Lethal Pursuit (Bagram Special Ops #3)

Twenty-One

TWENTY-ONE

A FEW HUNDRED yards into the trek, Maya stumbled, her breathing all but stopping her in her tracks. Walking uphill even for that short a distance was too much. It felt like someone had weighed down her body with lead bricks. Her heart was pounding out of control and there was no way to slow it. The tightness in her chest made it impossible to get a deep breath and when she did, her ribs killed her or a coughing fit took hold.

Come on! she raged at her body. We’re so close. They didn’t have far to go and they couldn’t risk slowing down to wait for her to rest. She didn’t want Jackson to have to carry her anymore.

Looking at him, no one would ever know that he’d just killed a dangerous militant in hand-to-hand combat. After retrieving then clearing his jammed weapon, he’d taken point again and was still going at a good clip, despite the demands he’d placed on his body today. Sandberg carried Haversham behind her, and when she slowed they caught up fast. She waved them on, bent over and gasping, but Sandberg didn’t budge from her side. When Jackson glanced back and saw her, he doubled back.

“Sorry,” she gasped, angry at her body’s weakness. “Can’t.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Come on, darlin’, one last ride.” Stooping, he offered her a hand and she draped herself over his broad back so he could lift her more easily. She hated that he was forced to carry her again. He was doing double the work to pick up her slack, had been all day. She held her breath and tensed her aching muscles when he shifted her into position. God, the constant pain was making her insane. He stood and staggered back a step, telling her just how exhausted he was, then gave a muffled groan and started walking.

Maya covered her mouth with her right forearm as she began coughing, the fiery pain ripping through her. As soon as she could breathe again, she closed her eyes and laid her cheek against Jackson’s sun-warmed shoulder in defeat. “I owe you a day at the spa,” she managed.

“Nah,” he said between breaths. “I’ll take a good rubdown from you later, though.”

The thought made her smile. If she could be this ill and look like she did and he still wanted her to touch him, that had to be a good sign.

Next time she opened her eyes, Jackson had crested the small hill and had paused to rest a moment.

“Just down there in that clearing,” Sandberg told them, pointing to the LZ.

Now that the end was in sight, Maya’s heart was filled to bursting with hope. So close. It was hard to believe this whole nightmare was almost over. She raised her head, scanning the sky and straining to listen for the throb of incoming rotors. Nothing but the soft sigh of the wind came back, the sound of Jackson’s ragged breathing.

He kept shifting her repeatedly over the final few hundred yards, the muscles in his back and shoulders quivering beneath her. She rubbed a hand absently over his sweat-soaked chest in apology and gratitude for all he’d done for her.

At last they reached the clearing, and he set her down beside a thin, scraggly bush. She huddled into a ball on her side and wrapped the blanket around her to stave off the worst of the shivers, while he dropped to his hands and knees beside her, exhausted. Sweat poured off his face, no matter how many times he swiped his arm across it.

Sandberg set Haversham down and dropped his ruck, and the Sec Def immediately tore into it, handing both men a bladder of water Tarik had given them. Jackson drained a good amount of his before opening his eyes with a sigh and offering it to Maya. She took it and had a few sips, relishing the feel of moisture in her dry mouth. Her stomach was in knots from being exposed out here to await the CSAR team.

“How much longer?” Haversham asked Sandberg, propped on to one hip with a pistol in his hand. He hadn’t released it since they’d left the village.

“Twenty, twenty-five minutes,” he answered, still sucking in air.

Maya had no idea how he and Jackson had found the endurance to carry them so far in these conditions. She took in her surroundings, unable to let her guard down. They were in a natural bowl that provided some protection from the wind should it pick up. It was wide enough that a few helicopters would have no trouble setting down inside it. When they came, there’d be more than one. With the Sec Def as one of the extractions, they wouldn’t be taking any chances with his safety. Wouldn’t surprise her if an entire SEAL team showed up to get them. She wouldn’t mind seeing some SEALs right about now.

Jackson was on one knee holding his weapon at the ready, watching the surrounding hills. No one said anything, all of them too tired and edgy to bother trying to make conversation.

When it seemed like way more than twenty-five minutes had passed, a distant sound disturbed the air. She glanced up at Jackson to see if he’d heard it too. He was tense, focused on the sky behind her. She twisted around, grimacing as it pulled her ribs. Was it their ride? Her heart rate accelerated, anticipation rising sharp and painful in her chest.

A minute later the sound increased, and it was unmistakable. The heavy beat of a rotary wing aircraft. Then Sandberg pointed. “I see it.”

Everyone followed his finger. There in the distance, Maya picked out a black speck in the clear blue sky. A moment later, the speck split into three.

Oh yeah, the cavalry had arrived. The elation sweeping through her brought tears to her eyes.

She was on her feet without realizing it, shading her eyes with her hand. Part of her wanted to jump up and down and wave her arm like a maniac. She felt like a shipwreck survivor who’d just spotted their salvation. Then a series of cracks rent the air. For a moment they didn’t register.

She swiveled to find Jackson reaching for her, his face tense. “Get down!”

Jesus, someone was still out there shooting at them.

She dropped to her knees and then her belly as Jackson slid up beside her. He pressed her head down until her cheek dug into the dusty ground. With her head cranked to one side, she got her first glimpse of the figures rushing down the hillside toward them. Fifty men at least, maybe more.

“Shit, they’re surrounding us,” Haversham muttered, returning fire.

Maya glanced the other way to see more coming at them from that side. She cast a desperate glance up at the incoming helos. They were close. Would they be able to land and stay there long enough for her and the others to get aboard?

The shooting took a sudden uptick in volume. She lay flat next to Jackson while he and Haversham fired at the oncoming enemy. Within thirty seconds, Jackson set down his weapon. “Out of ammo,” he muttered, cursing under his breath.

Her stomach knotted. Before she could answer, something exploded a few dozen yards in front of them. Jackson covered her head and torso with his own while debris pelted them. That eerie howl of the militants rose up over the noise of the firefight.

“I’m out!” Sandberg shouted.

They were surrounded and out of ammo. The sound of the rotors grew louder. Maya’s heart lodged in her throat. Icy needles pricked her body. Jackson lifted off her and she shifted to get to her knees, but he stopped her with an arm around her back. “Stay down,” he yelled in her ear, holding her close. Unable to run though every instinct demanded she flee, she closed her eyes and clung to him, praying for help.

Bullets impacted closer, closer until she could feel them whizzing past her, thudding into the ground around them. The distant helos were still too far away.

She was holding her breath, praying for a miracle when the deafening roar of twin engines suddenly split the air. A half second later, the bark of powerful guns eclipsed everything else. Daring to open her eyes, Maya lifted her chin to see an Apache attack helicopter rise out of the valley beyond the cliff’s edge and spray the attacking enemy with fire. Moments later another one appeared on its left, rising out of the abyss. It opened up its guns with a loud rattle. After about a minute of firing, they fell silent. Her ears throbbed in the sudden quiet.

Screams from the wounded enemy filled the void, but that eerie howl that signaled an attack was gone. She didn’t dare look behind her or to the side as the big Chinook looming above finally came in for a landing, two Black Hawks flanking it. The Apaches gained altitude and resumed making controlled bursts at the remaining attackers. The instant the other birds touched down, soldiers poured out of them.

Dozens of them. Big men with scruffy beards and scary-ass game faces, come to send these bastards to their maker. SEALs or Delta from the look of them, maybe some of both.

Jackson’s arm scooped around her shoulders. He hauled her to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the Chinook, yelling in her ear. “Go, go!”

She took off on rubbery legs, wheezing but determined to make it. The SOF troops raced past her, taking out more targets as they ran to form a protective perimeter. Another man was running toward her, and Maya finally saw the letters PJ on his upper arm.

He grabbed her and tossed her over one shoulder, ignoring her scream of agony, then turned and ran like hell back to the waiting Chinook, its rotors still turning. She bit down and shut her eyes, struggling to stay above the pain. Each running step jammed her rescuer’s shoulder deep into her belly and jarred her damaged ribs.

In seconds he flipped her over and handed her off to someone else, who dragged her deep inside the belly of the helo. Just as she cleared the doorway, out in the distance her gaze landed on one of the attackers, scrambling back up the hill. He half turned, facing toward her, watching the helo. In the sunlight she caught the flash of a coppery head and beard.

Rahim.

She scrambled to twist around, searching for someone to tell. Where was Jackson? He’d been right behind her. She cried out in relief when he came flying up the tail ramp, reaching out a hand for him. He skidded to a halt in front of her and took her face in his hands. “You okay?” he yelled over the noise of the rotors.

She nodded. “Rahim’s out there—I saw him.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” She hadn’t imagined it, and there couldn’t be two copper-bearded militants built like that out here.

Another man appeared carrying Haversham up the ramp, and then Sandberg ran in. More men rushed inside, some moving backward, shooting at targets just out of view. She could hear the deeper bark of the Apache guns outside. The pitch of the rotors suddenly changed and the big helo shook under the strain as the pilots powered up. Her pulse pounded a frantic rhythm while the behemoth eased off the ground. She sensed the deck tilting as they climbed and eased forward, signaling their imminent escape.

Then a hail of gunfire erupted in the port side wall near where she was sitting. Automatically she dropped facedown on the deck, covering her head. Bullets raked the side of the aircraft, punching holes through the metal skin. Bits of insulation rained down on her. Men were yelling, swearing. The next thing she knew, Jackson had thrown himself across her. The big helo pitched to the side. Only Jackson’s weight kept her from rolling across the metal deck. More shots ripped into the port side wall. Jackson jerked on top of her. Men were shouting, running, grabbing fire extinguishers. The Chinook rolled sharply to the right.

Shit , oh shit , oh shit ...

They dropped so hard and fast her stomach floated up toward her rib cage. Maya thought her heart would explode. Were they going down? She squeezed her eyes shut. Jackson stayed on her like a living shield, pressing her down, one hand protecting her head. Another sharp pitch forward, and her body was shoved hard against the deck, telling her they were pulling serious Gs. She sensed the Chinook lifting, climbing ever higher. Soon the constant rattle of gunfire faded away, gradually replaced by the roar of the rotors as they sped away.

Trembling, hardly daring to believe it was over, Maya closed her eyes and went limp beneath Jackson. He rolled off with a pained grunt. The sound made her skin prickle. Lifting up on her good arm, she angled her head to see him. What she saw made all the blood drain out of her face.

He was lying on his side with a hand pressed to his belly, and his face was white with strain. Blood spilled out beneath his splayed hand.

Oh my God. “No!” she yelled, the word torn from the depths of her soul as she lunged at him. She shoved her hand down over his, her eyes searching his face and seeing nothing but pain and anxiety he was trying to hide. She twisted around, heedless of her own suffering. “Someone help me!” His blood was warm against her fingers, pooling much too fast. Already it stained the deck.

“I’m okay,” he managed calmly, trying to reassure her.

He was not okay. Terrified sobs shook her, jarring her deep inside. He’d just been gut shot. She knew what that meant.

A soldier finally came over and pulled her away from him to take her place. She fought the restraining hands but another pair grabbed her, holding her steady. “Maya. Maya, look at me.”

She jerked her head up to find Haversham holding her. His eyes were earnest, shadowed with exhaustion and strain. “He’ll be fine. Stay back here with me and let them help him.”

They had Jackson’s filthy T-shirt cut off him and she could see the ugly wound on his abdomen they were working on. Her stomach twisted at the sight of that dark hole in his bronze-toned flesh. She made a high-pitched sound of agony, and Haversham hugged her closer, pressing his cheek to hers. “Come on, sweetheart, hang tough. He’s a fighter and they’re doing everything they can. We’ll be on base in no time and they’ll get him right into the O.R.”

It wasn’t good enough. She wanted to be the one next to him, helping him, doing something instead of sitting there watching him bleed.

If she’d realized anything since their capture, it was that she loved him. Unequivocally, and without reservation. She wanted him to know it.

One of the medics started an IV, while the other worked on slowing the bleeding. The second man turned his head to shout something toward the front of the aircraft, and with a start she recognized Jackson’s buddy, Cam. A tiny measure of relief eased the worst of the panic. Cam loved him like a brother. He’d do everything in his power to save Jackson.

Jackson waved a hand to get Cam’s attention and pointed at her. Cam and the other medic looked over at her, and she wanted to scream at them to hurry up and help him already. Cam stayed with him, keeping pressure on the wound, but the other man got up and came over to her.

“He wants you on oxygen, ma’am. Come with me and we’ll lay you next to him. He’ll be a lot more relaxed that way.”

Beside him was exactly where she wanted to be, but oxygen ? He wanted her on fucking oxygen when he was lying there bleeding all over the place from a bullet in his belly?

Haversham helped her up with one arm as she took the hand the medic offered her. When she was beside Jackson again, she grabbed his hand and held it as tight as she could, searching his face anxiously, feeling like she was dying inside. “You hold on, do you hear me?”

A pained half smile curved his lips in the midst of that thick, nearly black stubble. “Gonna be fine, sweetheart. Right, guys?”

Cam nodded without looking at her, all business as he focused on his work. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes and I’ve already radioed ahead to alert the surgical staff. They’ll get him into the O.R. right away. He’s gonna be okay once they patch him up.”

Maya didn’t believe him. The bullet could have hit an organ or an artery and they wouldn’t know how bad the damage was until they operated. She reached out and took Jackson’s face in her good hand, cupping her palm around his jaw, holding his gaze with all her formidable will. “Don’t you dare leave me.” She choked on the last word, tears spilling down her face and she didn’t care who saw them. If he hadn’t thrown himself on top of her, he wouldn’t have been shot.

Jackson’s expression softened as though he understood how afraid she was of losing him. “Won’t leave you, baby. Promise.” His face contorted when they did something to the wound. She glanced down to where they were putting pressure bandages on him but then another medic appeared with two oxygen tanks.

“Matching set of his and her oxygen tanks, as requested,” he said, plunking them down and slipping a mask first over Jackson’s nose and mouth, then hers.

Annoyed, she started to bat the thing away, but Jackson stopped her by grabbing her hand and squeezing tight. When she looked into his face, he gave a sharp shake of his head and she relented, lying back on the stretcher where they’d placed her. It was so fucking stupid to be worrying about her right now that she wanted to scream at him. She was still crying and couldn’t seem to stop, each sob tearing at her injured ribs and she didn’t care. She wanted the pain.

The medic next to her put a blood pressure cuff on her right arm and inflated it, taking her vitals and recording them before getting on the radio, she assumed to whatever base hospital they were taking them to. As Cam had promised, the flight wasn’t long, but it seemed to last forever and Maya refused to let go of Jackson’s hand. Every few minutes she squeezed his fingers to let him know she was there, and it heartened her a little when he squeezed back. Soon the Chinook’s engines began to reduce power until they finally landed.

Seconds after the tail ramp lowered the medics carried her, Jackson and Haversham out. She blinked in the blinding sunshine and reluctantly released Jackson’s hand with a final squeeze as they rushed them through the pulsing rotor wash and across the tarmac. Then she started coughing and lost track of everything: time, place and Jackson’s location.

She was sagging against the stretcher when she could at last open her eyes and found a medical team descending on her. They poked needles into her and prodded her all over, despite her growls of pain and frantic questions about Jackson. No one would tell her anything except to save her strength and not talk. Even in the X-ray room the tech wouldn’t answer her questions.

A nurse came in and injected something into her IV line that she said would make Maya sleepy. Her eyelids started to droop in seconds. With one frantic burst of strength, she fought it and snarled at the woman.

“Someone better take me to Sergeant Thatcher, or I swear to God I’ll get off this gurney and find him myself.”

The nurse must have realized Maya wasn’t bluffing, because she reluctantly wheeled her down a brightly lit hallway into another room, where other patients lay behind curtained cubicles. One curtain was pulled aside and the moment Maya saw Jackson she cried out and half sat up, rolling to her good arm to brace herself, despite the stab in her ribs. She was woozy enough from the medication that it took two tries to rip the oxygen mask away. “Jackson!”

His eyes opened and focused on her. She saw his wan smile form beneath the clear mask. “Hey.” His voice was raspy, but clear. Bloody bandages littered the stretcher and floor.

“What’s happening?” she demanded of the medical staff at his bedside.

“We’re prepping him for surgery so we can take out the metal fragments in his intestines,” a man wearing a surgical mask and cap answered. From the authoritative way he acted, Maya guessed he was the surgeon.

But oh, shit, fragments in the intestines sounded really bad. Her stomach balled up so hard it hurt. “He’ll be okay though, right?” She didn’t take her eyes off Jackson, afraid they were lying.

“He’ll be okay,” the surgeon answered. They started wheeling him away and she panicked until Jackson pulled the mask aside to speak to her, every line of his face etched with pain he was trying not to show.

“Heal fast, Maya, and come to me when you can.”

She nodded and watched with a lump in her throat as they wheeled him through the big double doors at the end of the room. The doors swung shut and all her strength vanished, leaving her limp on the stretcher. It would be okay. She’d have the chance to confess her feelings for him once he came out of recovery. When she told him she didn’t want an audience, because it was no one else’s damn business, and it went against military regulation anyhow. Not that she really gave a shit about that part at this point.

“Okay, now will you cooperate and lie down?” the nurse asked in exasperation. “You’ve got a long flight ahead and your own surgery for that wrist coming up.”

Flight? What flight? She was suddenly too exhausted to form the question. Whatever drug they had her on did its job and pulled her under.

The next time she woke up, people were standing at her bedside, discussing medical things she didn’t understand. Were they talking about her? What time was it? What day was it? She wanted to ask about Jackson but her eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

A gust of cool, sweet air hit her in the face. Her eyes snapped open and it took a moment for her to realize she was outside. A large gray aircraft loomed in front of her, its tail ramp open. Were they loading her on to it? Her tongue was too heavy and uncooperative to speak. Her heart started to race. She didn’t want to leave without knowing Jackson was out of surgery and would be okay. Where were they taking her? When would she see Jackson again?

“Whoa, easy there.” A steadying hand pressed down on her shoulder when she tried to sit up.

Her tongue wouldn’t form the words she wanted to say. She needed to know what was happening. How was Jackson? And she had to tell someone about Rahim. Had they killed him? She hoped so. The cold night air made her shiver, despite all the blankets they’d piled on her. Everything hurt and she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Her eyelids fluttered closed. The last thing she remembered was jolting awake at the roar of the plane’s engines as they powered up for takeoff.