Trinity: Military War Dog (41 page)

            Thirty              

Deep in the Hindu Kush
15 Klicks from Chinese Border

T
aking risks had a certain amount of stupidity to it. Most times, a person risked that vulnerable part in the belief that things would work to the benefit. And for the most part, Peter Toque had gambled and won, came out on top, ahead of the game, ahead of the target.

Maybe his luck had run out. After all, a man could get so far on raw luck and experience, right?

He fisted his hands as the Yanjingshe, handpicked by Jianyu, huddled around the fire pit in the middle of the hut. Snow twinkled down into the fire, melting before even being kissed by a spark. Blazing, the fire roared, spreading its heat throughout the twenty-by-twenty space. An Afghan village gathering hut overtaken by Chinese warriors.

Once they’d entered the village, the men swept through, ruthlessly overpowering the villagers, who were even now holed up in their homes. Two had been shot and killed in their attempt to defend their village. A village that had put them in a daunting proximity to the Afghan-Chinese border.

In fact, Peter grew more convinced with each passing minute that his gamble on fronting Darci Kintz—a maneuver designed to ingratiate himself with Wu Jianyu and ultimately control the man—had failed. It wasn’t because of bad intel that he’d misjudged this man. He’d studied the Zheng dynasty, knew of the bad blood between the young colonel and his father, knew of the former’s expulsion from grace and power. A shift had occurred in Wu Jianyu, one that made predicting his actions next to impossible.

Which explained how he’d ended up here without anyone in the “spyverse” knowing. No word had filtered through the back channels about the man’s location, so to find him slinking around the mountains of Afghanistan, where he just so happened to find Darci …

What were the odds? Had someone tipped Jianyu off that she was in the area? Or was it just dumb luck on the part of the fierce, revenge-driven soldier?

Peter’s superiors had monitored Darci’s movements since her narrow escape from the clutches of the Chinese. When she’d started the gig for the geology team, they knew something was going down. Forty-eight hours later, he had a new identity—Peter Toque—and an entire new history to corroborate even the most thorough of checks.

Why? Because while Darci Kintz didn’t hold the record as the best operative—that title usually went to the more flamboyant, kick-butt operatives—his brief encounter with her a decade ago told him she was someone to watch. His instincts proved correct. She’d gotten into the heart of Chinese intelligence, slept with the enemy as it were, and gotten out alive—she was ahead of the game and a master at her job. He’d been told to try to pull her into working with them, doubling of sorts. But he’d told his people that the loyalty pumping through her veins was too thick to allow her to break that morality code. Peter liked her. Admired her. Held her in the highest esteem.

And you just fed the lamb to the wolf
.

And the lamb’s father was in danger now, too. Dumb, dumb move. He’d need to send a relay as soon as they got out of here, to alert his people to monitor Kintz’s father. Even though he’d given Jianyu the wrong state, the man would no doubt feed Li Yung-fa to the beast of China—his father.

Two for one.

Peter cursed himself.

The door burst in and with it Darci Kintz. Yanked in, she tumbled and landed with a thud against the wood floor. A deathly silence dropped on the room, backlit only by the fire and its thundering cracks and pops. At least they seemed to thunder over the hollow quiet.

Nostrils flared, Jianyu sneered around the room as Lieutenant Colonel Tao eased in behind him and closed the door. If there was ever a doubt about the fear this man instilled in his men, it flickered away like a wisp of smoke.

“Secure her.” Jianyu waved a hand toward Darci and smoothed back his hair with the other.

The men were swift as they hauled Darci up and held out her arms. Firelight glistened over her hip. Peter frowned. A fresh circle of blood spread out on the new shirt they’d stuffed her in. A sheen covered her face, which seemed paler than normal.

Lip curling, Jianyu turned to Peter. “You.” His head bobbed. “You say you are on my side.” He held out a Tokarev. Why use a Russian handgun? So he could blame his new bedmates? “Prove it. Shoot her. Get rid of this woman.”

Peter might’ve been wrong in handing Darci to them, but he knew what road to take now. “I am not on your side. And if you’d wanted her dead, you would’ve done it yourself hours ago rather than have your surgeon tend her. And I see now you have injured her further.”

Uncertainty trickled through the man’s face, and he looked at Darci, then glowered at Peter. “You admit you are not aligned with me and expect to live?”

“I admit that I do not take sides. What has passed between you and this American woman has nothing to do with me, save that we’re all breathing the same air.”
Easy, now
. Jianyu had his heart planted in the middle of this fiasco. And his attachment to Darci was palpable. If he felt Peter was willing to get rid of her … wait … it was a test. “Personally, I like her. She’s smart. Attractive—”

As soon as the man shifted and dropped his shoulder, Peter knew what was coming. Since he wasn’t about to eat another boot, he ducked. The strike sailed just millimeters past his head. He stepped back—

Thud!

The hit from behind stung. Peter stumbled forward, pain spiraling through his neck and shoulders. Another blow sent him to his knees. Fingertips on the dirty floor, he coughed, trying to recapture the breath they’d knocked out of him.

Laughter filtered through the room. Peter didn’t care—he saw Jianyu’s boots moving away. And that meant for now, he was alive.

Easing back to his feet, Peter froze midmove.

Jianyu’s men had anchored Darci’s arms out, tethering them to the wall. She had a sweet, innocent face, one that—were her features a bit more Chinese and less European thanks to her mother—belonged on a geisha. Fair skin blotched from a blow or two but appealing against her jet-black hair. Even in a dirty brown tunic, tactical pants, and hiking boots, she seemed delicate.

But he knew better. He still had an imprint, at least mentally, of her boot on his face.

Wariness crowded the soft features of her face as she wobbled but braced herself. She swallowed and looked at Peter.

No regret. No anger.

Pure determination—to survive.

“I want to know,” Jianyu stood behind Darci, “who worked with you in Taipei City.”

“Nobody worked with me,” Darci gritted out.

Standard answer. Peter expected no less. But even that single question ramped up his pulse. Darci was in no shape to endure hours of torture. She’d hold on for a while, but if she wasn’t rescued soon … He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, encouraging her to hang in there. Help was coming. At least he hoped it was.

“That is not the truth.” Hands behind his back, Jianyu circled her until he severed Peter’s visual connection with her. “We have surveillance of you in the Crypt. You’re hidden in the shadows, but there is a man with you.”

“There was no man,” Darci said.

Jianyu’s shoulders drew up.

“Except your Colonel Tao.”

Rage flung through the colonel’s face. He shifted toward her, jabbed a flat-handed thrust into her side.

“No!” Peter’s shout mingled with Jianyu’s.

A strangled, blood-curdling scream shot from Darci.

She dropped to her knees, limp.

Deep in the Hindu Kush
17 Klicks from Chinese Border

Hunched against the brutal, driving elements, Heath knelt and shielded Trinity from the bitter wind as the team paused to strategize. He tugged his zipper up, wishing he had a thermal suit. Anything to ward off the cold that snuck past the gaps, that whipped into his nostrils each time he breathed.

“Storm’s getting bad,” Watterboy shouted to the team huddled close together. “Last report said we were going to get buried. We’re two klicks from the village.”

“Get in there,” Candyman hollered. “Get it done. Get out. Get home.”

Sergeant Putman looked up from the coms box.” Lost communication.”

Watterboy scowled.

“Storm’s pulling major interference,” Putman said.

“We’re losing warmth faster than daylight.” Watterboy looked at Trinity. “Ghost, how’s she holding up?”

Ears perked and swiveling like equilateral radar dishes, Trinity seemed at home with the elements and the situation. “She’s good.” Heath coiled an arm around her and rubbed her chest, trying to infuse some warmth and reassurance—for him, not her. She wasn’t easily rattled. He was another story. Especially with all that was happening. Wind, snow, stress. Thinking of Jia, wondering why Haur had picked him to buddy up to, fear of failing …

With his track record, he should pass out any minute now.

Please, God. Help me
.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
The first verse of Psalm 46. He knew it, quoted it. But did he believe it?

Of course, it wasn’t God who’d tanked on keeping His end of the bargain. Heath had given talks about God having their backs, about not walking away from faith and belief, and hadn’t Heath done that very thing?

What Heath believed in and what he did—they’d become two very different things. Saying those words, spouting scriptures was easy. Almost second nature.

A habit.

His heart dropped against that revelation and landed cockeyed in his chest.

It is not good to have zeal without knowledge, nor to be hasty and miss the way
.

Heath stilled at the admonishment. Wished he’d worn his spiritual steel-toed boots for that verse. Was he being—?

Yes. No need to even finish that thought. Hasty was the precise word he’d use to describe his personal mission—or was it a vendetta?—to prove he still had what it took. With all vigor to get back in the game. To feel useful, needed, and important again.

“Hey!”

Jarred from his internal diatribe, Heath blinked through the snow and wind to Watterboy.

“Use Trin’s NVG camera to lead the way.”

Heath flicked up the camera, which stood perpendicular to the spine of the vest, and retrieved the monitor from his pack. He turned it on, the screen smearing an ominous green glow across the darkness. “It’s up and working.”