Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (40 page)

As he wrapped his arm around the little girl, he tugged up his sleeve and checked the GPS. But since the whiteout made it impossible for him to verify visually what the GPS said, he’d have to use blind trust. “That way.” It wasn’t as steep and would keep them from ascending. “But—”

“No talking. Conserve.” He pulled himself along the rocky terrain. With a quick glance to the child in his arms, he verified she was okay still.

“There’s a snowstorm,” Fekiria shouted, her rebellion once again obvious.

“Really?” He hauled himself up using jagged clefts for leverage. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“But we’re heading into the mountains.”

“Want to go down? Explain to the guys shooting at us that we can’t climb up because the mountains are up there?” Navigating the rocky terrain with the girl in his arms proved not only tricky, but downright dangerous. His hands weren’t free to break his fall.

Brian tugged his sat phone free and glanced at it. Froze for a second. Glanced at his leg pocket, stunned. A hole in the material told of the bullet that had seared its edges. And the cracked screen and curled-inward frame had surrendered the bullet that had bent it, but the damage was done. Still, he pressed the Power button, praying—begging—that this wasn’t happening. They had to make contact with Raptor. Had to find a way out.

He mashed the Power button.

Nothing. No faded blue screen. No vibration. No nothing.

He cursed. Slammed the phone against a jagged rock thrusting upward out of the ground. He grabbed the sim card from it but tossed the rest.

“Don’t we need that?” Fekiria demanded.

“If it worked, yeah.”

Shock riddled her features. She blinked. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

“Let’s go.” Brian nudged her onward, but she shook her head.

“How will we get out of here?”

“We fight our way out.” He gave her a mean look. “Now,
move
!”

The three older females formed a straight line, huddling close to block out the wind and push through the elements with courage, walking fast, heads down. Each step, each placement of their feet, risked injury. The blanket of snow was deceptively even, with only subtle rises and depressions to indicate a possible wrenched-ankle trap. Or a crevasse that could cause all sorts of chaos in their escape plan.

Behind them, he heard the
pop
of weapon’s fire answered by
rat-tat-tats
. He could only pray that Eagle was okay. That somehow Raptor had caught up with him.

Pray. Yeah. That. Brian had grown up with a grandmother who delivered him to church every Sunday morning and Wednesday night. He went because the girls in the junior high and youth groups were cute. Because it gave him a chance to get away from his dad and the eventual disgrace. But then it caught up with them. Kids found out. Taunted him.

But Granddad had been resolute. Told Brian he’d prayed for him every day. That God was never more than a whisper away, that He was waiting for us to call on Him.
“A gentleman never forces his way…”

A strangled cry snapped Brian’s attention to the women.

Fekiria was standing over Mitra, arm still hooked. The teen girl waved frantically at him, calling for help. A red stain blossomed on the snow.

Brian swung his weapon around, sighting as he knelt and aimed at the pursuers who’d shot the woman.

23 February—1945 Hours

“Mitra!” Fekiria gasped, clutching her friend.

With a pained expression, Mitra climbed to her feet. “It’s okay. Only a scratch.” Running for the shelter of a large rock, she held her arm close. Together they dove for the protective cover. Up against the cold, wet rock, Mitra checked her side.

It didn’t look bad. But it was bleeding. That could cause a lot of problems for her friend but also for them. A trail for whoever wanted to catch them. Fekiria tugged free her hijab, which was mostly around her neck now, and wrapped it around Mitra’s arm. “We’ll look at it as soon as we get to a safe place.”

Mitra nodded.

Like a giant blur, Sergeant Brian rushed toward them and dropped to his knees. His green-eyed gaze hit them both.

“We’re okay.” Fekiria nodded to her friend’s arm. “A graze.”

“Can’t stop,” he said. “They’re down, but I doubt they’re alone or the last. And now, we have a trail.” Raising his chin, he searched their surroundings.

“What are you thinking?” Fekiria lifted herself off the snow, the cold digging past her winter clothes and outerwear.

“Need to change course. Take a less obvious route.”

“That would mean a less accessible route.” She nodded at the snow-ridden landscape. “We are nearing the Tera Pass. It’s not heavily populated, but there’s a reason for that.”

His gaze rammed into hers. “Then that’s where we need to go.”

“Have you lost what little brains you have?”

“Yeah.” Terse and unyielding, he shifted in his crouch. “Pretty sure they were tossed out of the vehicle when we flipped.”

What did that mean? Was he mocking her since she’d been thrown out of the car?

Again, he was searching their surroundings, looking for options. “Nobody in his right mind would be out here.” He met her gaze again. “But then, we weren’t given a choice. We can’t stop moving. Night is coming. So is the storm.”

“I think it’s already here.” Mitra raised her eyebrows to the swirling snow.

“Don’t kid yourself. This is just the beginning. In an hour or two, we won’t be able to see two feet in front of us.” He pushed off his knees. Motioned between Fekiria and the teen. “Rest time’s over.”

A little ebony head twisted around, seeming to search for Fekiria.

She hunched next to Sergeant Brian and smiled down into the pouch-like space he’d created for the small girl. “How are you, Aadela?”

“Scared,” she whispered.

“You are in the safest place.” Fekiria said the words as much to reassure herself as the child.

On their feet, they trudged now in an easterly direction. At least, she thought that’s where they were headed. The snow and heavy cloud cover made it too hard to tell. Sergeant Brian was leading. They entrusted him with their lives.

“Do you believe that?” Mitra asked about thirty minutes into their trek.

“Believe what?” Fekiria glanced back to Sheevah, who was slowing.

“That Aadela is safest with him?”

Surprise teased the edges of Fekiria’s awareness. “It was a figure of speech.” She swallowed hard. “I did not mean in particular with him. Just that he’s a soldier. He knows what he’s doing.”

“But you watch him,” Mitra said in their native tongue.

“Of course, I do! It will not help to get lost.” She trudged a little faster, each step soaking her pants. Legs leaden and needles of pain pricking her nerves, she tried to put a little more space between Mitra and her. She didn’t want to answer questions about something she didn’t understand herself. Something that left her confused. Angry. It made no sense. She barely knew him. And he was American.

Like a flash, she recalled their argument in the car before the crash. The way Sergeant Brian had been about to yell at her, but he stopped. Turned back around.

He made a promise… never to tell
. And even though her secret was out now, he kept his word. In that small gesture, the man with hulking shoulders, a thick neck, and fierce eyes had shown more honor than some Afghan men she knew.

With a hop forward, she closed the gap between them. “Thank you,” she said, but the wind ate her words. Fekiria shuffled forward again, though the act of putting one foot in front of the other grew harder with each step.

Sergeant Brian snapped a look in her direction.

“Thank you,” she said a little louder.

Scowling, he considered her. “We’re not out of this yet.” He indicated ahead of them. “Still plenty of terrain to die in.”

Time lost meaning and power here in the mountains. And that’s exactly where they were headed—higher, deeper—despite their best efforts. Wind and snow dominated. Demanded submission. Held victory over those who dared tempt its hand. Walking hurt. Or didn’t hurt. That’s what scared her.
Not
being able to feel her feet. In her pockets, she worked her fingers into fists. Straight. Into fists. Kept walking. Flexing. Had to keep the circulation going.

They’d find safe ground and help soon. She was sure of it. Until then, she’d keep her head down and her hopes up.

“Hey!”

Fekiria collided with Sergeant Brian.

He caught her, his gaze sharp and assessing. “You’re slowing down.”

She blinked. Was she? “I—I was just walking.”

“Where’s the teenager?”

“Sheevah?” Fekiria turned, glanced behind her to where Mitra had joined them. But… Her heart skipped a beat. “Sheevah!” She pushed herself forward just as a shape emerged in the darkening day. “Sheevah,” she breathed. “Thank God!”

Sergeant Brian frowned at her for some reason. He shrugged out of his ruck and dug through it. Rope in hand, he moved toward her.

“What are you doing?”

After tying a knot, he used a metal hook and clamped it onto his tactical belt. He then moved toward her. Leaned in. Wrapped his arms around her waist.

Fekiria stood frozen, awareness flooding her as he worked a knot into the rope, effectively anchoring them together. Next, he tied Sheevah then Mitra—but around her hips to avoid the wound in her side.

“Here.” He removed Aadela and handed her off.

Fekiria held the girl close, not entirely sure how long she would last holding her, but if he felt it was necessary, if he was tired…

He knelt, working the straps on his pack. Sergeant Brian shifted then patted the upper part of his shoulder.

Fekiria wasn’t sure at first but then caught on. She placed Aadela on his back and instructed her to hold on. Then she assisted Sergeant Brian with sliding the rucksack over Aadela so she was sandwiched between his vest and gear. Also, being on his back, he would block her from the wind and elements.

He tightened the strap around his chest and waist. Then angled down a little toward Fekiria. “Is she okay?” he shouted.

She brushed a hand over the little one’s face, barely visible beneath the part of his ruck that shielded her. “Hold on and keep your head down,” Fekiria said, and Aadela nodded. “She’s good.”

The American soldier held out his hand. Without hesitation, she reached for his grasp. Not sure what he intended but willing to do whatever he wanted. She trusted him. Knew he’d get them out of this.

He placed her hand on a strap on his vest, just above his elbow. “Hold on!”

Fekiria curled her aching, raw fingers around the strap, not entirely able to feel it.

“Have the others group up. Stay close.” As he tied a keffiyeh around his neck and face, she gave the orders to the others.

Grouped up, they would not only stay together but block the wind from each other. As they walked, she found she was able to stay up easier. Walk easier. She couldn’t feel her toes still, but she could move.

They walked for a while. She had no guess how long. They were at the mercy of the terrain and the weather. It might have been an hour, or two hours, when she once more collided with Sergeant Brian.

He twisted, not breaking their holding pattern, and tugged the keffiyeh down from his nose. “Stay here.” He motioned to a slightly curved rock. “Stay close and don’t separate. I’m going to find shelter.”

She caught his arm as he freed himself from the metal hook. “Wait!”

Though he’d started away, he gave her a reassuring nod.

Fekiria turned to Sheevah and Mitra, waving them in closer. “Come together.” She guided them against the rock. They squatted in a tight huddle.

“Where did he go?” Sheevah said, her teeth chattering.

“To find shelter.” Fekiria glanced at Mitra’s wound. “How are you doing? Does it hurt?”

Her friend smiled. “I can’t feel it,” she admitted with a shrug.

The wind growled through the space where they waited.

Fekiria stilled, thinking. Waiting. Wishing Sergeant Brian would hurry.

Growling clicked through the rocks, popping.

Another growl.

That isn’t the wind!

A pair of hollow, yellow eyes blinked at them.

I
’m not the violent type. Not really. I mean, that’s why I prefer my keyboard and monitors from the safety of my home-away-from-home. It’s sterile—in terms of violence—and noncombative.

Okay, if anyone believes that, he’s nuts. I have a small island in the middle of Afghanistan I’d like to sell him.

Are they paying attention? I’m waging a serious war here in a
very
combative way. A passive-aggressive way, but does the delivery method matter? No. It’s the outcome. The end product. And that’s the utter defeat of the men who are so full of themselves they can’t see it coming.

Yes, I know what they’re thinking—Raptor got my Fly fly.

But that’s where their intelligence ends. Do they seriously think I’d only send one Fly fly? Or that those are my only devices in play? Get real. I’m not that stupid.

Speaking of stupid, these Chinese overlords are pushing some serious buttons. They have been digging in my systems, trying to find me again. Trying to control what I do because they know that if I can get them inside the American establishments, there’s no reason I can’t get in theirs.
Especially
when I’m continuously transmitting data to them.