Point of No Return (15 page)

That seemed to satisfy Josh. He got up and stared out the window. “My mom said Aunt Mae was coming to Georgia. Is she okay?”

“Last time I saw her, yes.” He didn't want to let his mind travel beyond that to the fact that Mae and Darya were probably plotting to rescue them right now.

How he wished he had the power to order Mae to take his daughter and run.

You don't respect me,
she'd said to him.

No, that wasn't it. In fact, if anyone had the brains and the courage to launch a full assault on Akif and his band of terrorists, it would be Mae.

No, he respected her. But she terrified him.

“How'd you get pulled into this?”

Chet looked at his knuckles. He'd thrown a couple of licks back. Probably wasn't the best choice, but it had felt good at the time.

“Mae called me.”

“She called you? She told me she was never going to talk to you again.”

“I came for Darya. To find her and bring her back to camp so she could marry…the…”

Josh stared at him with a look that made Chet wonder if his next beating would be coming from the kid across the cell. He held up a hand. “I changed my mind. I know it was the wrong thing to do.”

Josh narrowed his eyes, as if still trying to decide whether to re-bloody his nose. “And what changed your mind?”

He looked at Josh. “Darya.”

Josh braced a hand against the side of the cell and sighed. “Yeah. She can do that. She has a way of looking at you that makes you forget your own name. Or at least your priorities. And then she makes you wonder if you might be some sort of superhero. I don't know what got into me but I know it was right to help her. And I'll always believe that, regardless of what happens.”

Josh smiled at Chet, and he recognized in the young man everything that made Mae who she was—brains, courage and devotion. The belief that giving up her life for others was the right thing to do. He'd been wrong—her actions didn't come from desperation, but rather a love that went beyond herself.

Regardless of what it cost her.

She deserved to be loved back the same way. Which meant letting her live her life, with challenges and risks, and rewards and joys whether she wanted to pilot a plane or jump right on out of it.

Josh turned to the window. “So, why are they so angry with you?”

“Because maybe I started a bit of this trouble when I armed them for war twenty years ago. But I think the kicker came when I fell in love with Akif's daughter.” He raised an eyebrow at Josh when the boy turned.

If he wasn't mistaken, the kid paled slightly, swallowing hard. His voice emerged a tone higher when he said, “Really?”

“Yep.”

Josh blew out a breath and seemed to steel himself. “I guess I'm next, then.”

“Maybe. But not from Akif, Josh.”

“I don't—”

“Akif isn't Darya's father.” He smiled. “I am.”

Josh stared at him, blinking, his mouth cracking open and closed.

Yes, kid, you absconded with my daughter. And you had better not have—

“I promise, sir, I took very good care of her…”

“Now it's sir, huh? Calm down. I just found out. And Mae is your biggest advocate. She vouched for you more than a few times.”

Josh said nothing, just stared out the window. “They're not going to let us go, are they?”

Chet leaned back against the cold wall, feeling every blow, every kick, every bruise embedded in his bones. But, strangely, now that he was facing Akif again, the old guilt had loosened inside him. Maybe turning to God, holding on with both hands to His grace, had made him release his grip on his regrets. On the broken, bloody shards of his life that he'd thought he'd never escape.

And the fears that he thought he could never let go of.

“Kid, I'm pretty sure the fight's not over yet.” Chet grimaced. “I'm not quite ready to let them win. Are you?”

Josh turned, a defiant look in his eyes and a game smile. Ah, see, there was the Lund gene he knew so well. “Nope, not quite yet.”

“Chet Stryker, international securities,” Chet said, holding out his hand.

Josh met it. “Josh Lund, international troublemakers. I think I'm just the junior member, though.”

Chet smiled. “Yes, son, I believe you are.”

The last of the sun winked out as a new sound rumbled into the room. It started as a dull rhythm and soon grew to a roar just beyond the building.

“What is it?” Josh peered out into the blackness.

“Sounds like a helicopter.”

Josh slid down into a crouch. “Oh, no. I think it's Darya's fiancé, Akeem Al-Jabar.” His voice was muffled, as if he'd covered his face with his hands when he said, “I think our time is up.”

O
h, this couldn't be good. Mae trained her field glasses on the chopper—a Russian-made Mi-17—as it cleared the mountain ridge then set down in the darkness of Bashim's camp. Maybe, if she could get her hands on it…

“That's Akeem,” Darya said softly beside her. “He's early, by two days.”

Nope, definitely not good.

They lay hunkered down on a ridge opposite the camp. Darya had pointed out the prison, and they'd outlined a rough, if not nearly impossible, plan for Darya to surrender to her grandfather and then open a back gate for Mae to slip through and release Josh. And Chet, if he was still alive.

They'd watched in silence as the guards dragged Chet—and
dragged
might be an impotent word for the way they yanked and threw his body across the yard and to the prison. Which meant the prequel couldn't have been pretty.
Please, God, don't let him die.

Darya wore a traditional hijab, along with her jeans and a clean blouse Joyce had lent her. Better to look as non-Western as she could as she offered herself in sacrifice to her grandfather's schemes. And to the CIA.

Mae couldn't believe that she had consented to this crazy plot. But if she hadn't, without a doubt, Darya would have gone in alone, her only strategy the impulse of the moment. At least with Mae, she had a plan.

And the first step was to make her grandfather believe that she would marry Al-Jabar. Not that Mae would let her stick around to go through with it—she didn't care what kind of world-peace game the CIA was playing.

“Is it too late?” Mae trained her eyes on the chopper, but she couldn't make out anything except the flood of lights that lit up the entrance of the camp like a Broadway show, spotlighting Darya's brilliant return.

Her gut started to churn.

“I think if I leave now, I can negotiate Josh's release.”

“And Chet's?”

Darya pulled the hijab over her face and stood up. “I'm leaving him in your hands. Don't let me down.”

Her life motto—never let your friends down. Mae nodded.

“I'll give you a signal when the back gate is open. The floodlights will flicker. I'll be watching for you near the prison doors, and when I see you, I'll distract the guards.”

And Mae would find Chet.

“Hopefully, my grandfather will have already released Josh.”

And hopefully, Chet would still be alive.

“Then we'll hop in one of those transports and try to outrun them.” She glanced at Mae. “It's a good plan.”

Yeah, if they were Rambo and the Terminator, sure.

“Absolutely,” Mae said. “It'll work.”

Clearly they were both lying through their teeth, but
there was no way Mae wanted to tell Darya that the only ones who had a good chance at living through this were Darya and Josh.

Mae prayed for that much, at the very least.

To her surprise, Darya reached out and touched Mae's arm. “We'll finish this, Mae.”

Something about Darya's words gave her hope, even as she watched the figure slip into the night, down the cliff.

Yes, they would finish this, and then Mae would tell Chet that she didn't care—well, she did, but she'd try
not
to care—that she wasn't flying for him. That she just wanted them to be together, that life was a trade-off sometimes, and that she wanted to make room for him in her world. Even if she had to sacrifice something she loved.

She loved Chet more than she loved flying.

Behind her, she heard footsteps, the crunch of grass—

She turned, the field glasses in her hand already swinging. But her assailant caught them with one hand, pressing his other hand over her mouth.

“Shh!”

Mae brought her knee up, hard. The breath whiffed out of the man above her. She slammed her elbow to his face. He recoiled with a grunt, letting go of the glasses.

It gave her enough room to lean back and bull's-eye her foot in the center of his chest. She shoved him hard and he sprawled back onto the grass. Then two more men appeared.

They'd picked the wrong girl this time. She hit her feet.

“Mae!”

The one holding the black tech-gear bag dropped the sack to the ground and shone a light on himself. Chet's partner, Vicktor Shubnikov. He brought a long finger to his lips, his eyes pinned to her. “Shh. We don't want anyone to catch us.”

Ya think?

“Vicktor? What—”

“You're
yelling.
”

She shut her mouth and flung her arms around him, right around all that black protective gear and the M-16 he wore over his shoulder. Solid, fierce. He'd come for her, for Josh. “I'm sorry, God, that I doubted.”

Vicktor put an arm around her waist and pulled her tight. “I'm not sure I understand all that, but I'm glad to see you, too. We didn't know what to expect when we followed Chet's GPS signal from his cell phone into the hills.”

She couldn't even find words. Vicktor had come for them. Former FSB agent turned independent contractor, the guy who had saved Gracie's life twice (no wonder she married him) and the man who would currently be voted Most Likely to Know How to Bust Chet Out. Yes, she might be a smidge glad to see him.

He pulled back and flicked off his light. “You okay?”

She inhaled a long breath and tried to flush the shaking from her body. “Yeah, except who was the thug?” She deliberately glared at her assailant. “You could have said something like, ‘friend not foe' or how about even, ‘Mae, don't scream. I'm a good guy.'”

“I did shush you.” He held out his hand. “Luke Dekker. I'm one of Chet's men.”

“‘Shh' doesn't quite cut it out here, pal.”

“Sorry.” In the dark, she could barely make out a wry, apologetic smile. “Next time, I'll be better prepared.”

“Let's hope there isn't a next time. I don't like this idea of our fearless leader running off without telling us.” A man stepped out from the shadows behind Vicktor. He had a build not unlike Chet, although maybe bulkier. His voice, a baritone, rolled through the night like thunder. “Wick. It's good to finally meet you, Mae.”

She remembered Chet talking about him—Wick had been the first person he'd hired, an old pal from his Special Forces days.

“Okay, I tapped into their radio chatter. Apparently the helo is staying the night. And the girl isn't in camp yet,” said a Russian accent from the darkness.

“Artyom!” Mae startled the young man, who had come up behind Vicktor. She just barely resisted giving the Russian techie a one-armed hug. “Who else is here?”

“Believe me, Gracie tried to get on the plane. But she's manning the office. And David and Yanna were worried, but with Yanna still working for the KGB, it wouldn't work for David to come cruising down here. They did, however, grease the skids for us to get here. And Roman and Sarai are still in far eastern Russia. He's working undercover somewhere.”

Of course he was. With the Russian mafia going global, Roman could be working anywhere as a Cobra operative.

“How'd you get here so fast?” She still couldn't believe that Vicktor stood before her. She traced his face, despite the swell of darkness. Lean, with a squared chin, blue eyes that always seemed so serious. Of course he was
here in the back hills of the Republic of Georgia. Where else would he be when his partner was in trouble?

“Actually, we were already in Georgia when we picked up Chet's signal this morning. We didn't have to do calculus to figure out that you were in trouble when Chet abandoned ship—”

“You automatically assumed I was in trouble?” Okay, that irked her. Mostly because it hadn't been her getting into trouble on all those rescue missions. Well, not entirely.

Vicktor smiled, apparently egging her on. “No, I automatically assumed that if you were in trouble, Chet would be there.”

Oh.

“And, of course, knowing his history in Georgia, the team got worried. We just wanted to make sure—”

“He got out alive.”

Every man in the group had geared up in black, including Artyom. Yes, they'd come to make sure Chet got out alive…and maybe even more, if things got ugly.

“Is Chet down there?” Vicktor took the field glasses from her hand.

“He's down there. They beat him up pretty good.”

Beside her, Vicktor said nothing.

Finally, “And Josh?” Bless him for asking. Because he knew she wouldn't leave without her nephew. Which meant that Vicktor would do anything it took to get him out alive. He was that kind of friend.

“I haven't seen him. Darya thinks he's being held in the same prison as Chet.”

Vicktor lowered the glasses. “How many men in the camp?”

“Three hundred, at least. All heavily armed. All on the lookout for a rescue party.”

Vicktor turned to her. “Then let's give them one.”

 

“Do you ever think about the things you wish you had done?”

The voice came from across the cell, distracting Chet from his fight against pure exhaustion. His brain wasn't exactly cooperating as he tried to sort out how he might negotiate Josh's release or, as a last resort, create enough of a distraction to help the kid escape.

He was pinning his hopes on option number one.

Of course, a smart man, one who understood the nuances of international negotiation and security, who, say, ran a business doing exactly that, might have formulated a strategy before leaping full speed ahead into his own demise. Yeah, he was a real genius.

Chet hoped God hadn't given up on him. Because he'd certainly given up on himself.

Josh's words had a ring of regret to them as they drifted across the cell. Chet had used the same tone when he'd told his old partner, David Curtiss, that he was resigning from the military after he'd spent time in the hospital, then in recovery, mulling over all the things he'd sacrificed.

“Yes,” Chet said in answer to Josh's question. He let Mae's smile fill his vision, thinking of the way she'd looked at him as she'd hunkered down in the sidecar, her hair streaming out behind her. He thought of their glorious week in Seattle, when he knew he'd never get her out of his system. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered trying. Yes, he had a list of things he wished he'd done, like marry the woman who knew his dark truths and didn't flinch.

“Me, too,” Josh said quietly. “I guess that's why I stuck around here after all my teammates headed stateside. I saw all the work I was leaving behind, and it didn't seem right. Like what I'd done wasn't enough. And of course, Darya was here.”

Chet's eye had stopped throbbing, although his nose was still on fire. The bruises simmered on his body. He shifted, wishing he could hear noises outside. From the scrap of night he could see through the slatted window, he knew hours had passed—it was probably past midnight. He hoped Mae was already across the border with Darya.

“I think you did all you could, Josh. You were brave to want to help her.” How Chet wished the kid had made it to the border, all the way to Turkey. He closed his eyes against the ironic what-ifs.

“I had a friend this year in school who had leukemia. He died in June. He was only twenty. The worst part is, he didn't want to quit school—despite how much pain he was in, he was determined to finish. He was desperate to hang on to this life. I asked him, once, why he didn't just let go. He told me that the closer he got to heaven, the more he wanted to lean into all God had for him here. That it was in this harsh, earthly landscape that we understand the meaning of God's grace. He said we don't see the depths and power of grace when life is easy. It's only when things start to fall apart around us, when the road crumbles before us, that we turn to grace for every step.”

Josh's voice fell, so low Chet could barely hear his words. “He said he was the lucky one, because he'd learned not only how to hold on to God. He'd learned that God was holding on to him.”

Hold on.

The voice thrummed through him, separate from his thoughts.
Hold on.

He could hold on to Mae and the knowledge of his beautiful daughter. And he'd hold on to his friendships with Vicktor and David. And the company he'd started that protected people like little Gretchen, even if he had to dress in tulle to do it. Yes, and he'd even hold on to his memories of Carissa.

“What are you going to do when we get out of here, Josh?” Chet said, keeping his voice even.

“I don't know. Maybe I'll be a missionary. Or…what do you do?”

Chet smiled. “I protect princesses, and sometimes save the world.”

“That sounds like a job description I might like.”

Footsteps slapped against the cement hallway outside. Chet listened for voices, for movement outside.

Nothing.

Then a key banged in the heavy door, clicking the lock. Like an exhalation, the door eased open, whining on its hinges.

Chet tried to ready himself for whatever was coming, his heart pounding in his chest. Josh jumped to his feet and moved to help Chet stand.

A light flashed, first over Josh, who flung up his hand in recoil, then on Chet. He flinched.

Then darkness turned to light. “Time to go, sir,” said Wick.