Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Is that the cemetery?” Calista asked.
There hadn’t been a tree or bush in sight for the last thirty minutes we’d been walking. Which made the aboveground tombs stand out in stark relief.
Rows and rows of them. Some with tall monuments, others just the vault.
It was an odd place for a cemetery—on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere.
Then again, it wasn’t. It was peaceful up here.
A place to come and mourn with a view of the sea.
If we were in the States, houses would dot these hilltops, the bluffs would be littered with homes, the natural beauty decimated, the tranquility lost to mankind.
But right then, all was peaceful. I hadn’t heard gunfire since I’d left the guys.
For my mental health I wasn’t going to contemplate what that could mean—at least not right now.
I had a mission: get Calista to the airport and find a safe place to wait.
If the guys were a no-show, I’d figure it out then.
I hadn’t answered Calista when she went on, “It’s kinda creepy in a beautiful sorta way.”
“I’m not a fan of cemeteries in general,” I told her.
“So you’d never go on one of those ghost tours of an old graveyard.”
That was a hell to the no!
“Hard pass.”
I stayed well away from the tombs as we walked the dirt path toward the village.
“How much farther?”
I was impressed Calista hadn’t asked sooner. Although she hadn’t complained once since her initial squabble about coming with us.
“About twenty minutes. But in three hundred meters we’ll hit a street with houses.”
“Pete said the airport was hot,” she unnecessarily reminded me.
I hadn’t forgotten what Pete had relayed from Shep, nor had I forgotten the part about Shep telling Pete we’d have backup.
Which was both good and bad. The good was obvious, the bad was I didn’t know who the backup was or where they were, and with no phone and no comms I couldn’t shoot first, ask questions later.
“We’ll get as close as we can and wait.”
“Were you in the military?”
Her question came from left field, but I got it.
This wasn’t my first long walk in enemy territory.
Some of those conversations had been off-the-wall strange.
Others had been informative. There was something about trekking through the desert with thirty pounds of kit on with your mortality top of mind—not knowing if you’d be returning back to post with your team, or worse, the person next to you wouldn’t—that loosened your lips.
It had also been a way to cut through some of the tension.
“Yeah, Army.”
“Good thing you didn’t go with the Navy,” she teased.
“Right, I would’ve gone AWOL the first time I got assigned to a carrier group. You’re a journalist,” I prompted.
There was a moment of hesitation before she answered. A moment I didn’t quite understand.
“Yeah.”
One word, no elaboration.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a means to an end.”
Her sister.
I changed the subject. “Do you know where you’ll go after here?”
“You mean since I can’t go back to the US?” she asked, but didn’t wait for confirmation. “Probably Canada.”
If I was wanted for murder, Canada wouldn’t be my first choice, but to each their own.
The first house of the neighborhood—if you could call it that—we had to walk through came into view.
I stopped to get my bearings; Calista did the same beside me.
The village was lit up to my far right. A pier jutted out into the bay with a bright light at the end of it.
In front of us, there were fifteen structures on the road we needed to travel.
Behind ten of those homes was a steep hill.
The other side of the street had five homes spaced a good distance apart.
There was no good way to do this. We couldn’t skirt the town.
The terrain to my left became too extreme.
I had yet to decide the best way to get around the houses unseen when four dark figures appeared on the path in front of us.
Fuck.
“Down,” I clipped.
Calista immediately dropped.
If I can see them, they can see me.
I did not want to fire my weapon this close to the village and alert everyone to our presence.
Which would mean we’d have to take our chances traversing the mountains.
That was going to seriously suck. With no choice, I gently pulled the slack out of my trigger, chose a target, let out a breath, and . . .
“Don’t shoot me.”
Tom?
Three of the men fanned out, taking a defensive position to guard the man in the middle, who was now coming at us at a fast clip.
Calista got to her feet and voiced my thought. “That’s Tom.”
What the hell was he doing here? And how did he find us?
“Stand down,” he commanded.
Screw that.
I kept my Sig leveled and at the ready.
And Christ, he needed to stop yelling before he woke up the whole damn town.
“Get behind me,” I told Calista.
“But Tom—”
“We don’t know why he’s here or who those men are.”
“They’re Tom’s team.”
Tom’s team?
Since when did CIA officers have teams? And how the hell did Calista know Tom had a team?
“Tell them to lower their weapons,” I called out when Tom was close enough I didn’t have to shout.
Tom waved a hand. The men followed his silent order and lowered their rifles.
“Your turn,” he returned.
“First tell me why you’re here.”
“To get Calista.”
“Are they our backup?” I motioned to the men with the barrel of my Sig.
“No. They’re here with me.”
Of course Tom would only be out for himself.
“Here.” Tom held out his hand when he stopped in front of me. “This is for you.”
He opened his palm, presenting me with a white earbud.
“What’s that?”
“Your backup.” When I didn’t immediately take Tom’s offering, he continued.
“Jack called in, but we were still in the air. Service was cutting in and out, so I don’t know how much he heard.
Ahmad Sindi sent two of his people along with two guards to retrieve Calista.
Those guards are former British Special Air Service.
Only one of those men went to the island. The other one is still here.”
Well, fuck a duck.
“Who is Ahmad Sindi?”
“An Emirati real estate billionaire and known trafficker. He’s also untouchable.”
No one was untouchable.
“How did you find us?”
“I didn’t. Shepherd Drexel told me where to find you, and he asked me to give you this.” Tom shook his hand again. “Your plane’s on the tarmac. It landed right after we did.”
I took the earpiece from Tom with my left hand and awkwardly placed it in my right ear while still pointing my Sig at one of Tom’s men.
As soon as it was in my ear, I heard, “Let them leave. We need to move.”
Shep.
Just hearing his voice calmed my nerves I’d been working overtime to suppress.
“Copy.”
“It’s time to leave,” Tom said, and motioned again to one of his men.
The man stepped forward, swung a rifle off his shoulder, and handed it to Tom.
“Here.”
I took the Sbr from Tom and hooked the sling over my shoulder. He immediately held out another hand and two magazines were handed to Tom, who held them out to me. I took those too.
“Thank your team for the assist.”
The assist.
Typical.
I probably should’ve thanked him for the rifle and extra ammo, but I wasn’t going to. What could I say, I was a petty bitch and didn’t like to be used and lied to. As sweet as the 300 Blackout he’d handed over was, it didn’t come close to making up for his bullshit.
Calista grabbed my arm and squeezed.
“Thanks for the ride. And again, sorry for the whole gun-in-the-face thing.”
“No worries. Good luck, and be safe out there.”
“You too.”
With that, Calista moved to stand beside Tom, then they moved out, with Tom’s guards circling them, turning their backs on me. Not the smartest move when I could’ve shot them in the back, but whatever.
“SITREP,” I asked Shep through the earpiece as I jammed my new magazines into the empty pockets on my vest.
“Pete walked into a trap.”
My heart sank before it started pounding in my chest so hard, I feared cracking a rib.
“Where’s my team?”
“At the dock.”
If Pete was captured, Jack and Mason would already be there to rescue him.
“Where are you?”
“At your back.”
I spun to look behind me. Nothing. I looked left, then right, and still nothing.
“You know better than that, Sphynx.”
Damn, he was right. If Phantom didn’t want to be seen, he wasn’t seen. Further from that, the man could materialize and dematerialize right before your eyes.
Like vapor.
“How are we doing this?” I asked.
“East to the dock. It’s less than two klicks. I got your back.”
I continued walking toward the neighborhood, but instead of walking through it, I’d veer right and go into the town proper.
When I was on my way, I asked, “How do you know where they are?”
“The locals talk via unsecured handheld radios.”
That was stupid of them but good for us.
“Are you responsible for my new 300 Blackout?”
“I know how much you love a Honey Badger.”
I barely suppressed a laugh.
“So sue me, I love a good brand name.”
“I remember.”
There was a melancholy there I didn’t like.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t get pissed if I don’t answer.”
That was new. The man I remembered was open with his team.
He was one of the ones who, on those long walks, would wax poetic about growing up in Nebraska.
He told stories about working on the ranch, getting drunk by the ‘crick,’ as he called it, the high school shenanigans he got up to, and a whole slew of other things besides.
He’d never not answered a question, personal or otherwise.
I hated that he now sounded closed off and closed down.
“Are you doing okay?”
“I’m alive.”
I hated that more, because him being alive and the undertone in which he said it meant something ugly.
“Shawn—”
“Shawn Miller is dead, Catarina.”
He wasn’t. He was very much alive, talking to me.
“Right.”
“He died in that cave with the rest of his team.”