Nine
NINE
T HEIR JOINED VOICES floated into the cool spring air as Khalid and his men said their dawn prayers. The air was chilly, his breath rising in a silver vapor into the sky. As one, they kneeled together, facing Mecca, touching their foreheads to their prayer carpets while the first rays of sun filled the valley below, painting the harsh and barren landscape with tones of pink and gold.
A beautiful morning for reflection and an entire day full of promising opportunity ahead.
He and his men finished prayers and gathered together for a light meal of tea, bread and dried fruit. Everyone was quiet but in good spirits, though Khalid could sense nervousness in some of the others. He’d done what he could to calm their fears, but there was no escape from danger now. Their high-profile prisoner guaranteed that a full-scale rescue operation was well underway now. Every last man had to maintain increased vigilance and be ready to move location at a moment’s notice, using one of the various evacuation plans already in place.
He spotted Mohammed sitting away from the others, wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl. The teenager’s gaze connected with his for a heartbeat before he looked away. Expelling a deep breath, Khalid approached him. This had to be dealt with. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Khalid-jan.” He wouldn’t meet Khalid’s eyes and his expression was guarded.
Khalid lowered himself to the ground and squatted beside Mohammed. Together they watched the sun rise, spilling more of its warm light across the valley. “Taking those prisoners was an important thing. You understand what we must do now, yes?”
The boy nodded, looked away and shifted his feet. Khalid knew why he was so uncomfortable. It was the reason he’d sent Mohammed away from the room before beginning the physical part of the female’s interrogation. From the corridor he’d have heard everything, but at least he’d been spared the sight of it.
“Our prisoners are well-trained soldiers,” he continued. “It is my duty to break them, to find out what we need to know. That is the only way to help our people now. It is how we will begin the end of the American occupation.”
Mohammed nodded again, still staring out over the valley.
Khalid harbored no anger or impatience toward the boy for his reaction to last night. He had no doubt that Mohammed was one of Allah’s warriors, but this boy would serve the war effort in a different way. There was no urgent need to expose him to more of the uglier truths of this war. Khalid knew it wasn’t the mistreatment of the female Mohammed objected to. The boy simply had no stomach for torture, let alone to watch it performed on a bound captive, regardless of sex or age. Khalid understood that.
“You don’t have to watch that part of it,” he said in a low voice. “Not if you don’t wish to.”
Mohammed lowered his gaze to the ground, a flush staining his cheeks above the scraggly beard he was trying to grow, as though he was embarrassed by his reaction. “I will do whatever you require of me.”
“Witnessing the interrogation is not necessary for you to prove your loyalty to me.” And in truth, Khalid would prefer that the boy not see it. There was something so unspoiled and pure about Mohammed, Khalid was loath to see it ruined.
That same innocent light had been stomped out in Khalid’s soul when he was just a child, because he hadn’t been given the choice. In its place a deep, burning anger had been born. Now nothing could extinguish the flames that hungered for justice and acceptance. He’d battled that unquenchable fire his entire life and would until the day Allah chose to take him home. He didn’t want that for Mohammed, this half man, half child he’d been entrusted with. In this at least, Mohammed would have the choice Khalid had been denied.
“Do not fear that I see your aversion to witnessing suffering as a weakness, Mohammed,” he added, feeling protective of the boy. “You have a great capacity for mercy. That is a rare gift.”
The boy’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Mercy is for the weak,” he mumbled.
“Not always.” He wished someone had shown him mercy when he was young, other than the initial gift of allowing him to live as a babe swelling his mother’s belly when his true origins had been revealed. If he could help Mohammed retain that inner purity for a while longer as he trained to be a warrior, perhaps it would remove some of the deep stains on Khalid’s soul. Time would harden the boy eventually anyway.
If he lived long enough to reach full manhood.
He pushed the thought from his mind. “Has Jihad returned from his patrol yet?” Rahim’s liaison had left at three o’clock that morning to do a security check of the area with two of Khalid’s men.
“No. He should be returning soon though.”
Khalid rose and stretched his back. “Come. The prisoners will need water. You may take them some.”
Mohammed jumped up to do his bidding. A few strides from the entry, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “What about...food?”
The boy’s na?veté and the concern in his eyes made something inside Khalid ache. Something he’d long thought dead. He kept his tone firm but kind. “No. Water only. These prisoners are different from any others. I need every advantage to get them to tell me what I need to know.” He left the rest unsaid.
Whether he understood his intent or not, Mohammed didn’t argue.
Following him to the entrance of the cave network, Khalid paused when the radio on his hip squawked. He pulled it from his belt. “Yes?”
“I am with Rahim,” Jihad said without preamble. “He wishes to meet with you.”
Rahim was here? Khalid’s pulse tripped. “When?”
“The sooner, the better.”
“Meet me at the designated place. I’ll wait for you there.” Khalid replaced the radio, hardly able to contain his excitement. If Rahim was close by, it meant the Americans had not yet found their hiding place. There was no way he would ever have ventured here otherwise.
Khalid took three men with him to the prearranged spot, all young and loyal men in their early twenties who would lay down their lives for him without hesitation. They maintained extreme vigilance as they descended the steep rocky trails to the rendezvous point, too aware of the rising sun exposing them and the everpresent threat of American satellites or drones in the area. Behind the cover of some large boulders and a screen of brush, they waited.
A small group of men appeared a few minutes later. There was no mistaking the great leader among them, though Khalid had never seen him before. Rahim was tall and broad through the chest and shoulders, his bearing and muscled frame broadcasting his previous life in the military. His light gray pakol covered most of his hair, but seeing the man’s coppery beard glinting in the sunlight was still a shock. As were the light blue eyes that met his when Rahim came close enough.
They crinkled at the corners as he smiled. The morning sun displayed the freckles covering his face, testament to the amount of time his pale skin had been exposed to the Afghan climate. “Khalid. Peace be upon you,” he said in Pashto.
“And on you, peace.” They shook hands.
Rahim placed his free hand over their clasped ones and regarded him warmly. “Praise be to Allah that we meet at last.”
He inclined his head. “God is great.”
Rahim released his hand. “You have done great work with this operation. You do your mujahideen brothers a proud service. Now.” A hard glint entered his eyes and he switched to the flawless English of his birth so that only Khalid would understand what they were saying from then on. “I understand you have some prisoners for me to meet.”
* * *
J ACKSON ROLLED STIFFLY on to his side and forced himself into a sitting position when he heard the footsteps approaching. Beside him, he could hear Doug shuffling in his own cell. Maya had finally slipped into a light sleep, a little under an hour ago as best he could tell. He hoped she stayed asleep for a long time, if for nothing else than to spare her from the pain of her injuries. She was breathing shallowly, her body self-splinting to prevent further damage.
The lantern in the man’s hand bobbed, making the softly glowing light bounce with each step. Jackson could make out the figure of the teenager, Mohammed, who’d brought Maya back to her cell after the interrogation. He passed by to Doug’s cell, setting the lantern on the floor with a metallic clink. He held something up—a canteen—and held it through the metal bars, raising it once by way of offering. Doug didn’t respond. The boy tried again and waited, hunkered down at the cell door, but after a minute or two passed without an answer, he moved on to Jackson.
The lantern light gave just enough illumination for Jackson to get a good look at the boy’s face. Mohammed had to be under twenty. His black beard was thin and scraggly, his upper cheeks soft and smooth, no wrinkles around the eyes. He offered him a drink from the canteen, frowning when Jackson didn’t acknowledge him. He said something in Pashto that Jackson didn’t understand and poured a little of the water into his hand to drink it, showing it wasn’t poisoned or tainted in any way. Jackson ignored the offer, despite how dry his mouth was. He was so thirsty he craved even a mouthful, but he would never let his captors know it. He could go another day or two without water if he had to.
Mohammed offered the canteen again, making a reassuring sound in his throat as though saying, “Come on, it’s okay.”
Maya stirred.
Jackson tensed as she moaned and gingerly shifted on to her back. In the lantern light he could see she’d squeezed her eyes shut, her lips pressed together to stifle sounds of pain. She had to be even thirstier than him and Doug after what she’d gone through last night. If she had internal injuries to her GI tract or internal bleeding, drinking could cause even more damage. He licked his dry lips and got to his knees close to the bars separating their cells.
“She’s hurt,” he said to Mohammed, who stared at him in surprise. The language barrier was a problem, but there was no way he could misunderstand what Jackson was saying. “I’m a medic.” He raised his shoulder a few inches and looked pointedly at the reflective patch on his upper arm. “I can help her. Let me check her, see if there’s anything I can do.”
No response, though the kid glanced between him and Maya, frowning in uncertainty. Looking at Jackson for confirmation, he held the canteen up and gestured toward her with a questioning look on his face.
“She’s hurt,” he repeated, looking in her direction then shaking his head. “No water yet. I need to see if it’s safe for her to drink.”
Mohammed lowered the canteen and stared back at him with a worried frown, and Jackson realized what was going on.
It wasn’t the language barrier. He didn’t have the authority to allow Jackson to enter Maya’s cell, let alone free his wrists. Probably because the kid knew Jackson could kill him with his bare hands if given the chance. Mohammed might be brainwashed and fighting for the wrong side in this war, but he wasn’t stupid. And right now he was Jackson’s best hope of helping Maya.
“Let me help her.” Urgency thrummed through him. If he could just convince Mohammed to let him in there, make himself seem nonthreatening, maybe Jackson could earn his trust enough to get him to remove the flex cuffs around his wrists.
A sudden image of breaking the kid’s neck appeared in his head. He dismissed it with a silent growl of frustration.
Fuck.
Even if he convinced Mohammed to let him into Maya’s cell with his hands free, moving her without knowing the extent of her injuries might prove fatal for her. And he couldn’t kill the kid, grab her and make a run for it while leaving the Sec Def still locked up. Even if he got them out of here, the chances of them surviving the attempt were slim at best.
But the innate urge to escape was powerful.
He glanced over at Maya’s pinched face, his mind whirling with different options. The entire countryside had to be crawling with soldiers out looking for them, along with every technological advantage the U.S. had over the enemy. He had to consciously slow his heart rate to calm himself. His paramount concern right now was Maya. She was the most at risk and the one in immediate need of care. He tried again to plead his case. “Let me help her. I need to see how badly she’s hurt.” He kept his expression neutral, trying like hell not to give away how much she mattered to him. If Mohammed picked up on that, he’d tell his superiors.
Mohammed seemed to hesitate a few seconds before meeting Jackson’s gaze, and stared at him for a long moment. He pointed at Jackson then to Maya, his eyebrows raised in silent question.
Jackson nodded emphatically. “Yes. I need to see her.” If he found the serious injuries he feared he would, he’d make a lot more noise until they gave him some medical supplies to work with, or at least something he could give her for the pain. Bastards had to have access to some opium.
Mohammed eased back on to his haunches and chewed his lip as if he didn’t know what to do. The fact that he hadn’t up and left the moment Jackson had issued the first request gave him hope. Maybe there was some decency left in this kid after all. If so, Jackson had to capitalize on it before one of the others came back.
As though he’d come to a decision, Mohammed leaned the canteen against the cell bars and met Jackson’s gaze, holding up a finger in the universal sign for “just a sec” then rose, leaving the lantern where it was. Jackson bit back the shout of denial on his tongue.
“Where’s he going?” Doug whispered from beside him, his voice full of anxiety.
“Either to ask permission for me to look at her, or to get the others,” Jackson answered, a new dread churning in his gut. His turn in the interrogation seat was coming. He knew that. Had he just guaranteed being next? With renewed urgency, he focused on Maya’s inert form. “Maya? Can you hear me?” He’d gladly take the coming beating if it saved her from another.
Her eyes opened, one nearly swollen shut. He could see the light reflecting in the other one. “Yes.” The answer was so soft he barely heard her, and it made his heart squeeze.
He didn’t have much time. “When they come back, just stay quiet and still. Don’t do anything that might draw attention to you, okay? Try not to react, no matter what they do.” Whatever happened next, he wanted her out of the line of fire. If—when—they came to take him away, he didn’t want her reaction to make her a target again.
“Okay.” Her eyes slid closed as if the effort of keeping them open was too exhausting.
They lapsed into a tense silence until Doug spoke at last. “They’ll come for me next.”
Jackson swiveled his head around to look at him.
“It’s me they want answers from. I’m the reason we’re all here.”
“They’re going to use us against you,” Jackson corrected, stating the obvious. “The reasons behind all this don’t matter. We’re all in this together now.”
Voices floated from the far end of the corridor, where Mohammed had disappeared. Then footsteps. The strong beam of a flashlight lit their way, and Jackson’s stomach sank when he recognized the bastard who’d beaten Maya walking in the lead. Mohammed trailed behind at the end of the group, with two more big men following behind the leader.
Jackson quickly dropped back to the wall of his cell and drew his knees up. Maya didn’t move from her position on the floor, but her breathing had turned shallow with fear. With every step the men took, his muscles drew tighter and tighter, his body suspended in a hellish flight-or-fight mode. Only he could do neither.
The leader stopped directly in front of Jackson’s cell and handed the flashlight to the man next to him. Whoever he was, he was taller and broader than the leader. The man passed by to pause at the Sec Def’s cell, raising the beam of light and taking his time perusing their most valuable captive. He said something in Pashto to the leader, who answered him with a clipped response. The new man spoke again, and there was no need for Jackson to understand the words to recognize the smile in his voice. He was well pleased with what he saw in that cell.
The beam hit him next. Jackson squinted and focused on a spot on the floor between his bound boots, while the man looked him over for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. He asked another question and received a response from Mohammed this time. Jackson knew they were talking about letting him check Maya. His heart leaped in relief when the light slid away from him, but he held his breath as it swung toward Maya.
From the corner of his eye he watched as it slid over her body, lying still on the cold floor. There was dried blood smeared on the left side of her face, and she had one arm curled over her waist protectively. The light beam froze on her like a spotlight, and all at once a deathly stillness stole through the chamber. Jackson’s nape prickled in warning.
The man holding the flashlight said something sharp and curt. No one answered. He shifted and faced the leader, saying something in a deceptively quiet voice that was no less lethal for its lack of volume. The leader answered in a clipped tone and fell silent. The tension in the room was palpable.
It seemed like hours before the light at last slid away from Maya and pointed toward the floor at the man’s large boots. Military-style boots. Then he squatted down in front of Jackson’s cell door. “You’re a PJ?”
The flawless English shocked him so much that his head snapped up before he could stop himself. When he saw the face reflected in the beam of the flashlight, he went cold all over in sudden recognition.
A copper-tinted beard glinted in the light, covering most of what were definitely Western features. Below the fiery eyebrows, a pair of brilliant blue eyes gazed back at him. “I’m called Rahim.”
That name exploded in his brain like a claymore. Holy fuck. The man who’d beaten Maya wasn’t the leader at all. They’d been abducted at the command of this man, who every intelligence agency allied with the U.S. had been searching for over the past three years. And here he was, safe and sound.
Shock reverberated through Jackson, holding him paralyzed for a few seconds until the man spoke again, this time with less patience. “I’ll ask you one last time. You’re a PJ, correct?”
Jackson gave a tight nod.
“Lieutenant Lopez does need medical attention. I understand you asked to provide it?”
He wanted to say yes. But he was worried now that Rahim and the others had figured out the truth between him and Maya. He prayed he was wrong. He had to hold on to whatever hope he could find.
“Well?”
He gave a hesitant nod, daring to meet those pale eyes. He almost welcomed his turn with the beatings. It would be better than being forced to sit idly by and watch Maya suffer for a single moment longer than necessary.
Rahim assessed him for a moment with those intense eyes before nodding once to himself. Then he rose. “I’ll be back with some medical supplies in a little while. Mohammed will stay here and watch you.” With that, he strode away, the others following him except the kid, who slid down to sit against the far wall of the corridor.
Jackson let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes, struggling to understand the enormity of what was happening. Rahim’s words rang in his head, bringing mingled relief and shock. That unmistakable Midwestern accent told him without a doubt that the impossible was true.
The United States’s number-one high-value target was a fucking American.