Page 50 of Lethal Pursuit

But the fear of failure burned even hotter.

“Where is Jihad?” he demanded.

Again, Mohammed seemed reluctant to answer. “He is gone.”

“Gone where? Dead, you mean?”

“No,” the boy answered slowly. “He was not among the wounded or dead. No one has seen him. He just... vanished.”

That word rolled around in Khalid’s head like a grenade with the pin pulled.Vanished.The sudden rush of blood in his ears was almost deafening.

He knew exactly what had happened.

Jihad had gone back to report to Rahim, inform him of Khalid’s failure and ineptitude.

Fury and humiliation crawled through his veins, adding to the burn. He shuddered. “We will keep moving until we find the prisoners. I want every available man out here for the hunt, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Khalid-jan.” Mohammed stayed at his side, not touching him but close enough to support him should his legs give out.

It hurt to move. Every step was its own separate torment. Khalid looked up at the night sky again. Allah was testing him. Testing his strength and his will. But why? Why, when he’d been so close to achieving his goal?

It is not for you to question Allah’s will.

“No one stops,” he continued, biting the words out through clenched teeth. “Not even me.” Good leaders led by example. Khalid would give every last ounce of his strength to guide his men and finish this mission. They would see his conviction and follow him to the death.

A few hours ago he’d been desperate to get the recorded statement from the Secretary. Now he was frantic to recapture him. He had to get him back and safely hidden away before Rahim took over the operation for him. Khalid had risked everything to achieve this status, and now, when he’d been on the cusp of achieving his greatest accomplishment, he was in jeopardy of losing everything he’d fought for. And all because of an American female he’d grosslyunderestimated. It was intolerable. And she would pay. When he found her, Khalid would kill her and the PJ for this.

He tried to slow his whirling thoughts down, searching for a course of action. “The Secretary was too badly wounded to be able to walk,” Khalid announced to the others. “The PJ will have to carry him, and that will slow them down. And so will the female, because she isweak.” He spat the last word.

One of his men came loping up with a handheld radio. He passed it to Khalid. “Two of our men have just found a blood trail on a path at the top of the hill by our last location. The prisoners have gone northwest.”

“Have everyone meet there immediately to begin the search,” he ordered. “We will find them. They could not have gone far.”

Even if they had, it didn’t matter. Khalid had people scattered across these hills willing to fight for and, if necessary, die for him. He had no doubt he’d find the prisoners. He just prayed it happened before Rahim descended upon them and unleashed his wrath on them all, Khalid and his men included.

SEVENTEEN

KNEELING BESIDEHAVERSHAMwhile he searched through the medical kit, Jackson paused when he heard Maya cough again outside the enclosure. She’d woken in the middle of the night with it and had insisted on relieving him for a few hours, and he’d reluctantly agreed because he’d been so exhausted. The dry, sporadic cough had roused him just before dawn and it didn’t seem to be going away. One more thing for him to worry about.

“Maya, can you give me a hand here?” he called in a loud whisper.

She came around the corner a moment later, a pistol in her right hand and her left arm cradled protectively against her body. The fingers on her left hand were swollen and discolored, and the swelling in her face had completely closed her left eye. A kaleidoscope of colors covered her cheek and eye region, the skin stretched so tight it was shiny. The only thing that seemed to be improving was the cut in her lip.

“What’s up?” she asked in a near whisper.

“Need you to put pressure here for a minute while I get the suture kit ready,” he said, indicating the entry wound on the front of Haversham’s shin.

Without hesitation, she tucked the pistol in her waistband and sat on her haunches next to him, placing her right hand over the saturated bandage. She winced in sympathy and glanced up at Haversham. “How you doing, sir?”

“I already told you, call me Doug,” he answered in a tired, weak voice. Even his dark skin tone couldn’t hide the grayish cast of his face. He hadn’t gotten much sleep through the night either. During the few hours he’d rested, Jackson had woken multiple times from Doug’s restless shifting. “And I’m hangin’ in there.”

“Good to hear. Just tell me if I hurt you too much. Gotta keep thepressure up.”

“I know. Do what you have to do.”

Jackson filled the syringe with what remained of the fentanyl. A used one wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing, and at least with Maya having had all her shots, the biggest risk they faced from sharing needles was infection, rather than hepatitis or HIV. Since he was dealing with an open compound fracture, it would be a miracle if an infection didn’t set in regardless.

He flicked the syringe to make sure there was no air in it. “Good news is, this will take the edge off while I put in the stitches and move the leg around. Once I get it sewn up and bandaged, I’ll find something to splint it with, make it more stable for you before we move out.” He injected Doug in the hip.

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