“What is going on?” He had said they were going to an airstrip, not an empty field!
A quarter of a mile later, he steered into the tall brush. “Grab your pack. Let’s go.”
“Where?” They were in the middle of nowhere! When he didn’t answer, she hopped out and stomped around back. “What are we doing?”
“Not killing you, if that’s what you think.”
“Then what?”
His gaze sharpened, and he pointed behind her. “There.”
She peered out and saw nothing. “I don’t …” But then she did. A subtle glow and blinking lights blended with a steady whine. An airplane!
CHAPTERELEVEN
Kandahar Province, Afghanistan
Danger hada certain smell to it, and tonight, that odor was a lot like the fumes rolling off the blacked-out cargo plane idling at the end of the small airstrip. He’d texted Pike at the gas station they were running behind. Had hoped Omen would wait. Relief chugged at the sight of the chief. He’d soon be rid of her and back on familiar soil. She’d be out of business, and he could hit the next name on the list.
Shouldering into his ruck, he caught something in his periphery. Instinct had him palming her head and pushing her toward the ground. “Down!”
Red and white splashed across the brush as the distant wail of a siren rose.
What the heck? In a crouch, Sig Sauer in hand, he swiveled to find the source. Saw a stream of green trucks and SUVs. And cursed at the shadowed figures with rifles riding in truck beds.
“The police!” Kasra cried.
“Go!” Range barked, pitching her toward the field. “Run!” Even as he sprinted, he easily passed her. He slowed and caught her arm.
Heard the plane’s engines whining louder.
No!
Grip tight, he nearly dragged her. Saw a handful of uniformed men disemboweled from the back of the plane. Pike. Had to be Pike. Maybe Luther.
Range grabbed his SureFire and aimed the beam at the airstrip. Pressed it twice, signaling their arrival and location. They still had a fence to clear and least another quarter klick to traverse.
The ALP sirens screamed closer and closer. Barreling on a parallel course to his nine … straight at the airstrip. The plane.
They weren’t going to make it.
No. They had to.
They rushed to the fence. “Up.” He went to a knee and patted it, indicating for her to step up and climb over.
Toe on his knee, she pushed up. Caught the chain links.
Crack! Pop-pop-pop!
With a shout, Kasra pitched backward. Landed with a hard thud. On the ground, she held her arm where a dark stain bloomed across her sleeve.
What …? Range eyed the plane. Felt a hollowing of awareness … what he saw … it was wrong. That … He drew out his nocs. Four black-clad operators were moving across the tarmac in their general direction, M4s at the ready.
What!?He lowered himself as much as he could without losing visibility. Scanned the foursome. That wasn’t Pike. Or Luther.
Shouts carried over the din of the revving engines. The four men backed toward the plane, still scanning, as the ALP closed in on them.
One word hit Range’s brain: compromised.
