Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (6 page)

He said the last with supreme satisfaction, arrogance and greed lighting his eyes. So this was his goal. To dangle something Maksimov wanted desperately in front of his nose and to be the one to deliver the woman to Maksimov. It would elevate Bristow’s status with Maksimov, which would bring him more power and wealth. It would set him up for years to come, and when he was under Maksimov’s
protection as one known to be in his inner circle, Bristow’s enemies would hesitate to strike at him, knowing that whatever was done to Bristow would be taken by Maksimov to be an insult—an attack—on Maksimov himself. And few dared to take on Maksimov, which allowed Maksimov to grow in power, expanding his already enormous reach and his empire into something truly frightening. If Hancock wasn’t successful in taking him down this time, he knew his time had run out. He had firsthand experience with how ruthless Maksimov could be. He still bore the scars of his last run-in with the man, but thankfully, Hancock had been in deep cover and his appearance had been altered such that it was doubtful Maksimov would recognize the man he believed to be the minion of the man who’d gone against Maksimov. It was his only up close and personal contact with the man he’d hunted for years, and by the time Maksimov had gotten close to Hancock, his already disguised features were bloodied, bruised and swollen, so Hancock felt confident the man wouldn’t recognize him. He planned to get very close to the man this time, and perhaps this woman Bristow spoke of would afford him just that chance.

He glanced at Bristow with interest, no longer viewing the task Bristow had ordered him to do as a delay he couldn’t afford, a pointless endeavor that would only lessen his chances of striking at Maksimov at the first opportunity.

“So you want me to go after this woman, intercept her before the men hunting her find her and bring her to Maksimov?”

Bristow frowned and shook his head. “No. Not immediately. Bring her to me. I won’t simply hand her over to Maksimov before gaining what I want from the exchange. And that will take time. Maksimov is reclusive and cagey. Not much brings him to the surface. If he really wants her, and I’m positive he will, I plan to make him wait and grow restless to the point he’ll give me whatever I want. It will be a negotiation. If I don’t get what I want from Maksimov, then I will bargain with the militants who want her so desperately. Either would give much to have the woman. Perhaps the militants would give me even more so they save face,” he added with a shrug.

It was a stupid, dangerous game to toy with and attempt to manipulate Maksimov, but Hancock didn’t warn Bristow of that fact. If the woman lured Maksimov into a personal meeting where he’d take possession of the woman, then that fit perfectly into Hancock’s agenda, and he didn’t particularly care what the consequences to Bristow were.

And it was equally stupid to bargain with a fanatical group because after giving Bristow what he wanted in exchange for the girl, they’d simply execute Bristow in very bloody fashion and take back not only what they’d given as payment for the woman but everything Bristow possessed, which would only add to their considerable wealth and power.

Anticipation licked through Hancock’s veins and his pulse sped up, the taste of victory in his mouth. If all it took was capturing a single woman who was running and hiding from a terrorist group to enable him to achieve his objective, then he’d do it without hesitation. He’d have to ensure that Maksimov took the bait because it did him no good for Bristow to turn to the terrorist cell to get what he wanted. It had to be Maksimov.

He glanced up at his men and saw answering resolve in their eyes. They wanted to take down Maksimov every bit as much as he did. And like him, they grew weary of their existence or rather nonexistence. To the world, they were dead. To their government they were traitors and had been given a death sentence. To their prey, they were angels of death, without mercy or compassion. They were feared by all and they mattered to no one. To even the strongest, unfeeling soul, such a life eventually wore on them. They were all ready to step down from their cause and allow others to do the work they’d done without thanks or regard for over a decade. And make whatever kind of life was left to them, knowing that even after they stood down, they’d always be hunted.

“Give me what intel you have,” Hancock said to Bristow, determination and resolve Bristow couldn’t possibly miss in his tone. And Bristow had seen him in action long enough to know he didn’t offer his assurances lightly. “I’ll find the woman and bring her to you.”

CHAPTER 4

HONOR clutched the heavy makeshift garment covering her entire body with one hand to keep the hem from swirling in the high wind. Not that it mattered, traveling at night as she was, with no one to see whether parts of her were exposed. But the habit was already deeply ingrained in the days she’d been running. Trying to avoid discovery.

The cloth she’d fashioned into a pack was lighter than it had been in the beginning as more and more of her supplies dwindled, so it gave her two hands to tamp down the unmanageable material instead of the one she was accustomed to having to use to wrest control of the wind-driven folds of fabric. Though her tangible burden might be lighter, the ones unseen were slowly eating away at her, pressing down on her with oppressive strength. Bone-deep weariness assailed her. And she had miles to go this night.

The sudden poetic quip that had slipped into her thoughts,
amusing
her, caused sudden alarm. There was nothing remotely humorous about her circumstances, and she was shocked that she could even conjure the trait. Maybe she was succumbing to the horror and stress of the last days. She thought “days” in general and purposely didn’t cite the
number
of days because she’d lost track of time in the aftermath of the massacre and her frantic efforts to free herself.
She had no idea how many days had passed because she’d had no opportunity to stop, slow down, process and then compartmentalize her grief so it didn’t incapacitate her. And it would. She would lock down, unable to get past the horrors she’d witnessed firsthand. She couldn’t afford to allow herself to think. She had to act. To keep moving. Because if she stopped she would lose.

She refused to say
die
when referring to possible failure. Nor did she say
live
or
survive
when she fantasized about making it to safety. She’d made it a game. Hide-and-seek, Rambo style. The most epic game of hide-and-seek ever. She was hiding and they were seeking. Because to give in to the terrifying truth and acknowledge that grim reality was to breed the very thing she fought with everything she had and had been thinking in terms of life and death as being the ultimate prize. Which was exactly what it was. So she retreated into denial and formed an alternate reality where it was simply a game. Or a twisted version of those reality television shows when people were forced to fend for themselves against difficult odds and the person to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles and outlast the others was declared the winner.

She
was
in an impossible situation. She
had
to fend for herself. It was her only choice. And when she outlasted her pursuers and passed over the border where there was a U.S. presence, she won. She would defeat evil and she had to believe it. It was as simple as that. She was smart. She loved challenges—though this was
not
a challenge she’d ever purposely choose. And she wasn’t afraid of adversity, though her perception of adversity had been irrevocably changed the day of the attack. There was adversity and then there was this. There was nothing that could describe what she was up against. And if she had any say in the matter, she’d never face this kind of adversity again. Nothing in her young life had prepared her for such a horrific ordeal, and it had made her rethink her calling a hundred times as she’d fled for her life, having to stay a step ahead of her pursuers or . . . die.

She shook her head, refusing to let reality creep back in. She hadn’t come to this area without being prepared. She
hadn’t woken up one morning and decided to come here on a whim. She was fluent in several of the languages in the country, even the more obscure ones, and had extensively studied the culture, the many different dialects and subtle differences that signified a different region. She knew how to blend in and what the laws were for women. Never had she been so glad for all of that information as she was now.

Her mouth was dry, her lips parched and cracking. She was nearer to the village she’d been traveling toward for the last three days, but she had to find a place to rest, a place where she could survey the village and its inhabitants from a distance and study it closely before she ventured into it.

She’d traveled strictly at night, knowing she risked too much by spending prolonged periods of time in the daylight. One wrong move. One misstep. One lapse in her rigid disguise and she’d draw notice. And she knew her adversaries were close. Maybe even ahead of her and in the village already searching for her. She didn’t
want
to go into the village, though she’d chosen one that was small and hadn’t yet drawn the ire of the bloodthirsty savages who’d executed her fellow relief workers. She’d stuck to a strict regimen of sleeping by day and walking at night, keeping to the shadows, always on her toes and expecting the worst. It was a terrible way to endure and it was fast draining her reserves.

But she was running dangerously low on supplies, and she had to chance going into the village to restock the essentials. She’d traveled as long and as far as her injuries and exhaustion allowed, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and the site of the attack and the men who now hunted her. She would go without sleep today as she usually did and she would walk this next night, so it was imperative that she find the safest possible refuge before dawn so she could sleep as many hours as possible before nightfall.

She stopped a distance from the village and then surveyed the area for a place to rest and wait. She needed one that afforded her not only safety and protection, a place where she was undetectable, if such a place existed, but also a good vantage point where she could see the activity when the people awoke and began their daily routine.

If she hurried she could tend to her needs and get in an hour of sleep, two if she was lucky. The rising sun would wake her. The urgency of her mission today would wake her. And she desperately needed all the rest she could grab when it was imperative that she stay on the move at all times.

She was thirsty and hungry. But water was what she craved, what she needed. Her lips were dry and cracked, her tongue so devoid of moisture that it clung to the roof of her mouth and rubbed abrasively over the sensitive skin with there being no natural liquid to ease its way. She increased her pace, knowing there was little sense in maintaining the guise of her disguised form at night when no one would be out except . . .

Nope. She wasn’t going there. She slammed her mind shut to block the fear that she was being stalked right this moment. That they’d caught up to her and if she alerted them to her position they’d have her. They’d win. Oh hell no. This game wasn’t over. By her count, she was winning. All she had to do was maintain her lead. If she stayed just one step ahead of them, victory would be hers.

When she finally reached the outskirts of the village, she scouted the hillside overlooking the tiny rural populace and found a place where the rock formations were more prevalent. And they were large, jutting upward and spreading out, the configuration such that there was a protective ring around an opening in the middle. She would be shielded from plain sight. One would have to go beyond the perimeter of the structures in order to see her. But at the same time, it would enable her to take position in a place where she could have an unimpeded view of the village below while remaining undetected.

She sank behind the largest formation, one that faced the village, and winced when she had to reposition her knee so that it didn’t bend beneath her. She stretched her leg outward and rested her back against the stone. It wasn’t the most comfortable support, rough with jagged edges, but it kept her upright, so she wasn’t complaining.

She needed food and water. Especially water. But her thirst wasn’t as great as her need to have one moment to just
sit in the quiet and breathe. Just a few steadying breaths and a moment to let go of the pain, the sorrow and the gut-wrenching fear that she could be captured at any time.

So for a moment she simply sat there and absorbed the night. This was a sparsely populated area and there were few lights emanating from the village, so the area was blanketed in dark, making the sky that much more visible. The stars were brighter, glowing like something alive, and she could see the heavy carpet of them for miles.

It was truly beautiful. She’d never been in a place where she could see so many stars twinkling in the black velvet sky. It looked like fairy dust. The beauty of the night gave her solace. Those few seconds before practicality had to take over had been needed. She was a little calmer now. She would overcome. She would win.

She dug into the bag carrying her waning supplies and pulled out the antibiotic pills she’d been taking since she escaped the ruins of the clinic. She’d walked through the rubble, hastily looking for anything that would help her stay alive. Water. She’d carried out as many of the bottles of water as she could, given her condition and the fact she had other items to carry as well.

She’d scored protein bars and MREs, grateful she’d seen the box containing them barely peeking from beneath the debris. And medication. Pain medication, antibiotics, sunblock and sunburn aid. It had a numbing agent she could rub on her knee to numb the pain from the lacerations and injuries to the skin.

After rounding up the things she could find that would aid her, she’d torn off her clothing and fashioned a hijab that fell well below her breasts and wore it over a hastily fashioned concealing robe from material the relief center gave out to women to make their clothing. Honor had cut a jagged hole through the middle of the swath and yanked it over her head.