I swallow hard. “I can call Ryker, but he won’t be here until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Not only that,” Nomar says, “but he’d probably go in there guns blazing.”
“You have a better idea?”
“I do,” Trevor says quietly. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“The CIA has all the good toys,” I mutter as I weave the high-grade plastic lock picks into the waistband of my black pants. They rest at the small of my back. In my shoe, a retractable knife the size of my little finger is embedded in the lining, and I wear the same type of belt Trevor used in Kabul.
Trevor chuckles. “You have no idea, man. All the state-of-the-art tech you can think of? The government’s had it for at least three to five years longer than you’d imagine.”
“You ready?” Nomar asks.
“No.” Trev was right. I hate this plan. But it’s also our best chance to get in and find Joey. Blowing out a single, focusing breath, I close my eyes. “Do it.” Nomar’s right hook catches me in the jaw, and I taste blood. The next is higher…closer to my eye. “You do realize I need to be able to see to get the fuck out of there?”
“On the ground. Got to make this look real,” Trevor orders.
Sinking to my knees, I let Nomar push me into the dirt, then plant his boot in the center of my back. Trevor holds my left arm and slices through the dark brown tunic, opening up a shallow cut along my bicep. I barely notice the pain, but it’ll bleed enough to look like I’m more injured than I am.
After the two men grind a little more dirt into my clothes, Nomar offers me his hand. “Thanks, asshole.” I don’t have to fake my groan when I get to my feet. “Let’s get this over with.”
I tense my muscles and angle my hands slightly as Trevor ties the rope around my wrists, tight enough to fool most people, but loose enough I can still move if I relax a bit. I’d much rather he be the one going in as a prisoner, but since I don’t speak more than a couple of words of Pashto and Trev and Nomar do, this is the only way.
When we’re almost in sight of the guard towers, Trevor takes my arm. “You trust me, right?”
I meet his gaze in the last dim light of dusk. His green eyes usually give nothing away. Training, or some damage he won’t talk about, I don’t know. But the guy’s scary. Unnerving. I swear half the time he doesn’t feel any emotion—except maybe anger. But now…? He’s as worried as I am about this plan.
Bound, I can’t do anything more than look him in the eyes. “I trust you with my life. But more than that, I’m trusting you with Joey’s life. She’s the priority. You get her out. Even if you have to leave me behind.”
“Not leaving you behind,” he mutters, but when I half-growl his name, he sighs. “I promise you, Ford. We’ll get Joey out. No matter what.”
My nod seals the vow, and he digs a hood out of his back pocket. “Look broken.”
Not much of a problem there. I’ve been broken for twenty years. But when he shoves the dark cloth down over my head, my heart starts to pound, and my palms dampen.
By the time we reach the gate, I’ve fallen four different times, and my chin and knees are bleeding. Every time I trip, I curse under my breath, but we have to sell the act. I’m their prisoner and they can’t show me any consideration.
A harsh voice calls out from just in front of me, and Nomar answers back in Pashto. Trevor leans in and whispers, “He’s asking what business we have here.”
After a few minutes of angry negotiations, metal screeches, and I’m tugged forward. I trip once more on the metal tracks, and this time, stronger, rougher hands yank me up. Not Trev or Nomar.
“You think you can steal from Amir Faruk? That auction brought in hundreds of thousands of American dollars every month. You will learn the meaning of pain for killing our men.”
Something hard impacts my skull, and the darkness behind the hood turns soft before I fade away completely.
My shoulders ache, and the pain in my wrists snaps me to full awareness. With my arms stretched above my head, so tight that my boots barely touch the floor, even if they didn’t find my hidden tools and weapons, I won’t be able to use them.
Bright lights shine in my face, and with a groan, I raise my head and squint, hoping Nomar’s around here somewhere.
“Hey, fucker. Show your face,” I grunt as breathing registers from behind the lights. A dark shadow moves slowly, as if sizing me up. “I don’t know what those assholes told you, but I’m innocent. I was just walking by this restaurant in Kabul when the place went crazy.”
“According to my sources,” the refined, accented voice says as a knife presses to my windpipe, “you not only set the explosion, but killed several of my men—including Aazar.”
“I don’t…know…who the fuck…that is.” The blade makes it hard to swallow, and panic sets in. I can’t let myself thrash or even move. I’ll end up with my throat slit.
“He used the name Mr. Black in public. Perhaps that will help your memory?”
“Nope. Never…heard of him.” I can almost see his face, he’s so close, but my vision’s still a little blurry. Blinking hard, I try to focus. Faruk.
