Page 35 of Lethal Pursuit

“Dunno, but I’m hoping it’s because one of ours had a lock on our position.” It was the only thing that made sense. They bumped and bounced along the road, tossing Jackson and the others around the truck bed. Cursing, he shouted to Haversham, “Help me brace Maya. She’s unconscious.”And she’s got enough broken bones already.

The hood blocked out all the light and made him feel claustrophobic. He battled with the feeling of suffocation, focused on slowing his breathing. Feeling their way to Maya, together he and Haversham wiggled toward her and pinned her between them, doing what they could to keep her from slamming into the metal bed every time the truck bounced. She was out cold, her face pressed against his chest as best he could tell. She seemed so small and fragile up against him like this, unable to defend herself.

They drove for a long time, well over an hour, the steep upward pitch of the truck and the cooling temperature telling him they were going uphill. They had to be in the mountains somewhere. The hood was too opaque for him to see even a glimmer of light, so he had no way to tell where the sun was or what direction they were traveling in. Were they still in Afghanistan? The MEDCAP had been in a village only a few hours’ drive from the Pakistani border. They could’ve crossed over while they were still out from whatever they’d been injected with.

“Can you see anything?” Haversham asked.

“Nothing through this hood.”

“Me neither. Any idea where they’re taking us?”

“No.”

The guard in the truck bed with them kicked Jackson’s thigh in an order for silence.

He and Haversham did their best to cushion Maya’s body for the duration of the journey. His arms, hips and back were bruised all to hell by the time they arrived at their destination. They had only a few seconds to rest before the tailgate dropped and men started dragging them out.

Shouting and shoving, the captors herded them into someplace cold and quiet. A rattling of keys, the squeak of metal hinges and rough hands shoved Jackson forward into his new home. He pitched forward and landed flat on his face on some metal wiring. When he rolled to his side, he came up against more metal. Struggling on to his hip, he tried to get to his feet but his head hit more metal. The hood was snatched off him, and he got his first look around as his cell door slammed shut.

He was in a fucking cage now. He couldn’t see Maya—it was too dark to see any farther than beyond the perimeter of his cage. Curses and struggles came to the left in the darkness, and he recognized Haversham’s voice as they hauled him away, presumably for his turn in the hot seat.

Jackson scurried backward until his shoulders hit the back of the small enclosure, straining to see in the darkness. He was alone. Nobody was guarding him now, and he still didn’t know what they’d done with Maya.

Giving vent to the adrenaline racing through him, he lashed out with his bound feet, slamming the soles of his boots into the lock mechanism. The captors had moved them because they’d feared the U.S. military had found their location. Soldiers had to be in the vicinity. The men holding them captive would be twitchy, anxious and prone to acting without thinking. That made them ten times as dangerous.

Focused on his goal, he kicked repeatedly at the lock, not caring about the amount of noise he was making. He was determined to get out of this fucking cage and fight for their freedom.

* * *

KHALID WAITED IMPATIENTLYfor Jihad to finish tying the Secretary to the wooden chair someone had dragged in for that purpose. Fear wasa living thing inside him, writhing in his veins. He hadn’t taken a full breath from the moment Mohammed had burst in, saying that Rahim had been alerted and their hideout’s location had been leaked.

The mole Rahim had spoken of aiding the Americans was real. Khalid was suspicious by nature and had mentally reviewed each of his men during the drive to this new location. He’d come up blank. None of his men had the education or contacts necessary to pull off such a thing. They were all ignorant villagers and farmers. That left only Rahim’s men, but the three he’d left behind with Khalid had been present the entire time and there was no way they’d have been able to alert the Americans without one of his men overhearing.

Jihad removed the Secretary’s hood and stepped back to observe the interrogation. Khalid hated that he had someone monitoring his work, but there was nothing to be done about it. And if the Americans truly were in the area, Khalid was running out of time to get the information he needed. He might have only hours left before the Americans found them and staged a hostage rescue attempt. And Khalid would never be taken alive.

“No one knows where you are now,” he taunted his prisoner, towering over him. “I am growing short of both patience and time.” It was possible they might have to move the captives again soon. Urgency gnawed at him. “You have many things to tell us, but you will give us that recorded statement before the rest of it. You will tell your people that this war is unjust, and why. You will tell them that you and your military have no right to be in our country and that they should put pressure on their politicians to withdraw from the area. If you do not, you will suffer for your defiance.”

Khalid stepped aside enough to allow the man to see the sharpened knife on the table, as well as the electrical box waiting there. “Whether you say it of your own free will or because you merely want the pain to stop is irrelevant to me. I only care that I get what I need.”

He paused for effect, not expecting a response, and he didn’t get one. The dark-skinned man’s deep brown eyes glittered with hatred as he stared back at Khalid.

“I don’t plan on killing you yet,” he added. “You are no good to me dead. But if you somehow withstand what I do to you, I haveothers I can kill in your place. Remember that. The woman has already had a taste of what I can do, and I am prepared to do far worse to her and the PJ with you for an audience. So. Will you make a simple recording to save them? Or will you sacrifice them to keep lying to your people about the truth of this war you wage against my homeland—againstIslam?” The thought of it sent a fresh bolt of fury through his body until his hands shook. This man and others like him were responsible for this war and all the blood and suffering it brought. For that alone, Khalid wanted to kill him.

“There is no oil here,” he spat, riding the edge of his temper, barely holding it in check. “Your military is here waging a continuation of the Crusades of old, to try to rid the world of Islam. You unbelievers willneverrid the world of Islam, the only true religion. And you will never rid the world of Allah’s soldiers who are about to carry out attacks on their rightful targets—onyoursoil.” It gave him tremendous satisfaction to know what was about to happen in America. That it would happen regardless of the outcome of this operation. The Secretary’s video statement would make it that much more terrifying for their enemy.

Spreading his feet apart, Khalid curled his fingers into a fist, ready to strike. He already knew the answer he’d receive and welcomed the coming beating he would inflict. His blood pumped hot and fast through his veins. “Well? Will you make the statement?”

The Secretary remained silent, looking through him rather than at him. Staring into that determined face, the elation faded. Instead of a surge of power, Khalid was suddenly filled with a hollow fear that he would not be able to get what he needed from this man. And if he didn’t, his usefulness to Rahim was over. Then it would only be a matter of time before Rahim had him killed.

He was not afraid of death, only of dying the worthless half-Russian bastard everyone had viewed him as his entire life.

Tamping down the rage and fear inside him, Khalid raised his fist and hurled it toward the prisoner’s face.

TWELVE

MAYA WOKE FROMa troubled, pain-ridden doze to find herself still caged like an animal in this new place.

It might have been hours since she’d last woken here, or it might have been days. The constant darkness made it impossible to tell how much time had passed and increased the sense of disorientation. Any pain relief from the injection Jackson had given her had long since worn off. Her mouth was totally dry now. A while ago, the teenager, Mohammed, had come with her only meal, a thin piece of nan bread she’d been forced to bend over and eat off the floor without the use of her hands, the position making it feel like her ribs and the left side of her face would explode from the pressure.

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