Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (14 page)

Dylan knew that if he opened the door, Sa’id would be standing outside. He did a quick scan of the room. A video camera blinked in one corner of the ceiling. The one window had bars over it. The view was of the fenced-in parking lot. He made himself sit in the folding chair, lean back and fold his hands over his stomach, trying to appear confident and relaxed, though his heart beat hard and his muscles were tight.

It took only about five minutes before the door opened again. Two soldiers marched in, followed by two men. Dylan tensed. The one man was lean, with a hook nose; the other was Zahir. He looked different, almost dignified with his clothes on.

Dylan didn’t let any recognition cross his face. Zahir’s eyes widened and he faltered in his step. With a brief glance at the camera, he walked to the other side of the desk and sat.

Interesting, Dylan thought. Zahir was in charge of processing new recruits. And apparently he wasn’t going to give Dylan away, at least not at this moment.

Zahir said something in Arabic.

The lean man stepped forward and spoke in Russian. “I am Commander Yusef al-Basri,” he said. “I will translate for Zahir. Speak honestly and no harm will come to you.”

Dylan froze when he heard the man’s name. This hawk-nosed man was the Executioner. He forced himself to breathe steadily, as if the name hadn’t meant anything to him.

Zahir said something and Yusef translated: “Tell us your name and why you’re here.”

Dylan answered all the questions with the cover he’d created. Zahir’s eyebrows rose once at his name and where he’d come from, but he never said a word suggesting Dylan might be lying. Dylan kept his emotions in check. Obviously, Zahir wasn’t telling them about his visit to his office the night before.

“So Hisham says that you’re an experienced soldier,” Yusef said.

Dylan nodded. “Chechen army.”

Zahir said something. Yusef frowned and replied back to him. Zahir narrowed his eyes and repeated whatever he’d said.

“My colleague,” Yusef said, “would like to know where you and your new bride live.”

Dylan stared at Zahir while he repeated his address. His insides twisted with the idea that this man, who most likely wanted vengeance against Sarah for blackmailing him, now knew where she lived. He vowed he would get Sarah out of Mosul when he left, whether she was willing or not.

Yusef stood. “Come with me, Dalkhan. I want to show you something.”

Zahir said nothing to stop them, but Dylan didn’t like the smile on the man’s face.

“
I
nfantry
?” Yusef asked in Russian as they strode down the hallway. Four fighters in the usual black clothing followed them.

“Yes. A sergeant,” he said.

“So you’ve seen a lot of combat. You could teach the recruits many things.”

“If you wish,” Dylan said neutrally.

“Have you ever flown in a helicopter?”

Dylan tensed. Why would he ask about helicopters? “Not often.”

“Then you are in for a treat.”

“So the rumors are true?” Dylan said. “You have Black Hawks and Kiowas from the Americans?”

“They left them when they ran scared of us,” Yusef boasted.

Dylan joined in with the man’s laughter, though inside he wanted to strangle the fucker. The Americans had pulled out, not run. “Where are the rest of the helicopters?”

“Most are at the airport,” he said. They reached the back door by the kitchen—the same one that Sarah had picked the lock on. “But we keep two in the city for emergency use.”

“You do?” This was news to Dylan and he suspected would be news to E.D.G.E. as well. “Where?”

The sun shone directly overhead, the heat almost a palpable thing in the back parking lot as the sun scorched the cracked pavement.

“Right here.” A wide grin showed Yusef’s yellowed teeth. The man didn’t point; he just looked at Dylan, like it was a test.

Dylan scanned the area. The back parking lot was about two-thirds full and had a ten-foot-high chain-link fence around it. Beyond it were more office towers like this one. At the far end of the lot, still inside the fence, was an abandoned building.

The two-story concrete structure had lost most of its windows. He could only see the front facing them and a bit of the one side. He nodded at it. “Was that building damaged in the fighting?”

“Very good,” the commander said. He strode across the lot and Dylan followed, matching his stride length to Yusef’s. “The Iraqi Army bombed it. The structure stands but it’s unusable. You can see why.”

They’d reached the far side of the building. It was amazing it still stood. One wall was missing, and another was only partially there. The floors and any rooms were gone, leaving a hollowed shell.

But it was what was inside that shell that drew Dylan. A slightly battered UH-60 Black Hawk sat fully armed and ready to take off. He frowned until he saw the wheeled platform it was on and the cart that would pull it out into the open. A thrill of alarm went through him that these fanatics had access to a machine so powerful and deadly.

Beside it was an OH-58 Kiowa Warrior, an armed reconnaissance helicopter. He wondered if they had any decent pilots to fly these birds.

He whistled, playing the part of an impressed soldier. “Have you been up in them?”

Yusef nodded. “I have two pilots trained. They are teaching me.”

Oh joy.

Four men trotted out from inside the makeshift hangar, pulling the Black Hawk out into view. Two of them jumped inside and started up the rotors. He frowned. Were they even doing a preflight check?

The other two walked around the bird, but the pilots inside didn’t seem to be talking with them.

“We will go up for a flight,” Yusef yelled over the noise of the rotors.

Dylan did not want to get on that bird. He wasn’t sure the pilots knew what they were doing. He hated flying with others at the stick. Sarah would probably call him a control freak.

And when it came to flying, she was right.

Both doors were off and only a few of the jump seats were bolted inside. Dylan followed Yusef and two of his soldiers into the helicopter. He picked a jump seat near the door, slapped on a helmet and buckled in.

Yusef watched him. “You seem comfortable in here.”

“There’s not much to it,” Dylan said evenly, though he cringed inside at his mistake. He was playing the part of a simple soldier, not a pilot or an operator.

The pilot came on the line. “We’re ready for takeoff, sir.”

Yusef leaned out the door and waved to someone Dylan couldn’t see. Two more soldiers strode forward with a third man between them. A soldier by his uniform, but one who’d been disciplined by his split lip and bare feet. Dylan could see how the man tried not to cringe when he met Yusef’s eyes. An uneasy feeling niggled against Dylan’s spine.

The soldiers shoved the man and he fell into the cabin. There was no jump seat for him.

“Take off now,” Yusef told the pilots over the comm.

One of the buckled-in soldiers gave the man a helmet at Yusef’s nod.

“Sir,” the man said on the radio. “Please. I—”

“Quiet,” Yusef commanded.

The Black Hawk lifted fairly steady but no one enjoyed the view. They all stared at the man kneeling in the center of the cabin. They reached an elevation of about one thousand feet and hovered.

“Dalkhan,” Yusef said. “You are newly married, are you not?”

Dylan nodded cautiously.

“Someone on this helicopter has been caught committing adultery.”

“No!” the man on the floor shouted, his eyes wide with terror now. “It wasn’t me.”

The man spoke Russian, not Arabic. What the hell was going on?

“You stand accused of sleeping with another man’s wife,” Yusef said, his eyes glittering.

“I didn’t,” the man shouted. “He wants me dead so he can have my wife.”

Yusef smiled. “You’re accusing your commanding officer of lying?”

“Yes!” the man said. “He lies.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe you.” He signaled to the pilot. “Do it now.”

The pilot tilted the bird. The two soldiers strapped in didn’t move and neither did Dylan or Yusef, but the accused man shrieked as he slid toward the open door. He grabbed hold of some cargo webbing and stopped his fall, though his legs dangled over the edge.

Dylan fought the urge to grab for the flailing man. He couldn’t blow his cover, but maybe he could help another way.

“Are you certain this man is guilty?” he asked Yusef in Russian.

“Stop,” Yusef barked.

The pilot straightened out.

Yusef stared at Dylan and the skin on the back of his neck tried to crawl away. Had he just gotten himself killed for a stranger with questionable morals?

“No,” Yusef said finally. “But do you understand why we question all of our new recruits, Dalkhan? But especially the foreigners? They accuse us of such horrible things.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man shouted. “I’m innocent.”

“That is for Allah to decide.” Yusef pursed his lips. “But what you
are
doing is smuggling cigarettes. I might be able to let that go if you didn’t try to sell them on the street.”

“I’m sorry,” the man begged. He had a death grip on the webbing. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Yusef sighed heavily over the mic. “You will. Because the worst offense is that you are not a true believer. You were heard cursing the morning prayer. I could forgive those other sins in a good Muslim man, but you.” His voice turned harsh. “You are a filthy infidel.”

The pilot tilted the Black Hawk on its side, flying sideways. Dylan’s body pulled at the straps holding him to his seat. The man squealed and slid along the floor, still gripping the cargo webbing. He dangled from the open doorway, his feet kicking in the air, one thousand feet above the ground. His wordless screaming had no visible effect on Yusef, though it twisted Dylan’s insides. He had to remind himself that this man was no innocent. He was part of the ISIS regime.

Yusef turned to Dylan. “Cut him loose.”

Dylan barely kept himself from shaking his head. The soldier closest to him pulled a knife and handed it to him, his other hand on his rifle.

Dylan’s heart beat hard. He couldn’t save this man. He’d thrown his lot in with these crazies and he hadn’t followed their rules. But that didn’t mean that Dylan wanted to kill him in cold blood.

The Russian dangled outside the helicopter now, crying and pleading for his life.

“Do it,” Yusef ordered. He trained a gun on Dylan.

It would take minutes to saw through the webbing with the knife, minutes that Dylan would be forced to listen to the man’s crying and pleading. Instead, he reached up and found the snaps hooking the cargo net to the cabin wall. He kept his face blank and he went numb inside, knowing this scene would become his new nightmare. He eyed the man who screamed his pleas for mercy.

I’m sorry.

He unsnapped the net.

The Russian fell quickly out of sight. The pilot pulled on the cyclic and righted the helicopter. He flew back toward headquarters.

“So, Dalkhan,” Yusef said. “You will follow our rules, won’t you?”

Dylan looked him straight in the eye. “Of course, sir.”

Yusef nodded. “Then I expect to see you tomorrow morning at the training center on the north end of the city. Hisham can tell you where.”

“Of course, sir,” he said.

No fucking way in hell was he going to the training center tomorrow—or ever.

S
arah shifted
the curtains on the front window again. The guard still stood out front. It was close to noon. Dylan had been gone for over three hours. Dammit, she hated being left behind, unable to do anything.

Where was he?

She strode back to the kitchen, checking on the soup she had simmering on the stovetop. She stirred it. What was she doing making soup? While they could be torturing Dylan? She hurled the spoon at the sink, splattering soup on the wall.

Was Dylan being interrogated? Had they found him out? If they were just processing him, then why was it taking so long?

She gripped the counter and took several deep breaths. Panicking wasn’t helping anyone.

She heard a thump and then a giggle from the secret room. She’d told the kids to stay quiet, because she didn’t know if the soldiers would come back.

She took a tray down from an upper shelf, put some soup in a couple of bowls, added some bread and milk to the tray before she took it downstairs.

“I’m sorry,” Jalila said. “But Waqar played a trick and surprised me.”

The boy’s eyes were too wide and his breathing too fast.

“It’s okay,” she said soothingly in Arabic. “I don’t mind. I just brought you two something to eat.” She set the tray on the floor. Waqar had scooted into the corner.

Jalila smiled at him and waved him closer. “She’s a good person,” she said. “She rescues kids. She’s going to get my sister out next.” Jalila’s smiling face turned to her. “Aren’t you?”

Sarah swallowed hard. She couldn’t smile back. “I’m going to try.”

Jalila threw her arms around Sarah and squeezed. “You’ll do it. You’ll rescue her. You have to.”

Sarah didn’t respond; she just unwrapped Jalila’s arms. “Eat some lunch. Stay quiet until I say. The guard is still there.”

“Dylan?” Jalila said, her eyes worried.

“Not back yet. I might be heading out soon to go find him.”

Jalila gripped her hand. “You can’t. Not by yourself.”

“I won’t be leaving the apartment as a woman.” Sarah smiled at the girl’s confusion. “I’ll be going out disguised as a boy.”

Jalila frowned and looked Sarah up and down.

“I’ll show you before I leave,” she promised. “Now eat. And remember to stay quiet.”

She went back upstairs and closed the basement door. She stared at the front door, willing it to open and for Dylan to walk through. It was almost time for midday prayers. Would they stop his interrogation for prayers?

No. She couldn’t think like that.

She would give Dylan until after prayers and then she would make good on the plan she’d told Jalila. She’d had weeks of practice pretending to be a boy when she’d been following Yusef al-Basri in Syria. She’d have to cut her hair, which she had no qualms about. Hair grew back.

She went to Rakin’s old bedroom and sorted through his drawers, pulling out some boy clothes they had stored there for the kids they rescued. She pulled out two sets, one big enough for her petite frame and another for Jalila.

If she went to the headquarters, then before she left she would cut the girl’s hair and dress her as a boy before sending both kids into the network. Jalila wouldn’t want to go, but she couldn’t stay here. Especially if it turned out their cover was blown.

She checked the clock. Fifteen minutes until prayers. They would leave when prayers were over, mingling with all the other men and boys on the street.

The front door opened.

She dropped the clothes and rushed out, hope flaring inside her. Dylan stood in the living room, his face drawn and haggard. He scrubbed a hand over it.

She rushed him and threw her arms around him. He gave a little oomph but then his arms came around her pulling her tight to him. The muscles in her back eased and she just breathed in the scent of him for a moment.

Safe.

She stiffened, pushing away the feeling. It wasn’t real. Not for her. She pulled away and stepped back. Dylan let her, his arms dropping to his sides, his face disappointed.

In her.

That thought brought an ache to her chest; she ignored it. “What happened?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

He sighed. “I’m in. I’m processed and passed their little tests. I’m not sure how long the identity will hold but it should last until we leave tomorrow night.”

She nodded, mostly because her throat had closed up and she couldn’t speak. The kitchen called to her. She went to the stove, took out a new spoon and stirred the soup.

“Hey,” Dylan said, entering behind her. “Are you okay?”

Was she okay? No. She hadn’t been okay since he’d come here. She gripped the edge of the countertop. Her knuckles showed white. Blood rushed in her ears. What was wrong with her?

“Fine,” she managed to say.

Dylan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m
okay
.”

“I can see that,” she muttered, but she still didn’t look at him. She forced her emotions away to deal with later. She stirred the soup again. “We need to get the kids out of here. Today.”

“Are you going to look at me?”

No, she wanted to snap. But he didn’t deserve her anger. Not when she didn’t even know why she was angry. She schooled her features and turned.