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CHAPTER 18



The trip out should have been a chance to relax, but they weren’t free yet. Not until they were on the deck of a U.S. ship, and even then, they needed to get into friendly waters. Kyle was a Ranger. He could go a long time under stress, underfed, and without sleep. But he was groggy after moving so far, so fast in this climate.

He was still hyperaware, too, and that took a toll. He listened to the chorus of insects as they drove, shifting with the greenery. The road noise and engine sounds changed. Occasional other noises were natural enough. Then . . .

“Coming car, everyone down and weapons hidden,” Bakri said.

The headlights grew and illuminated the inside of the roof as Kyle scrunched into the footwell. He drew the SR-25 in tight, the muzzle past his ear. The lights swept across as what sounded like a truck roared past. He counted two and started to shimmy back up.

Bakri swore in Achinese. “They are turning around. Coming in pursuit. It’s a security vehicle.”

“Wade, make it go away,” Kyle said. He was having flashbacks to Romania and one of their too many car chases.

“Roger,” Wade said. He leaned out the window, bracing a leg across Wiesinger’s lap, ignoring his momentary protest. He raised the M4, clicked the safety and squeezed. Four shots rang out, four empty cases tinged as they ricocheted inside, and then the lights swerved.

“Tire and three radiator shots. That should slow them down.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. He already had his cell phone out.

It answered. He’d known it would, but ever since the snatch, he’d been nervous. “Gilpin.”

“Yeah, Monroe here. Is our transport ready?”

“They’re hidden. Do you need backup?”

“Not at this moment. We may any minute. I’ll keep the line open.”

“Don’t. I’ll have them call you directly.”

“Roger that, Monroe out.” He clicked off.

Thirty seconds later, the phone vibrated in his hand.

“Monroe,” he answered.

“McLaren. We didn’t meet on the Black Sea, I’m told.” It was an American voice, and it was coming from very nearby. That helped Kyle steady out.

“Good to not meet you again, McLaren.” He kept looking over his shoulder anyway. Nothing else at present.

“Well, we’ll meet in about three minutes, according to my math. Unless I dropped a decimal and you’re actually in Albuquerque.”

“I wish.”

“Okay, you’ll come to a bend to the left in the road,” McLaren said.

“Bend to the left, roger,” he spoke aloud for Bakri’s benefit.

“Continue straight ahead on foot.”

“Straight ahead on foot, roger.” They’d have to carry gear and the girl.

“Distance is two zero zero meters.”

“Two zero zero meters, roger.”

“I’ll find you.”

“You’ll find us. Roger.” He hoped so. Fumbling in the dark on the coast would suck.

“I’ll be wearing a black trenchcoat and fedora.”

“Black trenchcoat and fedora you say.” He had to grin at that.

“Would you settle for black camo over a wetsuit and boonie hat?”

“McLaren, I’ll settle for you wearing a pink fucking tutu, as long as you get us out of here.” Hot damn, they were going to make it.

“Tutu not an option. I’ll note choice for next task. I see headlights,” McLaren said, serious again. “Flash them.”

Kyle cupped the phone low and said, “Flash headlights twice.”

“I count two flashes,” McLaren said a moment later.

“Confirm two flashes. That’s us.”

The road curved sharply just ahead. Bakri leaned into the brakes steadily, and they stopped right at the curve. The civilians necessitated a full stop, or Kyle would have risked bailing out on a roll. There was no additional pursuit from either oil-terminal security or terrorists yet, and hopefully there wouldn’t be. But the sooner they were gone, the better.

Kyle rolled out to his feet, facing rearward. Wade sprang out and sprinted around back. He threw open the hatch and motioned for Lei Ling to pass her daughter up. Kyle was past and scanning for potential threats.

Then Suzanne started screaming.

There was no way she was going to let a soldier take her again. Wade returned Kyle’s inquisitive glance with a shrug and a look of helplessness.

They were both saved when Lei Ling jumped out, staggering slightly, and let her daughter clutch her around the neck. “I do it,” she said.

“Run,” Kyle said, pointing, with his rifle held ready in the other hand. Wade grabbed his ruck in one hand and Lei Ling’s arm in the other. They bounded forward, off the road, and down a rocky beach that turned sandy, dark from occasional oil spills.

Wiesinger, already out, followed along, grunting in pain in his bandaged feet. The man lumbered and had an obvious silhouette, Kyle groused to himself after a moment’s glance back. But at least he wasn’t complaining anymore. And he was making respectable time on feet that had to resemble hamburger. The man wasn’t entirely a coward. He was more a self-centered ass.

Then it was Kyle’s turn. He ran past the driver’s side. Bakri had his arm out and was looking as casual as one could under the circumstances. “For all of us, Bakri, thanks. This has been our smoothest mission so far.”

“If that’s so, you are a brave man. Good luck, and salemat jalan.” Good travel.

“And you.” He shook the offered hand.

That was as much as there was time for. Bakri coaxed the truck forward as Kyle picked up three rucks. They had been packed in a hurry and were quite bulky, even with food and water depleted. They tangled on his back as he donned one and slung one on each shoulder, but it wasn’t a long trip; he could manage. He picked his way down the beach at a run.

As the Toyota pulled around the curve, Kyle tripped. He threw the butt of the SR-25 out and broke his fall. But he caught his right boot toe between two rocks, banged his knee, and skinned an elbow.

Wincing, he stood and resumed his path, limping. It felt as if he’d torn the boot open, though a quick glance didn’t show any obvious rips in the leather. His foot was squelching, but that could be sweat as much as blood. But it burned like hell and was sharply painful. His right knee had either loose skin or sharp pebbles embedded in the skin and stung with every movement. His elbow lit up with every shift of fabric or breath of air over the open wound.

He saw the boat, and a young American in an odd camo pattern with a flattop haircut and some godawful variant of an M4 Kyle wasn’t familiar with, with rails all over the receiver and barrel, a bulky suppressor, some kind of night vision, and other gadgets. But it helped prove he was an American, and was likely devastatingly effective.

“Monroe?”

“Yeah, injured, rocks,” he said through clenched teeth. “Teach me to hurry.”

“McLaren. Here.” The SEAL reached out a hand and heaved, taking the weight off Kyle’s injured foot. Kyle dropped the rucks and then they were swinging their legs over the gunwale of a Boston Whaler. McLaren stepped back and grabbed a ruck in each hand, barely straining.

“Anything fragile?”

“No,” Kyle said, as the three packs sailed over the side. He chuckled. The question had been an irrelevant formality.

The boat had a cockpit of sorts, enough for two crewmen to stand in. One stood there now. Another man crouched forward at a Browning M2HB .50 caliber machine gun. Kyle’s foot sent streaks of pain up his leg as McLaren piled in.

“Go,” the SEAL said. It wasn’t much above a whisper, but it was enough.

Then they were moving, slowly, as the heavily muffled diesels rumbled.

McLaren was speaking into an encrypted radio. “Got all three items, and two supplemental. Both female. Request female medical support who look as nonthreatening as possible, over . . .”

Kyle sank back and let the gunwale take his weight. Damn, that felt good. He was on a friendly vessel and didn’t have to worry about his command or about taking charge himself.

“You realize I am going to puke,” Wade said. He sounded cheerful about it, though.

“Red, white, and blue?”

“Or Army green. Something patriotic. Goddam, my man, we did it again. Busted up, worn out, but we saved a little girl. Dunno about you, but I feel pretty goddamned good!”

“Yeah,” Kyle said noncommittally. He really did feel good, but the exhaustion and tension were fighting inside him. He could feel a thrill of victory later. Right now, it was the agony of the feet.

But he did have to smile at the pun.


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