Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Because I left women behind who still need my help," Marlowe explained to her clenched fingers, "and you would've stopped me once you knew I was going back. I know you would, Asher. You want to keep me safe, but safety doesn't matter when people you love are marked for death. No one else can do what I can. They don't trust US soldiers anymore. Why should they? Even the Afghans who fled to Pakistan, the people you guys promised you'd come back for, are now being sent back to Afghanistan by the Pakistanis. See what you did? You guys deserted all of them. But I didn't. I stayed!"

Asher groaned when she shot that truth like a bullet straight at Alex. Well, too bad. She'd told Alex she'd think about meeting with those Afghan survivors, and she would. But not today and not anytime soon. He and Asher needed to understand she was not the important one here, and neither were they. None of them were. Only the women and children who America had failed were important. They were all that mattered, and Marlowe refused to let them down. She would save as many as she could, or she'd die trying. Then, and only then, would she go party with the still living. Ha, that was a laugh. She had never partied in her pitiful past, and having a cold beer with the noisy crow that had pestered her every time she'd sat outside her crummy room in Afghanistan didn't count.

"Who betrayed you, sweetheart?" Alex asked, his tone softer.

And now he wants to be nice? Marlowe faced the man who'd had the guts to help her do the impossible, even though he'd outed her. The asshole. "I suspect one of my women in hiding did. Not sure which, but maybe Sariah. She argued when I told her the date she needed to be ready. She kept making excuses. None of the others did. They were eager to leave the moment I told them I had a date and a way to get them out of the country. They would've gone right then if they could have, anything to save their kids. But Sariah…" Suddenly everything made sense. "Yes. It had to be Sariah. The morning I told her the good news, that she was next on my list, she complained and said she couldn't go because her baby was sick. But now that I think about it, the smiling little one in her arms didn't look feverish or sick. But I figured, I'm not a mother. What did I know?"

"Always trust your gut," Alex murmured, his hands flat on the desk now, his fingers fluttering like he couldn't hold still.

"So why the SCIF?" Asher asked. "Why the secrecy? None of this intel is classified."

Marlowe had no idea what SCIF was.

"Because eyes and ears are everywhere, and no one beyond this room needs to know what I'm about to say." Alex tipped back in his chair far enough to open his pencil drawer and pull out a black and white photograph. He slid it across the desk and everyone else leaned forward. "Look familiar?"

Marlowe's heart fell. Not for the smug woman in that shot, but for the smiling little girl in that woman's arms. "That's Sariah. Where's her baby girl now? Is she still alive?"

Alex grimaced. "This photo was taken a month ago in Syria. Don't ask how I know. It's technical, something about digital date stamping." He waved his hand dismissively. "Right now, my people on the ground don't believe she is that baby's mother. She's an agent for ISIL, working inside the Taliban to recruit vulnerable, disillusioned Afghan women, specifically targeting our allies' wives and daughters. And…"

He paused and Marlowe's heart stalled. Something truly wicked was coming out of his mouth next. She could sense it.

"She's smuggling Afghan orphans out of the country and straight into the sex trade, right under the Taliban's nose. Not that they aren't doing it, too. It's a power struggle over there, ISIS against the Taliban, and both are guilty of human trafficking. They're all sons of bitches."

"Assholes," Marlowe whispered.

Asher leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. "How does any of this connect with Tippetts and the anthrax found in the ambassador's residence?"

Alex's shoulders lifted, as he sucked in a deep breath, and then said, "We're still investigating the anthrax, but plain and simple, Tippetts underestimated you, Asher. You refused her advances. You made her look stupid, and yes, I saw the security footage from the embassy roof. It came with audio and she was accusing you of lying to her. She told the man with her you jilted her." He refocused on Marlowe. "And you. Did you know there's a million-dollar bounty in US dollars on your head?"

Marlowe blinked at the ridiculous amount. "Me? No. I knew I had a bounty, but, wow. A million? That's a lot of dollars. Is that why Tippetts—?"

"The bounty's only the tip of this iceberg, and yes, Tippetts and Sariah probably want the bounty, but their chances of living long enough to spend it are zero. The person behind this scheme is Caliph Ibrahim al-Jamah, and he'll cut their throats the moment they turn you over." Alex cocked an eyebrow at Harley. "That name ring a bell?"

"No shit? Your nemesis, that Jamah?" Harley breathed, groaning as he stretched his long legs. "I thought you killed the old goat."

"Apparently not."

"The butcher of Syria?" Asher asked, his tone incredulous.

Marlowe felt like she was watching a tennis match, trying to keep up with the conversation and everything she didn't know that these guys did.

"You have got to be kidding," Mark groused from behind her. "Are you positive? Harley and I were there when they buried him. There's a shrine to him in the mountains, for hell's sakes."

"CIA confirmed he's still alive, going on fifty, but because he's a paraplegic, thanks to me, he's continually on the move. If you remember, he likes little boys."

"Oh, him," Marlowe breathed. Her women had whispered about the notorious pedophile, only they'd called him the Toad of Syria. Not Caliph. "So, Tippetts was never after me for the money. She wants to please her boss, and he wants me because…?"

"If he has you, he can get to me," Alex answered tiredly. "He wants revenge, and once he has you, he believes you'll give me up. I would if I were you."

"I would never."

"Why not? Torture is the most humiliating test of willpower a person can endure. I couldn't handle it, not knowing my family was watching."

"But he'd still kill me," Marlowe surmised thoughtfully.

"Yes, after he tortured you for days. Think about it. Ibrahim al-Jamah gets off on inflicting pain, not murder. He's a sadist. He's ten times worse than Baghdadi, and he knew you weren't working alone, that someone with money was behind the helos flying illegally into and out of his kingdom. It wouldn't take long to do an internet search and find me. Even I could. I don't hide."

"How do you know all this?" Murphy asked.

"Because…" Alex turned to the whited-out windows, but his eyes weren't seeing anything. It was as if he'd tuned out. Until at last, he said, "The son of a bitch sent a package to my house three weeks ago. Inside was a USB flash drive that contained explicit clips of two young women, stripped and hanging in the dark, mutilated beyond recognition, whimpering, but not yet dead. He included a note with that flash drive. Said he can't wait to meet my ‘two sweet, little children,' his son of a bitching words, not mine." Still facing the window, Alex tapped his fingers on his desk. "Which is why I'm going back."

Harley jumped to his feet. "Boss, no."

"Not without me, you're not," Mark said firmly.

"Like hell, you are," Murphy hissed, on his feet and shaking a stern, gnarled finger at Alex. "Guldarn it, every man and woman on my side of the house will be on that C-130 with you, so don't go sneaking out of the country without us." For an older gentleman, he had quite an ugly sneer on his whiskered face.

Asher's arm circled tighter around Marlowe's waist. "Don't you dare," he growled.

She turned to look into his eyes. "But I have to go with him, don't you see? I'm the bait. Once Ibrahim What's-His-Fucking-Name knows I'm back in—"

"Ibrahim al-Jamah."

"Yeah, okay, if you say so. Him. Once he knows I'm back in Afghanistan, that I'm still helping women escape from his—"

"I said no."

"Asher, honey." This time Marlowe used his word against him when she cupped his jaw, while everyone else was busy arguing with Alex. "I'm sorry, but you are not the boss of me. I know it sounds trite, but I'm not a little girl who needs to be told what to do or how to think. I make my own decisions. I've been doing it for years. I made promises to those women, and I intend to keep them. Surely you understand that."

"You still have women in hiding, waiting for you? Even now?" He ran an exasperated hand over his hair.

"No. I meant that in a philosophical, theoretical way."

"So there are no women stashed in a cave somewhere waiting for your return? You made promises, but only in a general sense?"

"Well, yes. No specific women are waiting. I didn't mean it that way. But trust me, plenty of women are still trapped over there. They very much want their children to grow up in America, and I'm going to help them achieve that dream."

"You can't even see out of both eyes yet," he reminded her quietly.

She appreciated that calm, quiet quality about Asher. Yes, she'd felt and looked like a Cyclops for days now. She was glad he hadn't drawn attention to her current disfigurement in front of everyone. "One-eyed or not, it's time for me to get back to work."

"If you go, I go," Asher murmured against the side of her head, his breath warm through the beanie.

"No," Alex roared. He was on his feet now, furious, and his fists clenched. "Me. Just me. I started this and I'll finish it. Alone."

"Except me. I'm going with you," Marlowe replied sweetly, risking his wrath and getting glared at for her audacity. Alex's blue eyes were laser-sharp and extra nasty now.

"And me," Asher added just as calmly. "Where Marlowe goes, I go."

"And me, damn it." That came from Harley, forcing Alex to pivot that nasty glare to his right.

"If Harley goes, I go, Alex," Judy said firmly. "We're a team, and you might need someone with trauma experience, so get over yourself."

The moment Alex opened his mouth to snarl, Marlowe wasn't sure at who, Mark cut in with, "I don't need to check with Libby. My schedule's open."

Alex looked down at the floor, and between gritted teeth, he snarled, "You're all fired. Get the hell out of my office!"