Chapter Sixteen

In the back of the helicopter he was riding in, Fahim ended the call and leaned his head back against the wall of the aircraft with a deep sigh. The first truck had made it across the Pakistani border, thanks be to God.

“Sir, eighteen minutes to target,” the crew chief told him.

Fahim nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t respond verbally, his mind busy reviewing the logistics of the coming op. One major hurdle had been overcome with that truck making it across. But he needed all four to get across if he was going to have a prayer of coming up with the remainder of the money to pay for Beena’s surgery. If he had to sell his own soul or die to do it, he’d get the damn money.

He motioned his lieutenant over to review contingency plans. If he should be captured or killed tonight, every last one of his men had been instructed to do whatever was necessary to ensure the drugs made it to their final destination.

The only reason he was overseeing this operation personally was because the stakes were too high to leave anything to chance. Guilt needled him at what he was about to do, but he ignored it.

It was too late to stop this now. Things had already been set into motion. He was way beyond the point of no return, and second-guessing himself now was pointless.

This final shipment would allow him to escape the region and join his family in Mexico. It would give Beena the chance of living past his sixth birthday. And it was also part of the deal he’d made with El Escorpion. Going back on his word would mean his death, and likely that of his innocent wife and child. At least this way, he had a chance of surviving. And if he didn’t, his wife would do everything in her power to take care of their son.

He’d waited until Shah had dropped her and Beena off at the airstrip north of Kabul. Then he’d returned to Bagram, sat in on the mission briefing before going dark and making his own arrangements for tonight. Just before boarding the helo he’d received word that his family had arrived safely in Veracruz a few hours ago.

Now he was on high alert, flying through the darkness toward the Spin Ghar Mountains, ready to launch the fight of his life.

The timing of this was critical. The pressure was on him, the eyes and ears of a half dozen international intelligence agencies looking for clues that would lead them to The Jackal. Fahim had to secure this shipment and make it across the border where allies linked to the Veneno cartel would smuggle him down to Karachi and fly him to Veracruz.

But first he had to deal with the members of FAST Bravo and the men from his unit who weren’t loyal to him. Then he could move the drugs and make his way across the border.

The advantage lay in knowing that no one but the men aboard this aircraft knew what was coming. And that the Americans thought Shah was The Jackal. That stroke of luck might give Fahim the edge he needed.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the helo’s wall, letting the vibrations calm him, and thought of his family. It gave him strength. And courage. Just a few more hours and he would melt into obscurity in the Mexican desert, far away from all the prying eyes searching for him.

****

Jaliya entered the TOC at Bagram to find Commander Taggart and some of the other key players on the taskforce riveted to the video monitors showing a live feed of the helicopters’ progress across Afghan airspace, headed north of the Khyber Pass. Zaid and the rest of FAST Bravo were on one of them, the NIU members on the other.

They had about twenty-five minutes until they reached the insertion point. The most recent intelligence said that The Jackal’s latest shipment was being smuggled across the border within the next few hours, in trucks carrying medical supplies.

“How’s everything look?” she asked the room in general.

“Everything’s on target,” Taggart answered without looking at her as he watched the screen, feet planted apart, arms folded across his broad chest.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, and when she saw one of her analyst’s numbers, she answered. “This is Rabani.”

“Your young informant was brought into Joint Craig Hospital ten minutes ago with serious gunshot wounds.”

Her lungs seized. “Barakat?”

“Yes. They’re getting a trauma team ready right now.”

God. “I’m on my way.”

“What’s wrong?” David asked, putting a hand on her arm.

“Barakat’s been shot. They’re prepping him for surgery. I have to get there before they put him under.” Without waiting for a response she rushed out the door and ran over to the hospital.

By the time she got there and explained who she was, two nurses were already wheeling his bed toward the O.R. at the end of the hall. “Wait!”

They stopped and she flashed her badge at them as she raced over. Panting, she grabbed the rail of the bed and stared down into Barakat’s pale, pain-pinched face. He had an oxygen mask over his face and dressings covering his belly, soaked with fresh blood. The sight and smell of it made her stomach pitch.

“Barakat. Who did this to you?” she demanded in Dari.

His dark eyes fluttered open and focused on her blearily. “Hurts,” he moaned.

She reached for his hand, wrapped her fingers around his. “I know it does. They’re taking you into the operating room. The doctors here are excellent. They’ll fix you up.” She squeezed his hand. “Who shot you?”

“Jackal’s…men,” he rasped.

“Ma’am, we need to get him into the operating room now. You’ll have to wait until after he’s out of recovery.”

Jaliya nodded but otherwise ignored the woman, keeping up with them as they wheeled him toward the doors at the end of the hall. “Did you see their faces?”

Barakat shook his head, grimacing.

“Where did it happen?”

He cried out in agony, sweat beading his forehead.

“They found him on the side of the road a few miles from base,” one of the nurses said.

She felt badly for him, hated to see him suffering, but there was far too much at stake here to let this go. “Barakat. Were you coming here to find me? Did you need to tell me something?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, managed a slight nod.

Jaliya leaned over him, heart pounding. “Barakat. I know it hurts, but before they take you into the operating room, I need to know what you came to tell me.”

His eyes cracked open, and when they focused on her, the fear in his gaze sent a shiver ripping down her spine. “I know…who he is,” he said.

The nurses slowed and one of them put a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, ma’am. You’ll have to stay here—”

“No, wait.” She pushed the woman’s restraining hand off and bent over to place her free hand on Barakat’s scruffy cheek, bringing that pain-glazed gaze back to hers. “It’s Shah. Remember? We already talked about it this morning.”

“No,” he protested, growing agitated. “No. Not…him.”

Cold spread through her gut. “What?”

He bared his teeth, the muscles in his throat standing out as he fought the agony.

“Barakat. Are you saying it’s not Shah?”

He shook his head. “Help,” he begged. “Make it stop.”

She clenched his hand tight, desperate to get through to him. “Who is it?”

Endless seconds passed while she awaited his answer.

“Barakat. Tell me who it is. Who is The Jackal?”

He focused on her slowly, his throat moving as he swallowed. “Nasar.”

Ice splintered throughout her body. “What?” she whispered.

“Nasar,” he repeated, then his face twisted and he bared his teeth as a terrible cry of pain echoed off the walls.

“Let go, now,” one of the nurses snapped, and shoved Jaliya backward. They pushed through the double doors leading to the operating room.

Shock kept her rooted to the floor for a moment as her mind struggled to compute what Barakat had just said.

General Nasar was The Jackal. And he had coordinated tonight’s op with FAST Bravo.

Stricken, she yanked out her phone and dialed Taggart as she spun and ran for the door. It rang and rang in her ear, but he didn’t answer.

“Shit,” she whispered, hanging up and trying David. “Come on, pick up. Pick up.”

He didn’t.

She swallowed back a scream of frustration and helplessness and ran as fast as she could, trying other numbers, with the same result. By the time she reached the building the TOC was located in she was gasping and light-headed, sweating despite the icy cold air.

She flung the exterior door open, her boots thudding on the linoleum floor as she ran for the second door on the left. Everything was brighter. Louder. Including the thud of her heart in her ears. Zaid was out there, and his team. They didn’t know. Didn’t realize the danger they faced.

Wrenching the TOC door open, the distinctive sound of gunfire from the live feed hit her and she stopped dead.

Her blood pressure took a nosedive as six pairs of eyes jerked to her. She looked at Taggart, the terrible news she had to deliver frozen on her tongue as he stared at her and shook his head, face grim as he muttered, “All hell’s breaking loose down there.”