Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Aaron's Honor (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Men of Mercy Book 8) (3 page)

“It's okay Celine, I'm here to take you home.”

Celine glanced up on hearing spoken English, staring in shock into the very cultured and refined face of a suit wearing man. He offered her a small smile and gently steadied her. “My name is Jack Mankel. I've been sent by Senator Tom Cotter to bring you both home.”

CHAPTER THREE

Jack Mankel, a.k.a. Mr. J, fought the urge to pull the small bottle of sanitizer from his pocket and wash his hands simply from being in this filthy hovel in the middle of the desert. The peasant Afghan, Hassan, argued over the price for the girls in such a guttural accent he could barely understand him. But he didn't need to understand much to know the man was demanding an exorbitantly high sum of money or that he had kidnapped two girls instead of just Caroline Cotter.

Mankel wanted to put a bullet in the ignorant swine's head, he restrained the urge. He hadn't stayed hidden so long by letting his baser instincts rule his actions. Bullets and guns left DNA and evidence which could possibly lead to his location. Besides, the situation could be easily remedied.

He forced his lips into a smile, here no one knew he was a former CIA operative turned traitor, nor did they care, but the man would care when he found out who Mankel worked for now. “Zafar el Abdul ordered the capture of only Caroline. Now you've given me an extra girl, more trouble to deal with, and you've treated this high-value target carelessly.” Mankel relished the fear growing in the man's wide black eyes. “Zafar will not be pleased that you have dishonored him and now you haggle for more money?”

The man stuttered, his steady stream of words faltering under a crushing wave of fear. No, Jack Mankel meant nothing, but the most prolific terrorist in the entire country of Afghanistan meant life or death to this poor poppy seed farmer.

Hassan fell to his knees and prostrated himself on the floor. “Sir, please, I did not know. Please, please take the girls, I ask for nothing only that you not speak of this to Zafar.”

Mankel embraced the surge of power running like white lightning through his veins, his job so much more satisfying than a middleman in the CIA, running small teams here and there, but ultimately at the mercy of whatever punk managed to promote above him because his daddy knew people. Jack Mankel had been a nobody. He’d worked his way from the ground up, making the right connections, gathering intel. Using his above average intelligence to climb higher. But it had all meant nothing in the end.

Jack had learned the hard way that blood
was
thicker than friendship and even his best friends would betray him for greed.

He’d taken that hard learned lesson to heart.

Here, he held power over life and death, had slaves at his beck and call, and enough money to buy a small island and retire. But not before he finished his plan. There were people in the States that had to pay, and no matter what he did, he would make sure they knew who destroyed their life. Besides, he was having too much fun toying with Hassan. Mankel tapped his lower lip. “I don't know. You've bungled the whole thing. These girls are barely alive, what if they die on the way back?”

The man crawled like the filthy pig he was across the floor, grasping at Jack's polished shoes to kiss the tips. Jack clenched his teeth and looked up at the ceiling, having to fight with every fiber not to jerk back and kick the man in the face.

“I beg of you sir, please, please, he will kill my family. My entire village.”

As if this ridiculous little village wouldn't be better off wiped from the face of the earth. Mankel glanced at his Rolex and said, “I'll need to think about that.” He stepped back and walked to the door, ignoring Hassan scrambling after him.

“I beg of you. I will do anything. Anything.”

“I will let you know my answer within the hour.” Mankel nodded to his security guard, who opened the door to the last black Range Rover in the line of SUV's. The girls had already been loaded into one of the other cars without hassle.

“Bless you.”

Mankel's security guard blocked Hassan from getting within five feet of the car. “Let's go. Now.” He'd been here as long as he could tolerate.

The guard blocking Hassan shoved the man back and got into the waiting car, and they drove off. Trent, a hired Australian mercenary, turned around and said, “How do you want me to handle the peasant?”

“Clean sweep.” He couldn't afford to leave one scrap of evidence behind.

Trent nodded and turned back around, pulling out a secure phone to complete the call. “Wipe him clean.”

Mankel relaxed into the seat. His plans set in motion, so far everything had gone off without a hitch, except for Celine Latimer. Mankel stiffened. She could be a problem. “Call Katar. Have him come to the compound within the hour.”

“The slave trader?” Trent asked.

“Yes,” Mankel answered.

“Yes, sir.” Trent immediately grabbed his phone again, his ability to follow orders without pause one of the reasons Mankel had kept him on the payroll for so long. Not only would Trent kill without question or compunction, but he had developed an attachment to Mankel.

Something Jack made sure to enforce with plenty of bonuses and free access to his slaves.

Loyalty could be bought and he'd learned that lesson over two decades ago when Tom Cotter bribed away his fiancée', Sarah, leaving Jack to watch as the woman he thought was the love of his life married his best-friend. She’d turned up pregnant within the year, given birth to twin baby girls and died from complications a day later. Insane with grief and jealousy, Jack had kidnapped one of the girls from the hospital, longing for a piece of his dead love and for a piece of retaliation.

And now, after years of plotting his revenge, his plans had finally aligned. He’d waited and bided his time, studying his opponent and learning his weaknesses. Tom Cotter had two: his power and his daughter.

Jack had his daughter. Now he would take his power. 

CHAPTER FOUR

The archaic window air conditioning unit sputtered and coughed to life, fighting a losing battle against the heat, as the small multicolored plastic streamers snapped and crackled out from the vent. The Pit took up the entire end of the trailer, with one long table in the middle and metal folding chairs strewn in small clusters around the room.

Fresh from the shower, Aaron swiped newly formed sweat from his forehead, wishing for something more than a 1980s era window unit to cool this place down. But the heat was nothing when it came to finding Celine. He found the nearest empty chair and sank into it, the insanely difficult training sessions he put his body through had managed to take a little bit of the edge off his need to hunt and kill, but not all.

Delta Force, a specialized team who’d also been assigned to track down the Senator’s daughter, would be here any minute and he might finally be able to find his girl. If he could wait.

Aaron closed his eyes and leaned back, crossing his ankles and threading his fingers together over his belly, appearing for all the world a man relaxed, but his thoughts tumbled relentlessly to last month and the last time Celine had smiled at him. The last time she kissed him.

She'd launched into his arms, leaving him no choice but to catch her, and her delicate arms wrapped around his neck. She'd taken that first kiss from him, sweet, sensual and commanding, she demanded that he respond. And he'd been completely helpless to resist.

“I swear, you can take a nap anywhere.”

Aaron opened his eyes to see Merc towering over him, feet shoulder width apart and arms crossed.

“If I'm not mistaken, I caught you dozing a time or two, too.” Aaron closed his eyes again. The meeting wouldn't start until all of Task Force Scorpion, TF-S, and Delta Force assembled.

“Yeah, you caught me napping one time. I'd gone two days straight with no break. Pretty sure that is a record.”

Aaron smiled, that was the only time he'd ever seen Merc display the slightest weakness. They'd been set up in a blind, cooking in the jungle heat on a drug cartel recon mission. When he'd seen Merc's eyes closed, he'd almost poked him to see if he was dead.

“It's okay, brother. I'll babysit you anytime.”

Aaron heard Merc snort and his heavy footfalls as he walked across the room. “Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to put this ancient piece of shit in here for an air conditioning unit?”

“Uncle Sam I bet. If you wanted coddling, you should've joined the Air Force.” Actually, their headquarters wasn't half bad compared to some of the places they'd been. At least here they had a roof over their head, an attempt at a/c and real beds. 

“You got that right, probably be put up in a four-star hotel right now drinking a beer with a chick on my arm,” Merc replied.

And just like that Aaron was thrust back into the vortex of guilt. He'd had female company and he'd been lazy and sloppy and lost her. Hell, why was he having such a strong reaction? It wasn't like he spent years with Celine, or really even dated, the most they shared was that kiss.

That kiss that had rocked his very core.

“Shit man, sorry I forgot for a minute.”

Aaron set up and shoved a hand through his brown hair, not surprised that it was already dry in this heat. Normally his hair was thick and straight, but here it curled a little bit. “It's all right. When is the other team supposed to get here?”

He was so tired of the guilt eating him alive. He needed action, needed to do something to fix the problem, but more than anything he needed to get Celine Latimer back in his arms even if he didn't understand why.

“How about right now?”

Aaron spun around to see a tall man enter the room, dressed in desert BDU's and carrying a manila envelope in his hand.

“I'm Ghost, team leader for my unit.”

Aaron stood and accepted Ghost's handshake. “Aaron Speirs.”

Merc did the same.

Six other men followed him inside. Ghost did a brief introduction. “This is Truck, all around bad ass. Beatle, Blade, great with a rifle. Hollywood, knows more about explosives than anyone I've ever met. Coach here can figure out any piece of intel you give him. And last but not least, Fletch, my second in command.”

“Nice to meet you, I'm Speirs and this is Merc. Rest of our Team should be here soon.”

“We're here, saw 'em walking in.” Hunter James strode through the door, followed by his brother Ranger. Behind him came Jared and Hoyt Crowe, and then Ethan Slade, Riser Malone and Cord Carter.

The Delta boys lined up and Aaron got the intros out of the way. “This is my team leader, Hunter and his brother, Ranger, is assistant team leader. Jared, Hoyt and Cord are our snipers. Riser is our weapons specialist and assistant medic. Ethan is our Commo sergeant. And this guy,” Aaron gestured to Merc who stood nearly head to head with Truck, “this is our special skills guy, Merc.”

Ghost nodded and gestured to the table. “Got some intel I think may be what ya'll have been looking for.”

The men circled around the long table and watched in silence as Ghost pulled some papers from the folder he'd been carrying. “Our satellites caught an explosion here, in Helmand province.”

“Helmand? What the hell is out there?” The province was nearly all desert, a few poor farmers spread out over the whole area, definitely not populated.

“Not much, but one of our drones happened to be on a fly by and caught some movement and started recording. About thirty minutes later, satellites detected a fairly large explosion. We pulled the feed from the drone and this is what we found.”

Ghost threw out the papers, which turned out to be photographs. Aaron snatched up the nearest one, nearly crushing it in his grip when he glimpsed the photo. A line of black SUV's parked in front of a ramshackle village. Multiple men with guns. Two women being carried to the line of vehicles.

Aaron pulled the photo closer. One girl had short blond hair, just like Celine.

“How the hell did you get this?”

“Luck, man. The drone was in the right place at the right time. That’s it.”

Explosions in the Middle East were about as common as popsicles in July in Mississippi, but not out in the middle of the desert with no witnesses and minimal casualties. That was the exact opposite goal of any terrorist organization's standard operation procedures.

“You able to track the vehicles?” Hunter asked.

“We got a plate on the first one, the other is unmarked. Traced the number back to a small compound in the middle of Kabul. Pulled the satellite footage, it’s about a four hour ride from here.” Ghost handed over another aerial photo of a compound surrounded by a large concrete fence.

“You get a name?” Aaron asked.

“Just a fake. Abdul Jamar. He came into existence about a year ago. But I've still got intel searching for records, just in case he's used that name before.”

Aaron accepted the photo, took one glance at the black haired man with silver at his temples and his heart stopped. “Dammit.”

Hunter grabbed the photo and blew out a breath. “Mr. J.”

“I knew Kate was telling the truth. That limo driver, he said Mr. J to her. He's got the girls.”

“And now we know where he's holding them.”

“How soon can we leave?” Aaron asked.

“I'm waiting on some intel from a girl we managed to get in on the servant staff to know for sure if that is your girls, but we can head out as soon as my guys can grab a bite and gear up. We've been going non-stop for a week,” Ghost said.

The big guy named Truck said, “Get us some MRE's and some ammo. We can eat on the way.”

Fletch's phone chirped at his belt buckle and he answered it, stepping from the group of men. “What do you have for me?”

While the man completed his conversation, Aaron tapped on the girls’ photo again. “Did you get a shot of them being carried into his compound?”

“No, unfortunately. But I'm working on getting it. Can't tell if they were unconscious. We'll have to plan on carrying them out.”

“And make sure me and Riser are on the ground for medical. I've got my bag ready to go.” They could be drugged or knocked out or worse.

His stomach knotted just thinking about all the possibilities of what Celine and Caroline had been put through. He'd been in enough battles to see the truly ugly nature of some men and the vicious evil they were capable of doing to women. He nearly broke out in a cold sweat thinking about what he'd seen before and the fact that Celine could be suffering right now without anyone there to protect her.

“Hunter, interrupt me if you disagree, but I think we should break into two teams. One for assault/breach and one for support by fire. We can put our snipers on over watch,” Ghost said.

Fletch shoved his phone into his pocket. “Change of plans. A’idah just confirmed they've contacted Sven Panchenko. He's supposed to arrive this afternoon.”

“You sure?” Ghost paled.

Aaron tried to read him but he avoided his gaze. “Who the fuck is Panchenko?”

Truck's deep voice filled the silence. “Russian human trafficking. His boss, Dmitri, has a particular fondness for young blondes.”

Dread rolled through Aaron. Girls that went into Russia that way never came out, alive. “We move, now.”

“They're moving the girls for the drop. Meeting in Herat Province, remote location. Mountains are thick up there, so if we move in early, we can set up high for an ambush,” Fletch said.

“That's at least four hours from here,” Riser said. His second for medical went to the large topographic map on the far wall. “We might need a bird to extract the girls if they're non-mobile.”

“We can get a helo in from Bagram Airfield,” Ranger said, “I've got a buddy there right now.”

“So let’s set up a Jared and Hoyt on the south mountain, and Beatle and Blade on the north mountain for over watch. The rest of us will break into four teams of two, each moving in from different locations and to set up blocks on the road in and out of the meeting area,” Hunter joined Riser next to the map, pointing as he spoke, his dark hair a stark contrast next to Riser's blond. “What do you think Ghost?”

“I like it. We're stronger together. I'll team my men and you yours and we can coordinate the movements. Our snipers can take out anyone if they get past our road blocks after the meet and drop. We try to keep as many alive as possible for intel.”

Aaron stepped forward. “But if the girl's lives are at risk...”

“We take them out,” Hoyt Crowe, his lips pulled to the side from a deep scar up his cheek, said. Before his captivity and torture, he'd been all smooth and easy going, but now, the sniper rarely left his fiancée, Hayden, or spoke. But his accuracy with a rifle had only improved after he recovered and Aaron wouldn't want anyone else guarding Celine.

“I agree,” Aaron said.

“Me, too,” Hoyt’s brother Jared chimed in.

Truck, just as scarred and scary looking as Hoyt, said, “I second that.”