PROLOGUE
Kabul, Afghanistan, May 15th, 2025
Kiera Lane
“Do not go inside the building, Kiera. It looks abandoned, but there is surveillance everywhere. Go around. The American helicopter is in the back, and my husband will cut the feed for one minute so you can hide on board.”
“What about you? You have to come with me—and the girls.”
“It’s too risky. I am not leaving. My work is here. My family. But you need to go home. They know you’re alive, and they won’t stop looking. Here, put this on. My brother will escort you as far as he can, and then you are on foot. You will also have this. Report to me when you are at the address so we can turn off the surveillance around the helicopter.”
“Oh God, I’m gonna throw up.”
“Better now than later. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. You must find something to hold on to in the helicopter, and stay hidden until you land again.”
CHAPTER 1
Kiera Lane
Isaw the helicopter hidden under a canopy behind the building. It was a beacon of freedom that gleamed in the low moonlight.
I swallowed dryly, my heart pounding furiously. I reported back to Noura that I was ready to run. She’d assured me the door would be open.
Don’t fall apart.
I sniffled and did my best to pull it together. I could cry later. Man, was I gonna bawl my eyes out. Holy crap. Okay. Here we go. The green light. Noura told me to run, so I pushed away from the wall and ran for my life.
Dogs barked in the distance.
Panic tinted the edges of my senses, and I barely registered getting inside the helicopter. I panted and blinked, taking in my surroundings. Three rows of simple leather seats. I dove for the back and got down on the floor. I wedged myself between the rows. It was a tight fit, not to mention an uncomfortable one,but if this got me home—or at least out of the country—I wasn’t gonna complain.
I brought the radio to my lips.
“I’m in hiding,” I whispered. “Over.”
Some static came through. “I am glad, sweet girl. You won’t have to wait long.”
My eyes welled up. It was too soon to break down. I wasn’t out of here yet. A simple search by the pilot would reveal my whereabouts, and I trusted no one, except Noura and her husband and brother. They’d been there for me ever since my convoy had been overrun. They’d taken me in. They’d kept me hidden for months.
I could still hear the shots popping off, hitting concrete and people.
“Thank you for everything, Noura,” I croaked. “As soon as I get home, I’ll contact you. I can still help.”
“Focus on getting home,” she urged. “The pilot will be there soon.”
I sniffled again and nodded to myself. “I’ll reach out when I can,” I whispered. “Out.”
I switched off the radio and let out a shaky breath.
It was quiet out here. Many buildings had been abandoned in the great escape—when we’d left Afghanistan. Officially, at least. Plenty of Americans were still in the country. Noura’s husband was an informant to an American private military agency in DC that had helped translators and their families flee. It was how he’d learned about this property and the helicopter. I didn’t know the details, and neither did he. We just knew that an American pilot was coming here tonight to fly this helicopter out of the country, presumably into Pakistan or Uzbekistan.
I closed my eyes and did my best to steady my breathing.
I missed my dad so much. He must be worried sick. He’d never wanted me to take a job in this field in the first place. He’dkept warning me that things always went wrong, how unsafe it was for women, and…and that was the whole point for me. I’d read about how girls were treated here. It broke my heart.
It’d also once detached me from my sleepy reality back home, where I’d been the nurse who strolled into work each morning to change catheters and administer blood thinners to an aging population in a suburb outside Annapolis. Where the biggest danger around for miles was a coworker who stole my yogurt from the fridge. Damn Charlotte.
If anything, this was all Dad’s fault. I’d heard his stories too. Countless experiences. Training missions with NATO allies. Adversary missions. And then, because of his ground job, the time he’d spent in the outskirts of combat areas. The cultures he’d experienced. He could get wrapped up in a story about the scents of teas and the wild atmosphere at a market. Kids and chickens running around, calls to prayer mingling with haggling and hollerin’.
