Chapter 23 #2
Kev couldn’t see the waiter’s face, only his back, but he didn’t like the way the man stood there so confident and sure. Dread crawled up Kev’s spine and settled at the base of his brain. “Not sure.”
But Lucky’s face had drained of all color. Her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s wearing a bomb.”
Fear ricocheted around Lucky’s belly, making her nauseous. The waiter—suicide bomber—stood there so erect and proud and fearless. Willing to die.
A murmur rippled across the crowd. A woman screamed and then dropped in a faint. Many of the girls started to cry while others screamed and ran to their parents’ sides.
Lucky focused again on the man she’d spotted right before the suicide bomber revealed himself. He stood with his arms around a woman and a girl—Lana, she was called. Lucky remembered because she’d been so gregarious. Not at all the sort of child you’d expect to belong to a madman.
Lucky searched her brain for a name. She couldn’t think of the girl’s surname because Arab surnames were long and she’d been working on memorizing the girls’ given names first.
The man’s face was hidden now as he stood with his arms around the woman and girl. He didn’t seem like a crazed terrorist. He seemed like a frightened spectator, same as the rest of the people in this room.
Her heart thumped. She was wrong, and this man wasn’t the one. So where was he? Why couldn’t she find the man who’d tortured her, the man whose face should be seared into her brain no matter how briefly she’d seen it?
Kev’s hand tightened on hers. He stood upright now, as did everyone else in the room. Another man in a waiter’s uniform spoke to the crowd, and Lucky whispered the words, hoping Kev—and the team—would hear them.
“In the name of Allah the most mighty, the Freedom Force promises you will not be harmed if His Most Revered Highness, King Tariq bin Abdullah, accedes to our demands. If he does not, you will be executed one by one.”
The king’s chin went up. He was resplendent in a dark thobe with ornate embroidery in golden thread running down the edges. He was also young, perhaps thirty or so, and handsome. His cheeks were slashed with red as he spoke.
“My government does not bargain with terrorists,” he said in a clear voice.
“As you wish.”
A shot rang out and everyone jumped. A few people screamed. And then a man sank to the tiles, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. A different waiter lowered a gun as a woman began to sob.
“Jesus,” Kev said under his breath.
“Your Excellency?” the first waiter asked again. The bomber stood by with a serene expression on his face, awaiting orders from the apparent leader.
Lucky had no doubt he’d detonate the weapon if told to do so. Footage of the suicide bombings carried out by the Freedom Force played in her head, as well as her memories from the other day. So many people hurt. So many lives torn apart without remorse. And for what?
She glanced at the man with Lana again. His head was still down, his face partly obscured. Dammit! She had to find him, or what was the use of her being here?
“What do you want?” the king snapped.
“You will come with us. Never fear. You are too valuable to be harmed.” The waiter let his gaze slide across the gathering. “These people, however, are not. Choose wisely, Your Excellency.”
“I’ve got the shot,” Jack Hunter said softly from his hiding place in the dome that rose over the ballroom.
There was a small gallery that ringed the dome, and he’d scaled the stairs double quick to make it up here after the team had split earlier.
He didn’t have his spotter, but he didn’t need him for this close proximity shot.
“I can take the bomber out and the leader next.”
“Negative, Hawk,” Matt said. “We have no idea how many of them there are. Or if there’s more than one bomb.”
“We can’t let them take the king,” he ground out.
“I know. But we still have no idea who Al Ahmad is, and if we blow this, we may never get another chance.”
“Can you see Lucky and Big Mac?” Iceman’s voice.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “They’re behind the bomber.”
“Kev, you got anything?” Matt said. “If you can’t speak, signal.”
Kev shook his head slightly.
“That’s a negative,” Jack reported.
“Sonofabitch.”
Jack didn’t know who swore, but it was pretty much what they were all thinking.
The fucking King of Qu’rim was about to be kidnapped by terrorists, and they still had no idea who Al Ahmad was.
He had to be in the room—unless they’d been wrong about his daughter.
What if it was all a smokescreen? What if they’d been led on a wild goose chase?
He could be anywhere, laughing his ass off and planning what he was going to do with those weapons once he had them.
Jack scanned the room. The man who’d been shot was definitely dead.
A woman sobbed over his body, and a girl sat and rocked back and forth as if she were in her own world.
Old sorrows threatened to break loose and overwhelm him, but he forced them down again.
He had a job to do. He did not get emotional.
Ever. He’d left emotion behind the day the Red Cross had called his commander and said they needed to speak with him.
Loss. Jesus Christ.
He sighted down the scope and watched the man who’d spoken to the king. He didn’t have any emotions either. The suicide bomber stood placidly by, also devoid of emotion.
Jack couldn’t understand what was being said, but the king held up a hand to the men on either side of him and walked toward the terrorist leader.
“Something’s happening,” Jack said.
“Copy,” Matt replied.
Jack knew he wasn’t the only one who could see what was happening in the ballroom, but he had the bird’s eye view.
The terrorist smiled at the king and said something.
Then the two of them turned and walked toward a side door.
Another terrorist went with them, but the bomber stayed behind.
Jack counted eight men with weapons. Fucking waiters.
It was the perfect way into the school. Obviously, the screening process for the caterer had been shit.
Jack’s finger hovered over his trigger. He didn’t know what these assholes were going to do, but if they started shooting, he’d have a hell of a time getting them all before they took out at least a dozen innocent people. And that’s only if there were no other bombers in the group.
Definitely a fucking nightmare.
The gunmen barked orders at the crowd, and they all began to move toward the center, clustering together. The littlest girls cried and Jack gritted his teeth. Goddamn. He wanted to put a bullet in that asshole’s brain, but he couldn’t.
Lucky and Kev moved into the crowd, but Jack was able to keep sight of them because Kev was one of the tallest men in the room.
There was movement at the edge of the crowd, but Jack’s attention shifted because one of the gunmen said something that made Lucky stop and turn.
Kev turned with her. The gunman motioned at them, separating them out.
Jack wasn’t sure why, but then they were so clearly foreign in that crowd that it should be no surprise they were being singled out.
And yet it made Jack’s gut tighten. The Freedom Force didn’t love foreigners. And they loved Americans least of all. Jack’s trigger finger itched, but he had too much training to let it tighten before it was time.
“They’re pulling Kev and Lucky aside,” he said.
“I know. Jesus. We need that fucking ID, Big Mac,” Matt said. Kev shook his head again and Jack’s stomach sank.
“She doesn’t know. We’re fucked.”
There was silence for half a second. “Shit.” Matt huffed out a breath into the mic. “We aren’t losing our teammates while we wait for a fucking terrorist. We’re going in on my count…”
Lucky stumbled at that moment and Kev righted her. She leaned into him, and then she was on her feet again while the gunman shouted and waved his weapon. But Kev looked up and nodded once, sharply.
“She’s got him,” Jack said. “He’s there.”
“Halle-fucking-lujah.”
Jack’s heart pumped adrenaline into his veins. So fucking close now. “That’s all I’ve got.” He sighted the crowd, looking for an anomaly, a signal. This shit was getting out of hand. “I don’t know which one he is.”
“Holy fuck,” Billy said. “I think I do.”