Relentless (4 page)

But the physical suffering was nothing compared with the frustration eating at his soul.

The laptop his men had recovered from his teacher's command post in the Hindu Kush lay on the table next to his bed, disabled and free of tracking devices so long as it was shut off. He was too paranoid to let it out of his sight.

With the help of an IT student from Islamabad, he'd found a personal e-mail from his teacher's son about the upcoming wedding. After that, finding the location and date wasn't hard. This coming weekend in Vancouver, his teacher's son would be married. Bryn McAllister was a close family friend. She would undoubtedly be there, as would his teacher's beloved ex-wife.

Tehrazzi would bet his immortal soul his teacher would be there also, regardless of the complex family history.

He let his head drop back onto the pillow and closed his eyes with a sigh, the motion pulling on the staples with a splitting pain. Gritting his teeth, he pressed a hand against the bandages and coughed. Mucous rattled in his lungs. The violent jarring of his incision covered him in another film of sweat.

After the spasms passed, he collapsed onto the damp pillow taking slow, cautious breaths as the waves of agony ebbed. He refused to take pain medication because he could not afford to have his mind dulled while he was at the safe house. He might have to move at any time. Staying alive and undetected by the authorities meant he needed to be sharp. Besides, physical suffering brought him closer to Allah.

How ironic that he couldn't partake of the limitless supply of opium poppies he controlled in Afghanistan.

Gradually the fog of pain lifted, clearing his mind as he focused on the simple act of breathing. No matter his conviction about what must be done, there was no way his body could make the journey to find his teacher. Even if he managed to slip past all the security agencies searching for him and make his way to Canada, he was too ill to carry out this mission. Was this Allah's will? That he send someone else to do His work?

Someone knocked on the door.

He schooled his features into a calm mask so his visitor wouldn't know how much pain he was in. Showing weakness was even more dangerous than the infection ravaging his body.

“Enter,” he called softly, shifting so he could reach the loaded pistol hidden beneath his pillow if necessary.

The young IT expert, Mahmoud, came in, glancing at him cautiously out of too-innocent brown eyes framed behind round glasses. “You look much improved. Are you feeling any better?”

“I am,” he lied, motioning for him to sit in the single chair placed next to his bed. Tehrazzi held his gaze expectantly.

Mahmoud swallowed. “You asked to see me?”

“Your uncle. I understand he is very much involved in our cause.”

The man's throat bobbed. “Yes, sir. He is a most passionate advocate of yours.”

Was he. “Tell me, is he a loyal man?”

“Oh, yes. Extremely loyal. And intelligent, as you already know.”

Scholastic intelligence was one thing. Practical intelligence was another entirely, as was the will to go through with the act. And the man they spoke of had yet to be tested. “Do you have some further information for me?”

Mahmoud blinked. “I-I traced phone and e-mail records from the doctor you asked me t— ”

“Doctor Adams.”

“Y-yes.” He cleared his throat. “I-I thought you'd want to know... She is the keynote speaker at a medical conference in Vancouver next weekend.”

After an initial moment of shock, a slow smile spread across Tehrazzi's feverish face.
How perfect.

Allah was exercising His divine will once again, using him as the instrument. A rush of excitement surged through his veins. He could wipe out his teacher's family, Bryn McAllister, and Doctor Adams in a single operation. Perhaps his teacher also.

He could erase all his past mistakes within the space of a few hours. The world would know he did not tolerate failure, and that no one could escape his reach once he'd marked them for death.

Urgency clawed at him with sharp talons. He had to move soon. It wasn't safe to linger here much longer, but he must act now to ensure everything was handled properly.

When he drew in a breath to give the instructions, his congested lungs spasmed. He tried to hold back the coughs, but lost the battle and braced himself for the onslaught of pain.

It tore through him, cruel and sharp. The fit had him fighting not to cry out at the searing pain in his gut. When it finished, he lay on the bed gasping, soaked with his own sweat.

Gathering his waning strength, he sought the young man's wide gaze and pinned him with an intense stare. “Tell your uncle to expect my call,” he rasped, regretting only that he would not be the one to deliver the final blow to his teacher. “I have an important task for him to complete.”

Vancouver, Canada

Wednesday

The drizzle had stopped long enough for the sun to peek through the heavy layer of clouds rolling off the water when Rhys parked outside the Hotel Vancouver. The distinctive verdigris copper roofline caught the weak rays of morning sunlight as he climbed out of the Escalade Luke had provided for him, and surveyed the place. Nice digs, he thought as he dragged his suitcase out of the back hatch and shut it with a slam. Maybe this job wouldn't be so bad after all.

After checking in under a prearranged alias, Rhys forwent the elevator and took the stairs to the eighth floor. By the time he swung the door open to the main hallway, his damn left leg showed signs of fatigue. It pissed him off and made him question again what in hell he was doing taking this assignment, though he knew damn well why he had.

A gorgeous five-eleven surgeon named Neveah.

In his two-bedroom suite, he unpacked everything neatly in the closet and eyed the luxurious king-sized bed he'd be crashing in for the next few nights. Beat the hell out of the places he usually bedded down in when he was working. Plus with Ben in the next room, Rhys wouldn't hear him snore all night.

Next to the mound of snowy white pillows against the headboard, a red light blinked on the phone sitting on the nightstand. He picked up the receiver and accessed the message from Luke, telling him to come to his room once he'd checked in. Nothing like cutting to the chase, Rhys thought with a smile, but he liked the way Luke worked.

He'd first met the ex-SEAL CIA contractor after signing up to protect Bryn when Tehrazzi targeted her for the second time. When that backfired, the terrorist mastermind had gone after Neveah to get Sam's cooperation, thus guaranteeing Luke's involvement.

The bitter hatred between Luke and Tehrazzi was the root cause of all that shit. As a CIA operative, Luke had inadvertently made Tehrazzi into a major threat to the western world during the Russian-Afghan war. Over the years, the young mujahedin had somehow mutated into America's worst nightmare, thwarting every effort to capture or kill him. Luke had been trying to nail the bastard for years now. He'd come close a few times, but Tehrazzi was still out there. And more dangerous than ever.

He jogged up the remaining flights of stairs to the top floor and found the room, standing with his back to the wall as he knocked to maintain his lines of visibility. Some habits just couldn't be broken.

“What's the password?” came the familiar Louisiana drawl.

One side of Rhys's mouth lifted. “The Black Hawk flies at night.” Well, it did in their world.

A second later the door opened and Luke stood in the threshold, a wide smile on his dark-bearded face. He'd trimmed it so it was tidy and respectable, but Rhys understood why he'd left it on. No telling when Luke would have to go back overseas to a country where Islamic law commanded men wear beards. A country that no doubt ended in “stan.”

Luke appeared to have fully recovered from the head trauma he'd suffered in Basra, and his dark gaze was sharp as ever. The guy might be past fifty and have a head of hair sprinkled with gray, but he was still in damn good shape and the best operative Rhys had ever met.

He held out a hand and gripped Rhys's tight. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invite.” He looked past his boss and whistled at the elegant suite. “Who's payroll are we on this time?”

“Mine. Figured you could use some TLC after the goatfuck that went down last time you worked for me.”

“Nah, I got your flowers.” They shared a grin. Luke had sent him an enormous bouquet of roses in the hospital, with a card saying
Sorry about that mine
. Gallows humor. Prerequisite of the job. “Careful you don't spoil me.”

“Not worried about that,” Luke said, turning away to lead him inside. “It's your brother that might be a problem.”

“Oh, guaranteed.”

A laptop sat open on the desk next to the window where a stunning view greeted him. The downtown core spread out below, and to the north the sparkling waters of Burrard Inlet and white-capped peaks of the North Shore Mountains lay in the distance. “I could get used to this.”

“Yeah. Too bad the Muhj don't think much of luxury accommodations.”

No, the mujahedin weren't big on anything but fighting to the death to rid their homeland of infidels. Rhys faced him. “Going back so soon?”

Luke dropped into the chair, the furniture way too dainty and feminine to suit its occupant. “Just waiting on some sources to pan out.”

Rhys glanced at the laptop screen and noticed his boss was in the middle of reading e-mails. People thought Rhys was hardcore, but Luke made him look like a slacker by comparison. “So where's Tehrazzi right now?”
Don't say Vancouver, don't say Vancouver...

“Pakistan.”

Thank God. Half a world away from Neveah. Just the way he liked it. “That the best they can come up with?”

“Pretty much,” Luke admitted with a wry smile. “Last known sighting was at a house in Islamabad, but he's long since disappeared from there. Word is he's not doing well. Our informant said he's suffered complications from the knife wound Assoud gave him, so if he's mobile it'd most likely be by vehicle.”

“And how reliable is the ISI going to be with trying to root him out?” The Pakistani intelligence agency was notorious for playing both sides of the field in a futile attempt to back the US-led war on terror while protecting the people that caused it.

“Not very. The new government's doing a delicate balancing act between keeping the populace safe from terrorists while maintaining a front of independence from the US.”

Nothing new there.

Someone knocked on the door. Luke got up. “What's the password?”

“SEALs rule.”

With a chuckle, Luke opened the door and Dec McCabe stood grinning at them, a muscular dark-haired SEAL an inch or two taller than Luke. Another well-built man around Luke's age stood behind him.

“Hey.” Dec shook Luke's hand, then came over to grip Rhys's. He slapped Rhys on the shoulder, golden-brown eyes glinting. “You look better than I thought you would,” he said with a chuckle.

Rhys cracked a smile. “Important thing is I feel better than I look.” He admired and respected Dec because the guy was a total pro in the field. Plus, they had history together.

Not only was Dec engaged to Bryn, but Rhys had hauled him out of a burning chopper when it crashed in the desert outside Basra after he and Luke were hit by friendly fire. Two other SEALs on board hadn't made it.

Nothing like staring mortality in the eye to form eternal bonds of brotherhood.

Luke motioned at the stranger behind Dec. “Rhys, this is Nate, the RCMP contact I told you about.”

Rhys shook the newcomer's hand and exchanged a firm nod of greeting.

“Nate served with the Marines in Beirut during the Lebanese civil war. He knew Bryn's father.”

“Good to meet you,” Rhys said, liking the keen intelligence in the other man's gaze.

“Likewise. I've always wanted to meet Luke's boys.”

I'm not one of his boys
. He'd do his job, but truthfully he was here for two reasons only: To watch his brother's back and protect Neveah. Rhys glanced over at Dec. “You all healed up?”

“Yep. Going out on deployment in a few weeks.”

Luke arched a sarcastic brow. “Ball and chain letting you go back to work?”

Dec gave him a very male, very satisfied smile. “I like my ball and chain just fine.”

He'd better. What wasn't to like about Bryn? She was strong, smart and easy to get along with. Not to mention hot. Like Nev. “Where is Bryn, anyway?”

“I dropped her off at the bride's place. Some sorta chick slumber party where they paint each other's nails and shit.” He shrugged his wide shoulders, appearing as fit as ever. Like he'd never suffered severely broken ribs and a collapsed lung from the missile strike that almost killed him.

That same incident had given Luke his concussion. Those symptoms had nearly cost his and Sam's life during the op to rescue Neveah.

Rhys's gaze slid to his boss, who tapped at his mouse pad on the laptop. He wondered if Luke still suffered from the symptoms, because sure as shit he hadn't gotten treatment for them. Rhys would bet a year's pay on that.

“Ben joining us?” Dec asked him.

“Yeah. He's coming in tomorrow.”

“Good times,” Dec commented.

Rhys half-smiled. “Yep.” With Ben around, things were always interesting.

“Okay, boys, enough socializin',” Luke said. “Let's go over the intel and security plan for the rehearsal and wedding, then we'll tackle the reception.”

“And Neveah?” Rhys asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Is a separate issue that you, Nate and I will take care of. You two can pick her up from the airport and take her to her hotel, then later on meet with the rest of the security team posted there for the conference. Her flight comes in at thirteen hundred.”

Two hours earlier than originally scheduled.

“I got her on an earlier flight,” Luke explained.

“She know you did it?”

“Nope, and that's the way it stays. For everything and everyone involved with this weekend. You all understand how my presence here puts everyone at the wedding at risk, because we think Tehrazzi knows about it. That information goes no further than this room.”