CHAPTER THREE
Grayson stood from his make-shift desk and heard the bones popping and cracking as he did. He was fucking old. Too old to still be chasing bad guys through some fucking country he didn’t give a shit about.
“Master Sergeant? We’ve got the intel on the hostages. Four nuns, a priest and thirteen children. The priest may have escaped. The villagers said they thought they saw him with the soldiers.”
“Shit,” he muttered, straightening with another loud crack. The young corporal in front of him raised his brows with a smirk. “Not another fucking word. Where are they?”
“Here sir. We believe that if we follow this mountain path and work our way around the mountain, we can get to the camp from behind and bring them back down the same way. Satellites aren’t showing anyone around the mountain or on their way.”
“What about caves?” he asked.
“Sir?”
“Caves, corporal. Find out if there are fucking caves and if anyone is hiding in them. I won’t lose a bunch of men because of a bunch of do-good nuns and priests trying to educate kids that don’t want to be educated.”
“All due respect, sir, they were from an orphanage. It wasn’t about teaching them anything, it was about keeping them safe from the very people who took them,” frowned the corporal.
Grayson closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and nodded.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Find out about the caves and let me know. Tell the team to be ready to leave at 0300.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grayson fell back into his chair and leaned his head back. This would be the last one. He was too fucking old to still be doing this. Sgt. Major Grayson Matthew Michaels needed to go home.
At 0300 the men were waiting quietly, gear packed, vehicles ready. They would approach from the opposite side, winding up and around, surprising the kidnappers.
There had been no ransom requests, which only told them all that the worst thing was about to happen. They were going to probably rape the nuns, sell them and traffic all of the children. If the priest got away, he would be hunted.
They all knew the drill. No speaking unless spoken to. Watch for hand signals, keep your eyes up and down at the same time. Look for booby traps. Watch for snipers.
Their eyes were always moving, leaving everyone on edge. In spite of his rank, or perhaps because of it, Grayson always took point. He wasn’t about to place one of his men in the line of fire to save his own ass.
Maybe that’s why the team was so damn loyal to him. They trusted him more than anyone else. They requested to stay on his team. No one wanted to leave.
He heard the sounds of men talking up ahead and lifted his fisted hand in the air. They were guards, watching the cave. The cave everyone said wasn’t there.
Grayson turned to give his corporal that ‘I told you so’ look and the young man nodded, knowing he’d made a mistake. They quietly moved forward and then Grayson pressed a hand down, telling them all to kneel.
Before anyone could offer assistance or follow, he turned the curve of the mountain path gripping one man by the neck, twisting it until a sickly snapping sound carried in the wind.
He let the body slide down the mountainside as he gripped the second man, his Bowie knife, a gift from his Uncle Trak, sliding easily into the hollow of his throat.
He joined his friend on the fast lane down the mountain.
Grayson turned to retrieve his men but they were staring at him, giving him a look of their own. It was the ‘what the fuck, dude?’ look. He just shrugged as they followed him in silence.
Eight massive men, huge feet, eighty pounds of gear, and yet they made almost no sound at all. It was what made them elite warriors. It was what made them the most feared team in the Corps.
A faint light emanated from the cave, two additional men illuminated in the night. They obviously thought they were safe. They were not. Grayson signaled for one of his men to climb the rocky terrain over and around the cave entrance to be sure there weren’t men on the others side.
With the speed and agility of a mountain goat, he held up his hand indicating there were none. Two at the entrance, possibly two or three more inside. Then he heard a sound that stiffened his spine. The sounds of children crying and a woman begging for someone to stop.
His men were moving with him without an order. They knew. They had the same moral code as he did. It’s why he trusted them. The two behind him didn’t waste energy. The guards at the mouth of cave were easy pickings. Two shots, both dead and both headed down the mountain.
Entering the cave, one man was hovering above a nun, his trousers shoved to his thighs. He looked up, completely shocked at their appearance. It was all the distraction the little nun needed. She brought her knee up, forcing him backwards and then slamming her foot into his naked groin.
With the heel of her hand, she shoved hard at his jaw, then elbowed him as she crawled toward him, ready to finish the job. She reached for something in her stocking and Grayson nearly gasped when the silver knife with the mother of pearl handle gleamed in the firelight.
Without remorse, without a thought, the little woman shoved the knife into his chest and then spit in his face as he gasped for air. She was breathing heavily, panting for air as she turned to see the U.S. soldiers.
“Sister Irene!” screeched one of the children. Grayson looked at the boy, then at the little nun.
“I’m not sure you need us at all,” said Grayson. He walked toward the nun, holding out a hand. She reached for his massive paw, her own tiny hand shaking from the adrenalin rush. “That’s quite a blade you have.”
“It should be familiar to you,” she whispered, looking down. He frowned, his brows knit across his forehead, lines and wrinkles deepening. He touched her chin, tilting her head upright, staring at the dark almond shaped eyes.
Her wimple had been torn off, the cascade of jet-black hair falling nearly to her waist. He turned slightly to allow the light of the fire to shine on her without shadow. Gasping, he stepped back.
“Sgt. Major? You okay?”
He shook his head, the beautiful young woman still staring up at him. She gave a pained smile, the corners of her mouth bleeding from the hits she’d taken. There was a bruise across her cheekbone, her hands cut and bruised. He finally caught his breath. He finally realized who he’d saved.
“Jennifer fucking Sculler.”