Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
Against All Odds (34 page)
“I assume we’re not even going to consider bringing in a negotiator.” Coop positioned the comment as a statement, not a question, though they all knew the rules about deadly force. Tactical resolutions were a last resort, used only after every other solution had been tried. And in hostage situations, it was standard procedure to call in negotiators from the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group.
But in this case, Coop knew CIRG mediators would do more harm than good. Terrorists didn’t negotiate, and they couldn’t be trusted. Yet Les would face intense scrutiny if he violated protocol. Be subjected to an internal investigation that would include, at minimum, an administrative inquiry.
Narrowing his eyes, the commander studied the video monitor in silence. Chewed his cigar. Shifted it to the other side of his mouth.
“If we alert them to our presence, Monica Callahan is a dead woman.” At Mark’s quiet comment supporting his position, Coop sent him a brief look of gratitude.
More silence.
The operators waited for Les’s instructions as he squinted at the screen.
“We could try luring them out in the open,” he said at last.
“But I don’t believe we can do that without arousing suspicion. So we breach. We identify ourselves.” He paused and surveyed the assembled group, his next words slow and deliberate. “And
when
they reach for their guns, we take them out. Am I clear?”
when
they reach for their guns, we take them out. Am I clear?”
The subtle difference between “when” and “if” wasn’t lost on any of the operators. Nor was Les’s decision to reject negotiation as an option. He was giving them the authority to put a quick, clean end to a perilous situation.
“Yes.” Coop spoke for all of them.
“We also need to have some EMTs on hand.”
“I can take care of that.” Dennis had been watching from the background, and he stepped forward now.
“Good. Have a medevac chopper on standby too. Okay, gentlemen.” He scanned the assembled HRT operators. “Let’s talk tactics.”
Three cars pulled out of the embassy gate. From the backseat of the middle vehicle, David stared out into the 6:00 a.m. darkness. At this hour, the thirty-mile drive to Bagram shouldn’t take more than an hour. But snow had fallen during the night, and morning traffic would be horrendous. The usual snarl of cars, donkey carts, bicycles, buses, and taxies would reduce movement to a crawl, at best. He couldn’t afford to be late for this meeting.
With Monica’s location pinpointed, David knew the major hurdle to her rescue had been overcome. He would have preferred the FBI to rush in at once, but he understood the need for prudent, careful planning and was doing his best to curb his impatience. To trust the men charged with saving his daughter.
It wasn’t easy.
But he took some comfort in the knowledge that a rescue operation was under way.
He wished he could say the same about the other three hostages.
Twenty minutes later, as his driver finally eased away from the burgeoning crush of traffic in the city, David’s cell phone began to vibrate. Bob Stevens, according to caller ID. Fumbling to flip the cover, he pressed the phone to his ear. It could be an update on the secretary’s arrival . . . or information about Monica’s rescue.
It was neither.
“Good news, Mr. Callahan. Your trip to the bazaar paid off after all. A message came in this morning providing us with the location of the hostages.”
David’s grip on the phone tightened as he struggled to find his voice. “Is it authentic?”
“We think so. The informer referenced the previous delivery method, which hasn’t been publicized. He also knew a couple of details about your daughter’s abduction that haven’t been released to the press. We think he included that information to validate his message.”
“Where are the hostages?”
“In a small, obscure village near Kandahar. I’ve already spoken with General Adams. He’s mobilizing the Delta Force teams that were deployed in anticipation of a rescue operation. Coordinating a clandestine rescue in a handful of hours in such an isolated area will be tough. But he’s convinced they can pull it off.”
A great weight lifted from David’s shoulders. “I can’t think of better news to take to the secretary.”
“There’s more. Our informer was also kind enough to tell us not only who the mastermind is but where he is.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s disenchanted or angry or looking out for number one. Frankly, I couldn’t care less about his motivation. Capturing the leader will be a tremendous coup. A Delta Force team has been deployed to that location as well. They want to pick him up first.”
“Who is he?”
“A name you might recognize. Tariq al-Hashemi.”
The memory of his single encounter with the cold-eyed, corrupt official remained vivid in David’s mind. He would never forget the palpable hate that had emanated from the man. “One of the high-level officials we exposed in the government scandals a few years ago. For bribery, I recall.”
“It appears he has a long memory too.”
“You think Monica’s kidnapping was a vendetta of some sort?”
“My guess is he used it because it dovetailed with his plans and appealed to him on several levels. I recall him as being a very cunning character. I’ll be glad to see him put away.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I understand from your security escort that you’ve just left the city. Safe journey.”
“Thank you. I guarantee it will be a far more pleasant one than I thought.”
Outfitted in body armor, Coop checked the video screen. In the past two hours, while his team had chalked out the motel room on the floor of the warehouse and rehearsed their assault, there had been little activity in the spartan room.
The arsenal was still arrayed on the bed, and one of the abductors had done a meticulous check of each weapon. He was now sitting near the head of the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. The second man remained half out of sight, seated against the wall between the rooms. Monica hadn’t moved from the bed. To Coop’s relief, there was no indication they were preparing for an imminent departure.
“Team ready?” Les joined him, scanning the screen.
Coop surveyed the men. Attired in black flight suits, Kevlar helmets, and body armor reinforced with ceramic trauma plates in the front and back, the operators were armed with MP5 submachine guns or assault rifles. They wore their primary pistols in low-slung tactical holders just below their hip, and each man had a second .45 in a cross-draw shoulder rig. The member designated as breacher was equipped with two strip charges. He and Mark carried flash-bang grenades.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, Coop was starting to turn away when a movement on the screen caught his attention. He paused to watch as the man sitting on the bed rose, his angular posture radiating tension and leashed energy. A dangerous combination.
The kidnapper prowled the length of the room. Stopped at the foot of Monica’s bed. Looked at her. Spoke.
“Translate,” Coop barked.
The conversation in the room had been sparse, leaving the translator in Quantico with little to do. Now she went to work, interpreting via speaker phone to those watching the monitor in Harrisonburg.
“He said he needs something to relieve his stress.”
Coop’s fingers clenched into fists.
“What’s up?” Mark joined them.
Shaking his head, Coop’s gaze remained riveted on the screen. The man walked up to the side of the bed. For a few moments he stood over Monica. Then, in one swift movement, he yanked the bedspread down.
As Monica recoiled into a tighter tuck, Coop stiffened and sucked in a harsh breath. He felt Mark’s hand on his arm. Shook it off. Listened as the translator interpreted.
“Your face is not so pretty, but the rest of you . . .” The man lifted the hem of her sweatshirt and shoved a hand underneath. Monica’s gasp had the effect of a scream in the sudden silence of the command center. “Very nice.”
As she tried to twist away, he removed his hand long enough to grab her wrists, crushing one under his knee and pinning the other over her head. Then he resumed his aggressive groping as she writhed on the bed. “You still have a bit of fight, I see. Good. I like resistance.”
Coop uttered a word he rarely used.
“Later.” This from the other man, who remained out of sight.
“We have only a short time left.”
“Four hours. There is plenty of time for your games. I promise you a go at her before we kill her.”
The man didn’t remove his hand at once. When at last he did, those assembled around the monitor had an unobstructed view of Monica. Her chest was heaving, and her face was a mask of terror and revulsion.
As Coop struggled to regain some sense of professional distance, Les spoke, his tone grim.
“My take on that last comment is that they never intended to release her alive.”
Coop had been so focused on the other part of the man’s blood-chilling remark that the more lethal phrase hadn’t even registered. But Les was right. No matter David Callahan’s decision, Monica’s fate had already been determined.
“We need to move in. Now.” His steel-edged words came out in a growl.
“Agreed. Once you’re in position, I’ll keep you apprised of the movements of the kidnappers. Let’s get this done and send the lady home.”
In silence, the operators climbed into the Suburban that would drop them behind a manufacturing facility a couple of hundred yards from the motel.
As Coop settled into his seat, Mark slid in beside him. “At least we’re in the final stretch.”
While he appreciated Mark’s attempt at encouragement, Coop wasn’t buying. “We’re not home free yet. Too much has gone wrong with this assignment.”
“I hear you. But we’ve handled far tougher assault situations. This should be a piece of cake.”
True, Coop conceded.
But until he was holding a living, breathing Monica in his arms, he wasn’t going to count on anything.
Their little motorcade had made good progress, David reflected, checking his watch. In ten minutes they’d drive through the gates at Bagram, fifty minutes before his meeting with the secretary of state. The snow hadn’t slowed them as much as he’d expected.
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