspy and labored, making him even more anxious to get her evacuated to a hospital for treatment. But that unexpected softness in her expression and knowing he was responsible for it—that was something he could easily live for.

He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed, keeping them to his scruffy cheek. “Almost there, baby,” he whispered. “A little ways longer and we’re outta here. But I think you’re gonna have to walk for a bit.” At the moment his legs felt too weak to carry his own weight.

A grin spread across her cracked lips and her right eye twinkled. Half turning so her back was to him, she bent slightly at the knees and looked over her shoulder at him, reaching her right arm back. “Come on, jump on,” she wheezed, practically wobbling on her feet. “But just this once.”

It was such a ridiculous thing to say and it was clear the effort cost her, but damned if it didn’t make him grin. “Rain check.”

Maya shrugged in a “suit yourself” way and stepped past him to head down the trail. Steadier now, he retrieved his discarded rifle and turned away to lead them the last mile to the LZ.