of the primary residence. Across the compound, beyond a rusting truck, Riordan and his team were sidling up to a dilapidated Toyota.
Sal waited for the pat on his shoulder that would signal his team’s readiness. When it came, he keyed his mic. “In position.” He’d have preferred to do this in the dark, with the lower risk of visibility, but they couldn’t take the chance that the spook would get wind of their knowledge of his location and vanish.
Riordan and his men moved like a steady stream of shadows through the compound. “Eagle, report.”
“Still clear.”
A strange comfort came in the fact that if the situation demanded it, Eagle could shoot through a wall to take out a target. But they needed this guy alive. At least long enough to get the information they needed.
Even as he watched them, Sal was thankful for the addition of more skilled warriors working the same mission. But he wasn’t sure how far he trusted Riordan. The guy… he seemed to know something he wasn’t telling them. Or maybe he was the problem. Could Riordan be behind the attacks?
What if Riordan killed the prisoner?
Jarred by the thought, Sal almost missed the “in position” signal from the SEALs. He held up three fingers. Three… two… go!
Candyman shifted around. Stepped back and rammed his heel into the crumbling wood barrier. It splintered with a loud
crack
!
Sal rushed inside. “On your knees, on your knees!” He aimed at a woman huddled over two small children. Not cooking. Not working. Just… huddling. Sal kept moving, hustling toward the middle where they’d seen the two men in the corner.
On the other end of the residence, he heard Riordan shouting similar orders. They would work their way toward each other. Sal continued on, knowing Harrier or Hawk would tend to the woman and children.
Candyman was at his right, sweeping back and forth.
“Clear,” Sal called as he moved through the room. The next area should be exciting. With a nod to Candyman, they breeched the next entrance.
Two large forms shifted to the far right.
Sal’s heart jammed. He snapped his weapon toward them. Sucked in a breath—and then whipped his weapon down. Riordan.
“Where are they?” Riordan roared, pivoting and glancing back in the direction they’d inserted. “He’s not there. My men cleared it.”
“Same here.” Frustration roiled through Sal. “Eagle, what do you have?”
“Nothing. No thermals. No visual.”
Riordan cursed.
“Knight,” Sal shouted, stomping back the way he’d come. “Bring in Ddrake. Find this sorry piece of crap!”
“On it,” Knight’s deep voice carried through the house. “Ddrake, seek seek seek!”
Sal caught sight of the German shepherd trotting around the room, his nose hauling in scents greedily. A staccato pant indicated he was processing scents at the very back of his nostrils and throat, tasting them.
Ddrake’s nose dug into the dirt. He traced back and forth.
“Falcon, he’s got something!”
He glanced at Riordan. “Tunnels.”
CHAPTER 9
Kabul, Afghanistan
28 March—1635 Hours
H er longtime friend was involved with Daniel Jin. Though it would’ve been a nice, creepy story to say the man who’d escorted her had beat her and forced her to promise not to mention who or what she’d seen, he simply escorted her out of the restaurant, demanded the package, then shut the door behind her.
She’d watched from another shop as Kiew and Daniel Jin marched to the elevator, accessing a restricted floor with a chained key. Then Cassie went to the hotel lobby on the second floor of Takkar Towers and checked in, per orders from on high. She really didn’t appreciate having to stay here. To be out in the open.
Away from Sal.
“I had thought you would be long gone.”
Cassie flinched at the soft voice, yanking her gaze from the mostly uneaten rice and lamb. “Kiew,” she breathed as she pushed upward.
“Stay.” Kiew slid into the seat beside her. “My assistant
Sal waited for the pat on his shoulder that would signal his team’s readiness. When it came, he keyed his mic. “In position.” He’d have preferred to do this in the dark, with the lower risk of visibility, but they couldn’t take the chance that the spook would get wind of their knowledge of his location and vanish.
Riordan and his men moved like a steady stream of shadows through the compound. “Eagle, report.”
“Still clear.”
A strange comfort came in the fact that if the situation demanded it, Eagle could shoot through a wall to take out a target. But they needed this guy alive. At least long enough to get the information they needed.
Even as he watched them, Sal was thankful for the addition of more skilled warriors working the same mission. But he wasn’t sure how far he trusted Riordan. The guy… he seemed to know something he wasn’t telling them. Or maybe he was the problem. Could Riordan be behind the attacks?
What if Riordan killed the prisoner?
Jarred by the thought, Sal almost missed the “in position” signal from the SEALs. He held up three fingers. Three… two… go!
Candyman shifted around. Stepped back and rammed his heel into the crumbling wood barrier. It splintered with a loud
crack
!
Sal rushed inside. “On your knees, on your knees!” He aimed at a woman huddled over two small children. Not cooking. Not working. Just… huddling. Sal kept moving, hustling toward the middle where they’d seen the two men in the corner.
On the other end of the residence, he heard Riordan shouting similar orders. They would work their way toward each other. Sal continued on, knowing Harrier or Hawk would tend to the woman and children.
Candyman was at his right, sweeping back and forth.
“Clear,” Sal called as he moved through the room. The next area should be exciting. With a nod to Candyman, they breeched the next entrance.
Two large forms shifted to the far right.
Sal’s heart jammed. He snapped his weapon toward them. Sucked in a breath—and then whipped his weapon down. Riordan.
“Where are they?” Riordan roared, pivoting and glancing back in the direction they’d inserted. “He’s not there. My men cleared it.”
“Same here.” Frustration roiled through Sal. “Eagle, what do you have?”
“Nothing. No thermals. No visual.”
Riordan cursed.
“Knight,” Sal shouted, stomping back the way he’d come. “Bring in Ddrake. Find this sorry piece of crap!”
“On it,” Knight’s deep voice carried through the house. “Ddrake, seek seek seek!”
Sal caught sight of the German shepherd trotting around the room, his nose hauling in scents greedily. A staccato pant indicated he was processing scents at the very back of his nostrils and throat, tasting them.
Ddrake’s nose dug into the dirt. He traced back and forth.
“Falcon, he’s got something!”
He glanced at Riordan. “Tunnels.”
CHAPTER 9
Kabul, Afghanistan
28 March—1635 Hours
H er longtime friend was involved with Daniel Jin. Though it would’ve been a nice, creepy story to say the man who’d escorted her had beat her and forced her to promise not to mention who or what she’d seen, he simply escorted her out of the restaurant, demanded the package, then shut the door behind her.
She’d watched from another shop as Kiew and Daniel Jin marched to the elevator, accessing a restricted floor with a chained key. Then Cassie went to the hotel lobby on the second floor of Takkar Towers and checked in, per orders from on high. She really didn’t appreciate having to stay here. To be out in the open.
Away from Sal.
“I had thought you would be long gone.”
Cassie flinched at the soft voice, yanking her gaze from the mostly uneaten rice and lamb. “Kiew,” she breathed as she pushed upward.
“Stay.” Kiew slid into the seat beside her. “My assistant
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