“I don’t have that long. Not if I expect to live to see tomorrow.” I lean forward, peering into the hall. It’s still quiet, but every minute I’m here is a minute closer to death.
“Run the program,” she says. “I’ll turn off the screen. No one will know the computer’s on, and you can get out of there. When I decrypt the data, I’ll upload it to a secure share and you can access it from anywhere.”
“You’re sure no one will know?”
“Flippin’ flapjacks. Ford, tell yourfriendI know what the hockey puck I’m doing.”
I’m having a stroke. That’s the only explanation for what I’m hearing. “Uh…?”
“Wren gets creative with her profanity,” Ford says with a chuckle. “She’s also one of the top three hackers in the world.”
“Oneof…?” The delicate sound that carries over the line is definitely a snort. “Puh-leeze. The last time I went up against ZedHorse and Daystrumer, they crawled back to their mothers in tears after I zeroed them.”
She’s so confident, I click on the file. A black window flashes on the screen for a few seconds, text scrolling by too quickly to read, and then it’s gone.
“I’m in. Get out of there, Friend. When you’re somewhere safe, call Ford and he’ll connect us.”
“I can’t repay you for this—”
“You saved Joey’s life,” Ford says. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”
The call drops, and I stare at the phone until the laptop screen flickers off. I didn’t even get a chance to ask about Lisette. To find out if she’s okay.
Stop it. You don’t have time for that now.
I rush back to my room, shove a single change of clothes, a wad of cash, and a pair of Berettas into my duffel bag. It has to look like I’m coming back.
The single guard patrolling the grounds stops me before I get into the truck. “Where are you going?”
“Got a call from one of Musa’s guys. We did a couple jobs together ten years ago. He says he’s got info we need. I’ll be back by noon.”
He nods, then opens the gate. If this plan doesn’t work, Shapur will never stop hunting me. But staying here another day? That would kill me.
* * *
Forty-eight hours later,I stagger into an abandoned house on the outskirts of Kandahar. Blood stains my tunic, my hair, my fingernails. None of it mine. For now.
I dumped Shapur’s truck in north Jalalabad, stole another, left it in Kabul, and wound through the streets for three hours before I boosted the one I’m using now. Other than the cash, pistols, and USB drive, I kept nothing I took from Shapur. After finding that fucking tracker in Lisette’s abaya last year, there was no way I could take that risk. I smashed my CIA-issued phone and bought a new one before I left Kabul.
I trust no one—except Ford and Trevor—so I sink down against the wall and dial the former Marine.
“Foxtrot Charlie,” I say before he can get a word out.
“It’s about damn time. Another six hours and I was going to send McCabe’s team to look for you.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re friends? Because without you, I wouldn’t be meeting Joey for lunch in an hour. Because Pritchard told me where you’ve been since you left Boston.”
“Fucker. Wait, how do you know the head of JSOC?”
After a long pause, Ford blows out a breath. “You’ve been under a long time, Nomar. Austin was shitcanned months ago. He’s a civie now. And Trevor’s in love with his sister.”
My low whistle echoes off the mud and stone walls. “Shit. What about Collins?”
“Who?”
“Deputy Director of the CIA. Alisha Collins. I’ve been sending her my reports for months. If she’s gone too…”
