Lethal Pursuit (20 page)

Beyond the far side of the riverbed where the hill curved up and away, a group of men dressed in dark clothes charged toward them, weapons glinting dully in the sunlight. Jackson rolled away from Maya and aimed his rifle just as the roar of gunfire filled the tiny valley.

* * *

Maya scrambled up on to her right elbow when Jackson’s weight left her, using the edge of her splint to pull back the slide on her pistol. The rattle of automatic weapons fire made her heart slam, but it was the enemy’s shrill cries that sent a spiral of fear corkscrewing down her backbone. Her fever and aches forgotten, she kept her eyes on the men racing toward them and held fast to the pistol in her right hand. Jackson and the others were deathly still beside her. What were they going to do? They were pinned down with nowhere to go.

“We gotta take out as many as we can and make a run for it,” Sandberg yelled over the noise, firing precise bursts from his weapon.

Jackson didn’t respond, focused on the attackers, methodically firing single and double taps. The sound of the M4 was distinctive among the bark of the AKs. Two men near the front of the group fell and crumpled to the ground, but the others rushed on. At least a dozen of them, maybe more. “Stay down, Maya,” he ordered without looking at her.

She did, but only because the sidearm was completely useless at this range. Haversham was so close his hip pressed against hers, his broken leg bumping her foot as he waited with her, unable to do anything yet. Her heart thundered in her ears as she watched Jackson and Sandberg fire repeatedly. No matter how many attackers they hit, the rest just kept on coming, trying to overwhelm them with sheer force of numbers, splitting their force into groups that charged from different directions. Some of them ducked down behind whatever concealment they could find, making it impossible to hit them.

“Can’t help at this range,” she yelled to Haversham, ducking on instinct when a bullet buried itself in the rock wall over their heads. Jackson and Sandberg were damn good shots, but they had their hands full. The enemy charging on the right put their flank at risk. She had to protect their right flank. Twisting her head to look around, she spotted a group of large rocks a few yards away and got Haversham’s attention. “Over there.” Pointing, she started to inch away from her cover, assuming he’d follow, only to be brought up short by Jackson’s angry shout.

“Don’t you fucking move, Maya.”

The abrupt command made her hesitate for only a second before she resumed crawling.

“Maya!”

“Shut up and shoot!” she yelled back, gritting her teeth at the sharp twinge in her ribs.

Three enemy fighters broke off and darted to her right. The one in the lead was smaller than the others, and when he was close enough for her to see his scraggly beard, she realized it was that kid, Mohammed. Someone shouted something at him that made him stumble and twist around to look behind him. When Maya saw who it was, her blood ran cold. Then the heat of rage transformed it into a heat so molten it burned in her veins.

Khalid. He was at the rear, orchestrating this whole attack, both arms wrapped in bloody bandages. If Maya had her way, he’d be losing a lot more than blood today.

Cursing at the pain in her broken bones and the rocks digging into her flesh, Maya crawled over behind her new cover and peeked around the rock before her, her pistol up and ready. It seemed to take forever for them to come into range.

Mohammed yelled something back at his leader then turned toward her, his expression full of determination and fury. Suddenly he jerked and went down, clutching his leg where either Sandberg or Jackson had hit him. But he didn’t stay down. He dragged himself up, his face twisted with pain and rage as he brought the barrel of his rifle up and fired a wild burst that went wide, peppering the rocks between her and Haversham. The others were all occupied trying to pick off the other shooters, and Mohammed was close enough now.

Maya didn’t hesitate.

Rising to one knee, she took aim and fired three shots, hitting him twice in the belly. He dropped his rifle and fell clutching his middle, writhing on the ground. Another man rushed up to him. Maya fired again and again, emptying her magazine, but only managed to wing him in the shoulder. On his belly, he began dragging Mohammed back to their own lines.

Out of ammo and with her quarry too far away even if she’d had any bullets left, Maya could only watch as the survivors on her right flank hauled the wounded boy back to where they’d come from. The others followed suit, leaving their dead behind on the battlefield as they periodically wheeled to spray bullets in their direction. In the lull, Jackson and Sandberg stopped shooting. The sudden silence was almost as eerie as those terrible battle cries had been.

Maya’s eyes were glued to one particular spot across that deadly space. There was no sign of Khalid, who had melted back somewhere into the shadows. But he’d been there and couldn’t have gone far. He was just biding his time, regrouping for another attack.

“What the fuck do you think you were
doing?
”

She tensed at the terse whisper beside her. Bracing herself for the coming argument, she turned her head and met Jackson’s enraged gaze.

Chapter Twenty

Jackson was so fucking angry he was shaking. He’d flat-out ordered her to stay put and she’d deliberately disobeyed him, taking an unnecessary risk with her life.

She met his gaze with a maddening calm. “I just saved our right flank and mortally wounded Mohammed,” she replied in a heated whisper.

Jackson shook his head. If they hadn’t still been in danger and if she hadn’t been so banged up, he would have grabbed her and shaken her. “Don’t pull that shit ever again.”

Her mouth parted in shock. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect our position,
Sergeant.
” The last word was a hiss.

She was pulling fucking rank on him
now
? “Not. Ever. Again,” he bit out. He didn’t care that she was an officer and he wasn’t. Out here at this moment, rank didn’t mean shit. It was his duty to protect her, not the other way around. “We had the flank covered.” And she’d scared him shitless by risking herself like that. They were so close to making it out of here—he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t get her out safely. Maya didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to. Her one good eye and the other that was open a slit were boring holes in his face.

“Don’t see any movement over there,” Haversham whispered. “Think he’s got more men left?”

“At least a few dozen more,” Sandberg replied, crouching behind the smaller boulder. “What do you think?” he asked Jackson.

“I think we find another way outta here and haul ass to the LZ,” he said to him.

Sandberg nodded. “We’ll double back. Let’s go.” He reached for Haversham to help him up.

Staying low, Jackson rushed over to Maya’s position. She was already up, hunkered down behind the pitiful cover she’d chosen. Her eyes shot sparks at him when he came down on one knee beside her. “I’m down, but I’m not out,” she snapped in a harsh whisper. “You need to remember that and lose this protective alpha-male bullshit. Just because I’m the only female doesn’t mean you—”

He cut her off with a single, slicing look. “Save it. I’m done arguing about this. I’m carrying you outta here, and you’re gonna get home in one piece because I’m gonna make it that way. And you’re never gonna put your ass on the line like that again unless the rest of us are dead. And I mean every last one of us. Got me?”

A muscle in her jaw worked as she glared at him, and when she spoke her voice was unsteady. “I don’t want you risking your life for me.”

His anger evaporated at the fear on her face. Though he wanted to touch her and reassure her, now wasn’t the time. And if he relaxed his stance for an instant, she’d take that slack and run with it. “Too bad, because that’s what I do.” He’d done it for complete strangers in the line of duty without a second thought, but with her it was personal. Every single instinct he possessed was focused on protecting her, because she was
his
and she’d come to mean more to him than she’d ever realize.

Something moved in her expression, a weird mixture of wonder and apprehension before she put the calm mask back in place. Without giving her another second to argue, he checked to make sure the coast was clear and lifted her over his shoulders once again.

Sandberg was already a few paces back up the trail they’d taken. Jackson followed, half turning every few seconds to make sure they weren’t being followed. The hell of it was, they all knew the enemy was still out there. They just didn’t know when the next attack would come.

* * *

When the men dragged Mohammed into the rock crevice where he waited, Khalid took one look at the fatal wounds in the boy’s belly and felt his knees give out. Denial shot through him as he reached out a hand to brace himself on the rock before he fell. The men set Mohammed down and glanced up at him in uncertainty.

“Leave us,” he whispered, his throat so tight he could barely get the words out. The men left to tend to the other wounded. Khalid swallowed hard and went to his knees beside Mohammed. His young face was lined with agony, the scent of his blood strong in the air as it poured in a continuous stream from his body beneath his clutching hands.

“I am s-sorry,” Mohammed gasped out, eyes glazed with pain, glimmering with unshed tears.

Khalid couldn’t stand it. Ignoring the fiery burn in his ruined shoulder, he placed one hand atop Mohammed’s, over the terrible wounds. With the other, he cupped the boy’s bearded cheek. His own bullet wounds throbbed, sending needles of agony along his limbs until he thought he’d vomit. “Do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” A helpless rage twisted inside him. So young. So full of promise and goodness. The very best of their cause and a future leader who would have shone as brightly as the sun someday. All wasted.

Because of that traitor Jihad and the female who had helped the others escape.
May they all burn in hell for this.

“I d-didn’t...listen...”

He hadn’t listened when Khalid had shouted at him to come back, screamed at him not to make the reckless charge. He closed his eyes and bit down against the overwhelming tide of grief crashing over him. When he opened them, he was unashamed of the tears stinging there. “I’m not angry at you, Mohammed. You were so brave.”

Those dark, trust-filled eyes stayed on his. Searching for acceptance and trust. Things Khalid had been searching for his whole life until Mohammed had given them to him. “Wanted to...p-prove myself.”

Because he feared Khalid had blamed him for the prisoners’ escape. The knowledge was almost too much to bear. “You already did.” He stopped talking because his voice had cracked and he couldn’t go on.

Mohammed’s brave facade began to crumble. His legs shifted restlessly on the ground in a futile effort to escape the pain and he rolled his head, eyes squeezed shut. “
Hurts.
”

“I know, son.” And there was nothing he could do to ease it for him or speed the process of dying along for him. He didn’t even have anything to ease his pain—here, where opium grew more plentifully than anywhere else on earth. It could take another hour or two for him to die, maybe more. Khalid could not stay that long if he hoped to catch the enemy. But he refused to abandon Mohammed here to die alone. The boy deserved a better fate than that.

No. There
was
something he could do, he realized. He could give Mohammed one final act of mercy to repay him for his loyalty and kindness.

Fighting back a growl at the surge of pain in his left arm, he reached behind him into his belt and took hold of the knife hilt. He paused there a moment, fingers wrapped around the cool metal.

Allah
,
let me be swift.
Let me strike true so that he does not suffer a moment longer.

“Mohammed, pray with me.”

The boy’s eyes opened and fixed on him, the fear and despair in them driving a different kind of blade into Khalid’s heart. Holding his young friend’s gaze, he began citing one of his favorite verses from the Quran. Mohammed’s lips trembled a moment, and then he joined in, saying the words of the martyr’s prayer. Together their voices filled the rock crevice, sending the prayer heavenward to Allah through the opening above them where the sky was a pure, endless blue.

Allah
,
forgive me.

Near the end of the last line of the prayer, Khalid gathered his will and brought the knife up, then plunged it down with all the remaining strength in his wounded arm, driving it deep into Mohammed’s heart.

The boy lurched up with a horrific gasp when the blade buried deep, his hands flying up to grasp at the hilt, his expression stricken, accusing.

Khalid kept his gaze locked with Mohammed’s, letting him see that he wasn’t alone. “Peace be upon you, Mohammed,” he whispered, holding the hands grasping the knife’s hilt until they went slack. The boy’s head lolled back, the horror and betrayal in those wide eyes fading, softening to nothingness.

When it was over, Khalid yanked the blade out, roaring at the pain in his shoulder and in his heart. His cheeks were wet above his beard and he didn’t bother wiping them dry. Rising on unsteady legs, he stumbled out of the crevice with the bloody knife in his hands to order the survivors to assemble, intent on killing every last one of the enemy.

There was no one there.

The only men left were the dead scattered before him in the distance, their lifeless hands lying empty on the ground. Everyone else had deserted him, taking the fallen men’s weapons with them.

A strange ripping sensation in his chest made him gasp and double over. All his life he’d fought for the chance to matter, for the chance to lead. Now, in his hour of greatest need, no one was willing to follow him.

The blood rushed loudly in his ears, panic setting in. Rahim was coming. He knew about the traitor Jihad and wanted to exact revenge, as well as recapture the Secretary of Defense. If Khalid didn’t get the prisoner himself before Rahim arrived, he was a dead man walking.

Denial and bitterness filled him, hardened his resolve. He was alone, weak from pain and blood loss and without a weapon, and he had only one more chance to save himself. He took it, striding over the sunbaked ground and across the field of dead to where the enemy had retreated. But instead of following their tracks, he skirted down the hill to a thin trail that snaked its way up and over it. Dizziness and exhaustion slowed him. The chance at redeeming his reputation gave him the endurance to push forward.

With every step, he battled the doubt nipping at him. Voices from his past filled his head, words spoken by the elders bringing fear and resentment so thick they nearly choked him.

You should never have lived.

We should have killed you while you slept in your mother’s whoring belly.

Your existence is a sin against Allah and your life will be cursed because of it.

Khalid shook his head to clear those hateful voices, forcing the ugly words aside. They didn’t matter because they weren’t true. He was still the master of his fate. It wasn’t too late. Allah wanted him to carry on, or the bullets would have killed him, rather than only wound him.

He followed the trail to its summit and down the other side, trusting Allah to guide him. And when he reached the bottom and heard the distant sound of coughing, his heart filled with hope.

Peering through a gap in the rocks, he took in the scene before him. The prisoners were on the intersecting trail, headed toward him, unaware of his presence. The PJ was out front this time, scouting out their position, because he’d left the female resting at a spot back along the trail. The traitor Jihad carried the Secretary a fair distance behind them. They were separated and exposed, as vulnerable as he could ever hope for.

He fought to slow his breathing. Aware that he had only this final chance, Khalid hunkered down to wait for the perfect moment. Exhaustion pulled at him, weighing his limbs down. He struggled through it and held fast to his purpose. His nerveless fingers tightened around the hilt of the bloodstained knife.

He still had strength enough for this.

* * *

Maya sighed in relief when Jackson set her down to rest, and the sigh immediately turned into a coughing attack. She doubled over and clamped her good arm around her ribs to shield them from the force of the coughs, though he doubted it did any good. Sweaty and shaking, she wiped her forearm across her face and opened her eyes to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed in a whisper. He didn’t know why she’d bothered trying to be quiet when every living thing within a two-mile radius must have heard the coughing.

He didn’t believe her for a second, but faced forward and continued creeping ahead to do some recon. It would take a while for Sandberg to make it up here, and when he did he was going to need a rest. He’d insisted they were still going in the right direction, despite the detour, and Jackson agreed. Along with the physical exertion, the constant drain of having to be on his guard was taking a toll on him. They were closer to freedom now than they’d ever been since the capture, just under a mile from the designated LZ. Right now that mile seemed more like a hundred. He wanted nothing more than to get everyone on board that helo and get the hell out of here. The minutes were dragging by.

It was too damn quiet out here. Made him uneasy.

On one knee, he paused to check his perimeter again. He could see trails leading up into the hills surrounding him. Lots of places for the enemy to hide.

Satisfied they were still okay, he crept forward another ten yards or so when something tripped his internal radar. Off to the right lay the foot of another path, this one leading up and over the hill they’d just come around. Since he couldn’t see any movement, he kept going, wanting to make sure the trail was clear before the others caught up.

A flash of movement was the only warning he got.

A man burst out from behind the rocks. Jackson tracked the knife in his fist and raised his weapon. Khalid’s enraged face registered just as he pulled the trigger.

His weapon jammed.

Fuck!

Khalid was steps away, knife held high, eyes gleaming with the promise of death.

There was no time to clear his weapon. Jackson threw it aside and launched himself at his enemy. They collided in midair with a bone-jarring grunt and fell to the ground on their sides. Jackson’s fist wrapped around the hand holding the knife, forced it back. His muscles strained and shook at the effort.

Khalid was ranting something in Pashto and Jackson could hear Maya screaming his name in the background. Those evil yellow eyes were narrowed on him with naked hatred.

The muscles in Jackson’s arm quivered as he held the weapon at bay. In those few seconds, all his fury intensified, so hot that he couldn’t contain it. This fucker had orchestrated their kidnapping. He’d beaten and tortured Maya, forced her to hold a gun to her head and pull the trigger. The memory of Maya’s cries as Khalid had beaten her filled Jackson’s head in a deafening roar. His heart pounded against his ribs. Instinct took over.

He reared up and drove his left fist into Khalid’s wounded shoulder with every bit of strength he had left. The man went white and howled in agony, his fingers releasing their death grip on the knife. It dropped to the dusty ground with a thud. Jackson didn’t even glance at it. He pounded Khalid in the face and shoulder to unleash the toxic rage seething inside him, still caught up in his memories.