Hot & Bothered (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 8) Page 18

  Yeah, none of that was good.

  Fuck, why hadn’t he told her he loved her? Why had he thought she didn’t need to hear it before she went to meet Mustafa? Emily was bright and capable. She wouldn’t have been distracted by his revelation. She would have done the job she was supposed to do—and they’d probably still be in the same situation. Whoever had taken her knew to expect she’d have backup. They’d made sure to stage a physical distraction that made it difficult for the team to maneuver the crowd as quickly as they otherwise would.

  “Incoming message,” Kid said, and Ryan spun and walked over to where everyone gathered. Kid turned the combat-hardened laptop so everyone could see it and then hit a button. Colonel Mendez appeared on-screen.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, even though it was morning in DC. “We have all the information we need. The hostages are located approximately thirty miles southeast of Al-Izir, quite close to the Lost City where they were taken. There’s a small village there—Kharat—and Emily’s signal is coming from a compound on the western edge. She’s being held in a separate room from the hostages, that much we can see, though that information could change by the time you get there. The drone will make another pass in an hour, and the information will be sent directly to you. The schematic for the buildings is being sent now. Sergeant Blake will make sure it’s loaded onto your Hawkeye prototypes for real-time targeting.” Mendez looked down at his watch, back up again. “This is your go-order, men. Find our fellow Americans and bring them home safely.”

  “Yes, sir!” everyone said at once.

  The call ended and they rocketed into motion.

  *

  Malik ushered her inside, talking like they were old friends who had accidentally bumped into each other at the store one day. He was chatty, polite, but her pulse hammered nevertheless. She didn’t trust him.

  She almost laughed at that thought. Of course she didn’t fucking trust him! He was a terrorist. He also wasn’t an idiot, which made the fact he was treating her like she’d just returned home after a long trip away very odd and a little frightening. Okay, a lot frightening.

  Emily darted her gaze around the compound at every step, looking for signs of the hostages, for ways to escape, for anything that sparked a thought about why she was here and what they wanted from her.

  She still had the money on her body, so they hadn’t searched her. But there was no feedback in her earpiece, no sound of any kind, and she wondered if the link was broken or if HOT was just silent. She prayed they were out there. Coming for her.

  Malik indicated a chair at a table and she sat, her body a little stiff from the ride on the floor of the van and the way she’d been thrown around. He went and poured some water from a pitcher and returned to give it to her.

  She took it, but then she set it down, her mouth dry but her mind running through the possibilities of being drugged or poisoned.

  Malik laughed and went over to pour a glass for himself. Then he drank it.

  She reached for hers and took a sip. Tasted like water. She sipped again, carefully, waiting for signs of poison.

  There were none.

  “So tell me,” Malik said breezily, coming to take a seat opposite her, “how did you come to be in Acamar?”

  Such a strange conversation. Emily cleared her throat. She was sweating beneath the abaya, but she couldn’t take it off. Not here where to do so would be considered vulgar by the men.

  “Ian Black made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” No sense in lying about it. He knew she wasn’t here as a tourist, and Black had had dealings with the Freedom Force in the past. He’d told her that he’d actually stopped HOT from killing Zaran once. She’d found that amazing, but then Ian’s agenda was something she’d never understand as long as she lived. He didn’t seem to have a side sometimes, but she was positive his side was the same as HOT’s, even if he got there a different way.

  “Ah, Mr. Black. Yes, he is familiar to me. I believe he sold us some rifles not so long ago.”

  “That’s Ian.”

  “Why did you not come to us, Light of Zaran? Your disappearance was most distressing, especially after the Americans invaded our camp.”

  She took another sip of water. “I, uh, I wasn’t certain I would be welcome. Zaran was dead, after all.”

  He made a sad face. It was almost comical since she suspected he wasn’t sad at all. Zaran’s death would have elevated him. Indeed, it must have since he’d been addressed like someone of importance earlier.

  “Yes, may Allah bless our lost brother… But you would have been taken care of, as the widow of a dead hero should be.”

  She wanted to shiver. She managed not to. “I was captured by the Americans. And since I am one, they took me back to America. They believed I had knowledge they could use.”

  “But you had none, because you are not a warrior for the cause.”

  “That’s right. I know you—many of you—but not your true selves, or where you are from. That’s what they wanted. I had nothing to give them.”

  Malik smiled. “No, you wouldn’t have. This is good… Now tell me about Hassan Mustafa and the money you are carrying.”

  A jolt of fear went through her, but she managed not to let it show. Or so she hoped anyway. His expression didn’t change as he watched her. She got the impression of a cat hunkering in the shadows, waiting for the mouse to move.

  “Ian was paying him for information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  Emily clenched her fists in her lap and took a deep breath. This was ridiculous and she knew it. He wasn’t being friendly. Or solicitous. He had a purpose, and when he was done with her, he’d probably kill her himself.

  “Why don’t you ask Mustafa?”

  He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Alas, this is not possible. He is dead.”

  Another jolt of fear went through her. And anger as well. She hadn’t necessarily liked or disliked Mustafa, but he was a person she’d spent time with. She could still see his dark eyes, the way he tucked his pipe between his lips—and the fear earlier today when he’d seen the men in the café. The gunshot she’d heard—it made sense now.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said and meant it.

  “He was a traitor. He did not believe in the cause.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Do you believe in the cause, Light of Zaran?”

  “I believe in freedom from oppression for everyone.” It was a neutral answer, but it was also a correct answer.

  The gleam in his eyes said he understood as much. He got to his feet then and looked down at her. “You may stay in this room. There will be food brought. Eat it or don’t. Your choice.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” she asked as he whirled and stalked to the door.

  He stopped with his hand on the handle. “You will find out when the time is right. Peace, Light of Zaran.”

  She watched as the door closed behind him—but then it opened again and she jumped as he stuck his head back inside.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you that your microphones and listening devices have been neutralized. Inshallah.”

  This time when the door closed, it stayed closed. Emily made herself breathe in and out very slowly, very carefully. She had no link to HOT. No way to talk to Ryan. She didn’t need that so long as the bio-tracker he’d put on her arm was working.

  But she had no idea if it was. Or if HOT would ever find her again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “FLASH, REPORT.”

  “In position,” Ryan said.

  Beside him, Fiddler and Iceman gave the same answer in response to the question. They’d arrived twenty minutes ago. First, they’d taken trucks out into the desert as far as they could go, and then they’d crossed on foot, silent and determined, until they came within sight of the village.

  There were lights on in the town, but they didn’t want to walk into the middle of it. The Freedom Force would know they
were there within moments if they did. No; instead, they took a course that brought them to the western edge and the compound that intel had identified.

  The schematic for the facility appeared in their Hawkeye night vision goggles. These NVGs were new and wicked cool. Not only did they allow for advanced vision in the dark, but they were capable of thermal imaging and had an onboard targeting system that worked like a video game to enable the person wearing them to walk into any structure as if they knew where they were going.

  Every man wore them, and every single one could bust into that compound and know where he was immediately.

  They’d split up when they left the trucks, but now they were converging again, getting ready to storm the facility. Two men would target the generator while the others worked on neutralizing the opposition. There were ten men with weapons prowling around the compound. There was a woman in a room by herself, and another room on the lower level with thirteen people inside.

  Ryan and his companions were going for the woman alone because that was Emily.

  As soon as the team infiltrated the compound, Matt would give the order for the Blackhawks to come. They’d trucked in, but they’d fly out because they had no idea what the medical status of the prisoners was. And getting thirteen people—fourteen when you counted Emily—to run through the desert and make it to the trucks without anyone getting hurt or killed wasn’t exactly a cakewalk.

  “You hear that?” someone asked.

  Ryan strained his ears against the night. And then he heard it—the sound of a helicopter’s rotors beating the air.

  “Fuck,” Matt said.

  “Is that our guys?” Ryan asked. “Because it’s too fucking soon.”

  “No, it’s not our guys.”

  The helicopter moved toward them, growing louder and louder in the night air. And then it came into view, a civilian craft that swung over the compound and began to descend in the courtyard.

  “Fucking hell!” Big Mac said. “This is a problem. Everybody stand down until we get some info.”

  *

  Emily didn’t eat the food a man brought in and set down in front of her. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask any questions. He was gone again quickly, and she jumped up once more and went to the window. She was on the second floor, and she thought if she could get the window open then maybe she could crawl out and drop.

  But the window wouldn’t open, and smashing something through it wasn’t an option. Her captors would hear the sound and come immediately. Instead, she searched the room for something she could use as a weapon.

  Other than throwing a chair at somebody, she couldn’t find anything. This room hadn’t been used for much probably, as there was nothing in it except chairs and a table.

  She went back to the window, but it was dark out now and she could see nothing except a few village lights here and there. She stood for a long time—and then she heard a sound, a slight, rhythmic thumping.

  And then it grew closer and she realized it was a helicopter. Her heart shot skyward. It was HOT! It was Ryan, come to get her. Relief flooded her even as she prepared to do battle with her bare hands. Soon her captors would realize they were being invaded, and they would come for her.

  But as the helicopter drew closer and no one burst into her room, she began to realize she must be wrong. No one came—and there was no panic, no shouting inside the compound.

  As she scanned the night sky, the helicopter appeared, its lights beaming down on the courtyard outside the window. It sank down like a bee kissing a flower, landing softly on the concrete pad she’d noticed earlier but ignored as unimportant.

  The rotors slowed and the door opened. A man in a dark suit and a kaffiyeh emerged. And then a woman, dressed in a white abaya. Jewels sewn into the fabric caught the light and glittered as she walked. She was small, delicate. But her head was bowed, her hair covered in a hijab, and Emily couldn’t see her face. A wife, no doubt. She was dressed too richly not to be.

  But was it a wife she’d met before?

  She chafed her arms as the chill in her heart seeped out into her limbs. The couple disappeared, and she turned away from the window. Soon voices echoed throughout the structure, and she knew the couple had come inside.

  She went over to the door, straining to hear—and the voices grew louder. There were footsteps on the stairs, and she darted back to the other side of the table, instinctively wanting to keep it between her and whoever was coming.

  The door opened, startling her even though she’d expected it. Malik walked in, and the man from the helicopter. He had narrow, beady eyes, and they watched her with undisguised dislike.

  Then the woman entered, and Emily’s breath caught. She was beautiful, delicate featured, and with a natural grace that most people didn’t possess. She walked past the two men and came over to the table, making a great show of studying the chair for cleanliness before she sat.

  She’s in charge here. That thought hit Emily like a dip into ice water. And then she had another thought: Raja.

  This woman was Raja. There could be no other explanation. She traveled in a helicopter and she commanded these men. They deferred to her. It was obvious, and shocking as well in the patriarchal world of the Freedom Force.

  “We finally meet, Light of Zaran,” she said in a musical voice that sounded more appropriate for an opera singer than a terror leader. “I have looked forward to it.”

  “I-I’m not sure I can say the same. Who are you?” Because she didn’t know for certain and because it didn’t help to appear to know things before you were told. Not with these kind of people.

  “You may call me Raja.”

  “Why did you want to meet me, Raja? I am no one.” She spread her fingers, trying to look as meek as she could.

  Raja laughed. The sound was like tiny bells tinkling. “Ah, but you have spent much time in Washington DC, and much time with the evil men who tried to bring down this organization when they kidnapped Al Ahmad. I am interested to know everything.”

  A fresh chill rolled down her spine then. This woman knew she’d been in DC? Knew about HOT? That was alarming in more ways than one.

  “I have nothing to tell. I was not involved in any way. I was taken from the camp when my husband was killed, and returned to the United States. Beyond that, I know nothing.”

  Raja snorted. “Such a good liar, Emily Royal bin Yusuf. It took time to find you, but find you we did. And we watched you. I know who you are and who you care for.” Raja’s eyes grew black with fury then. If there had been a candle in the room, it would have guttered. “Someone is going to pay for taking our leader. I’m starting with you—but it won’t end there, you can count on that.”

  She stood and stalked toward Emily. Emily didn’t dare move, though Raja looked delicate and feminine rather than menacing.

  “You will hand over the money beneath your abaya. And you will come with me. We have much to discuss—and it will not happen here.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Raja’s eyes flickered. “To Qu’rim.”

  Sweat sprang up on her palms, between her breasts. “What about the hostages? What do you plan to do with them?”

  One of Raja’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted. “We will behead them, of course. Unless your government cooperates with our demands.”

  Emily’s throat squeezed tight. Mustafa had been so wrong about this woman not approving of the hostages being taken. “They won’t. America doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  Raja shrugged. “Then perhaps they might like to start.” She jerked her head at the man in the suit. “Get the money and bring her. We’re going.”

  *

  “We’re a go. Repeat, we’re a go.”

  It had been ten minutes since the helicopter had landed. A tense ten minutes in which HOT waited to find out how many new people had arrived and where they were going. The heat signature said it was two men and one woman. The pilot remained onboard the craft, and a man a
nd woman went inside. After a brief conference with another man, the three of them went up to where Emily was being held.

  The prototype NVGs displayed the heat signatures of the people inside when switched to thermal mode. Emily hadn’t moved since the three people entered her room, but the woman sat down while the men remained standing. A few seconds later, she stood.

  That’s when Matt gave the go order.

  Ryan and his teammates shut off the thermal switch, enabling the real-time targeting feature for an accurate schematic of the building. They surged toward the compound in a wave, silent, deadly, and determined. The tangos hadn’t been expecting anything apparently, because the door was easily breached. The lights switched out then as Cade Rodgers and his team reached the generator.

  In other quadrants of the compound, men would be scaling the walls and kicking in windows. But Ryan, Fiddler, and Iceman ran for the central building where everyone was being held. Their task was to go in the front door, up the stairs, and extract Emily. Another team would get the hostages.

  Ryan reached the door first, whirling to put his back to the wall on one side. Ice was on the other and their gazes met. Fiddler lifted his gun and kicked in the door. Then he tossed in a flashbang and waited.

  The noise was deafening. The accompanying flash of light shone as brightly as a lightning strike on a pitch-black night. They entered and began sweeping the area for tangos, taking out four men who tried to regroup and attack them.

  Then Ryan bounded for the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he reached the top, he dashed for the room where Emily was being held. Ice and Fiddler were on his heels, and they breached the door in a split second.

  But the room was empty. Emily wasn’t there. The two men and the other woman weren’t there.

  “Fuck.” Ryan whirled and headed for the stairs again. Outside, gunfire rattled the night. And then the buzzing sound of a helicopter preparing for takeoff cut through the battle noise and speared right into Ryan’s ears.