Lethal Pursuit (17 page)

“Get. Me.
Up.
” He said it with such menace that Mohammed and the other man rushed to help him to his feet. He swayed for a moment, woozy from blood loss and pain. It felt like flames were eating at his flesh where the bullets had torn through.

But the fear of failure burned even hotter.

“Where is Jihad?” he demanded.

Again, Mohammed seemed reluctant to answer. “He is gone.”

“Gone where? Dead, you mean?”

“No,” the boy answered slowly. “He was not among the wounded or dead. No one has seen him. He just...vanished.”

That word rolled around in Khalid’s head like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Vanished.
The sudden rush of blood in his ears was almost deafening.

He knew exactly what had happened.

Jihad had gone back to report to Rahim, inform him of Khalid’s failure and ineptitude.

Fury and humiliation crawled through his veins, adding to the burn. He shuddered. “We will keep moving until we find the prisoners. I want every available man out here for the hunt, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Khalid-jan.” Mohammed stayed at his side, not touching him but close enough to support him should his legs give out.

It hurt to move. Every step was its own separate torment. Khalid looked up at the night sky again. Allah was testing him. Testing his strength and his will. But why? Why, when he’d been so close to achieving his goal?

It is not for you to question Allah’s will.

“No one stops,” he continued, biting the words out through clenched teeth. “Not even me.” Good leaders led by example. Khalid would give every last ounce of his strength to guide his men and finish this mission. They would see his conviction and follow him to the death.

A few hours ago he’d been desperate to get the recorded statement from the Secretary. Now he was frantic to recapture him. He had to get him back and safely hidden away before Rahim took over the operation for him. Khalid had risked everything to achieve this status, and now, when he’d been on the cusp of achieving his greatest accomplishment, he was in jeopardy of losing everything he’d fought for. And all because of an American female he’d grossly underestimated. It was intolerable. And she would pay. When he found her, Khalid would kill her and the PJ for this.

He tried to slow his whirling thoughts down, searching for a course of action. “The Secretary was too badly wounded to be able to walk,” Khalid announced to the others. “The PJ will have to carry him, and that will slow them down. And so will the female, because she is
weak.
” He spat the last word.

One of his men came loping up with a handheld radio. He passed it to Khalid. “Two of our men have just found a blood trail on a path at the top of the hill by our last location. The prisoners have gone northwest.”

“Have everyone meet there immediately to begin the search,” he ordered. “We will find them. They could not have gone far.”

Even if they had, it didn’t matter. Khalid had people scattered across these hills willing to fight for and, if necessary, die for him. He had no doubt he’d find the prisoners. He just prayed it happened before Rahim descended upon them and unleashed his wrath on them all, Khalid and his men included.

Chapter Seventeen

Kneeling beside Haversham while he searched through the medical kit, Jackson paused when he heard Maya cough again outside the enclosure. She’d woken in the middle of the night with it and had insisted on relieving him for a few hours, and he’d reluctantly agreed because he’d been so exhausted. The dry, sporadic cough had roused him just before dawn and it didn’t seem to be going away. One more thing for him to worry about.

“Maya, can you give me a hand here?” he called in a loud whisper.

She came around the corner a moment later, a pistol in her right hand and her left arm cradled protectively against her body. The fingers on her left hand were swollen and discolored, and the swelling in her face had completely closed her left eye. A kaleidoscope of colors covered her cheek and eye region, the skin stretched so tight it was shiny. The only thing that seemed to be improving was the cut in her lip.

“What’s up?” she asked in a near whisper.

“Need you to put pressure here for a minute while I get the suture kit ready,” he said, indicating the entry wound on the front of Haversham’s shin.

Without hesitation, she tucked the pistol in her waistband and sat on her haunches next to him, placing her right hand over the saturated bandage. She winced in sympathy and glanced up at Haversham. “How you doing, sir?”

“I already told you, call me Doug,” he answered in a tired, weak voice. Even his dark skin tone couldn’t hide the grayish cast of his face. He hadn’t gotten much sleep through the night either. During the few hours he’d rested, Jackson had woken multiple times from Doug’s restless shifting. “And I’m hangin’ in there.”

“Good to hear. Just tell me if I hurt you too much. Gotta keep the pressure up.”

“I know. Do what you have to do.”

Jackson filled the syringe with what remained of the fentanyl. A used one wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing, and at least with Maya having had all her shots, the biggest risk they faced from sharing needles was infection, rather than hepatitis or HIV. Since he was dealing with an open compound fracture, it would be a miracle if an infection didn’t set in regardless.

He flicked the syringe to make sure there was no air in it. “Good news is, this will take the edge off while I put in the stitches and move the leg around. Once I get it sewn up and bandaged, I’ll find something to splint it with, make it more stable for you before we move out.” He injected Doug in the hip.

“Appreciate it.”

Jackson gathered what he needed, allowing the meds a few minutes to kick in. When he was ready, he gave Maya the signal and she bent to grasp the edges of torn flesh with her good hand, pulling them together without the benefit of gloves. She leaned back to stay out of his light, applying pressure to the exit wound on the back of the calf with her forearm without being told.

It took seven stitches to close the entry wound and it wasn’t his prettiest patch job, but it would do for now. The back was trickier. They had to roll Doug on to his side while he stifled his cries of pain so Jackson could get at the larger exit wound. That took eleven sutures to close, and he tied off a small superficial vein to slow the bleeding more.

When that was done, he packed the suture kit up and gathered the bandages.

“Those are pretty neat stitches. You know, if the med school thing doesn’t work out, you could always make your living as a tailor,” Maya remarked.

His lips quirked. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll keep that as my backup plan.”

“You’re not gonna need a backup plan, because I know you’re gonna ace the MCAT. They’d be crazy not to give you a spot.”

Her faith in him made him feel unworthy. She was the amazing one. All that strength and determination packed into her petite body. “I’ll tell them you said so.”

“You should.” She smiled a little as she shifted around to hold Doug’s leg steady for him. Padding and bandaging the wounds didn’t take long, and he rose to stretch his back.

“Feelin’ sleepy yet?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Doug mumbled, eyes closed. “Just wake me up when we get back to a U.S. base, will ya?”

“Sure thing.” He turned to Maya. “I have to find some wood to put a splint together.”

“I’ll take watch.” She stepped past him and walked out to the group of boulders they’d used for concealment during the night, stifling another cough, her face pinched with pain. “Hurry though. Sun’s coming up fast.”

“I know.” He’d done what he could to disguise their trail last night, but the blood spatters were a dead giveaway. And if the men coming after them had tracking dogs—he doubted it, but couldn’t rule it out for sure—they might show up at any time.

Careful to keep his silhouette to a minimum, Jackson searched around and found some sturdy branches to fashion a splint with. When he came back, he could hear Maya coughing, even though she had her face buried in the crook of her elbow to muffle the sound. And from the way she winced and squeezed her eyes shut, it hurt her like hell every time she coughed. From the deep sound of it, he’d bet money it was bronchitis and well on its way to becoming something worse if left untreated.

“Be as quick as I can,” he said to her on the way by. Using the dull jackknife from the kit, he cut the branches down to size and lashed them together in groups of three. The splint wasn’t the greatest, but it would give Doug’s leg some stability and hopefully guard the newly set leg. His patient didn’t even twitch as he bound his limb into it. Jackson shook his shoulder. “Time to go.”

Haversham opened groggy eyes and flinched as he turned on to his back. “Thanks,” he said, looping one arm around Jackson’s shoulders and setting his other hand against the rock wall to get up on his right foot. He sucked in a breath at the increase of pain then gave a sharp nod. “I’m ready.”

With Maya supporting his left side and Jackson his right, Haversham used them as human crutches. Both he and Maya were armed this time, and Jackson carried the medical bag on his back. A line of light blue lit the eastern horizon, heralding the imminent arrival of the sun.

“Gotta stick to the shadows and use whatever cover we can,” Jackson reminded them. Wasn’t much they could do about their tracks, except to step on rocks wherever possible. At least the blood spatters would be minimal this time.

They hugged the trail, staying a dozen or so yards away from it, picking their way through shallow depressions and deeper wadis. It made the going slower, but it disguised them and their tracks from anyone else who might come along the path. When Haversham got too tired to carry on, Jackson passed the med bag to Maya and hauled him over his shoulders. The man’s fingers bit into his upper arms with bruising force, but he made no more than a groan. Jackson hoped the voting public would find out just how brave their Secretary of Defense was in the face of all this.

Maya followed a few yards behind him, watching their backs. From her tense posture and vigilant gaze, Jackson knew she was as worried as him that they were being followed. She kept trying to muffle her coughs every few minutes, but even so, the sound carried through the still air. Every time she did it, the tension inside him wound tighter. If she developed full-blown pneumonia, there was nothing he could do for her out here. And if she didn’t get treatment in time... He shoved that thought from his mind.

They managed to keep moving most of the day, taking short breaks to rest and have a sip or two of water from the half-empty canteen. By the time the sun sat low on the horizon, he was smoked and Maya was worse. Her cough kept deteriorating and when he stopped to gauge her temperature with a hand on her forehead, he wasn’t surprised to find her feverish. He pursed his lips, knowing the decision he was about to make held their fate in the balance. He couldn’t keep them moving like this, and there was no way Maya could keep this pace. Haversham couldn’t walk on his own, and Jackson couldn’t carry them both. They were almost out of water and food. That left only one option.

“I’m gonna find us some shelter and then I’m gonna have to leave you to get water,” he told them when they stopped for another break.

Maya swiped the back of her right arm across her forehead, her cheeks flushed from exertion and fever. Her eyes were clear. “No. We’re not splitting up.”

“We have to. Our water’s almost gone, and both you and Doug need more or we’re gonna be in trouble.”

Though she clearly didn’t like it, she didn’t argue anymore. “How will you find us without a compass?”

“I’m a born tracker, been huntin’ since I was a little kid. I’ll find you, don’t worry.”

That seemed to reassure her a little. She scanned the area ahead of them where the trail broke away from the rock, straying across the brush-dotted soil and disappearing into what was probably another shallow valley. “Only place with solid shelter is right beside the trail, and even I know that’s too risky a place to stop.”

“We’ll have to find a wadi or a dried-up riverbed for tonight,” he answered, stooping to bring one of Doug’s arms across his shoulder.

“You two go ahead,” the Sec Def managed, his face damp with a glaze of sweat and his face lined with the constant agony wearing him down. “Leave me somewhere and come back for me when you can.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jackson said before Maya could answer.

“I’ll stay with you and keep watch until he comes back,” she informed Doug. “And that’s not up for debate, so make peace with it.”

A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jackson stood and waited for Maya to bolster Doug’s left side before starting out at a slow pace. His legs were so tired he could barely carry his own weight right now, let alone adding Haversham’s. They skirted the trail to the crest of the hill, where the red-tinged mountains loomed before them. And they all heard it at the same time.

Tiny bells. Faint at first, growing louder with each passing moment, their sweet chimes filling the air. Setting Haversham down between them, he and Maya hit the deck and lay flat on their bellies, trying to make their outlines as small as possible.

A minute after that, the first bleats reached them, followed by the patter of hooves over the hard, rocky ground.
Fuck.
Jackson’s whole body tensed, a surge of renewed strength exploding through him. Beside him, Maya kept her gaze trained ahead where the goats were. They sounded close and seemed to be coming closer. Haversham’s face was rigid with tension.

The bells and bleating came nearer, the hooves now a constant rattle on the ground. A whole herd of goats, which meant the shepherd couldn’t be far behind.

But it wasn’t a human who found them.

Jackson barely had time to react when something rustled in the brush to their right and a medium-sized dog bounded out. It stopped a dozen or so meters from them, frozen in a pose that was part point, part coiling to spring. The animal was white except for brown spots on its ears, nose and a large patch on its right flank. Jackson cursed silently. Shooting it would only alert any humans in the area to their position, and there was no way he and Maya could haul Haversham out of there fast enough to evade anyone who chased them. Their only hope now was for the dog to lose interest and leave before it attracted its master’s attention.

He held his breath, willing the mongrel to move on. It didn’t.

The dog remained poised to spring, gaze fixed on them, ears back, a low, almost inaudible growl coming from its throat. Then a sharp, shrill whistle rent the air, and Jackson closed his eyes in disbelief at their shitty luck.

“Jackson,” Maya said in an urgent whisper that barely carried to him.

He answered with a minute shake of his head. They couldn’t make a run for it now. It was too late.

Another whistle, and the dog flinched, its hindquarters quivering as it kept staring at them. A man’s shout rose up. The dog still didn’t leave. And when the inevitable sounds of footsteps came next, Jackson’s heart sank. He didn’t want to have to kill an innocent goatherd. How many of them were out here? They’d probably be armed. Jackson tightened his grip around the pistol, ready and waiting.

Above the scraggly bush they were hidden behind, a pair of thin legs appeared beneath a gray tunic. Heart in his throat, Jackson watched the legs give way to a lower body, then a small torso. When he saw the young boy’s face, no older than ten, Jackson stopped breathing. There was no way he could kill a kid. Not unless he was actually firing at them, and even then Jackson would only shoot to disable.

The only thing the young goatherd had for a weapon was a long walking stick.

The kid froze in horror when he came close enough and saw what his dog had cornered. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open, but no sound came out, as though he was too terrified to scream.

Praying he’d stay quiet, Jackson met his fearful gaze and brought a finger to his lips in the universal signal for silence.

The kid blinked once. Then, as if the motion had unparalyzed him, he opened his mouth wide and screamed something.

Jackson was already on his knees, ready to lunge for the kid and tackle him, but it was too late. An answering shout rang out, and Jackson glanced up in time to see an old man running toward them. He was carrying a rifle.

Maya cursed and dragged Haversham to a standing position, preparing to make a run for it. Jackson stayed where he was, weapon raised, ready to fire if the old man brought his rifle up. But the man stopped running and stared in shock, then held up one hand and lowered his weapon to the ground.

As their gazes connected, a shock of recognition rippled through Jackson. He slowly lowered the pistol, wondering if he was imagining things. “Maya, wait.”

“What?” she snapped, whirling to face him. When she saw the expression on his face, she stopped and followed his gaze. She frowned at the man. “Is that...?”

He couldn’t answer. It was all too fucking surreal.

The old man stared back at them for a moment then beckoned for the boy, who turned and ran to him. A startled smile spread across his bearded face. He said something to the boy and took a step toward them, both hands raised to show he wasn’t a threat.

“My God, it
is
,” Maya breathed in disbelief.