Page 3 of Stand Fast

“Your phone was ringing,” Prentiss answered in his Mississippi drawl, handing it up to him. “You left it on your duffel.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He and the others were supposed to have until sixteen-hundred-hours off. But seeing the team commander’s name on the display, he called back immediately, on alert. Taggart wouldn’t call him just to say hi. “Khan here,” Zaid said when his commander answered.

“You busy right now?”

“Nope. What’s up?” It was out of the ordinary for Taggart to single him out like this. Normally he only addressed them as a team.

“Need a male translator. This informant’s not talking and we’re all out of patience. How soon can you get over here?” He told Zaid what building he was in.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He jumped off his top bunk, his combat boots thudding lightly on the concrete floor, and grabbed his duffel.

“What’s goin’ on?” Prentiss asked, tugging a clean shirt over his head. On the other side of the tiny room, the other bunk bed was empty, their two roommates probably off to the gym. Or in Maka’s case, maybe getting more chow. That guy had an appetite unlike anything Zaid had ever seen before.

Their living quarters were Spartan, the thin walls made up of plywood boards. Not exactly the Hilton, but better than a lot of places he’d bedded down during a deployment, and FAST Bravo usually only stayed at Bagram for a week or so at a time anyhow.

“Taggart needs me to translate.” Must be the informant the taskforce had been waiting on to meet about The Jackal. The drug smuggler was slipperier than a greased eel, and the DEA’s number one high value target for this deployment.

Zaid pulled on a sweatshirt hoodie over top of his T-shirt and then put his jacket over top for good measure as he hustled out of the squad barracks they shared with some SOF guys who rotated through here. Putting on his shades to protect his eyes from the winter sun’s glare, he stepped out into the frigid cold and headed across to the building Hamilton was waiting in.

Dry, crisp air filled his lungs, carrying a tinge of jet fuel and diesel. To the east, the jagged, white-capped peaks of the Hindu Kush range speared upward into the sky.

Zaid was looking forward to helping out with an interrogation, especially if the informant could help give them valuable intel. At the detention facility, he showed the guards his ID and entered into a long, narrow hallway lined with cells.

He spotted Taggart waiting for him at the other end, but his pulse quickened when Agent Rabani stepped out of the interrogation room to stand beside Zaid’s team leader. Even with the hijab covering her long, wavy black hair, it highlighted the beauty of her face with her large, dark eyes, full lips and high cheekbones. The fitted black T-shirt she wore clung to the pert outline of her breasts, and the beige cargo pants hugged the curve of her hips, making it hard to tear his gaze away from her.

“Thanks for coming,” Taggart said to him once Zaid got close.

“No worries.” He turned his attention to Agent Rabani, who was watching him with her arms folded across her chest.

She was somewhere in her late twenties or so. They’d first met at a briefing back at headquarters in Virginia several months ago and their paths had crossed several times since he’d been over here for this deployment, but he’d never seen her outside of work-related meetings. He’d like to change that.

“So, he’s not talking?” Zaid asked.

A slight flush burned along her cheekbones as she set her jaw. “No. Not to me, anyway,” she said, her clipped voice edged with the trace of a British accent that was a little more pronounced in her annoyance.

Ah. The dick in the interrogation room wouldn’t talk to her because she was a woman. Not too surprising, considering where they were. Going by her expression, however, Rabani didn’t seem too pleased that Zaid had been brought in for this, even though he was only here to help, not to interfere or steal her thunder. He hoped she realized they were on the same side.

Keeping his expression neutral, he gestured to the door. “Want me to give it a try?”

“I’ll need to bring you up to speed first.” She gave him a quick rundown of what he needed to know about the situation while Taggart stood listening with his hands on his hips. Their commander wanted The Jackal. Bad. They all did.

Whoever he was, the drug runner was a big player in the opium trade that was now streaming from here into Mexico, courtesy of theVenenos,to make fentanyl and other goodies to lace their coke and heroin with. Not only that, the money from selling that shit funded terrorist groups, gangs and other criminal entities that posed a security threat to innocent people all over the world.

That’s why Zaid and his teammates were here—to act as the sharp point of the spear in the war to destroy them.

When Agent Rabani finished summing things up, he nodded once. “Got it.” He glanced at the closed door, then back to her. “Ready?”

“Yes, but I’ll feed you questions in English if I need more. And Agent Taggart and I will be in the room the entire time, and hard cheese if our reluctant informant doesn’t like it.”

Zaid fought back a smile, loving the hard edge to her voice. Over here, she would have to fight for basic respect from the locals a lot of the time. He admired that she was up for the challenge, but it didn’t surprise him. She was affectionately known around here as the British Bulldog while involved with an investigation, relentless in her pursuit of anything that would help them find a high value target. “Understood.”

“His name is Barakat. Anything that might be useful would be a big help.”

“Roger that.”

She studied him for a moment, her dark gaze darting over him in a way that was subtle enough to call curious, yet it heated his blood anyway. She turned to the door. “Let’s go.”

Zaid followed her into the room with Taggart. Barakat was seated on the opposite side of a table set in the center of the cinder block room, his arms folded in a defiant posture, his expression bored until his gaze landed on Agent Rabani. Then his face hardened.

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