Crown of Souls, page 14
“Regardless of coming back from the dead, Mr. Russell, you aren’t a god. You don’t speak and we obey.”
Tox stared at her. “She’s not field qualified.”
“Cortes is trained in exactly what we need her trained in. The joint task force decided she’d be on the mission, so she is.”
“This is wrong.” How could he make his point? “Alec’s made it very clear that he will take his vengeance out on her if I screw up.”
“And having her sit in her apartment here, exactly where he knows she lives, is the smartest way to keep her safe?” Raising an eyebrow, she leaned back against the table. “And to address your concern, I guess the best thing, since Ms. Cortes is on the team, is to get her field qualified.”
“What?” His heart stalled. “No!”
“Kasey Cortes is attached to the Wraith team—that was your doing, remember—so she will be going with the team. Her ability to read people and situations is uncanny. Even you can’t deny that. She read you. Called you on things during the codex mission and saved your life.”
“That isn’t . . . this mission—it’s different. Alec is targeting her.”
“No.” Almstedt pushed off the table and crossed the iron grating of the floor, taking the four steps to the lower section where the offices huddled. “Alec King is targeting our Top Ten. Plus a few extras.”
“But he—”
“He also wants you on his team, and that’s where the danger led to Ms. Cortes. So if I follow your logic, Mr. Russell, then in fact—aren’t you a threat to her?”
“Don’t go there.”
After a shrug, Almstedt entered her office and sat behind her desk, where she flung another eyebrow at him. “Should I remove you from the mission?”
“You won’t do that.” He forced as much confidence into his words as possible, sickened at the thought of being cut. If Almstedt benched him, the team would go after Alec as hard as they could. Kill him first chance they got. “SAARC needs me because of my history with Alec. You won’t cut me.”
After a glowering look, she sighed. “No, we won’t.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held hostage.
“But we also won’t be removing Cortes, so don’t ask again. She’s in. She’s an asset.” Almstedt nodded her dyed head toward the brief on the table. “Might want to get familiar with that, you and your team. Wheels up at 0400.”
“If she gets hurt, I’m coming for you.” Tox snatched up the file and stalked back to the main command center, banked left to where his five-by-six module linked up to the hub, and pitched the file onto his desk. Pinching the bridge of his nose did nothing to temper the stench of this nightmare.
His phone rang. Relief hit him when he saw the familiar international number. “Chiji, my brother.”
A deep laugh rumbled through the line. “That is a desperate greeting.”
“You have no idea. I’ve never needed you more.” Tox folded himself onto the chair. Elbow on the desk, he cradled his head. “How’s Nne, the family?”
“It will take time.”
Time. Tox’s gut twisted. “You’re not coming back.”
“Not yet. I must finish this and be here for her. This has been very hard for her, to lose a child.”
“And you—he was your brother.”
“God gives me peace. Now, what is it that weighs on your heart so much, Ndidi?”
After a snort of disbelief—how did Chiji always know?—Tox explained the situation, the infuriating decision by SAARC.
“She is safer with you, would you not agree, Ndidi?” Chiji sounded calm. Serene. Curse the man.
“No. I don’t,” Tox huffed out. “Because Alec’s going to anticipate my moves, he’ll know where I’ll go, what we investigate. The very nature of this investigation means we’re one step behind him, walking in his footsteps. If she’s with me, he knows where she is.” He ran a hand down the back of his neck, remembering Jared McKenna. Remembering the daunting truth. “He knew, Chiji. He knew I’d visit McKenna’s kid.”
“What you are struggling with, I think, is not fear about protecting Haven.”
“Of course—”
“But fear of facing this man. Facing the truth about him.”
“What truth?”
“That he is more like you than you want to admit.” Chiji had a way of cutting through the muck and mire to get to the bald truth. “But perhaps you know that. Perhaps what you fear is learning that he is not redeemable.”
“He is!” Tox hated the way his voice bounced back at him, throwing the words in his face.
A rap on the door jerked Tox away from the conversation. “Hang on,” he said to Chiji.
“Hey, Sarge,” Cell said. “Thor wanted me to let you know he’s running behind—but he’ll be here.”
Shaking off the haunting words of his Igbo brother, Tox gave a half shrug, half nod. “No problem. You got the equipment checked and tested?”
“Roger that.” Cell pointed to a pile near the far wall. “Packing it up now.”
“Good. We’ll—” Tox spotted two figures near the far door and froze. Haven and Wallace. Why was she with him?
Her gaze hit his, and he saw it. The clear message that she knew he’d requested her removal from the team. While he didn’t regret the request, he did regret how he’d handled it.
“I’ll be getting that packed up,” Cell said, his expression telegraphing his confusion and dislike that Haven had arrived with the agent. “You go . . . take care of things.”
Tox looked down and returned to his phone call. “Chiji, I’m back.”
“Remember, Otu onye tuo izu, o gbue ochu,” Chiji said.
“But this isn’t about knowledge, about two heads being better than one. This is about keeping her safe.” Tox gritted his teeth, allowing himself to look toward where she stood talking with Wallace and rubbing her arms.
“Gidi gidi bụ ugwu eze,” Chiji insisted.
Unity is strength.
“There will not always be a mission, and she calls to your soul, Ndidi. There is no room for silence or justification.”
Her green eyes came to his, and Tox knew Chiji was right. Not about the justification. His reasons and the danger were legitimate. But after the mission, after things settled, what would be left of their lives, of their relationship? The thought made him wince.
Maybe it was better for her to be with Wallace. He’d thought that before they’d started dating. But maybe it was time to push her into Superman’s arms.
“Before you leave for this mission, you must talk with her.”
When they had first met in that underground facility, him handcuffed and chained to the floor, he knew she was too good for him. But fool that he was, he’d been intrigued by her. “Some things are better left alone.”
He lifted the file, opened it, and scanned the details of the mission. Realized Chiji hadn’t responded. “What?”
“You will go into a trap in the middle of the jungle. You will save a man from a plague-infested tunnel, but you will not face the woman you love.” His tongue clucked. “I must go, Ndidi. Seek Him. Listen to Him. Trust Him.” Chiji hung up, leaving him alone with his thoughts, guilt, and cowardice.
“Some fires burn less,” Tox muttered to himself as he dropped into his chair and rubbed his face.
“Just promise me one thing.” Her voice was quiet, plying. It pulled his gaze to where she hesitated in the doorway. Hurt marred her beautiful features, yet she stood there in that raw confidence he admired so much.
Tox didn’t trust himself to talk. To offer the apology he knew she wanted to hear. He came to his feet.
“I know you won’t apologize,” she said softly as she edged into his module, “because you believe so wholly in what you’re doing.”
She got that? Did she honestly understand that was why he did what he’d done?
“Just like Alec.”
Heat shot down his spine at the implication and comparison. “Hey, now.”
“But promise—next time, at least show me some respect and talk to me first.” Her brow knotted. “Don’t go behind my back when I have held your back and trusted you with my life.”
He moved toward her. “Then trust me again.”
“How?” Her eyes pleaded for an answer. “How can I trust you when you won’t talk to me? When you go around me—”
“That’s not—it wasn’t like that.” There is no room for silence or justification. “I went up the chain of command, as I’m supposed to do.”
Her eyes swam with unshed tears. “Does that really assuage your guilt, Cole? Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
She snorted, lifted her hands. Maybe in frustration, defeat, or giving up on him. “Cole . . .”
He closed the short distance between them. “You’re right—I won’t apologize, because I did the right thing.” He cupped her shoulders. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and that’s exactly what Alec threatened.” He rubbed a thumb over the bony part of her shoulder. “Okay, yes, I guess I could’ve handled it differently.” He felt the frayed ends of his heartstrings twisting into a knot. “I . . .”
“You didn’t want to face me.”
Surprise tightened the knot. A smile tried to twitch his cheek that she’d nailed him so perfectly. “Guess so.” He shrugged. “But—”
“No ‘but.’” Haven drew in a breath. “No excuses, Cole. I don’t need to hear them. I don’t want to hear them. Fairness and respect—that’s what I need. That same package you dish out to your men is what I want.”
Did she understand that she’d just asked for exactly what he’d done? Because this was what he’d do to the guys, if he felt it would keep them alive. He wouldn’t hesitate. Ever.
“If we’re going to date, if we’re going to pursue whatever this is between us, then we have to be honest.”
“If?” That caught him off guard. He thought they were dating.
She raised an eyebrow. “Dating requires honesty.”
“I haven’t been dishonest, Haven. I just . . . I’m not used to having to run every play by someone.”
“Not true,” she said. “You run everything past Ram.”
“When the mission requires it, but only after I have initial intel and a preliminary plan. It’s the way the chain of command works.” He never thought someone nearly ten years his junior with no field or military experience could get him by the scruff of his collar like this. But then again, he’d never met anyone like Haven. “I will work to include you more, but Haven . . .” She wouldn’t like this part. “I can’t—won’t—promise to always tell you everything. My job, what I do—I can’t.”
“Then maybe we should step back until we can figure this out.”
Nauseated, he pulled out the invisible dagger she’d just thrust into his heart. “I guess until we both understand a few things, maybe it’s best.”
15
— DAY 20 —
EL GORAH, EGYPT
With his ruck over his shoulder, Tox hopped off the Black Hawk and made his way toward the hangar, as much for cover from bullets as from the brutal Egyptian sun that seemed as angry as some of the terrorists.
“Hottest freakin’ month of the year in Egypt, and that’s when we have to be here,” Cell groused as they stalked toward the small building.
The Multinational Force & Observers’ Forward Operating Base-North was home to an array of soldiers from Australia, Colombia, the Czech Republic, France, Canada, the United States, and more. Nearly a dozen countries served as peacekeepers in the Sinai and were split between the FOB-N, which served as the MFO’s Sinai headquarters, and the Sharm El Sheikh base in the south that also served as the naval coastal patrol camp.
Though the MFO was authorized for several thousand peacekeepers, the numbers had dwindled in recent years. The U.S. had roughly seven hundred soldiers in the region, half the number from the early ’80s. Tox wasn’t sure if that was good or bad in the scheme of things. For now, it meant fewer resources if he and his team got in trouble out here.
A guy in a flight suit jogged out of the building toward them. “Sergeant Russell?”
“That’s me,” Tox said, stepping around his men, Haven, and Wallace. “You are?”
Though he wore a head cover that shaded his face, the kid’s blue eyes were especially bright in the glaring sun. “Oh. I’m nobody,” he said with a goofy grin as he tugged the brim of his hat. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I was asked to bring you inside.” He took in the team. “But, uh, there are more of you than I was told.”
“That a problem?” Tox asked, an edge to his voice.
The kid scratched his head. “Only if y’all have a problem doubling up.”
Doubling up? On bunks? Was the kid serious? Tox considered the others, the same disgust on their faces that he felt.
“I’ll double with Cortes,” Cell volunteered.
“And it’ll be the last thing you do,” Tox said, knowing Cell was teasing. He turned back to their welcome committee. “I need to talk to whoever’s in charge.”
The kid busted out laughing. “Just kidding. Sorry. Thought y’all looked a bit uptight and needed a laugh.”
“I’m about to show you a laugh that looks a lot like a cry,” Thor threatened.
He waved them down the road. “C’mon. Let’s get you settled.”
Inside the long portable building, where air conditioning struggled to keep the heat at bay, the kid loped down a hall and banked right. “All right. Y’all are in here. Bathrooms are farther on”—he slapped the air to his left—“right next to the showers. Which are more like rust-dumping conduits, but it’ll get you clean. Eventually.”
Tox glanced into a room that held twenty bunks. “We have to meet up with—”
“I’m to drive y’all out to the village at 1420 hours,” the kid said. “Y’all be ready then?”
“We were supposed to meet a contact.”
“Yeah, sometimes this happens. But don’t worry. You came to see the village. You’ll see it.”
Tox huffed, and the guy vanished down the hall.
“He looked fifteen,” Ram said, shouldering past him.
“If that.”
An hour later, they were heading back out into the heat and sun. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a keffiyeh twisted around his neck, the kid stood beside two vehicles that didn’t look like they’d get off the base, let alone across the terrain to a remote village.
“What happens when these things break down?” Thor asked.
“We fix them,” the kid said. “You know how to fix a car, right?”
His taunts were annoying. They loaded up. The trip out was like trying to ride a bucking bronco. Not much different than Afghanistan. Except hotter, if that was possible. The heat here seemed drier, meaner.
“You’re American,” Tox said to their guide as the vehicle pitched them across the miles.
“Accent gave me away, huh?”
“Army?”
The kid nodded.
“You’re not in uniform.”
He grinned, pinching wrinkles into his sun-darkened face. “Keeps me alive longer.”
When Tox frowned—he was clearly a Westerner, so uniform or not, he wouldn’t be confused with a local—the kid went on.
“I speak French, so I can pass myself off as that out there. Not as evil as being American, according to the locals.”
Tox nodded. When people got in trouble, they wanted America to help, send money and resources. When things normalized, America again became demon spawn.
“Got a name?”
“Quite a few. Most just call me Runt.”
“Runt?” Tox scowled at him.
“Youngest in the family. Military brothers. They made sure the name carried.” He lifted a shoulder. “Makes people underestimate me. Gives me the advantage, like home turf.”
“D’you know anything about the family of the guy who got killed?”
“Not much,” Runt said with another shrug. He navigated the desert with a lazy confidence that warned his home-turf advantage was true. Runt was at home here. “Most people here don’t care much about politics. They’re just trying to survive in the desert. Sometimes the kids leave and find jobs. They either bring money home or send it home. Little in the way of commerce out this way. Lots of rock farmers, but not much else.” That was a joke. Had to be. “Unless you’re into terrorizing people, and then there’s money, drugs, skin trade . . .”
Ten minutes later, they pulled through the village, and Tox noticed a vehicle behind them. Tension knotted his shoulders.
“Easy,” Runt said without glancing back. “They’re friendly.”
“You know them?”
Another lazy shrug, his gaze on the road. “Know is a relative term.”
They slowed through a couple of switchbacks and aimed down into the lower valley. There was no difference between the grainy images he’d seen four days ago and the brick dwellings in the same shade of dried mud. He recognized the steep incline that had him bracing his weight as the vehicle tilted down the slope. They evened out and slid beneath what was left of an arched gate. Drawing up to the house, Tox had to shut off the video playing in his head of Alec getting out of his vehicle. Of the brother shooting Sherif.
“Wait here,” Runt said as he parked the beat-up Jeep. Only as the kid approached the two-story structure with curtains for windows did Tox see the bulge at Runt’s back. The shoulders that had not seemed broad before.
The stance.
Runt wasn’t a runt. He was—Tox snorted—underestimated.
A stream of Arabic flew into the air as Runt rapped on the wall beside the draped door. It shouldn’t be a surprise Runt knew the language, but it was. Tox scanned the buildings around them, catching more than one shower-curtain door flipping back. Too many eyes.
The flimsy barrier flapped aside. A man, bent with age, appeared. Face wrought, he shouted at Runt.
Tox eased his hand toward his leg-holstered Glock 22, suddenly wishing they had more than just handguns. But this was a peaceful mission, talking with the locals. Besides, Western soldiers walking into a village armed to the teeth would not only give the wrong message but would have trouble breathing down their necks. At least he had his Glock.
