Page 8 of Lyon

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” he said. “There are no taco stands around here. You’d have to go a long way just to find a Pepsi. And if you step into the wrong city, the Taliban will catch you and lock you up.” He handed me a bottle of water and a strip ofbeef jerky. “Just stay low and do what we say, and everything will work out. Here, eat this.”

I took the jerky, eyeing it warily. “Does this mean jerky is all we have to eat?”

“No,” he said, pulling something out of his bag. “I also have granola bars.”

I took the bar he handed me. “Thanks.”

Reaching into my own bag, I pulled out some trail mix I had grabbed from Costco last week. “Here,” I said, passing out small bags to each of them. “Looks like the M&Ms melted, but if you mix the nuts around, the chocolate coats them.”

“Thanks,” they all murmured.

Just as I was about to take a sip of water, Lyon spoke again.

“Nick, if anyone comes around,don’t lick your lips.They would know instantly that you were a woman.”

I turned to him, glaring.So much for being his friend.Without responding, I took out my baby wipes and cleaned my hands.

I might be a kickass FBI agent, but I never traveled without my baby wipes.

My uncle Michael always said,Never leave home without them.

I handed each of the guys a wipe. They took them without complaint.

We were getting close to where people actually lived, which meant we had to be careful. The Taliban wouldloveto get their hands on former Army Special Forces. If we were caught, I had no doubt we’d all be tortured.

We drove through the night until we needed to refuel.

I watched as Lyon pulled off a tarp and filled the gas tank from two reserve cans. The area around us was changing—buildings were beginning to appear, scattered at first, then closer together.

“My friend lives down this road,” Lyon said, turning left.

The house was tucked in among dozens of others, all packed tightly together.

The moment we stopped, a man stepped out. He studied us for a long moment, then recognition dawned in his eyes.

“What the hell are you guys doing back here?” he demanded. “You know how dangerous this is.”

“We heard there are still a few hundred Americans stranded here,” River said. “Have you heard anything?”

The man, Mack, nodded. “Yeah. We’ve found some of them. We split them into small groups—twenty-five max. You can’t gather three hundred people in one spot without drawing attention. I was actually about to call you guys to see if you could help move them out.”

“Where are they?” I blurted, forgetting I wasn’t supposed to speak.

I heard Lyongrowlbeside me.

“I told you not to talk,” he hissed. “What if this wasn’t Mack? You can’t just go around asking questions.”

I ignored him.

“Hello,” I said, stepping forward and offering my hand. “I’m Niki. I’m looking for my brother. His name is—”

Mack held up a hand, cutting me off. “It’s too dangerous for me to know your full name. Just tell me your brother’s first name.”

“Max.”

His expression didn’t change. “I know a few Max’s. They’re all in the groups. If you keep looking, you might find him.”

My stomach twisted.God, please let him be one of them.

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