Page 66 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

“Change of plans. We’ve got company headed our way, so I’m going to request a new LZ, half a klick to the east. I’ve requested air support as well. Stand by.”

As he received replies in the affirmative, Brody got on the radio to the second Blackhawk pilot and motioned for his spotter to get up and follow him. Together they ran in a crouch to a better-concealed position and hunkered down behind a large group of boulders just below the lip of the ridge. From there he had a decent view of the new LZ, and so far, it was clear.

Now he and his team had to keep it that way if Tuck and the others were going to get the remaining hostages out of here in one piece.

“Hey, I got movement at my one o’clock,” one of his guys reported from the northeast. “One tango. Appears to be unarmed.”

Brody immediately stretched out on his belly to take a look. Sure as hell, off in the distance he made out a man’s silhouette skirting around the east edge of the ridge. He was bent forward, one hand raised to shield his face from the blasting wind and sand.

Too far away for Brody to see him clearly through the storm. “You sure he’s unarmed?”

“No rifle at least.”

Brody peered through the binos. “Civilian?”

“Maybe.”

Nah, couldn’t be. Not out here, not in this storm.

He clenched his jaw. The rules of engagement for this mission didn’t allow them to take out an unarmed target, something their Jordanian hosts had been adamant about. Even if there was a possibility this man might give away their position, if he was unarmed, Brody and his guys couldn’t take him out.

But they sure as hell couldn’t afford to let him get close enough to spot them, give away their positions to the enemy coming at them from below.

“I’ll get him. Everyone else, hold your position and be ready to move. If any of those assholes come within range, take them out. We have to hold them off until the assault team gets the hostages aboard the helos.”

Moving fast, he stayed below the lip of the ridge to help conceal his path. Wind gusts pushed and pulled at him as he ran, headed straight for the unsuspecting man. Hunting and stalking were second nature to him—he’d been doing it since he was a kid back home in Virginia, where he’d grown up with a gunny sergeant father and three brothers. The Marine Corps had helped him perfect those useful arts.

Brody paused at twenty yards away from his target. The guy definitely wasn’t carrying a rifle. He was headed straight toward Brody, seemed to be headed for a path Brody had seen that would take him down to the valley.

So he could warn the reserve force?

Not fucking happening, pal.

He crept closer, thankful for the flying sand that helped conceal his hiding spot. The man stumbled past, one hand shielding his eyes and the other holding his scarf around his lower face.

Brody pounced.

He dove at the man, caught him around the waist and tackled him to the ground. The guy let out a sharp yelp and tried to twist away, but it was too late. Brody had him facedown, one knee shoved in the small of his back and his hands behind him before he could draw breath to scream.

He jerked the man’s pinned hands upward, hard. “Who are you and what are you doing?” he growled, giving a quick visual sweep. His Arabic sucked, but he knew at least that much. The guy was young, had only a pistol sticking out of the back of his waistband. Brody wrenched it from him.

“A-Akram,” the man responded, frozen.

Didn’t ring a bell. Brody reached into a pocket on his vest and pulled out some plastic flex cuffs, secured the prisoner’s hands, then rolled the guy over. He flinched as Brody leaned over him, getting right in his face to cut the wind and get a better look at him.

“Who are you?” he repeated, fisting a handful of dark hair. He didn’t fucking have time for this bullshit. Already he could hear two of his guys opening up on targets below, and the crack of AKs returning fire.

The man’s brown eyes widened until the whites showed all around. They darted to the U.S. flag on Brody’s shoulder, then up to his face. “You American. I help you!”

Nice try.“I don’t need your help.”

Akram shook his head. Or tried to, wincing when Brody didn’t let up on his grip. “No, I help you. I tell your leader about prisoners.” He nodded quickly, his expression equal parts sincere and fearful.

Brody reached up one hand and tapped his earpiece, contacting the operations center. “I got a guy here named Akram who says he gave us the location of the hostages. This true?” Whether it was or not, Brody wasn’t letting him go.

“Stand by,” DeLuca answered.

No problem, Brody thought sardonically.I’ll just hang out here with my new pal, getting my ass sandblasted and waiting for the guys down in the valley to come after us.

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