Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 (13 page)

Bad idea.
The
thought floated through my head for an instant, but was quickly
squashed by Connor’s strong, warm physique. Only a thin undershirt
separated my face from his chest. I leaned into the clean, male
scent of him and allowed his essence to assault my melancholy. As
the flashlight grew dim, I closed my eyes and breathed him in,
remembering why I fought the madness.
Every
moment, each breath is a gift.

My body relaxed to the consistency of
gelatin and the delirium slipped away. Dark thoughts were once
again trapped behind the locked door in my mind. The heaving of my
chest calmed and my eyes sealed themselves closed. “The
conservatory is next to the ballroom,” I whispered, finally
remembering the layout of the
Clue
board.

“
What?” Connor pushed the hair back
from my eyes.

“
Nothing.” I hadn’t meant to say it
aloud. I focused once again on the game board and imagined my
sisters laughing around the table. My mom yelling, as she caught us
peeking at her cards.
Every memory is a
blessing.
I focused on the beat of Connor’s heart. My
hiccups faded and my pulse returned to normal.

“
I’m okay.” I adjusted myself in his
arms.

“
Hush, I’m here, I’ll take care of
you.”

“
Egotistical jerk.”

I smiled and slipped peacefully into
oblivion.

CHAPTER TWELVE

~
Fort Lewis, Washington, June 15

THREE GENERALS DRESSED in white
uniforms surrounded a large table, scrutinizing a Latino commander.
The commander sat with his chest out and his head up.

“
We’ve lost contact with the second
team,” the black-haired general said as he shifted in his
chair.

The general in the center scratched
his crooked nose and eyed the commander. “We cannot afford to lose
another team.”

A third crossed his hands and leaned
forward, staring at the second speaker. “The Progression must be
stopped. The longer we wait, the stronger they become.”

The commander sat quietly as the three
men discussed his fate.

The black-haired General ran a hand
through his hair then leaned forward. “I’m afraid you’re right.” He
frowned and considered the commander. “Are we all in agreement
then?”

“
Our options are limited,” the
crooked-nosed general replied.

The third general leaned back in his
chair and glanced at the other two who each nodded. “Commander
Ortega, have your men ready to leave at oh-five
hundred.”

“
Yessir.” The commander stood. “Just
my team, sir?”

The three generals glanced at each
other.

“
We need this to succeed, but we
cannot continue to throw men away.” The crooked-nosed general stood
to his feet. “Your team plus one other. Your choice.”

Commander Ortega nodded. “Commander
Koyama has a solid team.”

The three generals nodded.

“
Go then.” The black haired general
stood and offered the commander his hand. “And may God be with
you.”

* * *

Connor’s arms wrapped tighter around Liberty
as she trembled in his arms. Her head rested against his chest, and
with each sob, floral scented curls tickled his chin. He held
still, fearful of disturbing the moment; knowing she'd pull away if
reminded of his presence. He ignored the tickle and concentrated on
her; aware of how each curve and angle of her body fit perfectly
against his.

Her breathing regulated and her shoulders
loosened as she surrendered to sleep. Connor gently moved out from
under her, picked her up, and carried her to the bed. She stirred
as he laid her down. Soft skin met his fingertips when he brushed
the hair out of her face. Sitting beside her with his back against
the headboard, he rested his eyes and listened to her breathing.
Then Connor dozed …

* * *

~A small village in the Safīd Mountain
Range, Afghanistan, eight years ago

The sky was completely dark when Connor’s
team came upon the small village hidden in a lower slope of the
Safēd Kōh. Six men where there to rendezvous with an informant and
exchange currency for information on the whereabouts of a group of
terrorists. As standard operating procedure for an ODA Special
Forces team, the other six men were up in the air, scoping out the
area and ready to swoop in if their teammates needed to vacate the
area.

Connor had hand-selected each member of his
team. They were intelligent, deadly, competent and trustworthy.

Michael Winters was an almost seven foot
tall black man who could build—or destroy—anything. He grew up in
Boston, the fourth child of six. His parents were both still alive
and had just celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary. The
event was so important to Winters he had taken leave for it.

Phillip LeFord was quite possibly the
thinnest man Connor had ever met, despite an appetite that could
put any all-you-can-eat buffet out of business. From a small town
in Wisconsin, he was a dedicated cheese head. During football
season, he always managed to follow his Packers—no matter where the
team was and what they were doing. His job was to maintain constant
communication between the men in the air and the men on the
ground.

Terrance Vaughn, at a little over
five-foot-five with blonde hair and a scar over his left eyebrow,
served as medic. He was the newest member of the team, joining
about six months ago. His age deceived many, but he was incredibly
gifted. The men called him Doogie after Doogie Howser, the
boy-genius doctor.

Rick Bilford was the oldest member of the
team at thirty-four, and acted as team daddy. The title of
Commander belonged to Connor, but Rick was the old man who kept the
team in line. He grew up on a ranch in Texas, and was the very
definition of a good ol’ boy; chivalrous, religious, and stubborn
as a mule.

Completing the team was Carlos (Boom)
Ortega—a walking oxymoron as their devout Catholic weapons
specialist. The team nicknamed him Boom because destruction was his
middle name. He had an aptitude for explosives and created the best
distractions. He was the only other Washington state native on the
team, and had become like a brother to Connor.

The operation was standard. Get in, get the
info, pay the man, and get out. The bag Connor carried held 251,000
Afghanis; which equaled about $5,000 US dollars. The meeting point
was just inside the villa; easy to find with the aid of
night-vision goggles. Third door from the entrance in the wall, in
through the back door, wait for the contact. The team spread out
and huddled against the wall, covered by the shadows of the
surrounding buildings.

The exchange was scheduled for 02:00. Connor
glanced at his watch as soon as they stepped into position: 01:45.
Someone entered through the north door. Connor’s night-vision
helped him distinguish the newcomer as a child, under ten, thin and
trembling as he took one tentative step forward, and then another.
He hesitated, searching the room, until his eyes rested on LeFord’s
leg which was barely visible in the light from the window.
Something on the child beeped, and a light flashed on his chest. He
looked down and gasped. Then he resumed his slow march toward
LeFord. The boy’s chest beeped again.

Connor commanded the boy to stop in the
local dialect of Pashto. The boy paused and glanced in Connor’s
direction. His chest beeped again and he took another step toward
the communications man. In response, Connor aimed his weapon at the
child and demanded that he stop.

No one breathed as the boy’s foot slid
across the floor. Another step. Another beep. Connor squeezed the
trigger. The three-shot burst from his semi-automatic hit the kid
in the head. The boy toppled over.

“
No!” LeFord stood and
rushed to the body.

“
LeFord! Get over here,”
Connor commanded.

LeFord bent and removed the glowing light
from the boy’s chest. Shaking his head, he stood and raised his
find into the air: a watch. “Not a bomb,” he said as it beeped
again.

The group let out a collective breath.
Connor stared at the body, wondering why the child hadn’t stopped.
Why he’d risked his life for a watch.

“
Why—” Bilford started to
voice his own questions when gunfire interrupted him, tearing into
LeFord’s chest. LeFord’s body swayed with the force of each round
before crumbling to the floor.

“
The boy was a distraction.
Everyone down!” Connor shouted as he crawled to check LeFord’s
vitals. He knew the communications specialist had to be dead, but
he couldn’t leave until he verified it. He crawled in a jagged
line, turning his head just as the shot that should have killed him
grazed his jaw. His hand found the wound and came away warm and
wet. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t fatal. Connor would live.
LeFord was the one he was worried about though. He grabbed the man
by his ankles and pulled him out of the light and back to the
shadows of the wall.

“
Not a bomb.” Blood
dribbled from LeFord’s lips as he muttered the words. “Just a
kid.”

“
Hush. It’s okay.” Connor
watched as blood rushed from LeFord’s chest, darkening the floor
beneath him. “Stick around, kid; you know Green Bay can’t win
without you.”

LeFord coughed.

Vaughn appeared, eyeing Connor’s jaw.

“
It’s nothing. See if you
can do anything for LeFord.”

Vaughn kneeled and examined LeFord’s chest.
He shook his head and returned to his post by the west door, firing
shots into the hall.

Connor motioned Boom over. Boom crouched and
put his head next to the dying man’s. “The Lord is my
shepherd—”

Connor strained his ears to listen to the
prayer muttered between gunfire.

“
He restoreth my
soul—”

Anger clouded Connor’s vision as he fired
off another round at movement outside the north door.

“
Yea, though I walk through
the shadow of the valley of death—”

Winters peeked out a window and fired. The
enemy was closing in. Connor needed to get his team out of there.
Quick.

“
Thou preparest a table
before me in the presence of mine enemies—”

LeFord gasped for air. Connor remembered the
team giving LeFord a hard time for a picture of his mom that he
carried around in his wallet and had shown them all. He was the
proud only child to a single mother. Now she’d have no one. Connor
reloaded the 30-round magazine and stuffed it into his M-16.

“
And I will dwell in the
House of the Lord forever.” Boom crossed himself and stood up,
handing me LeFord’s dog tags. I pocketed them, knowing he’d want
his mother to have them.

I grabbed Winters’ arm. “We need an
evac.”

With LeFord dead, Winters stepped into the
position of communications. He pushed the button on his radio and
called for help. “Dark Delivery to Momma Bird, come in Momma
Bird.”

“
You’re early Dark
Delivery. What’s going on down there?” The voice on the other end
was distorted by frequency static.

“
The parrot didn’t fly in;
we need an evac.” Winters’ words were delivered between shots. He
ducked and Bilford stepped into his place in front of the window. A
shot whizzed by Bilford’s ear and he shuffled to the
right.

In the moonlight Connor could see figures
darting back and forth outside the doors. “How many?” he asked.
“Anyone got a count?”

“
Three or four to the
south.” Boom said.

“
Maybe four in the west
wing.” Vaughn threw a grenade into the hall, and ducked as shrapnel
and fire filled the air. “West is clear for a minute.”

“
At least eight out the
north.” Bilford took aim and fired again.

Connor nodded. “Bilford, Vaughn, Winters,
out the south door. Boom, let’s light up the north.”

Boom crept to the north window and crouched
beside Connor. A grenade appeared in his hand, almost like he’d
conjured it from thin air. He pulled the pin and threw it out the
window. A warning was shouted and dark figures scattered away from
the path of the flying bomb. Boom and Connor used the opportunity
to fire at the running targets, taking down three. Three more
disappeared in the impact of the blast.

“
Time to go,” Connor tapped
Boom’s arm and motioned toward the southern door.

The two took turns shooting and running,
covering each other until they made it outside. Then Boom launched
another grenade and they ran toward the wall where Bilford, Vaughn
and Winters waited.

Vaughn tended to Bilford, who sat with his
back against the wall. Blood dripped from Vaughn’s gloves as he
wrapped Bilford’s side, applying pressure.

“
What can I do?” Connor
asked, kneeling next to Bilford. Boom and Winters fired off shots
to enforce the perimeter.

“
He’s gonna be fine. Gonna
make it.” Vaughn didn’t have to look at Connor when he spoke for
Connor know the man was lying.

Bilford’s hand covered a cough and when he
pulled it away, his fingers were red. Apparently Vaughn’s
reassurances didn’t fool him either. “I’m dying and you know it,
kid,” Bilford said. “Got me in the gut. We both know I’m not
leaving this stinkin’ desert.” He struggled to remove his wedding
ring.