Full Throttle(96)

“Just one,” he said. “But if he was telling the truth, there could be more headed this way.”

“Ten-four,” Boonie Hat said. Then, with a series of hand gestures, he commanded his team to spread out into the jungle.

Steady didn’t watch them go. Because right at that moment, Abby appeared in front of him. She slipped down to her knees, her arms thrown around his neck, her sweet lips peppering his muddy cheeks with even muddier kisses. And then, in true Abby form, she pulled back, her tears having left wet trails through the muck on her face. “You egg-sucking asshole!” she snarled. “If you ever try to do anything like that again, sacrifice yourself, I swear I’ll kill you myself!”

* * *

Umar could not believe it! All his hard work, all his planning, all the money he had paid to all those people had come to nothing. Nothing! His brother was still rotting away in a cell. And here he was running through the jungle with a squad of American soldiers hot on his heels. His only hope for escape was if somehow, someway, through the grace of Allah, his remaining men made it to him before he could be captured…or killed. Those soldiers had looked more than capable of the latter, although it was definitely the former he feared most.

He sent up a silent prayer as he vaulted over a low-lying bush and ran smack into a wall of hanging vines. Growling his frustration, slapping the clinging plants away, he managed to free himself and immediately broke into another headlong sprint.

Distance… Distance… He needed distance…

Because if he was being quite honest with himself, the chances of his men finding him were slim to none. The satellite phone had lost power before he could call in his last set of coordinates, and unless his fighters had heard the gunfire, they could very well be headed in the wrong direction. And if they had heard the gunfire? Well, it was not assured they would come to investigate. To say the majority of his men were unreliable was an understatement at best.

Rage and fear fueled him quickly through the undergrowth, his heart pounding, his breaths labored. There had been a small ravine some distance back, yes? And perhaps if he could make it there, he could duck into one of the narrow rock alcoves, cover himself with foliage, and hide. Perhaps if he could—

The sound of a stick crunching beneath a quickened step directly to his left had him ducking behind a tree. His chest burned like he had swallowed fire. His skin crawled like he had fallen into a bowl of maggots. No, no, no! This was not how it was supposed to end for him. He was a warrior of Islam, a jihadist who had so much more to accomplish! This could not be!

Snap! Crack!

He held his breath and tightened his finger on the trigger of his Kalashnikov. But just as he was prepared to jump from behind the tree and fire, the cool barrel of deadly weapon kissed his temple. His heart and his lungs stopped functioning, causing his head to spin with dizziness.

“Don’t move,” a deep, growling American voice advised. From the corner of his eye, he could see the soldier staring down the gun’s sights at him. Blue eyes the color of the Oriental magpie-robin that used to nest outside his boyhood home, brooked no argument. But in that moment, Umar knew what he had to do. He would not end up like his brother. He would not allow himself to be taken only to spend the rest of his days behind bars. Better to die a martyr for the cause.

Quickly angling the AK’s barrel beneath his chin, he closed his eyes and offered his soul to eternity. But before he could pull the trigger, his weapon was yanked from his hands by the blue-eyed soldier drawing down on him. He roared his fury just as another tall, brutal-looking commando materialized from behind a bush in front of him. The man was covered in camouflage…except for a pair of sunglasses that seemed to mock Umar because he could see his terrified reflection in them.

“Now normally,” the man said, cradling his weapon in one arm while scratching the blond beard covering the lower half of his face with his free hand, “me and Mad Dog”—he dipped his chin toward the soldier holding Umar hostage—“and the rest of the boys wouldn’t hesitate to just go ahead and let you eat a bullet.” And, as if on cue, four more soldiers emerged from the undergrowth, quiet as ghosts. “But as it happens, there are some folks back in the States who are just itchin’ to ask you a few questions.”

“Noooo!” he yelled in English, spittle flying from his lips, his vocal cords flaying until his scream ended in a reedy whisper that sounded far too much like surrender…





Chapter Twenty-three


20,000 feet above Washington, DC

Fifteen hours later…

Penni leaned over her armrest, glancing down the cabin aisle of the private luxury jet to check on Abby. In the way any loving father whose daughter had been abducted and subsequently rescued would do, President Thompson had insisted Abby, in his words, “be brought home with all immediate haste.” So the SEALs had flown her and Steady straight from the jungle to the Kuala Lumpur airport before taking off again with their hostage/kidnapper and the poor, terrified Good Samaritan Abby and Steady had met in the jungle in tow. She and Dan had been waiting to hustle the couple onboard the hastily chartered Gulfstream G650, no stops, no detours, and no pause to pick up their belongings from the hotel. Just wheels-up and get the hell home ASAP.