Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (8 page)

Dean frowned, skidded a confused look to Sal, who returned the expression. “Sir, we were shut out of the prison. Told to leave. He mentioned you.”

“Me? I didn’t have anything to do with this.” Ramsey scowled as he plopped into his chair, hand resting on the folder. “Who was it?”

Titanis edged in, smoothing a hand over his beard. “Some mate who looked a lot like a spook.”

“He said he had to get answers, told us to leave. That you ordered him in there.”

“He had a leather satchel,” Sal added. “I swear the guy had bloodlust in his eyes. He was going to get answers from that prisoner no matter what means—conventional or unconventional.”

Ramsey’s face drained of color. He faltered coming to his feet. He rushed around the corner of his desk. “Hastings, get the MPs to the detention facility!” He ran down the hall.

“Not good,” Sal muttered.

Dean pivoted and ran after the general, busting through the front door, and beat a hard path to the detention area. He caught up with the general as he shoved into the building.

The desk remained unattended. “Specialist!” the general shouted but no one answered.

Dean stalked around the counter and pushed into the small office. The door thumped against a leg. “He’s down!” He went to a knee. “He’s alive but unconscious.”

“The prisoner,” Sal hissed.

Boots thudded down the hall, hauling Dean back out of the room. He sprinted toward the end of the hall. Watched the other three enter the last cell.

General Ramsey cursed. Loud. Several times.

The prisoner, hands cuffed behind his back, lay cockeyed in the chair. Blood trailed down his neck and shirt from a bullet wound in the head.

Titanis crouched beside him, fingers on his neck. He slowly shook his head. “Dead.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean fought the wave of despair.

“Some work.” Sal stood beside Dean. “He knew what he was doing.” He pointed to the man’s neck where a red dot glared at them. “Probably gave him some drug to make him spill his guts.”

“Then he
does
spill the man’s guts,” Titanis said.

“I want to know who did this!” Ramsey shouted, turning as MPs jogged toward them. “Check the surveillance. Find out who this assassin was!”

“We saw him,” Dean mumbled, thinking through the scenario. “He walked in as brazen as day and told us to leave.”

Sal folded his arms. “Which means he’s not worried about being caught.”

“Probably drastically changed his appearance for our benefit.” Titanis leaned against a table, his hands propped against the steel. “Makes me wonder…”

Dean nodded.

Sal crouched before the dead prisoner. “Our Afghan friend here knew something.”

“Something so dangerous they couldn’t risk us finding out.” Dean straightened.

“You know what that means?” Sal had death in his eyes. Fierce determination mixed with a lethal concoction of thirst for vengeance. “We finish this—at all costs.”

Kabul, Afghanistan
26 March—1545 Hours

“What are you doing with my HunkySoldierBoy?”

At the demanding question by his spunky stepdaughter, Sajjan slumped back in his leather chair. Timbrel VanAllen had every bit the beauty and wit of her mother, but with an added pound of combat-hardened attitude. He could only thank God that Nina didn’t have that or he wouldn’t have given her the time of day, let alone taken her as his bride. “You would be speaking of Tony.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the only HunkySoldierBoy in existence.”

He could not help but smile as she shrugged. “I am doing nothing with Tony.” He held his hand toward the empty office.

“You can try your spy games on me, but I’m not cool with this if you’re putting his life in danger.” She had never been afraid of anything or anyone.

“If you are concerned for that, then I think you married the wrong man. Tony thrives on action, does he not?”

“Yes, but he’s smart with it… normally.”

“Your words wound me.” Truly they did. Though his stepdaughter accepted his marriage to her mom, and though she gave voice to her acceptance of him, there lurked in her a hesitation. “You would suggest that he’s not smart with me.”

She narrowed her eyes and batted long brown hair from her shoulders. “Tony respects you. Admires you—”

“And you do not?”

Timbrel snapped her mouth shut. Considered him. “I wouldn’t have let my mom marry you if I didn’t. But I also know the games you play, the alliances you toy with. In fact, I’m not really sure any of us know where your allegiance rests.”

Sajjan came out of his chair and eased around his desk to her side. “I am grateful for your respect and admiration, and I would ask that you let that guide you.”

“I am. That’s why I’m here.” Undaunted. So like Nina.

“Daughter,” he said softly, noting how the edges of her hard shell seemed to wilt beneath that word. “My allegiance is to my family first and my country second.”

“And God?”

He lifted his chin, smiling down at her. “Above all others.”

“So. Afghanistan before America.” Defiance glinted in her expression. “You realize Tony is American. I am American. So—”

He touched a finger to her lips.

She slapped it away, scowling.

“Trust me, Timbrel. But do not demand of me what you know I will not give, and at the same time, believe me when I say I would never intentionally put those in my family in harm’s way.”

She gave a curt nod. “Fine.” Backed up a step. “I’ll sic Beo on you if Tony gets hurt.”

As if responding, the retired working dog growled from the shadows of a corner, and then the bullmastiff’s nails clicked on the highly polished floor as he trotted out ahead of the firebrand. The door closed.

A low rumble of laughter came from the side office.

Sajjan turned toward the door. “You heard that?”

Tony VanAllen walked in, his chest out a little more than normal. His chin a measure higher. “I’d say I have nothing to fear with her watching my back.”

“And you were worried about your back?”

“Not in the least,” Tony said, his expression sparked with conviction.

He had chosen the former Special Forces soldier for good reason and after much deliberation. With all the years Sajjan spent working the tricky waters of politics in this volatile area, he could not be too careful. “What have you said to her of what we’re doing?”

“Nothing. Timbrel just knows I’m working. And after what happened”—he patted his leg, indicating the prosthesis—“she’s a little protective.”

“A little?” Smiling, Sajjan returned to his desk. Scanned the recent encrypted reports. Heaviness weighted his optimism about turning this region around financially and politically. “I think we should plan for you to return to Raptor team as a contractor.”

“Contractor—might as well send me in as the enemy.” Tony rubbed the scruffiness around his jaw. “You think it’s necessary, I’ll go. But—can you get it set up?”

Sajjan gave him a look.

“Forget I asked—but seriously? Are you asking me to spy on my own brothers?”

CHAPTER 6

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
26 March—1545 Hours

A
storm blew into the Command building, a cluster of soldiers stalking past her cubicle. General Ramsey, Captain Watters, Titanis, and yes—Sal, trouped toward the rear of the building.

Cassie came to her feet.

Foreboding draped their countenances like a thick, heavy blanket. They were ticked. Determined. So much that they didn’t even notice or acknowledge her. She moved to the edge of the cubicles, watching. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Her phone buzzed. Not her work phone. But the other phone. Cassie scurried back to her desk, tugged open the drawer, drew out the black nondescript phone, and glanced at the ID. Gearney—her handler.

She coded in. Pressed the phone to her ear. “This is Lieutenant Walker with DIA.” The words had to be spoken exactly in that order. She glanced around the room, verifying there wasn’t anyone in proximity, which would determine what she said next. “How can I help you?”

“You’re alone?”

“Yes.” Cassie’s gaze locked onto the crowd gathering around Ramsey’s office door and the hum of conversation.

“We need you in Kabul. An asset will give you the packet.”

Kabul? Cassie frowned and turned away from Ramsey’s office. “Sir, something is happening here. I think—”

“Tomorrow, Walker. No questions. Just do it.”

The phone went dead. Frustration coiled in Cassie’s stomach and tightened. Tomorrow? With what was happening here? Were they insane? But she was a low-level analyst. A lackey. Barely had clearance for what they’d tasked her with.

She rolled her shoulders and stretched her jaw. Fine. She wouldn’t be at the bottom of the stack forever. She’d prove herself. She’d gotten this far. Faster than most operatives.

But leaving the base when things were heating up so much, when she felt she could be of help, didn’t make sense. She could guide the soldiers toward answers that would stop this insanity. She reached for the thin tendril of hope that she could redeem herself. Maybe then Sal would forgive her.

The thought squeezed the air from her lungs. His hatred was so palpable. Had, for so long, mirrored her own hatred of herself. The hatred that pushed her to contemplate suicide.

But then God threw her a lifesaver.

Cassie’s landline rang. She lifted the handset. “Lieutenant Walker.”

“So, you are in Afghanistan.”

Heart thumping at the feminine Chinese voice filtering through her phone, Cassie leaned forward. “Kiew?” Disbelief colored her voice and her mind!

“So you remember.” Her words held a smile in them.

“Of course I do,” Cassie said through a laughing breath. “How could I forgot my China sister?”

“Or me my America sister.”

Her laugh mingled with her friend’s as the worries of the day seemed to flit away amid a rush of affection and endearment. “How…?”

“I am here, too.”

Cassie blinked again. “Here?” She looked around the somewhat-quiet area. Of course her friend didn’t mean the base—she couldn’t. “You mean Afghanistan?”

“Yes. On business.”

“How crazy—how on earth did you find me here?”

“Look, I’m in between meetings and time is short. I just wanted to connect. When I heard you were here, I couldn’t resist calling.”

“Where are you?”

“Kabul.”

“Kabul? But that’s only a few hours away!”

Kiew laughed. “Crazy, isn’t it? That we’re both here—in another country yet closer than we’ve been since the year you were an exchange student. It’s been too long since we got to see each other. E-mail and phone calls are nice but not the same.”

“No kidding.” Cassie gasped, remembering her earlier call. “Hey, I just remembered they’re sending me that way for a meeting with a contractor. Do you think you could get away for lunch or something?” She couldn’t shake the joy but something else was there. The wildness of it all.

“Oh, I’m not sure. My schedule is very tight.”

Disappointment tugged at Cassie. “I bet. You’ve always been hard to get ahold of.”

“Yes,” Kiew mumbled, her tone shifting dramatically.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t blaming you.”

“No, no, I understand.”

“I’m just glad you called. You made my day. It’s been pretty crazy and depressing here.”

“Same here. Look,” Kiew said firmly. “I will meet you for lunch.”

Cassie brightened. “Really? Are you sure?”

“I will make time. Two o’clock?”

“Oh, I’ll need to confirm the time—I’m not sure of my schedule yet.” Cassie reached for a pen and paper. “What number can I reach you at?”

“I’m at a pay phone. I’ll have to call you back.”

“Oh. Okay.” Strange, but that’s the way things had always been with Kiew. She shrugged aside the surprise and disappointment. “I can confirm by tomorrow morning. Call my cell.” After providing her number, Cassie hung up, smiling. Breathing a little deeper, a little more contentedly.

“… plan with Riordan for contingencies.”

Cassie looked up as Sal’s voice drew closer.

He stalked down the hall with Captain Watters, both of their faces taut with tension.

“Captain?”

Watters stopped and turned as Lieutenant Hastings hurried toward him with a handful of papers.