She rose to her knees, the helo moving, sweeping closer to the ground, spinning debris, and flattening grasses. Nancy sighted on the chopper and unloaded into it.
One bullet ricocheted off the bulletproof glass, the second hit the hydraulics, a third increased the damage. The chopper smoked, rocking violently. She turned and headed for the jeeps parked on the road just beyond the thick of the underbrush. She could hear movement all around her as her team scrambled through the underbrush in the same direction. “Get to the jeeps! Hurry!” They were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered. She wasn’t sure who had met her and the team at the airport, but it hadn’t been anyone from the Bolivian government. She’d been duped.
But at the same time, her blood chilled as she heard more noise from behind them as they were pursued. She turned and fired the last few bullets in her mag, then she had to reload. She hid behind a thick tree as the sounds of gunfire, shouts of pain, harsh breathing, and crashing bodies surrounded her. She shoved the mag home and stepped out to fire, but something hot and agonizing struck her arm and spun her around, knocking her to the ground. She looked off to her left. Some of her men were down and cartel members stood over them. To her horror and terror, they killed her people up close and point blank. Then they bent down and pulled something off a sheet of paper, slapping at their uniforms.
She heard footsteps and she brought her weapon to bear, but she was too late. The man grabbed her muzzle and deflected the gunfire, almost breaking her trigger finger as he yanked the gun out of her grasp. She went for her sidearm, but he stepped on her wrist, then punched her in the face.
She struggled as another man walked up. He had a phone, and he shoved the screen into her face. What she saw there made her moan softly and cry out in agony. “No! You fucking bastards!”
He punched her again. “You will do as we ask.”
He pulled out one of those sheets of paper and peeled off what she now recognized as a sticker. He slapped it over the emblem on her uniform. She looked down to see an identical American flag, but this one had a black X through it.
Then, he grabbed her arm, and she was powerless as they injected her with something. This wasn’t the Cortez Cartel…this was the terrorist organization that had killed all those people in Paris.
No Safe Haven.
And they had her family.
* * *
Virginia Beach,Virginia
Preacher woke up with sand in places he’d only remembered getting in BUD/S. The heat from the bonfire had long since gone out and there was a definite chill in the air. He rolled over, crashing into Kodiak, who mumbled something crass and shoved him back. Preacher raised himself up on his elbow. He smiled softly. They had all rallied around GQ. The way his mom had died had been brutal. Poor kid. The woman had no idea who her son had been, and it was sad to think now she never would.
All the more reason to do the work and put in the time to get to his own personal truth. GQ’s mom had been a bitter and cantankerous woman, keeping everyone at arm’s length because she’d been so hurt and disillusioned by life. Preacher had to acknowledge that she had taken care of GQ, and it was surprising how well and even-keeled the guy had turned out to be, but her bitterness had eaten her alive.
He didn’t want to go down that road, especially where Karasu was concerned. He’d get his head on straight and find some way to forgive the Navy, forgive the living, breathing entity who had given him everything he’d ever hoped for, a career, a way of life, his brothers, and the honor of serving his country.
He was finally scratching the surface of what was eating at him, and after a week of surfing and talking to Noa, he felt looser, and a little more like his former self, before Bosnia and Striker, before Karasu.
He sat up and his eye caught GQ sitting close to the water, huddled under a blanket, his shoulders shaking.
Aw, kid. Preacher rose and stepped over sleeping bodies. When he reached GQ, he settled into the sand next to him so that their shoulders touched. He could feel GQ’s trembling. He didn’t say anything, as GQ wiped at his eyes and took a shuddering breath.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Nothing to be sorry about, man. You lost your mom. You can grieve however you need to, no apology needed. Suppressing stuff just doesn’t work.” GQ’s expression faltered, flashed with something fleeting in his eyes, then the starkness around his mouth relaxed a little. He had a new vow, even as the energy of life filled him. He made an oath to not keep anything under wraps. Ignore and override only went so far, burying stuff that needed to be buried during ops, but when missions were over, it was important to reflect and sort through emotions, thoughts, and understandings before they became overwhelming and jumbled up into a tangled, fucked-up mess. “Let go, brother,” Preacher said gruffly.
GQ looked at him, his eyes dulled, not quite sure. His golden hair was damp and ruffled by the wind, and there was a grim set to his jaw, but there wasn’t a trace of expression in his eyes. He turned his head back to look out at the ocean again. “Yeah,” GQ said, numbly responding. The muscles in his throat contracted and the pain in his eyes softened ever so slightly as he tried to smile.
Preacher slung his arm around GQ’s shoulder as he met his gaze, trying to tell him by touch alone that he understood how hard this was for him.
He should take his own advice, he thought as a heavy feeling settled in his gut. He could see the sorrow in GQ’s face, and he remembered what it was like to lose his dad. Devastating.
Enough time had passed for him to tackle those demons, and he realized he was ready to tackle Karasu’s as well.
Preacher swallowed hard and fixed his gaze on the far horizon, his jaw clenched tight against the sudden ache in his throat. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she had become so important to him. He had to take the chance that might either make him or break him.
Whichever it was, he would deal with it, eyes wide open, heart wide open. He was sure with Karasu, his vulnerability was what she needed. And, like his next breath, he needed her.
8
The Andean Jungle,Bolivia
The jungle dripped with moisture, but for Volk, not much slowed him down. He’d hit the ground running in Bolivia as he tracked the small plane from Bosnia to Spain, but presumably with only Novak Jovanovic on board. Then to a jet whose final destination was La Paz, Bolivia. He and Savic had gone their separate ways in Spain, and Volk had lost track of Savic. He’d cut his losses there. He suspected that Savic had secured some type of transportation, but not overly concerned with the trafficker, he’d given the lead to ATF. Volk was looking for one of their own, Aurora Diaz…Zorra and he’d gotten intel that Jovanovic was traveling with a woman under wraps, a woman with strawberry blonde hair. Although his suspicions fell squarely on NSH, he was convinced they had a twisted reason for taking her and keeping her alive.
He wasn’t an idiot.Bait. She was bait.