Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (47 page)

24 February—1045 Hours

He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

What’s the point, God?
Brian pushed the defeatist thought from his mind. If he followed that course of thought, he’d end up at the bottom of a ravine again. But he couldn’t get away from the thoughts. He’d been tracking down a cyber terrorist. Now, he trudged across the back of a dragon buried in snow. What was this?

Wind pushed against him, threatening as real and effective as an armed enemy. The thick clouds hid them from the sun. Hours they’d hiked, and he wasn’t sure they were getting anywhere. The rugged terrain was brutal enough, but he intentionally walked at an angle to avoid climbing up. They couldn’t go higher or they’d face colder temperatures and stronger winds. Aadela, who’d been whimpering and crying the last few hours, had frostbite, and the woman on his back was as good as dead if they couldn’t get real medical help soon. And Fekiria—the dogged determination…watching her fight that Taliban. Brian could not erase that image, of the man punching her, aiming his Kalashnikov at her… If he’d been two seconds later, he couldn’t have taken the shot. Fekiria would be dead.

He missed a step. His leg buckled. On a knee, he stared up at the glaring white. His gaze rose toward the gradation of clouds. Light gray above them. And beyond that—a thick mattress of gray that warned him they had to find shelter. These girls would not survive another night in the elements. He wasn’t sure he would.

“You okay?” Fekiria asked, her words gentle and warm as she came alongside.

Brian nodded, hated feeling weak. Hated that he wasn’t 100 percent. “We need shelter.” He pushed her attention to the clouds, away from him. “That’s not good.”

Fekiria looked at the sky then around them. “There’s nothing up here. I’ve flown over it.”

“If we don’t…” No. He wouldn’t say that. Wouldn’t put those thoughts in their minds. He hated it—could see the hope in their eyes. The belief that he’d get them out of this. With the sun hidden behind the clouds, he was using that one rugged peak as his compass. He had no idea if it was the right way. He just had to keep moving.

“She’s unconscious.” Fekiria touched the woman draped over his back.

She’d passed out as soon as he lifted her onto his shoulders. He’d expected as much with her injuries and the pressure being carried would create, but they were negative on options.

“If we’re caught out here when that storm hits… I’d guess we have an hour to find shelter again before this place is like night and brutal,” Brian said as he struggled to his feet again. Shards of pain clawed through his thigh as he put weight on it. He nodded to the little angel on Fekiria’s back. “She’s not doing well.”

Snow swirled and danced around them again, thick and fat. Both of them considered the second wind the storm seemed to have taken. “Just when I thought we’d get a break…”

Powerful fists of wind and icy rain shoved against him, forcing him to strain to stand still.

“We have to get out of here. Descend.” But the freakin’ Taliban had been driving them farther up into the freezing maw of the mountain.

He started walking. Talking did nothing but make them more aware that hope was getting buried beneath the blistering blizzard, just like them. Though he stumbled, he refused to slow. Got up again. Put one boot in front of the other.

Going on thirty hours without sleep and rigorous hiking was taking its toll. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t fail this. He’d made the decision to chase down Fekiria in the market. That led to this. Just like the other decisions that had gotten people killed.

God, just a little more. And a little more. Whatever it takes to get them down
.

His feet tangled again. Brian went down—hard. Scored his knee.

“A break,” Fekiria huffed. “Let’s take a break.”

No!
It wasn’t smart. It could expose them. Allow the Taliban to catch up. But instead of arguing, he nodded. Shifted to the side. He lowered the woman to a soft patch of pine needles at the base of a tree then dropped onto his backside. With gritted teeth, he stretched out his leg, slowly. Easing himself through the agony.

Brian closed his eyes.

A nudge at his shoulder snapped him upright. He caught the attacker by the hand.

“Brian!” Fekiria’s wide green eyes were just inches from his face. “Easy, easy,” she whispered. “You fell asleep.” Her gaze fell to where his gloved hand, cut up and bloodied, grasped her jacketed arm.

“Sorry.” He released her and roughed a hand over his face. “How long?”

Fekiria knelt at his side. “Just a few minutes.” She studied him.

Brian saw it—the disappointment in him, that he’d failed them. That mingled with her fear. “We’ll get out of here.” He met her beautiful eyes again. “Alive.”

With a weak sigh, she slumped against him, staring out through the branches, obviously not believing him. She leaned her head on his shoulder in the quiet roar of the storm. Brian had nothing left. He’d keep going. Until the storm froze him from the inside out. He’d never felt so powerless. There was no call to make that gave them hope. They wouldn’t make it off this mountain without a miracle.

God…I got nothin’ left
. The woman leaning on him in more ways than one would die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fekiria sat up straight.

Adrenaline stabbed through his veins, heating them. Stinging. He grabbed his weapon, ready to fight.

“No,” she said, putting her hand on his and meeting his gaze. “No, I think…” On her feet, she dusted off her backside and moved out of the trees. She walked up the slope a little.

Brian struggled to stand, hobbling to avoid the agony ripping through his leg. “Fekiria!”

His breath clogged his throat when he saw her running back to him. But then—she was smiling. Confusion raked through him.

She threw herself into his arms. “I found it!”

He frowned. “Found what?”

“The shanty.” She pointed back toward a jagged rise. “Over that crest and down the other side there’s a shanty.” She shoved back her hood and the hair from her face. “I flew over it about a week ago. Thought it was odd.”

Brian’s heart felt like a flooded engine. Flooded with so much gas—this time, the hope of shelter—the gears wouldn’t catch. “Seriously?” His gaze shot to the rise. “You sure?”

“I checked. It’s there.” She hurried to the girls, talking quickly in Pashto.

Hobbling up the rock and snow-packed incline, he begged God to give her that miracle. Give her a way out. Let her live. He eased up, lowering himself to the ground as he did. Low-crawling, he made the summit and peered over.

A
gony had nothing on what Brian felt in his fingers and toes. Frostbite was a vicious predator. On the other side, the land sloped down fairly steep then leveled out and provided the perfect place for the mediumsized structure. Not exactly the size of a shanty. And it had mud-and-plaster walls.

“Do you see it?” Fekiria’s excitement reached him as she made her way up.

“Yeah,” Brian said, not mirroring her enthusiasm. Especially not with the smoke rising out of that pit and the truck parked at the side. He lowered his head…and his hopes. It was there. Shelter. Just like he’d asked for.

Just filled with Taliban.

Brian pounded the ground. Tried to restrain himself.

“What is wrong? What is it?”

He shoved off the ground, still working to harness his frustration. Teeth grinding, he threaded his fingers behind his head. Just one break. Why? Why was that too much to ask?

Fekiria was at his side. “Brian, what is wrong?”

He turned away from her, away from the fact he’d failed her. Let her down. Brought her up here to die.

She stepped into his path. Caught his arms. “Brian.”

“What do you want from me, Fekiria?”

“What did you see?”

He tried to look away from her. To the side. But he could still see her. He dropped his gaze. Closed his eyes. Exhaled in discouragement. Her gloved hand touched his face.

“Taliban,” he grunted. “It’s a freakin’ Taliban stronghold. We’re screwed. This whole thing is messed up. The girls are—”

“Hey!” Fekiria’s expression ignited. “Listen to me.”

The ferocity in her words surprised him. Stilled him.

“We need you. So you have to keep it together.”

Brian turned away from her, rubbing his frozen hands over his face. He shifted back to tell her it was hopeless. To say they ran out of options about thirty klicks back. Hands on his tac belt, he lowered his head again. She was right. He knew that. But he was empty. Fed up. Through. He pivoted and walked a few more paces down the path they’d just come.

God, this would be a real good time
—

“They’re leaving!”

Brian spun on his heels. Jogged as much as he could with his injured leg to the lip of the overlook. There, he flattened himself against the edge. Eased up, watched as the trucks filled with men. Shouts and hustling.
In a hurry…

The brakes of the truck groaned and popped as it lurched forward over the snow. With it went the despair that had threatened and overtaken Brian just minutes earlier.

“Did they all leave?” Fekiria lay to his left, close enough that she could whisper.

“Don’t know.” He didn’t have nocs since losing his ruck. “We’ll need to wait, make sure they’re gone. See if anyone else comes out, maybe for firewood for the night.”

Please…please, God
. He’d never prayed this hard so much in his life. The girls had been through too much. They wouldn’t make it one more night without this to feed them, fuel their bodies and spirits. Then again, they could get down there and find the place emptied of everything. He hoped for food but knew necessity demanded shelter from the storm.

He traced a path with his eyes along the outer rim of the ridgeline that created the bowl-like shape, with one side missing. The same side the trucks had disappeared down. “C’mon.” He shouldered Mitra onto his back once more. “We’ll climb down while we watch. Get a little closer.”

It took them almost an hour to make the bottom of the valley—well, not really a valley. Just a depression. The thought of warmth and protection against the winds kicking up gave them the strength to make it down.

“Wait here,” Brian said as they took cover behind a couple of trees. He crouch-ran as best he could across the open, holding his weapon in both hands and ignoring the knifing pain in his thigh. What bothered him more was the numbness in his legs. He slipped up against the structure and shouldered his way around the corner. Weapon up. Eyes alert.

He listened, or tried to listen, over the howl of the winds. It rattled against his ears and made it impossible to know if anyone else was inside. The window was boarded up and gave no offer of help in determining occupancy. Door. He’d have to go through the door.

Brian took a breath. Stared at the rudimentary barrier against the wind. Hand on the catch, he lifted it…slowly.

Once he felt it release, he pushed in, sweeping the room with his weapon up and heart pounding. A simple two-room structure. Large and open, the main area provided little comfort but immediate warmth. He hustled along to the opening that led to a secondary room. Smaller. A pallet on the floor. Bedroom.

But safe.

A cabinet sat against the wall. Odd. Out of place. Brian eased over to it. Weapon at head level, he aimed and reached the door. Gloved fingers coiling around the handle, he saw something red. And black. His heart thudded. Hard. Harder. Brian stepped back, visually tracing the wires.

He cursed. They’d rigged the place. Touch something, lose a hand. Touch too much, lose your life.

Boards creaked.

Brian turned in time to see Aadela hobble across the room toward a table.

Every thump of her feet on the packed earth hammered against his heart. One step. Two.

His gaze swung to the small two-door cabinet in the corner. A pantry, he guessed. And he saw the wires trailing from it straight to his feet.

The blur of the little girl headed straight for it.

She’d be blown to pieces.

“No!” He rushed forward and scooped her up. He held her tight, but she squealed in frustration against him. He spun toward the door where Fekiria and the teen waited with Mitra. “It’s rigged! Don’t move.”

Brian delivered Aadela to Fekiria then cleared the room. “Go ahead and sit down. There’s blankets in the other room. Get warm.” He knelt before the pantry, tracing the wires to a gray brick. After a short exhale, he went to work disarming the device. Once he pulled the det cord free, he coiled up the wires. Opened the doors slowly, hoping there weren’t more surprises there. He shuffled over to the large metal cabinet and traced the wires to another brick tucked behind the cabinet. He neutralized that, too. Boxed up the equipment then opened the doors.

He stood, stunned. “No way,” he muttered as he ran a hand over the equipment. He grabbed a couple of devices and then squatted and laughed. “Jackpot!”

“What is it?”

“Sat phone, laptop.”