Lethal Pursuit (7 page)

Her mind screamed in protest but her body remained unresponsive, heightening the horror threatening to suffocate her. She’d taken basic SERE training. She was fully aware of what male captors did to female POWs and knew firsthand how cruel a man could be to a woman.

A cold fist squeezed her heart as she envisioned being tied up and helpless while she was beaten and raped, humiliated. Would she break? That terrified her the most. Succumbing to the pain and torture, shaming herself and defiling the oath she’d taken when she’d sworn to defend her country. She mentally recited Article 3 of the U.S. Code of Military Conduct.

If I am captured
,
I
will continue to resist by all means available.
I
will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape.
I
will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.

The floor was hard and cold beneath her. Metal squeaked and clanged as they shut a cage door nearby, then her captors’ footsteps retreated, abandoning her to her fate.

It was almost a blessing when the drugging fog returned again, stealing her awareness.

Her last conscious thought before she went back under was that she would rather die than endure what her sister had in order to help them both survive.

* * *

Khalid turned off his handheld radio and attached it to his belt as he entered the complex where the prisoners were being held. Tunneled into the side of the hill, the structure was deceptive. From the outside it looked like just another village dwelling. They’d been careful to leave the trucks at the base of the hill and used ATVs to bring the prisoners up the steep trails. A few of his men were out destroying any evidence of tracks now.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the tunnel entry. It was much cooler here, and damp. He walked through the anteroom disguised as a simple living quarters and pushed aside the heavy carpet covering one of the hidden entrances that led to the holding area. Down the narrow corridor, he could hear his men dragging the prisoners toward the cells. His heart raced with excitement. He could hardly believe they’d done it. With only three of his men lost in the initial firefight, they’d managed to kill or wound dozens of Americans while taking hostages. Including the biggest prize of all, whom Khalid was now going to check on personally.

They’d slipped across the border into Pakistan without a single incident and melted into the hills, thanks to a little help from some of Kahlid’s most powerful allies.

Up ahead, Youssef, a hardened soldier in his late thirties who had come to him through the Pakistani ISI, glanced back at him from where he observed the containment of the prisoners. In the darkness, Khalid could barely make out the other man’s profile. “They’re all still out,” Youssef reported in Pashto. “Their pulses are strong. Should be waking up within the hour.”

“Good.” While he wasn’t overly concerned with their comfort or health, he had to be careful to keep them all alive long enough for him to get what he wanted. Khalid strode forward to oversee the Secretary of Defense being loaded into his cell and nodded in satisfaction when his men placed the American official in a cell made up of carefully spaced iron bars. “Keep him where the other men can see him. I want them all to know what has happened when they awake.”

“What about the woman?” Youssef asked, indicating the heap lying at his feet.

He gestured to the farthest cell with a jerk of his chin. “Put her in there against the far wall. Keep her away from the others. And I want you to remain here until she wakes up.”

Youssef bent to pick her up without a word and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, a metallic clang echoed throughout the corridor as the door to her cage shut.

Perfect.

Khalid had commanded his men to take her alive because she provided him with a huge advantage, and he planned to use it against the prisoners at every opportunity.

A few months ago, General Nasrallah had set his sights on a different American female soldier, intending to use her for publicity and to earn a hefty ransom.

Khalid had a far better motive for taking a female prisoner than his inept predecessor.

A shaft of light penetrated the dimness as someone pushed aside the carpet covering the entrance.

Khalid turned, squinting at Mohammed. “Yes?”

“Rahim wishes to speak to you, Khalid-jan.” He held up a satellite phone.

Smiling, Khalid headed back through the entrance and took the phone from Mohammed. “It is done,” he said.

“Praise Allah,” his mentor replied. “You know what to do?”

He knew
exactly
what to do. “I will begin as soon as they awaken.”

Chapter Seven

A dank, damp, musty odor overwhelmed by the slightly alkaline scent of dirt hit Jackson’s nostrils as he struggled toward consciousness.

His eyelids felt like they were weighted down. He struggled to open his eyes, registering the near-darkness, the hard surface he was lying on. His hands were bound behind him and bruises throbbed across his back and shoulders from when the three men who’d attacked him had finally taken him down. As far as he could tell, nothing was broken. Faint male voices floated toward him, too far away to identify or discern what they were saying.

He rolled stiffly to his back and forced his body into a sitting position, all the while fighting to slow his pulse rate. Whoever had grabbed him had stuffed him into the equivalent of a cell carved into rock. The floor was bare dirt with sharp stones in it. They dug into his hip and shoulders as he propped himself against the back wall. He stared through clearing eyes at the crude iron bars forming his cage, his mind racing.

This wasn’t SERE training. This was real.

Shifting to his knees to get a closer look, he examined the bars and where they connected to the earthen floor and ceiling. There were no gaps that he could see in the construction. None of the bars gave way when he tested them with his weight, leaning his shoulder against them. The lock on the front held solid against his kicks.

“There’s no way out. I already checked.”

Jackson instinctively crouched and swiveled around at the tired male voice behind him. His eyes had adjusted to the dimness enough for him to make out the shape of another prisoner slumped against the wall of the cell beside his. The man’s body was swallowed by shadow but if he squinted, Jackson could make out the basics of his facial features. His dark skin made it harder to see him. When he realized who it was, Jackson’s heart sank.

They’d captured the fucking Secretary of Defense.

“Sir,” Jackson began quietly, his voice still groggy from whatever they’d drugged him with. “Are you all right?”

“As all right as the rest of us. And I think you’d better start calling me Doug. What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

“Jackson.”

“You’re a PJ?”

He nodded, glancing down at his uniform, which they’d left on him for some reason. The reflective patch bearing the letters
PJ
was still there on his left arm. His body armor was long gone. “Are you hurt?”

“Only roughed up so far. Whatever they knocked us out with gave me a pretty good hangover, but otherwise I’m okay.” He sounded tired, strained.

Hangover was the perfect way to describe the pounding in his head and the dryness in his mouth. Jackson twisted his fingers, trying to increase circulation, despite the tight plastic zip tie around his wrists. The damp interior of their prison created a chill in the air that made goose bumps break out over his skin. He kept his voice low, uncertain if more guards might be close enough to overhear him. “Any idea where we are?”

“Side of a mountain someplace, best I can figure.”

Yeah. It looked like some sort of cave, or maybe an underground bunker. “How many of them there are?”

“At least five that I’ve seen, but there are probably others.”

Jackson turned his upper body to peer past the Secretary down the carved-out corridor. It seemed like there were more cells down there, though he couldn’t see or hear anyone else. Didn’t mean they weren’t there. They could be unconscious or keeping quiet. “How many of us?” he whispered, careful to ensure his voice didn’t carry.

“Four. Unless they brought in more while I was out of it. I think there’s a female,” he added grimly.

Maya? Jackson’s gut clenched. They couldn’t have taken her. Last he’d seen her, she’d been fighting off two attackers and other soldiers had been rushing to her aid. She was smart and strong.

They got you and the Sec Def
,
didn’t they?

Goddammit, he didn’t want her to be one of the prisoners.

Whether it was Maya or not, throwing a female into the mix made a bad situation that much worse. Back in SERE school when the “captors” had roughed up a female airman during an interrogation had been bad enough. He and the other male “captives” had gone crazy trying to take the “captors’” attention off the female, bargaining to take her place. They’d been ignored, of course.

Watching them hurt that woman and not being able to stop them was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to endure. Even though they’d all known on an intellectual level that the interrogators wouldn’t do any worse than rough her up, the male captives had reacted on a primal level. The lesson had stuck with him ever since, all the more horrifying since he came from a home with a single mom and three sisters.

Jackson wasn’t sure what he’d do if something like that happened here. And if it was Maya?
Christ.

Because this time, there was no guarantee they’d stop at kick and punches. The thought made him feel sick. Where he came from, real men didn’t beat on women. And these fuckers sure as hell wouldn’t abide by the Geneva Convention.

A thousand thoughts whirled through his mind as he struggled to come to terms with this new reality. Waiting in the dark, anticipating the unknown, was almost worse than having the shit kicked out of him.

The Sec Def was silent beside him. Jackson knew he’d served in the Marine Corps back in the day, but that had been a hell of a long time ago. How the hell had they managed to take him with all his security detail there? He wanted to ask more questions, but each time either one of them spoke it increased the risk of attracting their captors’ attention. And right now they had to preserve whatever hope and morale they could. It was critical for their survival.

A flicker of light came from the far end of the corridor. Jackson’s heart began to thud as it came nearer, bringing the sounds of measured footsteps with it. His palms turned clammy.
Stay focused.
Remember your training.

But no amount of training ever prepared a man enough to face this for real.

The beam of light intensified, and low male voices drifted toward them. He heard Doug shift against the back wall of his cell, trying to make himself as still and small as possible. They both had to be the “gray man” here, the guy who blended into the background so well that he all but disappeared. The best-case scenario for a prisoner of war, second to escape.

A silhouette appeared, outlined against the light. Then two more. The men’s strides were purposeful, drawing nearer with every heartbeat. Jackson stayed frozen in position against the damp, rough wall.

The man carrying the flashlight stopped in front of his cell and said something to the others. He sounded surprisingly young, but Jackson refused to look up lest he draw attention to himself. A second man halted beside him, wearing the typical baggy pants and sandals common to men in the region. The third man hung back, as if he wanted to watch what happened next. Jackson’s muscles tensed when the first man squatted down but he managed to keep his gaze on the dirt floor just inside the metal bars rather than look up.

The bright beam of the flashlight hit him in the face, blinding him. He squinted and turned his head, gritting his teeth in annoyance that he’d reacted at all. The beam traveled down his body, and the second man grunted something to the one standing in the shadows. A few seconds later, they moved on to the Sec Def and did the same. Checking for life-threatening injuries maybe, since a dead hostage was no good to them.

Two of the men moved on to a cell farther down and started talking among themselves. The squeak of metal hinges reached him, and then came the sound of something heavy dragging across the floor. The younger one called out to the first man standing near Jackson’s cell and he walked toward them. Jackson had only a quick impression of someone tall and lean as he passed by. More low words, then a grunt followed by the groan of the iron door closing once more.

The latch clanged into place and the men came back. This time they stopped directly in front of the Sec Def’s cell. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson watched as the flashlight illuminated the body draped over the second man’s shoulders. Whoever he was, he was already dead. Blood covered his face, head and the light blue oxford shirt he wore. One of the Sec Def’s personal security detail.

The tall man whispered something, and the one carrying the dead man shuffled off down the corridor. Then the tall one, who had to be the leader, hunkered down so that his face was lit by the flashlight beam. Unable to stop himself, Jackson risked a glance at him. He had a full dark beard and a light complexion. His eyes were a strange yellow-hazel. Jackson forced his gaze back to the floor as the leader spoke, in English.

“Hello, Mr. Secretary. I am honored to have you as our guest.” His heavily accented voice was pitched low, but what really upped the creep-out factor was the maniacal gleam Jackson had seen in those hellish eyes.

When Doug didn’t answer, the leader let out a low chuckle, as though his prisoners’ silence delighted him. “We have important plans for you while you stay with us.”

White noise. It was all just white noise, Jackson reminded himself. He had to tune it out and focus on reinforcing his will to survive.

“Eventually we will expect you to tell us about coalition operations in the area and make a recorded statement denouncing the war for the world to see, but you would obviously be unwilling to do so at this point. Unless I am wrong?” Silence was his only answer, and Jackson swore he could hear the smile in the bastard’s voice when he continued.

“Then instead I believe I’ll start with a less worthy opponent. Mohammed,” he commanded and rose to his feet as the young one hurried down the row of cells into the darkness. Another screech of mental hinges, then the sounds of a scuffle, quickly ended. The metal latch clanged into place, and Mohammed returned with another prisoner draped over his shoulders. Jackson could hear the prisoner’s harsh breathing, a stifled, painful moan.

The leader said something, and Mohammed lowered the prisoner to the floor. A sense of foreboding swept through him. Despite himself, Jackson had to look. The man grabbed a handful of the prisoner’s hair and yanked, forcing the person’s head up. The beam of light illuminated a pair of frightened blue-green eyes before they squeezed shut against the sudden glare.

Jackson’s heart stopped beating.

Maya.

He jerked like he’d been electrocuted, barely managing to swallow back the cry of denial lodged in his throat. Staring into her pinched face, he felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut.

“Do you recognize your fellow guests?” the leader purred, swinging the beam of light at Doug, then at Jackson. He squinted but couldn’t make himself look away and when the light shone on her once again, she was staring right at him, her expression utterly haunted. Jackson squeezed his numb hands into fists of helpless rage.

Maya didn’t answer but her devastated expression said it all. She’d seen and recognized him. From the look in her eyes it was clear she understood that whatever hell they put her through now, she’d have to withstand it alone. And somehow he’d have to endure that knowledge while battling the crushing agony that there was nothing he could do to protect her from any of it.

Jackson held her gaze, trying to give her strength.
Sweetheart
,
please hang on.
Whatever they do to you
,
just hold on.
Fuck, he wanted to throw up.

“No? Ah, well.” The leader sounded almost disappointed in her lack of reaction. “Now that you have seen your fellow guests, I think you and I should become better acquainted.” He jerked Maya’s hair, forcing her to her feet, which were still bound.

She shot a look of terror in Jackson’s direction that made his guts churn and it took everything he had not to call out in protest as they dragged her away. He thought he’d understood what fear felt like before? Not even close. But he did now.

* * *

Maya was trapped in a waking nightmare.

They’d bound her hands and feet to a metal chair and left her alone in the middle of the small earthen room. The waiting was almost worse than the pain she knew was coming. Old fears rose up like specters to haunt her. In the dark, heart thudding in terror, she was nine years old all over again, locked in the closet when her uncle’s footsteps came down the hall toward the bedroom she shared with Pilar.

Don’t come out
,
whatever happens.
Her sister’s urgent whisper was still razor-sharp in her memory.
I’ll let you out once it’s safe
,
but stay hidden and stay quiet.

Even at nine, it had been perfectly clear to her what Pilar had endured to protect her. Those masculine grunts and muffled cries of pain from beyond the closed closet door of their bedroom had painted a vivid picture in her brain that she’d never been able to erase. The hand-me-down double bed she’d shared with Pili had squeaked ominously, the oak headboard banging against the wall in a relentless rhythm until Maya thought she’d go mad.

Many times her fingers had curled around the handle of the wooden baseball bat in that closet, prepared to burst through the door and cave his skull in to save her sister. But time after time, she’d done as her sister said and stayed hidden in the safety of their closet. And she’d never be able to forgive herself for her cowardice as long as she lived.

Instead of acting, doing something,
anything
to save Pilar, night after night she’d remained locked in that stygian closet with her hands clapped over her ears and silent tears streaming down her cheeks. The other adults in the house had ignored those pitiful cries tearing from her sister’s lips, either in denial or because they were passed out somewhere next to an empty bottle of wine. It had gone on for nearly two years until Pilar had finally agreed to run away because she’d at last deemed Maya old enough to endure life on the streets.

But no one can outrun the past. Though they’d escaped, in the end it hadn’t been enough. The memories had killed Pilar as surely as the coarse rope looped around her slender throat when Maya found her hanging lifeless from the shower rod in the dingy bathroom of the apartment they’d shared. The note Pilar had left on the kitchen counter was permanently etched into her mind.