Retribution by Lea Griffith Page B

took several deep breaths, forcing it down. “Please tell me you have your papers.”
    Hal shot her a nasty look. “Yes, mother , I have them. How long will this take, do you think?” she asked as she gazed out the dirty window of the Humvee. “I knew I should’ve told Itchy what you were up to,” she mumbled.
    “I have no idea, child , just keep your pants on and don’t open your mouth. For God’s sake, don’t open your mouth.” She turned to Benny. “What’s going on? What’s happening?” she asked her guide in Pashto, the area’s indigenous language.
    He replied in the same. “I don’t know. Please sit still. Be very quiet and don’t look at them.”
    She’d used Benny, a tribal Afghani from the northern part of the country, on previous excursions through Afghanistan. He was supplemented by her former employer, People for Freedom. Since she was freelance this go-round, she was paying him out of her pocket. He was dependable and had proven he could keep his mouth shut. She’d approached him in the market earlier, and he’d vowed to get her to her final destination in the desolate Hindu Kush with “no problems.”
    Sure . “No problems” was probably a Pashto euphemism for “screwed up the wazzoo.”
    There was a light sheen of sweat on Benny’s face, and the way his mouth drew down had her stomach knotting. Her heart tripped hard, struggling to keep up with the blood pounding swiftly through her veins. The chills multiplied, spreading over her entire body. She threw Hal a warning glance before she looked back out the window. The men were clearing the vehicles, yelling at the occupants, and making a beeline toward their Humvee.
    Remember why you came back. Stay calm.
    “And what the hell do you mean, you should have told Itchy?” Sasha demanded of Hal. The men were drawing closer. Others had moved in from the surrounding hills and were headed their way. Stomach now in her throat, Sasha’s mind chose that moment to key in on that one phrase her sister had muttered.
    “I meant what I said, I should have told Itchy, who could have told Dray, who could have prevented this from occurring. You shouldn’t be here because even with el-Din gone, this part of the world is still a cluster. Dangerous for women—that would be you and me,” she pointed first to Sasha and then herself and continued, “Shit, dangerous for anybody.”
    “What do you mean ‘Itchy could have told Dray’?” Sasha was hung up on her sister’s words. She’d obviously missed something important.
    Why would— She tamped down her memories. Pain pierced her chest and made her breathing rougher in combination with the fear renting a space there. Now was not the time to go ripping band-aids off still-open wounds. She needed a sharp, involved mind for this little operation. Thoughts of Dray Bonner would muck up the works right now.
    She and Hal had entered this country illegally with fake IDs and passports, all to perpetuate a globally criminal act. Sasha had seen no other way to achieve her goal. She’d tried all of the legal channels, only to be rejected. She’d made a promise, damn it, and she’d keep it come hell or high water.
    It was semantics but still entirely possible that hell was her present location. Thirty miles outside of Kabul, in the middle of a stopped convoy, surrounded by Taliban fighters? Yeah, hell was right here. She shook her head as Hal kicked her shin.
    “Listen. To. Me. Closely.” Hal spoke slowly, cocked her head, and moved her hands in a sign language gesture. “I should have told Itchy what you were planning so he could have told Dray who could have then stepped in and prevented this clusterfu—” Sasha put her hand over Hal’s mouth to prevent that nasty word from finishing, “—from occurring,” she managed around Sasha’s hand.
    “All right, sarcasm duly noted. Also, I get that part. But why would Dray have cared?”
    “You may not have seen him , but he’s seen you, ” Hal