expression. “Sir, we were shut out of the prison. Told to leave. He mentioned you.”
“Me? I didn’t have anything to do with this.” Ramsey scowled as he plopped into his chair, hand resting on the folder. “Who was it?”
Titanis edged in, smoothing a hand over his beard. “Some mate who looked a lot like a spook.”
“He said he had to get answers, told us to leave. That you ordered him in there.”
“He had a leather satchel,” Sal added. “I swear the guy had bloodlust in his eyes. He was going to get answers from that prisoner no matter what means—conventional or unconventional.”
Ramsey’s face drained of color. He faltered coming to his feet. He rushed around the corner of his desk. “Hastings, get the MPs to the detention facility!” He ran down the hall.
“Not good,” Sal muttered.
Dean pivoted and ran after the general, busting through the front door, and beat a hard path to the detention area. He caught up with the general as he shoved into the building.
The desk remained unattended. “Specialist!” the general shouted but no one answered.
Dean stalked around the counter and pushed into the small office. The door thumped against a leg. “He’s down!” He went to a knee. “He’s alive but unconscious.”
“The prisoner,” Sal hissed.
Boots thudded down the hall, hauling Dean back out of the room. He sprinted toward the end of the hall. Watched the other three enter the last cell.
General Ramsey cursed. Loud. Several times.
The prisoner, hands cuffed behind his back, lay cockeyed in the chair. Blood trailed down his neck and shirt from a bullet wound in the head.
Titanis crouched beside him, fingers on his neck. He slowly shook his head. “Dead.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean fought the wave of despair.
“Some work.” Sal stood beside Dean. “He knew what he was doing.” He pointed to the man’s neck where a red dot glared at them. “Probably gave him some drug to make him spill his guts.”
“Then he
does
spill the man’s guts,” Titanis said.
“I want to know who did this!” Ramsey shouted, turning as MPs jogged toward them. “Check the surveillance. Find out who this assassin was!”
“We saw him,” Dean mumbled, thinking through the scenario. “He walked in as brazen as day and told us to leave.”
Sal folded his arms. “Which means he’s not worried about being caught.”
“Probably drastically changed his appearance for our benefit.” Titanis leaned against a table, his hands propped against the steel. “Makes me wonder…”
Dean nodded.
Sal crouched before the dead prisoner. “Our Afghan friend here knew something.”
“Something so dangerous they couldn’t risk us finding out.” Dean straightened.
“You know what that means?” Sal had death in his eyes. Fierce determination mixed with a lethal concoction of thirst for vengeance. “We finish this—at all costs.”
Kabul, Afghanistan
26 March—1545 Hours
“What are you doing with my HunkySoldierBoy?”
At the demanding question by his spunky stepdaughter, Sajjan slumped back in his leather chair. Timbrel VanAllen had every bit the beauty and wit of her mother, but with an added pound of combat-hardened attitude. He could only thank God that Nina didn’t have that or he wouldn’t have given her the time of day, let alone taken her as his bride. “You would be speaking of Tony.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the only HunkySoldierBoy in existence.”
He could not help but smile as she shrugged. “I am doing nothing with Tony.” He held his hand toward the empty office.
“You can try your spy games on me, but I’m not cool with this if you’re putting his life in danger.” She had never been afraid of anything or anyone.
“If you are concerned for that, then I think you married the wrong man. Tony thrives on action, does he not?”
“Yes, but he’s smart with it… normally.”
“Your words wound me.” Truly they did. Though his stepdaughter
“Me? I didn’t have anything to do with this.” Ramsey scowled as he plopped into his chair, hand resting on the folder. “Who was it?”
Titanis edged in, smoothing a hand over his beard. “Some mate who looked a lot like a spook.”
“He said he had to get answers, told us to leave. That you ordered him in there.”
“He had a leather satchel,” Sal added. “I swear the guy had bloodlust in his eyes. He was going to get answers from that prisoner no matter what means—conventional or unconventional.”
Ramsey’s face drained of color. He faltered coming to his feet. He rushed around the corner of his desk. “Hastings, get the MPs to the detention facility!” He ran down the hall.
“Not good,” Sal muttered.
Dean pivoted and ran after the general, busting through the front door, and beat a hard path to the detention area. He caught up with the general as he shoved into the building.
The desk remained unattended. “Specialist!” the general shouted but no one answered.
Dean stalked around the counter and pushed into the small office. The door thumped against a leg. “He’s down!” He went to a knee. “He’s alive but unconscious.”
“The prisoner,” Sal hissed.
Boots thudded down the hall, hauling Dean back out of the room. He sprinted toward the end of the hall. Watched the other three enter the last cell.
General Ramsey cursed. Loud. Several times.
The prisoner, hands cuffed behind his back, lay cockeyed in the chair. Blood trailed down his neck and shirt from a bullet wound in the head.
Titanis crouched beside him, fingers on his neck. He slowly shook his head. “Dead.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean fought the wave of despair.
“Some work.” Sal stood beside Dean. “He knew what he was doing.” He pointed to the man’s neck where a red dot glared at them. “Probably gave him some drug to make him spill his guts.”
“Then he
does
spill the man’s guts,” Titanis said.
“I want to know who did this!” Ramsey shouted, turning as MPs jogged toward them. “Check the surveillance. Find out who this assassin was!”
“We saw him,” Dean mumbled, thinking through the scenario. “He walked in as brazen as day and told us to leave.”
Sal folded his arms. “Which means he’s not worried about being caught.”
“Probably drastically changed his appearance for our benefit.” Titanis leaned against a table, his hands propped against the steel. “Makes me wonder…”
Dean nodded.
Sal crouched before the dead prisoner. “Our Afghan friend here knew something.”
“Something so dangerous they couldn’t risk us finding out.” Dean straightened.
“You know what that means?” Sal had death in his eyes. Fierce determination mixed with a lethal concoction of thirst for vengeance. “We finish this—at all costs.”
Kabul, Afghanistan
26 March—1545 Hours
“What are you doing with my HunkySoldierBoy?”
At the demanding question by his spunky stepdaughter, Sajjan slumped back in his leather chair. Timbrel VanAllen had every bit the beauty and wit of her mother, but with an added pound of combat-hardened attitude. He could only thank God that Nina didn’t have that or he wouldn’t have given her the time of day, let alone taken her as his bride. “You would be speaking of Tony.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the only HunkySoldierBoy in existence.”
He could not help but smile as she shrugged. “I am doing nothing with Tony.” He held his hand toward the empty office.
“You can try your spy games on me, but I’m not cool with this if you’re putting his life in danger.” She had never been afraid of anything or anyone.
“If you are concerned for that, then I think you married the wrong man. Tony thrives on action, does he not?”
“Yes, but he’s smart with it… normally.”
“Your words wound me.” Truly they did. Though his stepdaughter
Similar Books
