Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 24
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
Serenity bathed the West Yorkshire landscape, revealing the beauty and splendor of the hillside for the first time. But ahead, the road ended. Panic gripped her tighter still, squeezing against her chest as Jerome stopped the car.
“Get out,” he said.
She froze, noting that he climbed out and shut his door. Her gaze combed the hills, searching for a home or road or something that would reassure her she wasn’t about to be murdered and left for the vultures. Nothing. They were alone. And he wanted her out of the car. Why had he brought her up here, alone and at dawn? Would her body be found days from now, rotted and half eaten?
Almost as if in answer to her questions, a gentle vibration tickled her feet. Soon the deafening roar of a helicopter rattled her bones. It descended less than a hundred feet from the car like a giant bird of prey.
Jerome jerked open the door, grabbed her shirt at the shoulder, and dragged her out. The seat belt dug into her throat as she pawed at the latch. Freed, she stumbled into the open.
“Where are you taking me?” The rotors whipped her hair into her face as she shouted, but whether he hadn’t heard or ignored her, he didn’t answer. Instead, he hauled her to the chopper and shoved her inside.
Metal slammed into her knee as she struggled to climb into a seat. Yelping, she straightened and climbed into a seat—and froze. A gunman sat across from her, leering. She glanced back to Jerome—only the door shut tight, and the pressure of gravity pushed her down as the chopper lifted.
“You safe now,” the man taunted amid a wicked laugh.
Oh God, help me! Pressed against the seat, Sydney stared at him. Breathing became a chore. She braced herself as the nose of the chopper angled down then seemed to drag forward before finally lifting upward. The hearty breakfast clawed its way back up her throat. She gulped back the acid coating her tongue.
Twenty minutes later the chopper delivered her to an airstrip hangar. Peering out the window, she spied a small jet. As the rotors of the helicopter slowed, she heard the deep thrum of the airplane’s engines. What were they planning to do? Or better yet—where were they planning to take her? This didn’t make any sense. If they were going to kill her …
The gunman hopped out and waved her onto the tarmac. If she got out, they’d put her on the small jet sitting a hundred feet away, and who knew what would happen after that. Mustering every last bit of courage, she refused.
He reached in and tried to grab her arm, but she kicked his claws away.
A fresh burst of air slapped her hair into her face, concealing her view. Something caught her from behind—and she felt herself falling—right onto the tarmac and into the arms of a burly man. She screamed and struggled to free herself, but between him and the leering man, she had no hope. Each man held an arm as they hustled her up the steel steps to the jet.
Stale and mechanized, the air in the cabin enveloped her as they pushed her into a leather seat. Almost immediately the plane began to taxi down the runway.
As gravity again worked against her, pressing her spine into the cream leather, she lashed out—tears spilling over her cheeks. This was it. She would never be seen again, except maybe when Holden reported on her death via a live feed from Keighley.
Through the tiny portal to her right, she grieved the disappearing lush hillside. It meant her doom. Don’t be so morose! But it was true. Burying her face in her hands, she surrendered to the fear that strangled her. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. A simple meeting with someone who knew about a group of men saving the world. She just had to push, had to insist on tracking down the story. Even the American government had tried to warn her through its silence that this was far more dangerous than she knew. And Lane wanted her to go home and not find the Ashburn Hotel. Why hadn’t she listened?
As the plane leveled off, Sydney stared at the white cottony sky, resigned to her fate. Now she was on her way to only-God-knew-where, and she wasn’t sure she’d live to give birth to her baby. Tears still streamed as she wished she’d told Max about the baby. Wished she hadn’t listened to Bryce. Wished she’d had a backbone and been stronger.
“I am sorry to frighten you with such extreme measures.”
The soft words jerked Sydney’s gaze to the right. As she wiped her tears, her vision slowly focused on a woman seated across from her dressed in a beautiful teal-colored dress, the apron heavily beaded and sparkling. Sheer material draped around her face added an air of mystery and Scheherazade-ness to the woman, who smiled. Sad eyes drifted down to Sydney’s belly. “You carry a child?”
Hand on her stomach, Sydney couldn’t bring herself to speak.
The woman smoothed out the material over her own well-rounded abdomen. “We have much in common, yes?”
“Wh-what do you want with me?”
“My name is Raisa.” She looked around the cabin and waved someone Sydney couldn’t see out of the way. “Again, I am sorry for the way you were brought here, but it is necessary for my safety. I swear you will not be harmed.”
Why weren’t the words comforting? Maybe because they were thirty thousand feet over nothing that could guarantee Sydney a safe return.
“I am told you are looking for a group of soldiers.”
That piqued Sydney’s interest. She shifted and straightened. “You’re the source?”
“I stay hidden. They guard me because if I am found, then my child will be cut from me to make sure he dies.”
The gruesome mental image shook Sydney. “Who?”
“The men the soldiers saved me and my family from. You see, my husband—the father of my baby—led a rebellion against those who would deny freedom to all who desire it. Freedom for women; freedom to worship whatever god one wills. I hold to Allah, but it does not mean all should. Yes?”
“So you saw the men who saved you?”
Even behind the veil, her smile shone. “They delivered me to a safe place, and now I live on this plane. But I am not safe. I will not be, nor will my son. They murdered my husband, but we still have a voice. Once the men who butchered so many are caught, I will testify against them, and they will go to prison or be executed. Then my son and I will disappear and begin a new life.”
“Can you tell me about the men who came to your city?”
The woman shrugged, motioning toward an open doorway. “They wore the color of night. No flags. No names. I think they did not want to be recognized.”
“Yes, but I have been trying to find them. They saved another woman, and she wants to thank them publicly.”
Garbed in similar attire to Raisa, several female servants shuffled in with silver trays of tea and biscuits. They set up a table between Sydney and Raisa then discreetly served them. With a reverent bow, they backed out of the cabin, their faces still down, a sign of respect often shown to royalty.
Was Raisa royalty among her people? Shamefully, Sydney couldn’t identify the woman’s nationality, other than to know she was Middle Eastern.
“Is there anything you can tell me—” Silenced by Raisa’s snapped-up hand, Sydney bit back the torrent of frustration.
The woman lifted a cookie between her manicured fingers and took a small bite. After she wiped her mouth, she resumed the conversation. “I am hiding, protecting myself, going through extraordinary measures to protect my unborn son. It’s important, would you not agree?”
“Yes, of course. Your life is in danger. It makes sense.”
Raisa smiled, her olive skin shining under the fluorescent lights in the cabin. “And so it is that I understand their desire not to be found.”
“Yes, but—”
“Would you like something to eat? As a pregnant woman, I know how the little one within saps strength and vitamins from your very bones.” Raisa set a plate on Sydney’s side of the table and placed several treats on it, then poured her a drink.
The woman wasn’t going to cooperate. Being one to seek anonymity, she wouldn’t want anyone to betray her whereabouts, so she clearly wouldn’t say what she knew about the men who’d saved her life.
“You dragged me to the middle of nowhere, had me transported via helicopter then on this plane to I-have-no-clue-where, only to tell me you won’t tell me?” Incredulity streaked Sydney’s words.
For a moment, Raisa’s composure slackened, and she flashed a heated gaze toward Sydney. But then the cool facade slipped back into place. “Perhaps you do not realize who I am, and for that, I will forgive your outburst. I have my reasons for everything, and just think of this as my way of saying it’s better left alone.”
“Better left alone?” Indignation scampered up her vertebrae and in between her shoulders, heating her neck.
“Tell me, have these men helped others?”
“You know they have—I just told you!”
“Would you say that these men are heroic? That they have done wonderful things by helping so many?”
Sydney sighed.
“If you unveil these men, if you go before the world and destroy the anonymity that they have worked so hard to create, who is that helping, besides you?”
The accusation stung, but Sydney couldn’t deny it. “It wasn’t my intent to expose them.” She wanted this story, wanted to find the men who were heroic, who swooped in and saved lives and the day. And this woman probably had the answers but wouldn’t give them. There had to be a way to get her to talk.
Sydney’s gaze roamed the silver trays as she munched a cookie, thinking. She sipped the cool drink. Then she saw it. The implanted stem of an orange tossed an idea into Sydney’s mind.
She grabbed a napkin, exhilaration pinging through her. “If I show you a symbol, would you tell me if you’ve seen it before?”
Biting into a chocolate biscuit, Raisa’s dark, expressive eyes came to hers. Licking her lips, she took her time. Patted her red, full lips with a napkin. “It’s senseless, this little game of yours, Mrs. Jacobs.”
Sydney asked for a pen then drew the symbol Mangeni’s son had depicted. She slid it across the table.
Recognition flickered through Raisa’s eyes, but she cooled her reaction. “I have not seen it.” Chin lifted, she looked away.
Sydney could see the lie written over the woman’s beautiful face. “I don’t believe you.”
Raisa rose sharply. “Allah has gifted these men. Allows them to do what he has willed. Insh’Allah.” Then she softened ever so slightly. “Besides, it is too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“For you.” Raisa almost sneered, glancing at the cookies and drink. “You will be able to sleep now, no doubt.”
With a hard swallow, Sydney noticed the tiny grains filling her vision. The edges smudged into a gray nothingness that slowly devoured her entire sight. She gasped, gripping the chair. “What did you do to me?”
“Insh’Allah.”
CHAPTER 19
Cheek pressed to his M4, Max ignored the sweat rolling into his eyes. Dawn teased the village as he sidestepped closer to it, the soft sounds of Midas’s movements behind him. Fix had his flank. Raspy breathing, uneven and almost gurgling, trickled through the humid air from the girl now unconscious in Midas’s arms. They’d hiked more than a mile to reach the only village where he felt confident the natives would ask questions first, shoot later.
But he wasn’t taking chances. Slowly, he swept the sight across the huts, searching for danger.
Midas grunted. “If they see your weapon—”
A man stepped from the shadows beside a hut, stared at them for a second, then shouted over his shoulder.
Hustling forward, Midas angled his body to show the girl, talking in Tagalog to the man. Each word grew louder until a half dozen men with spears stood blocking the path.
Max pinned his sights on the man who’d signaled the alarm. He wanted to ask what his teammate was saying, but he’d keep his peace and wait. Midas would let him know when things were clear or if he needed to do something. Still, tension balled at the base of his neck.
“Lower the weapon,” Midas whispered to the side.
Stealthily, he rolled his shoulder, hoping this wasn’t a bad idea. He had good reflexes and knew a few jujitsu moves, but if one of those spears spiraled through the air …
Max eased his face away from the weapon, monitoring the villagers’ reaction. When two of them echoed his actions by lowering their spears, he propped the M4 on his other arm with the muzzle down and nodded for Fix to do the same. Prepped and only seconds from the ready.
“Why you come?” A short man, a blue stripe painted across his forehead, strutted to the front of his men.
“We need shelter for this girl,” Midas said and motioned toward the girl. “He’s a doctor. We must help her; she’s dying.”
Without taking his eyes off them, the elder spoke to the others in Tagalog. Finally, he nodded. “You come.”
Weapon to the side, Max followed Midas and Fix into a hut, where the elder cleared a small mat and motioned to it. “Here.”
Max stood watching the door, feeling distrustful and anxious. Intel might state this village behaved friendly to outsiders, but the reception they’d received was anything but friendly. He positioned himself at a small window and stood guard, hoping this diversion worked, that the soldiers lying in wait for Nightshade would be distracted by a call to this village where two American soldiers brought a wounded girl.
A half hour later as Fix ministered to the girl, Max lowered himself to a crouch, attention on the group gathered outside, and Midas watched from the door. At least the villagers hadn’t asked who they were—then again, that worried him. He tugged jerky from his pocket.
“He’s not a doctor,” he mumbled.
Midas grunted. “Technically, no. But you try explaining to them that he’s a PJ with enough medical skills to do more damage than a licensed doctor.”
Needle and thread worked together to stitch up the girl’s side. “Not sure she’ll make it, but we got their attention.” Bent over the girl, Fix tied off the thread and assessed his work. “I think … I think that’s it.”
“No,” Midas mumbled as he moved toward the dais where the girl lay outstretched. “That’s too much blood for—” He lunged and clamped a hand over her side. “Look! She’s been shot.”
“No way—” Fix gasped. “Dios mio! I never saw it.” He flew into action with Midas at his side.
Max considered the men, once again disconcerted over Midas. The guy knew the island, knew … medical stuff? How was that possible?
A flurry of raised voices and shouting drew Max back to the window. He eyed the villagers in the early morning light. “They didn’t ask who we were or why we were here.”
“Figured that out, did ya?” Midas resumed his position by the door as Fix finished the small operation to remove the bullet.
Fix dabbed antiseptic over the wound then began applying gauze.
“Means our time is short.”
“No.” Midas glanced back at the operating area, frowned, then looked outside. “It means we’re already late.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Max sighed. Nothing about this mission had gone right. Maybe they shouldn’t have come. Maybe they should’ve passed on this mission. Did they even have that option? He’d have to check with Lambert when they got back. By far, this was the most detailed assignment, and the lengthiest.
“You got someone to go home to, Midas?” Fix asked.
“Nope.”
Fix stood and dumped water over his bloodied hands then used a cleanser to scrub them clean. “What’s the point, ese?” He clicked his tongue. “I mean, you’re out here so long, life back there seems like fairyland.”
“Yeah, everything’s screwed up; everything goes wrong no matter how hard you try. And she only gets mad and wants you to leave.” Max swallowed the thick swell of emotion, only then realizing how much he’d revealed. Unsettled, he shifted and glanced at his teammate.
Covering the girl, Midas swept a strand of hair from her young face. Max grunted. She couldn’t be more than twelve. And now she had psychological bruises for the rest of her life. It was wrong in all kinds of ways.
“I’ve done all I can do,” Fix muttered.
“Then let’s clear out.”
Midas stood and shouldered his supplies then glanced at his watch. “I don’t imagine we have much—”
Throaty and loud, the rattle of a diesel rumbled through the morning.
Max jerked up his weapon, peered outside the hut, and bolted toward the trees. He heard Midas and Fix behind him warning him not to stop until they couldn’t go any farther. Branches whipped back under the stinging reprimand of bullets. Bark flew out at them.
