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This time the van swerved and slid sideways into a building.
The man in the ski mask jumped out of the passenger side and, using the door for cover, aimed his rifle at Kyla.
Knowing her pistol didn’t have the range or accuracy of the shooter’s rifle, she backed away from the corner and ran. She had to get to a better position to defend herself or get the hell away.
She was halfway to the next corner when tires squealed behind her.
A glance over her shoulder confirmed…the van was back in action and barreling toward her.
In front of her, headlights flashed as a small sedan turned onto the street. A man leaned out of the passenger window with a rifle and fired at her.
Fuck.
The bullets hit the pavement beside her. Kyla turned right onto the street nearest her and ducked behind the first home she came to. She circled the house, leaping over piles of stones and brick, and hid in the shadows near the rear of the home as the sedan turned onto the street. The van was slowing as it approached the corner.
As the van turned, Kyla aimed at the front tire of the van and popped off a round. The tire blew and sent the van veering toward the front of the house behind which she hid and crashed into the front entrance.
Kyla didn’t wait for the driver to recover. She backtracked and ran back in the direction from which she’d come, zigzagging between houses, hugging the shadows as she went. Several times, she was certain she glimpsed the sedan.
She hoped Ahmadi and his wife had made good their escape. After she’d split from them, she was certain the attackers had been after her. They had to know she wasn’t Ahmadi. Her long ponytail would have given her away.
Making her way through the darkened streets, she pulled off the fake beard and eyebrows, wincing as the glue proved stubborn. She couldn’t stay in Kandahar. Not dressed as she was. The Taliban patrolled the streets day and night, looking for people breaking the newly enforced laws. She would be arrested or beaten for her lack of appropriate attire.
Not knowing exactly who the attackers were, she couldn’t afford to be caught. If they were members of the elite team of assassins she was a part of, they would know they were chasing her—and they were aiming for her, specifically.
As of that moment, she no longer worked for the US government. She was now a threat to the people who’d trained and recruited her. They’d be looking for her in Kandahar. She no longer had the support to get her out of the country. If she wanted out, she’d have to find her own way.
Double fuck.
Kyla made her way to the edge of the city, moving quickly. She had to get out before sunrise. She couldn’t trust anyone. People wouldn’t be willing to help her. Not a lone female without male protection. Especially dressed as a Westerner in pants, not wearing the mandated black abaya.
As she arrived on the edge of the city, she paused in the shadows of a fuel station.
A truck pulled up, loaded with bags of onions, oranges and various other produce. From the direction it had come, it was heading out of town for an early morning delivery.
Kyla waited for the driver to fill his tank and pay the attendant.
When he finally climbed back into the cab and started his engine, Kyla made her move.
The truck pulled out from beneath the light from a single bulb hanging over the pump and slowly picked up speed on the road heading west.
Kyla glanced left and then right.
The attendant had returned to the inside of the station. No other vehicles were in sight.
She took off, sprinting after the truck, grabbed the side rail and vaulted up into the back, landing on a stack of bagged oranges. Adjusting several heavy bags, she created a hole and fit herself into the middle, out of sight of other traffic that might pass them on the road. She settled back, praying when they stopped that she could find a way out of Afghanistan and back to the States.
Once there, she’d use her nefarious contacts in the Dark Web and her former colleagues in the CIA to find out what the hell had just happened.
* * *
The bumpy road and the sway of the old vehicle must have lulled her to sleep.
When the truck slowed and made a couple of sharp turns, Kyla’s eyes blinked, and she stared up at the sun beating down on her and the buildings on either side of the truck as it maneuvered into a small village at the edge of the hills. She guessed it was making a delivery stop, which meant she needed to get out before the driver brought the truck to a complete stop.
Kyla pushed the bags of oranges out of the way and scooted toward the tailgate. As the truck turned another corner, she dropped out of the back and rolled in the dust into the shadows, coming to a stop when she bumped up against a pair of boots.
