THE UPDATE FROM MARSHALL hit Jake like a sledgehammer to the gut. No sooner had he rescued Alex, who was now being escorted to the safety of Pete’s ranch, then Ahmed and Sarafina had been thrust into danger. That his two older children had decided to embark on the very same dangerous mission he himself was on—me with a SEAL team, no less—was nothing short of mind-boggling.
“Can’t this rig go any faster?” he asked into his headset microphone. He was seated in the back of an MX-H Stealth Black Hawk helicopter streaking over the rolling terrain of Los Padres National Forest.
“Ten minutes,” the pilot replied.
The four kitted-up Navy SEALs in the cabin with Jake ignored the exchange. They weren’t accustomed to outsiders in their ride, much less the world famous “Global Terrorist” who was supposedly calling the shots on this mission. They’d barely spoken two words to him since the departure from their base at Miramar Naval Air Station in San Diego forty-five minutes earlier. The civilian contractor sitting to Jake’s left was a different matter. He was loaded for bear like the others, but not in a Navy uniform. Regardless, Sam Caruthers had commanded instant respect from the SEALs, and if he said Jake was okay, then Jake was okay.
Caruthers leaned his helmet closer to Jake’s head. “Don’t mind them none,” the mid-forties operator said, off mike, with a Texas drawl. “They’re just getting into character for the job ahead. If they look at you sideways now and then, it’s only because the story I told ’em wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. Hell, I still can’t believe it myself most of the time.”
The former Navy commander had led SEAL Team One when they rescued Jake and the rest of his gang from a terrorist training center in the Venezuelan rainforest almost eight years ago. They’d flown, guns blazing, in three US Marine versions of Cal’s CV-22 Osprey, and they’d witnessed Jake’s superhuman speed firsthand when he’d raced out of the facility after activating the countdown on a nuclear bomb. Jake’s not-so-superhuman heart had given out in the process, and it was Sam’s team who’d retrieved and resuscitated Jake into a comatose state that lasted six years. After the terrorist attacks earlier today, the government had gone all hands on board, and Doc had talked his way out of his temporary detention. That had allowed him to see to it that Sam was present at the airfield when Cal and Kenny had landed the CV-22. Sam had escorted Jake, Tony, and Alex to a remote hangar where Doc and the SEAL team were waiting.
“The general consensus from my higher-ups is that you’re not one of the good guys,” Doc had said. “And the few that know better still won’t rest until they get a closer look at what’s in Alex’s head. I’m doing everything I possibly can to force the truth down their throats and change people’s minds. But it’s a slow process, Jake, so we’ve still got a long way to go before you’ll stop having to look over your shoulder. In the meantime, there’s a lot of guys like Sam who are willing to stand up for you.”
There’d been three of Tony’s SWAT buddies in the hangar as well. They’d affirmed they weren’t the only LAPD cops who’d step up if called. The three cops had taken Alex under their protection, and were now en route to Simi Valley. Once again, Tony had pulled through for him. He sat on Jake’s right, carrying the same model M249 SAW—squad automatic weapon—the mercs in Brazil had carried. It was Tony’s weapon of choice these days, and Jake was glad he’d brought it along.
“Anyone else smellin’ smoke?” Tony’s voiced squawked over his headset. Two of the SEALs nodded, and Jake noticed the smell, too.
“Looks like forest fires on the ridgeline ahead,” the copilot reported. “Got a couple firefighter water scoopers on course for the lake. Skirting east around them. Six minutes to Target Bravo.”
Target Bravo was the GPS location of the burner phone Sarafina had used to call Marshall. Jake had taken off on this mission with the intent of exploring the ranch Marshall had identified as possibly being associated with that morning’s terrorist attacks. The ranch had been designated Target Alpha. It had been a thin lead, but when Marshall had explained his logic regarding the duplicate drones, and that other drones were secreted in the forest around the lodge, Jake suspected Marshall was right. But it hadn’t been until fifteen minutes ago that he’d known for certain, when he’d finally taken the time to watch the rest of the terrorist leader’s televised speech that had preceded the attacks.
Jake had already watched various views of the attacks posted by users on YouTube; the team had watched them together in the helicopter using one of the men’s smartphones. But Jake had not watched the end of the speech until a short while ago. He’d been stunned by the terrorist’s final words in Dari. Jake recalled the speech Luciano Battista had laid on him as justification for his own agenda of terror. When the man from this morning’s broadcast recited the same inscription from the cavern wall, Jake had known the same Afghan tribe that had wanted to decimate Americans—and him—was back to finish the job.
They’d tried and failed at the lodge to kill Francesca and his friends, but now they presumably had Ahmed, and Sarafina may have lost her life while trying to tail them.
The copilot’s voice sounded in Jake’s headset. “Eyes on Target Bravo. Two minutes out. The area is scorched, and the prevailing winds have pushed the flames northward. There’s a much larger fire four miles further up. It coincides with Alpha’s location.”
Jake craned his neck to look outside. He spotted the fire north of Sarafina’s last known position, and an all too familiar fear gnawed at his insides. Traveling at over two hundred knots, their helicopter streaked past a string of emergency vehicles heading in their same direction.
“Get us down to that site before the firefighters and that ambulance show up,” Jake said into his microphone. He couldn’t afford to be held up by authorities who recognized either him or Tony.
“Roger that.”
Two minutes later the helicopter’s searchlight spotted the Alfa Romeo. It was upside down in a culvert. Flames licked at the tires, and smoke drifted from its charred remains. An old pickup truck was parked nearby, and an elderly woman standing beside it waved her hands back and forth.
“Get me down there!” Jake shouted, sliding open the side door.
The chopper dropped fast, and Jake was out the door before the aircraft settled on the ground. Tony was right behind him. The two raced toward the upturned car as the SEALs set up a perimeter.
“The fire was too hot!” the woman beside the pickup yelled from across the road. “I couldn’t bear to look.”
They skipped across scorched earth and slid down the short embankment to the car. Jake dove onto his belly and scrambled to look underneath the overturned convertible.
“She’s not here,” he said, jumping to his feet. He forced himself to control his breathing.
“Thank God,” Tony said.
Sam and one of the SEALs stood above the embankment. Sam aimed a powerful flashlight up and down the culvert. “Check west,” he ordered. “I’ll go east.” The SEAL split off with his own flashlight, and Sam pushed in the opposite direction.
“Movement!” Someone shouted from out of view. “Across the road.”
Jake and Tony clambered up the slope and raced in that direction. Two of the SEALs took knees with their weapons aimed toward the shadows.
“Dad?” Sarafina’s voice called out. “Is that you?”
Jake spun around, unable to find his voice.
Tony bellowed, “Damn straight it is, girl. Come out of there!”
Sarafina rose from where she’d been crouched in the trees. She limped into view. Jake raced over and wrapped her in his arms. “Thank God, honey. I was so worried.”
Words spilled from her. “I was following them. They shot a rocket or something. I saw the drone at the last second. I swerved. There was an explosion. Fire. The car f-flipped. I barely made it out.” Her voice cracked.
“It’s okay. I’m here now.”
“I heard your helicopter. I had to hide. I was afraid it was them.”
“You did good.”
“Daddy, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let Ahmed go.”
“Time to go,” Sam said, pointing at the lights from the approaching firetrucks. He circled his hand over his head. “Mount up.”
“Are you okay to walk?” Tony asked.
“Well, my knee…sure—”
“Never mind that. I’ve got you.” Jake swept her into his arms.
“Wait!” she said. “We’ve got to get my phone. It was on the passenger seat in the car.”
Tony said, “Don’t worry. We’ll get you a new phone.”
“You don’t understand. We need that phone. I took a video of the vehicles when they left. All of them.”
“We’re on it,” Sam said. He and two of the SEALs raced back to the convertible.
Jake smiled at his daughter. “Smart girl. I’m proud of you.”
“Not mad?”
“Oh, hell, yes I’m mad. But I’m still proud of you.”
Ignoring the curious looks from the old woman, Jake jogged toward the helicopter. Sarafina squeezed her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d come, Dad,” she whispered. “I just knew it. Now we’ve just got to find Ahmed.”
His gut tightened.
After they settled into their seats, Sam and the two SEALs rejoined them, and the helicopter lifted off. Sam held up Sarafina’s charred cell phone. “It’s toast.”
Tony grinned. “To you and me, it’s toast. But to our buddy Marshall, it’s a jelly-filled pastry just waiting to give up its tasty secrets.” He took the phone and dropped it into one of his pockets.
Three minutes later the helicopter was hovering over Target Alpha.
“Smithereens is the word that comes to mind,” Tony said over the headset as they circled the scene. Just like the car crash site, the winds had pushed the fire to the north, but the structures that had once made up the terrorist headquarters were nothing but smoking embers.
“No sign of life on night vision or IR,” the copilot reported.
“Let’s head for the ranch in Simi Valley,” Jake said into his microphone. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Except pray Sarafina is correct in assuming the men in the vans took Ahmed.