Raptor 6 (28 page)

Dean chuckled. “Sir, any chatter about a missing VIP?”

“Nothing. And we’re not going to get involved until I get more answers. Whatever Ramsey’s doing, it’s gotta come out eventually. And I’m going to make sure that’s sooner.”

“Roger that.”

The far door opened and Titanis strode in with another man. An Arab. Who was this?

“I’ll do some digging, see what I can find. You and Raptor stay low. Get some rest.”

“Roger that, sir.” Dean stood as the two men joined him.

Looking far too pleased with himself, Titanis held a hand to the man with him. “This is Osman. He’s a local friend.”

With a nod, Dean acknowledged the man.

“He’s the best,” Titanis added.

Dean frowned. “At what?”

“Tattoos.”

Somewhere in Afghanistan
17 June—0800 Hours

T
wenty-four hours and nobody is talking about your disappearance.”

Zahrah tried to peer between the fibers of the hood where light shone through, but she could not see anything but shapes and blurs.

“Perhaps you are not as important as you thought.”

“I’m
not
important. I’m a teacher.”

Thud!

Her head knocked sideways. The world tilted. She felt herself falling. Hands tied behind her, she could not break her fall. Her shoulder thudded against the ground. Warmth slid down her lip. Since they’d removed her from her apartment, she remembered little. A pinch in her arm—probably a drug. Then traveling in a vehicle. And now this. It could’ve been days for all she knew.

And with Fekiria shutting her out … it was possible her cousin would not miss her right away.

Footsteps approached. Zahrah braced herself for another hit. Or kick. Instead, hands gripped her arms and shoulders, righting her.

“Please,” she whispered, “I don’t know what you—”

Shouts and thuds garbled her words.

Through the fibers, a vague shape burst into the room. He rattled in Arabic, “We need to leave. Americans are coming—they’re searching the buildings.”

Zahrah’s heart thudded.
Thank You, God!
Her father or Captain Watters had found out. They were looking for her!

“Get her ready.”

Someone approached and reached toward her.

Zahrah cringed.
Get her ready
. That meant they wouldn’t kill her yet. Right?

The person grabbed at the hood and yanked—along with a fistful of her hair. Fiery darts tingled along her scalp. Before she could do anything, someone grabbed her head. Jerked it so she looked to the ceiling. The other wrapped silver tape around her mouth—around her neck and head, too! Then he dropped a blue mound of material around her. The suffocating silk covered her, head to toe. She blinked. A small rectangular opening had a netlike barrier. A burqa?

Still tied and now robed in anonymity, two of her captors herded her down a hall. Pulling and pushing her. The material coiled around her legs. She stumbled.

They yanked her onward. Into a dark room then another. Right into—

She gasped. The old gym. They were back at the old school?

They shoved her into the backseat of a van, and someone, also draped in blue, moved in next to her. Another captive? Her heart surged at the thought of an ally.

The person jabbed something into her ribs. “Say nothing and do nothing, and you will live,” came a man’s voice.

Only then did Zahrah identify what was poking her—a gun!

Camp Marmal, Mazar-e Sharif
17 June—0815 Hours

In the mess hall, Dean sat with his lunch. Since budget cuts and no hot breakfast, lunch had suddenly become important. Falcon and Titanis joined him.

“Give any more thought to what happened last night?” Falcon lifted his burger and bit into it.

Dean nodded. “A lot.” He munched on some potato chips. “Either we’ve gotten sloppy or they were tipped off.”

“How?” Titanis shrugged his big shoulders. “Nobody but us knew we were going.”

“Except Hastings,” Falcon noted. The guy tipped back his head and guzzled water. He had strong facial features that made words unnecessary. With that hooked nose and longer-than-normal black hair, Falcon had his own style and attitude.

Arms folded, Dean leaned on the table. “Not convinced she’s trouble, but it’s something to consider.”

“We need to consider all facts,” Falcon said. “Something stinks. We go to Majorca. Yeah, it’s a diversion, but they knew our every move. They anticipated us. Pinned us. Had we not gone to water”—he shrugged—“we might not be sitting here.”

“Heads up,” Titanis said, eyebrows winging toward the door.

Hawk ambled in, stiff and looking wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, he kept his right arm close.

“Think he figured it out?” Titanis asked, head low, eyes on his food.

“Has he punched you yet?” Falcon sniggered.

A few minutes later, Hawk slid his tray on the table. “Man,” he said as he hooked his legs over the bench and dropped down. “I’ve taken a bullet before, but this one …” He stretched his neck. Rubbed his shoulder and hissed. “Must’ve hit a weird muscle or something. My back is
killing
me.”

Dean stretched his jaw, fighting the smile. He hunched closer to the table. Shoulder shielding him from Hawk.

“Hey, what’d you find out about last night?”

“Nothing yet,” Falcon said, not missing a beat. “You get some acetaminophen from Harrier?”

Hawk nodded. “It’s not even touching it.” He dug into his slop. “Says eating a good meal will help.”

“Good thing we’re off the grid for a few, huh?”

“Amen. I slept till ten-hundred then hit the showers.” Another grunt. “My back felt like it was on fire.” He downed a sport drink. Dug two pills out of his pocket, tossed them in his mouth, and took a swig from a second bottle.

“Nice tat,” someone called.

Dean pushed to his feet and grabbed his tray. “Got some work to do.”

“Me, too,” Titanis said.

“Hey. Bledsoe.” A sergeant made his way over. “D’you hear me?”

Dean made a beeline to return his tray, rushing ahead of the oncoming storm.

“Saw that sweet tat when you were putting your shirt on. Where’d you get those wings?”

“What are you—?” The fleshy clap of a slap on the back sounded. Then a howl. “No!” Metal scraped against cement.
“Titanis!”

Dean and Titanis sprinted down the hall, dodging soldiers. Behind them, the telltale
thwack
of the mess hall doors flying open pushed them. “If he catches us …” Dean shoved against the security bar. Broke into the sunlight.

A meaty roar chased them.

Dean couldn’t stop laughing. “He’s going to kill us!”

“He had it coming,” Titanis said with a laugh and shook his head.

“You sorry pieces of work!” Hawk yelled as he burst into the sun. Flexing his biceps, he fisted his hands. “C’m—”

Sirens blazed. The warning howl pierced the afternoon. Dean spun, searching his surroundings, weapon out, ready to take on a target. His nerves jangled, shifting from a joke to a life-and-death scenario. Troops getting hit by the locals they trained had become all too common. He felt Titanis at his back as they turned, searching for the threat.

“Stop him!”

Dean pivoted toward the chaos, toward the voice. Lined up his sights. Let the sight blur as he focused on the crowd at the business end of his weapon. A cluster of MPs rushed toward them. Thirty yards and closing.

Dean’s pulse knocked up a notch.
What …?
He searched for the target.

His gaze slid down a fraction. To the slight frame of a boy. Pumping with his arms. Leg still tangled in a cast, he hobbled. Terror gouged his face. His long tunic flapped hard, as if trying to take off.

Rashid!

“No!” He rammed his gun back into the holster and rushed forward, his goal stopping the guns aiming for the kid. “Stand down! Stand down!” he shouted to the MPs. “Blue—friendly! Don’t shoot!”

The boy flew the last twenty feet to him. Threw himself against Dean, screaming.

Hand out to stay the police, Dean held the boy close. Verified they weren’t going to fire. He peered down. “Rashid.” His lungs burned. “What—?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I failed!” Rashid clung tighter. When Dean tried to pry him off, the boy clenched. “No, please! You must help.”

After wresting free, Dean went to a knee. Held the boy’s trembling shoulders as tears formed dark rivulets down Rashid’s dirty face. “Hey.” He gave him a light squeeze. “Rashid, slow down. What’s wrong?”

“I failed!” The eight-year-old boy threw his head back and struck his chest with another cry. “You gave me a mission and I dishonored you.”

Mission? What miss—? Dean’s breath jammed in the back of his throat.
Zahrah
. He gripped the boy’s shoulders. Stared into his eyes. “Miss Zarrick?”

A frantic nod. Dirty black hair fringed red-rimmed eyes as tears streaked down his face. “She’s gone! They can’t find her.”

“What do you mean, they can’t find her?”

“She’s gone! Just gone.”

“Rashid—”

The boy lunged into Dean’s arms and hooked his arms around his neck. “Please do not hurt me. I am sorry. I tried—”

Dean pulled the boy close. A hand cupped the back of the boy’s head as Dean glanced up at Hawk and Titanis, who stood there. Their faces bore the shock Dean felt. And the anger.
Get it in gear! She’s missing!

Someone meant to harm her. Kill her. And … that meant Rashid could be in danger, too. All of them, for that fact.

He lifted Rashid into his arms, thankful the boy was on the small side. To Titanis he said, “Get Burnett. And the team.”

Camp Marmal, Mazar-e Sharif
17 June—0900 Hours

H
oly Mother of God, help me!

Lance stormed into the sub-base, the narrow hall clogged with a dozen or more soldiers. Titanis led the way, the man a mountain of muscle, so when he barked, “Make a hole!” the sea of uniforms parted as if God Himself had ordered it. They stepped into the briefing room.

Watters, who’d been sitting in front of the Afghan boy, stood. “Sir.”

“What do you know?”

“Not much,” Watters said. “They aren’t sure when she was taken or by whom. Just that she’s gone. She’d been staying in the dorms with her cousin.”

“When did the cousin last see her?”

“Unknown. The boy just heard his parents talking to one of the Haidary cousins.”

“But she was just taken this morning?”

“Unknown.”

Lance considered the boy. Short but stout in heart, the kid had lost his sister in the same explosion that ripped his leg up. Fear and sincerity marked the boy’s wide brown eyes. “You’re sure he doesn’t know anything else?”

Watters hesitated, eyed the kid, then nodded. “He’s a good kid. I’d made him an unofficial first sergeant after the explosion.”

Lance grunted. Were they too late already? Nothing had hit the wires. No ransom demand. No videos showing a beaten or otherwise harmed Zahrah. “Well, get over to the dorm and find some answers. I’ll send CID over, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Watters turned to the boy. “Ready?”

“What are you doing?”