Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

"Seth! Help! We're being attacked! We're ? —"

The line went dead.

Seth's knees gave out from under him, and he would have collapsed if two pairs of hands hadn't caught him.

"Seth!" Cordero's voice, so clear he swore the man was standing beside him again. "We're under attack. Holy shit! There's hundreds of them."

"We're under attack! They have Bowie!"

His men. They shouldn't have died. Shouldn't have even been on their way to the Forward Operating Base in those mountains. He'd volunteered them for the mission when Jude Wilde's team was pulled out.

And they'd all died. All but him.

The hands on his arms lowered him into a seat, and as his butt hit the leather, he came back to himself.

We're being attacked…

Not Cordero's voice this time. Phoebe's.

Phoebe.

Seth bolted out of the chair, knocking it backward into the war room's computer terminal.

"What the hell's wrong with you, Harlan?" Gabe said from his seat across the table, where he'd been trying to puzzle out a new plan of attack with Tucker.

"That was Phoebe." His mouth was so dry he barely got the words out. "On Quinn's phone. She said they're under attack."

Gabe stood and leaned over the table. "Where are they?"

Chest tight, Seth gazed around the room, saw realization and dread dawn on each man's face. "Guys, I think Siddiqui's at the shelter. He's going after Phoebe."

For a beat, there was nothing. No reaction, no movement, no sound. Not even the whisper of an indrawn breath.

Gabe shoved away from the table. "Our guys need us. Let's move!"

Phoebe winced as Siddiqui tied a length of rope tight around her wrists behind her back. He'd set up shop in the shelter's dining room and had both Zina and Tehani tied up, too.

God, how long had they been here like this, trapped at this bastard's mercy?

After checking the knot on her binds one last time, Siddiqui straightened, and his lips brushed her cheek, sending a shudder of pure revulsion through her. "You, Phoebe Leighton, have been nothing but a pain in my side since you arrived in my country."

God, she hated this disgusting man. She met his gaze with a challenge in her own. "I'm also the reason you're running scared right now."

"Do I look scared?" he scoffed.

"You should be. What did you do with Quinn and Harvard?"

"Phoebe," Zina said, a plea in her voice. "Please don't provoke him."

"Is that their names?" He laughed. "Don't worry. They're here, locked up with the whores from this so-called shelter. You'll all die together. I assume you know by now what that suitcase is behind you."

She would not look over her shoulder, refused to give him the satisfaction of her fear. "So your grand plan is to blow up the whole city of Kabul?"

The smile that slinked across his face was downright bone-chilling. "Once Askar returns with our helicopter, yes. This city—our government—is full of traitors and infidels, but if Kabul is decimated in a nuclear attack, who do you think will be blamed? America? Oh, I hope so. And then in the scramble to point fingers, the Taliban will come in, restore order, and take back the power the West stole from them."

Phoebe shook her head. "The only thing you're going to accomplish with this plan is killing a lot of innocent people. And how many of them were your supporters?"

He waved a hand. "Of course, I regret Afghan lives will be lost, but this is war. I will detonate this bomb." He surged forward like a striking snake, gripped a handful of her hair, and yanked her head backward. "And guess who is going to be at ground zero?"

"Leave her alone!" Tehani shouted in Pashto and kicked out with her bound feet. Her legs were too short to reach him, but that didn't matter. In Siddiqui's eyes, the act of defiance was enough to warrant a punishment, and he released Phoebe to backhand the girl. Hard. Her lip split open.

"And you, little whore," he said in Pashto, "were always more trouble than you were worth."

"I'd rather be a whore than be your wife." Tehani kicked out again, and he caught her foot, squeezing her ankle until she cried out.

"That can be arranged." Siddiqui let go of the girl's leg and grabbed a roll of duct tape. "But first, you're going to learn how to be silent."

"Oh my God," Zina sobbed as he started wrapping the tape around Tehani's head, muffling her screams.

Phoebe saw movement out of the corner of her eye and looked toward the foyer. Askar was just standing there, watching, and her breath caught in her lungs.

Oh God, this was it. He was back with the helicopter, and he and Siddiqui would leave and?—

Askar pressed his finger to his lips in the universal signal for silence, and she realized with a jolt he'd shaved off his beard.

American.

Askar was American.

She gave a slight nod to show she understood, and he melted back into the foyer's shadows without ever alerting Siddiqui to his presence.

Was he on their side now?

Her heart kicked into a gallop as Siddiqui blocked her view and pulled out a length of tape. Just before he pressed it over her mouth, she smiled at him. "You've already lost, Siddiqui. You just don't know it yet."

Blurry, too-bright light stabbed into Quinn's retinas, and he blinked against the assault. The headache was instantaneous, but whether that was from the blackout or his previous injury was anyone's guess. A bit of both, probably.

Good thing he had a damn hard head.

Soft, dark brown hair tickled his cheek, and he squinted, trying to focus his bleary eyes. A woman was leaning over him, one with dark eyes and coffee-and-cream skin. She spoke, but he couldn't make out the words through the ringing in his ears. They sounded melodic, though. Like…Spanish?

"Mara?"

What was she doing here? She didn't belong here, and yet he reached up and touched her face, unable to resist the temptation of having her skin under his fingers again.

Except, no, this wasn't right. Mara's skin was silk, not the coarse and scarred flesh under his fingertips now.

And Mara didn't belong here.

The woman jerked away from his touch, and horror filled her features. Wait, not a woman. Girl, he realized as his battered brain came back online. One of the shelter girls… uh, Saboora? Yes, that was her name. Her hair was uncovered and tangled. Her face?—

Jesus Christ.

Quinn bolted upright. He'd never seen her without her burqa. She was one of the few girls who refused to take it off, even in the comfort of her own home. Now he got why. She was horribly disfigured, missing half her nose and her eyebrows. The pupil of one of her eyes was washed out and sightless. Old burn wounds, long healed over.

"Saboora," he whispered and his voice sounded like he'd inhaled an ash cloud. He coughed, then tried again. "Where's Phoebe? Harvard?" He couldn't think of the Pashto words he needed to communicate, but she seemed to understand just fine. She pointed across the room—one of the shelter's classrooms—and he stood, wobbling a little on his feet as he picked his way over to where Harvard lay. Two of the older girls sat on their knees beside him, working to staunch the blood flow. His skin held the same color and consistency of candle wax.

Quinn's heart took a nosedive into his stomach. "Is he breathing?"

One of the girls glanced up. Quinn couldn't remember her name, but he recalled Zina saying something about her being one of the shelter's success stories, having just been accepted into nursing school.

"Yes," she said in English. "Needs hospital."

Quinn staggered and dropped to his knees next to Harvard. The kid's blood soaked into his pant legs, and he cursed himself for blacking out when he was most needed. "Harvard, you hang on, kid."

To his surprise, Harvard's eyes opened a crack. "Gabe was right about me. Too…green."

"No, not at all. You're a born fighter, and I'd want you at my six any day. Hey, Eric, you hear me? Any day. So you keep right on fighting, and we'll get you help."

Quinn got to work putting his limited battlefield medical knowledge to use and checked the wound, a through-and-through that had gone in high on the left side and exited Harvard's back near his shoulder blade. Thankfully, the hole wasn't too ragged on either side, and his bleeding had slowed considerably, but Christ only knew what the internal damage looked like. Lots of important shit in there the bullet could have ripped up.

Across the room, the doorknob rattled.

Quinn automatically reached for his weapon. Gone. Of course.

And he was in a fucking classroom.

Keeping his eyes on the door, he backed toward the teacher's desk and checked the drawers. The deadliest thing in there was a paper clip. He'd have to go hand-to-hand with whoever came in.

He pressed a finger to his lips, telling the girls to keep quiet, and soundlessly crossed to the door. It opened to the left, so he stacked up along the wall to the right and waited.

The door inched open—and then whoever unlocked it walked away.

What the fuck?

Sweat pouring down his spine, Quinn gave it a good five minutes before he moved, very carefully nudging the door further back. He visually cleared the hall to the left, which led to a back door that let out into the courtyard. It was their best shot at an escape.

Opening the door a bit more, he swung his gaze to the right and tensed at the shadow waiting at the far end of the hall.

Askar.

Quinn didn't know if he'd be able to take the cold-hearted bastard in hand-to-hand. Maybe at one time, but he'd been too battered over the years and didn't have the reflexes he used to. But what other choice did he have? If he succeeded, he'd free the girls, and they could take Harvard with them while he searched for Phoebe. If he didn't…

Well. He'd had a good run.

He stepped out into the hall, hands raised. For an endless minute, Askar didn't move. Didn't draw his gun. Just stood there, staring. He'd recently shaved off his bushy beard, and, except for spots of razor burn, the lower half of his face was as white as an Irishman's ass in the middle of winter.

This was the weirdest standoff Quinn had ever been in. He got the sense the guy's head was more fucked than his.

He dropped his hands. Still, Askar stayed put.

All right. Keeping his gaze trained on Askar, he waved the girls out of the classroom and pointed them toward the courtyard door. The last to emerge was Saboora and Nurse Girl, who were dragging Harvard behind them on Saboora's burqa.

Smart girls.

Askar cocked his head slightly like a confused dog but still didn't make any moves to stop them.

Quinn took a step backward. And then another. And another. Just as he was about to bolt through the door to freedom, Askar seemed to come to a decision. He raised his rifle in a " see this?" kind of gesture. Very slowly, he knelt and placed the weapon on the floor, then straightened and kicked it down the hall.

Quinn stopped it with his foot, disbelief roaring through him as Askar walked away. No fucking way that just happened.

Grabbing the rifle, Quinn checked to see if it was loaded and functional. It was, and he didn't bother mulling over Askar's motives for helping them. He'd just give himself a worse headache.

Turning, he shoved through the courtyard door—and came up against the barrel of an M-4. The man on the other end, dressed in combat gear, was favoring one of his legs.

Gabe.

"Friendly," Quinn said and lowered his weapon.

"Friendly," Gabe echoed for the rest of the entry team's benefit. Then he added, "Fuck you, Q. How many times are you going to try and get killed this year?"

"At least two more. And you're one to talk, asshole."

"Fuck you," Gabe repeated, but there was a smile in his voice. "Tuc's men have Harvard and the girls secured. You good to go, or do you need the medic?"

Christ, he wanted in on the raid, but his head still pounded in beat with his heart, and his stomach churned. He didn't remember what happened in the moments after Harvard was shot, could only assume he'd blacked out again. And because of that, he'd put Phoebe in danger.

He held out his weapon. "I'm out."

Gabe hesitated. Although his face was mostly covered, Quinn knew his expression was broadcasting a whole lot of what the fuck?

"Got a concussion," he added, which might be true. "Vision's shit."

Finally, Gabe accepted the weapon, looped the strap over his head, and ordered the men inside with a hand motion. He gripped Quinn's shoulder and squeezed. "Go get your head looked at."

"Roger that," Quinn said, although there was no point.

He already knew exactly how fucked his brain was, and no medic was going to fix it.