Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (3 page)

He didn’t need nocs to see the armored vehicle spewing fire and smoke into the sky. “IED,” Brian muttered, wanting to curse the savages who laid in wait like the cowards they were.

“Stop,” Eagle shouted. “Lemme out.” With his sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, he flung himself out the back door. For a guy with as much bulk as Brian, he moved fast. Spine bent parallel to the ground, head down, he raced to the side. Scurried up a tree then threw himself onto a rock outcropping. Sweet spot, Eagle called it—a location that gave him a bird’s-eye view. Close enough to be lethal but far enough out for protection.

“Eagle in position,” Todd’s slightly labored breath came through their coms.

“What do you see?” the captain asked as they navigated the wicked, messed-up land. Potholes, big holes, and more holes gouged this arid region worse than the Grand Canyon. They waited for his response, their vehicle bounding from one spot to another over the uneven fields.

Brian glanced at Titanis, who shrugged.

“Eagle, report.”

“I…I got nothing, Captain.”

“Come again?”

“Nothing. It’s…the village is em—wait.”

Brian held a breath as their sniper ordered.

“No. It’s clear. Using thermals—nothing’s there, Captain. The place is deserted.”

“We got those coordinates wrong?”

Brian glanced down at the numbers he’d jotted in his coms notebook. Verified it on his GPS. “Negative.” He checked the village. “That’s the place.”

As their vehicle eased up to the hard-packed road that led into the grape huts and plaster structures, tension thickened the air.

“Eyes out,” Captain Watters said as Falcon cut the engine and let the truck roll behind a small structure, providing cover.

What Brian heard in the captain’s voice mirrored what Brian felt deep in his gut. Cheek against his weapon, he emerged into the bitter elements, his fingers aching against the cold. He walked carefully in strategic formation with the others. Falcon and Titanis cleared the first juncture, which turned out to be the only road with buildings straddling it on either side.

“Not good,” Brian said in a low voice as he eased around the cover, his spine to the frozen plaster and eyes out. “It’s a ghost town.”

Buildings were missing more walls than they had. Windows were half blown. A few fluttering rags once served as curtain doors.

“Eagle, you got anything yet?” Captain Watters walked slowly, peering around the eerily silent compound.

“Negative.”

The captain keyed his mic again. “Mockingbird, this is Raptor Six Actual.”

“Go ahead, Raptor Six Actual.”

“We’re at the given coordinates but this place is deserted,” the commander said, his gaze tracking the holes and piles of rubble.

Brian walked over the debris littering the ground, verifying each room, each house, each structure didn’t have a trap or bomb.

“Can you radio Echo and have them confirm the coordinates?”

“Roger that, Raptor. Give me a minute.”

Crunch-pop!

Brian’s heart tripped over what should be an innocuous noise, but even the sound of rocks beneath his boots sounded and felt like a punch to the gut.
This isn’t right
.

“Captain? Thoughts?” Falcon trudged toward their team leader, having made his rounds in the abandoned village.

“This place has some bad mojo.” Brian couldn’t escape the creepy chill sliding down his spine. The howling wind carried the eerie voices of the past that once occupied this place and tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is straight out of some thriller flick or something. I don’t like it.”

“Agreed.” The captain looked ticked, his lips tight and his brow knotted.

“Um…Raptor, Mockingbird Actual advises you RTB.”

Brian cocked his head. “That sounded a whole lot like general speak for ‘Run for your lives.’ ”

Finger pressed to his ear mic, Captain Watters stopped at the MRAP. “What’s going on, Mockingbird?”

“Sir, I’m not sure how to say this, but…Echo is here.”

Brian stopped short, staring at the captain. “Do
what
?”

“Come again?” He scowled.

“Sir, Echo company is here. At the base. Have been for the last two days.”

“Then who the heck radioed for immediate assist?”

“Working on—”

“Raptor, get out of there!” boomed the voice of General Lance Burnett. “Now!”

Sprinting back to their vehicle, Brian felt the icy ghosts of this village chasing them. Taunting them. He cleared the corner.

“Go, go, go!” the captain shouted.

The howling wind surrendered to a shrieking of superheated air. Behind him, a white-hot light exploded.

Brian flung forward, knocked by an invisible hand. His feet flew up. A tree raced toward him. His helmet thunked against the bark. He dropped hard. Cold became hot. Loud, deafeningly quiet.

White went black.

E
xhilaration zipped through her veins as she marched in formation with her peers. Head cocooned in the black hijab set her apart almost more than her curves in this army of mostly male soldiers. She drew in a breath of elation, keeping her face stonelike and her drill perfect.

At parade rest, Afghan Air Force Second Lieutenant Rhmani stood proud among the other dozen soldiers during their Undergraduate Pilot Training ceremony. Of the twelve, four were Afghan males and seven American males.

She the only female.

Another thrill-induced breath drew raggedly through her. If it were not for Niloofar Rhmani, the first female pilot, she would not have had this opportunity. Her chin lifted. As their flight instructors stood before them with their flight-wing pins, she felt a squeeze in her stomach.
I wish
Madar
could be here!

But of course, that was impossible.

“You have completed the UPT, consisting of 145.5 flying hours trained on the MD 530…”

Her mind wandered the skies. The hours spent among the heavens. So close to God. So free from…
everything
. All the torments. All the restrictions.

The shuttering of a camera made her stiffen. She hoped the hijab and uniform concealed her identity enough. But the continuous clattering of cameras made her wish for her wide sunglasses.

“Well done, Lieutenant,” came the soft, firm voice of her flight advisor, Captain Sandor Ripley of the 438th Air Expeditionary Advisory Group. Had she been a male, he would’ve pinned her. Instead, for custom and propriety, he handed the pin to a female officer, who fastened it above her left breast.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I expect to see you in advanced training next month.”

“Of course, sir.” She drew in another spurt of excitement.

With a salute, he stepped back. The words from the stage blurred in her mind. What would her cousin think? Would she be shocked and angry? So many lies got Fekiria to this point. She couldn’t imagine anyone would be happy for her.

But that did not matter.
She
was happy. For the first time in her life.

“Dismissed!”

She flinched but then tucked her chin and hurried toward a side door.

“Lieutenant Rhmani,” a male voice called.

Her heart sped. She couldn’t talk to anyone. Not now. She had worked so hard for so long…Her feet scurried faster.

“Hey! Wait—I just wanted to invite you.”

Around the corner, she felt her arm tugged. Her eyes closed as she stopped her flight. She turned, surprise squirreling through her. “Captain.”

He released her, his brow tangled in consternation. “You okay?”

Inclining her head, she made sure photographers hadn’t followed them. “Never better.”

His gray experienced eyes took her in. “Okay,” he said, obviously not convinced but unwilling to argue with her. “There’s a group of us going out tonight to celebrate UPT graduation. Since you’re a graduate,” he said, his smile kind, “it makes sense you should come.”

“I–I’m sorry, Captain.” She swallowed, very much wanting to accept his offer, but that would create questions. More questions she couldn’t answer. More lies she’d have to tell. “I can’t. But thank you for the consideration.”

Disappointment slid through his handsome, dark features. “Celebrating with your family?”

She smiled. “Of course. They are thrilled for me, though they could not come today.”

“I understand.” He nodded then tugged something from his pocket. “I was going to give this to you there.”

Glancing at the paper in his hand, she hesitated.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s not a love letter, though I did try my hand at one.”

She took a step back.

Captain Ripley really laughed this time. “Kidding! I’m only kidding.” He wagged the paper at her. “It’s your acceptance letter for the advanced-training program.”

She widened her eyes then took the paper.

“Well, take care—I’ll see you.” Captain Ripley stepped back with a faint salute to her. “Proud of you, Lieutenant. You’re going to take the skies by storm.”

His praise exploded through her. She fought the tears. “Thank you.”

He considered her and nodded.

Voices erupted at the other end of the hall, sending him around the corner. She turned and headed for the gate. She checked out and climbed into her car. After making the 2.8-kilometer trip to the local café, she parked. Retrieved her bag from the trunk and entered the small structure. The warm, heady scent of coffee beans and hookah wafted through the cramped space. Weaving in and around tables, she made her way to the back restroom. There, she hung the bag on the hook, locked the door, and removed the flight uniform.

Careful to keep the wrinkles out, to show it the respect it deserved for setting her wings free, she set it in the bottom of the large tote. Removed her boots. Slipped into the sage-green long tunic and pants. She wrapped a floral silk hijab around her black one. Tucking on her sunglasses, she lifted the bag from the hook.

Back in the café, she ordered a black tea and sipped it. Along with some naan and honey. Comfort food. Stomach full, though the bread had done nothing to soothe her nerves, she removed herself to the street. Drew in a breath and drove herself home. Eased into a slot in front of the apartment building.

Nerves tangled, she made her way up to the apartment and let herself in.

Laughter from the kitchen snapped her out of the numbness that had swarmed her.

“Ah, Cousin! You’re just in time to celebrate.”

Her heart spasmed as she met Zahrah’s brown-eyed gaze. How had she found out?

“Director Kohistani just received a large grant to build a real school!” Her half-American cousin came out of the kitchen with a tray of baklava. “Can you believe it? Say you will come back. I miss you there.”

“No.” She hated the snip in her voice, but they’d been over this a thousand times. She stalked past her cousin, ignoring the delicious pastries.

“I put chocolate in them—the way you like them!”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Fekiria! What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” She spun and faced her cousin in the door to her room. “In fact, I’ve never been better.” Defiance streaked through her—that is, until she saw the hurt on her cousin’s face.

“You’ve been so strange since I…” Zahrah wilted. “Please…please tell me you don’t still blame yourself.”

“No.” But she did. A lot. If she had been there instead of running off getting more training, Zahrah might not have been taken. “Please. I am just tired. It was a long day.”

Zahrah slid the plate of baklava onto the small table by the chairs. “Will you ever shed this secrecy and tell me what’s happening in your life?”

Guilt strangled her response.

“I miss our talks. Once we were like sisters.”

“Bickering and fighting.”

Zahrah smiled. “Yes—what else do sisters do?”

She loved her cousin’s laugh, her smile, her bright spirit. But the lies, the…secrets created this vast cavern between them. One that Zahrah was blind to and Fekiria could never cross. Unless she wanted her parents to find out. Then she’d be whipped. Beaten. Maybe even killed. An honor killing,
Baba
would say.

Zahrah moved forward.

The terror that somehow her secrets would come crashing down made her sick. Angry. “I can’t help it if you spend all your time with your American soldier.” Fekiria pivoted and slammed the bedroom door, shutting out her cousin’s niceties. The guilt—no. She couldn’t shut that out no matter how hard she tried.