Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (31 page)

Midas jerked visibly. “Are you sure? The Higanti? Did you confirm that?”

The team fell silent, watching the shock ripple through the former Green Beret.

“One hundred percent,” Legend said, pride thickening his words. “Why? You know something about them?”

Midas grunted. “They are hell-bent on reclaiming their island, running out any and every
unpure
culture. You think radical Muslims hate Americans? You haven’t seen anything. But there’s only one thing the Higanti hate more. Christians.”

“So,” Max asked, looking between Cowboy and Legend. “Why aren’t our objectives dead?”

“Our guess is that they’re planning an exchange.”

“For what?”

Legend looked at his partner. “Our theory is that the islanders foolishly believe if they hand over the missionaries, Abu Sayyaf will leave them alone.”

Cowboy agreed. “This is just making it very clear that it’ll be like walking over glass—every step, every move will alert someone somewhere.”

“Right,” Legend said. “There are at least a dozen radical camps dotting the paths up the mountain. And they’ve got more ammo than a group like that needs. They’re heavily guarded, and we’re not talking drug-runner armed. They’re serious, and the cache is large. Not afraid to use whatever they can get their hands on.”

Max’s gut churned. If the radicals were this well outfitted, that meant one thing. He gritted his teeth, glaring up through his brows at the others. “We’ll need a distraction.”

“Why’s that?” the Kid asked.

“Because they know we’re coming.”

Gentle rocking lulled Sydney’s senses until she rested her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant for Lane to find out about the baby, not that way. He hadn’t spoken to her since they left the ticket station and boarded the train bound for the West Yorkshire town of Keighley, the only town with a hotel named Ashburn. It fascinated her to watch Holden whip into action and get them on the train within the hour. Thankfully, his connections and full-steam-ahead mentality kept her mind busy enough not to get upset or depressed over the way things had gone down.

Movement snatched her attention back to the cabin of the Quiet Car. Holden eased into the seat closest to the aisle, leaving a seat between them.

“Where’s Lane?” she asked as he handed her a bottle of apple juice.

“On a phone call, so he stayed in the restaurant. Mentioned something about a big fat piece of cheesecake.” Holden crossed his leg over his knee and wiggled into the seat more. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m good.” She opened the drink and took a sip. “You think it’ll be okay for you and Lane to be there at the hotel?”

He nodded, swallowing a gulp of his soda. “Keighley’s only other hotel is booked solid. And Jerome knows we won’t leave you alone. You’ll be there to meet the contact, but we won’t be far away.” For a moment he paused and studied her. “Are you scared?”

She wanted to be brave, to be an investigative reporter like him, make him proud of her and her skills, but she couldn’t fool anyone, not even herself. “I wish I could say no. I keep hoping that being pregnant is a guarantee of safety.”

A soft laugh rumbled in Holden’s chest. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But I think you’re right. For some reason, your pregnancy changed his mind.”

“I noticed.” Sydney bobbed her head. “Lane and I had looked at a political map of sorts, and determined that, considering recent uprisings, activity, etcetera, the most likely destination for our mystery team is Afghanistan or the Philippines.”

“I agree. There’s a lot happening in Afghanistan right now that could probably be equalized if we just got a few good men in place.” Holden grinned. “But our first focus is Jerome. If this man can’t get us connected, we may be at the end of the road.”

“I won’t accept that,” Sydney said, railing at the thought of giving up so soon. A burning on her belly made her rub her side, and she noticed how much bigger her belly seemed. She’d managed to conceal the bump with loose-fitting clothes and excuses of loving food and too much ice cream, but still …. “I bet Lane’s still mad about the baby. It’s kind of hard to miss, huh?”

Holden chuckled. “Like I said, I don’t think he wanted to notice. Obviously, he was trying to woo you.” He reclined against the vinyl seat and nursed his soda. “So, I haven’t heard you talk about your husband. Lane mentioned Max. Is that your husband?”

She shouldn’t be surprised he’d noticed. He was a hard-hitting reporter with a nose for dropped lines and inferences. “Yes, Max and I are separated.” After a few sips of the juice, she screwed the lid back on and looked out the window, watching as a lone light smeared into a streak that whizzed out of sight in the darkness

“So how does Max feel about the baby and being separated?”

Sydney glanced down at her growing womb. “I didn’t find out until after I filed for the separation.” She met his sympathetic gaze and shrugged. “He doesn’t know.” She really didn’t want to open all this up, explain about her husband and how their marriage fell apart. That she hadn’t even told Max. And for some reason, that really rankled her now that Lane knew. With her pregnancy apparent, she felt devious and guilty for keeping this secret from the father of her child, from the man she loved.

“I didn’t mean to pry, Sydney. The whole thing just got me curious when Lane mentioned how angry Max would be.”

“Max is easily angered,” she whispered. “He’s a former Navy SEAL. Saw things, probably did things that changed him—for the worse.”

He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Have you heard about the ministry to soldiers based in DC?”

A ministry? She eyed him, curious as to whether he was a Christian. “No.”

An intensity darkened his brow, bringing with it a startling determination and vehemence. “Did you know that only in recent years has war-related PTSD become its own diagnosis? Our doctors and psychologists are just beginning to know how to properly treat”—he hooked his fingers in the air, making quotation marks—“these soldiers who’ve seen and carried out gruesome acts.” He huffed and sat up straight. “Anyway, there’s an organization that helps men like your husband who return from war. It teaches them the different phases of reintegration into society. Helps them find jobs, and there’s even a hotline number.”

She studied the man opposite her. Handsome and kind, he had a maturity that almost belied his age. “How do you know about this ministry?”

A sad smile crossed his lips. “My brother was a decorated war veteran. He tried to commit suicide when he came back but failed.” He snorted. “I’ll never forget how mad he was when he woke up in the hospital with a cop and an IV. So being the reporter I am, while I sat with him those first few nights, I used my laptop and researched ways to help him. That’s how I found the group. Steve now works with this ministry, helping other grunts like him. He got married last month.”

Wow. What she wouldn’t do for a happily-ever-after ending. But that was a fantasy. The brutal truth was that most soldiers just buried it, gutted it up, as Max said. Only the pain within became the fire outside, the rage that destroyed anything in its wake. Besides, Max would never agree to something like that. “For that to work, the soldier—or sailor—has to want the help.”

“True,” Holden said, nodding. “I think they all want to be better, to fit in, to be normal. But facing those demons, those ghouls that have plagued their minds and dreams, isn’t easy.”

Ghouls? Demons? She knew Max had bad dreams, but he’d always shaken them off, said it was nothing. Maybe even she had bought into his belief that what he’d experienced wasn’t so bad. Had she even become convinced that anger and isolation were who Max was, the way he’d always claimed?

“Ya know, I always knew the guys had it bad, that they saw cruel things, but until I did my stint as an embedded reporter two years ago, I didn’t have a clue.”

Sydney turned toward him, again surprised. “You were embedded?”

With a lengthy exhale, he slumped against the leather, his arm over the back of the seat. “I wasn’t there two hours when our convoy got hit by an IED. The Marines were amazing, but it really jerked the slack out of my attitude. I now have a very heightened awareness of what they face and battle every day. It’s easy to become inoculated against the pain when you’re sitting at home reading or watching one-sided, liberal media reports. It’s another thing to live and breathe the dust after a car bomb explodes and kills fifteen men you just had dinner with.”

Two years ago … She ticked back her mental counter to the stories he’d done. She widened her eyes. “That’s when your stories started getting national acclaim.”

He laughed. “Yeah, my stories finally had a message. In my time in Iraq, I learned how to dig until I found the heart of a story, learned how to make the reader care. It’s so easy sitting in reclin-ers, feet propped up and watching the news, to spout off about how terrible war is, how it only breeds violence and monsters. But out there, in the thick of an RPG attack, you find out real quick you’re battling a very mean evil, one bent on your destruction.”

Chills trickled down Sydney’s spine. She’d never thought about it this way. Is that what Max had encountered for all those years?

Holden patted her leg. “Well, you should probably get some rest. Dawn comes early, and we aren’t going to be there in time for you to get any decent sleep.” He dug his laptop out and powered up.

Sydney burrowed into the seat, yawning even at the thought of getting rest. But there was no way she could sleep—not given the way Holden’s war stories had spiked her with a realization that Max may have had a good reason for this behavior. Had she been too quick to step away? Although she believed God would understand her seeking protection for her and the baby, she knew in her heart that she’d given up too soon.

With a sigh, she twisted and yawned. This would make her second sleepless night in a row. Maybe they could stay in Keighley for an extra day so she could get caught up on rest. Being pregnant really sapped the last of her energy reserves.

When sleep finally lowered its defenses, it only brought frightening images of men dressed in weird costumes chasing them down narrow alleys and launching grenades. Explosions, screams, and shrieks echoed in her ears as she jolted awake.

Heart palpitating, she glanced at Holden, whose face held a glow from the laptop monitor. Apparently his information about his term as an embedded reporter had had a bigger impact on her than she’d thought.

Where was Max now? What was he doing? At least she could breathe easier, knowing he’d resigned his commission and was back home, safe and out of danger.

N
ight hung thick with humidity and needling mosquitoes. Palms swayed overhead like giant shadow soldiers guarding the small island. Trudging through the dense, tropical vegetation kept Max on guard enough against nocturnal predators that he didn’t want to consider the human predators lying in wait. But he had to. Or he’d end up dead.

“Another twenty meters, there should be a river.” Midas hacked his way through a mess of vines.

“We can verify and follow that route, then meet back up with the team.” Max glanced up and smiled at the moon peeking through the light cover of palm branches. Something about the ominous glow against the ebony void of space soothed him. Maybe it was the fact that it was open, not crowded.