AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I say a naughty word and add, “No, a thirty-eight, you clueless male.”
He laughs, and I take a moment to pry open the heel of the boot and remove a small, plastic-covered photo of a man and a young girl, both smiling, wearing swimsuits during a lake vacation in Maine, and both belonging to me. I slip the photo of Tom and Denise back into my boot, knowing I’m breaking regulations by carrying something so personal. But breaking rules is part of my roguish charm—or so I’d like to believe. And seeing that photo of my precious ones improves my mood, so I consider it part of my necessary gear.
Jeremy leans against a boulder, takes a swig of water, and changes the subject as I lace up my boots. “For a while now, we’ve been looking for Rashad Hussain, a wealthy Arab and committed terrorist who’s smart, tough, and very, very patient. He’s not part of the Saudi royal family or any of their clans, but he’s devout and wealthy—and very much under the radar.”
Jeremy hands me his bottle and I take a long sip of the lukewarm water. My feet still ache something fierce. I’m cold and hungry. And that damn elastic bandage around my torso, crushing my breasts, feels like it could go deeper at any moment and slice me in half.
“I’ve never heard of him,” I say.
He glances down the trail and then back up it, his MP5 submachine gun across his lap.
“That’s because he’s very, very good,” Jeremy says. “He works through cutouts and more cutouts. He doesn’t care about publicity, about making statements or rambling video denunciations. He’s not looking to attract recruits or followers. All he cares about are results. And he also doesn’t care about ramming cars into pedestrians, or car bombs, or guys wearing explosive sneakers. He has a grander vision than that.”
I’m feeling even more chilled as I return the near-empty water bottle to Jeremy. “Go on.”
“Your 9/11,” he says, putting the water bottle away in his rucksack. “A lot of time has passed. It’s now history, nearly forgotten. But when it happened, it was something so brutal, so out-of-the-blue, so.…definingthat it shook up the world order. And even though a large portion of your population was thirsting for revenge, to settle accounts, other voices were heard as well. Appeasers. Deniers. Saying we had brought it upon ourselves. They were ready to surrender and give up before the Twin Tower wreckage had cooled off.”
“That’s not what I recall,” I say.
He scratches at his beard. “Those voices were drowned out, of course. The attack was too raw. But now? Rashad isn’t looking for something that’s been done before. Through bits and pieces, word of mouth, a few intercepts, we know he’s looking to do something spectacular on the twenty-ninth of May, something that will make your 9/11 look like a dustbin fire, something either in Paris or New York. When that happens, those other voices will rise again, taking blame for the West’s actions, pushing to disengage from the Muslim world, to allow their caliphate to be reestablished over the blood and bodies of tens of thousands of innocents. And…”
Jeremy viciously kicks at a nearby stone with his booted right foot, sending the rock tumbling down a ravine. “And Oliver and I, we had an opportunity to stop it—right here in these bloody mountains. As chance would have it, the little task force that runs our joint hunting trips in the field had two targets from the Philippines traveling in this area at the same time we knew Rashad was nearby with a militia group. Bribes were paid, assurances were made, and as you rightly noted…we got captured on purpose. We were to be brought to this group, to Rashad—and we were going to kill him.”
I check my watch. “We should get moving if we want to get to that village before the sun sets. Then we can rest up, maybe get something to eat.”
Jeremy kicks another rock. “Ollie and I failed. I don’t care if the sun sets, rises, or stays up in the sky for twenty-four hours straight. I’m still hunting down Rashad.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad to be part of the hunt.”
Jeremy stands up, weaves for a moment, and says, “What’s that?”
I check my MP5 out of routine, making sure the safety is off and that the burst indicator is set for three rounds, meaning that with each pull of the trigger only three 9mm rounds will be fired downrange.
“You’re not going to do this on our own,” I say. “You’re tough, smart, and you’re SAS, even if you’ve been detached to MI6. But at some point your reserves will be tapped out. You’re going to crash. And I’ll be there to pick up the pace.”
He shakes his head. “No offense, Amy, but no. I’m doing this on my own.”
“No offense taken, Jeremy, but this is still my op. We’re still out in the field, and as per our orders, we are definitely responding to an emerging threat. You’re working for me.”
Boy, does his face darken. “I don’t want you—I don’tneedyou. This is going to be very dangerous work.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t imagine. And again no offense, but you’re a woman, and you’re going to slow me down, and—”
There’s movement behind him and I swing and rotate hard, kicking Jeremy behind his right knee.
Chapter16
THE SWORDSMANhas reached his destination, tired but thankful that God has saved him once more. After the gunfire broke out and before he could have beheaded the second arrogant Englishmen, he had raced to the near wall and vaulted over it, landing heavily on the ground. But parked nearby was a black Kawasaki KLR650 dual-sport motorcycle. As the Western fighters headed into the compound, he had pushed the motorcycle away in the other direction, taking cover behind the parked pickup trucks.
Once he was far enough from the farmhouse and courtyard, he had started the motorcycle and followed a rough and bumpy road to a better-quality road. Finally reaching a paved two-lane highway, he had joined other motorcycles, trucks, and cars, passing donkeys and horses pulling carts.
Now he is in the village of Tlayleh—small one- or two-story homes and businesses, crowded narrow streets—and he lowers the motorcycle’s speed to a crawl. He turns down one alleyway, then another. There is a locked roll-up corrugated metal door, and with a key retrieved from the motorcycle’s rear leather pouch, he unlocks the doorand pushes the motorcycle in.
He closes the sliding door behind him, turns, and opens another door leading to the interior of the ground-floor apartment.
It’s plain but clean and comfortable, with a living area, well-stocked kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.
