“How mad was Kilbourne?”
“I can’t tell you. She and Dutch were together when I
left, and then when I got back, he was with Alegria.”
“Roger that,” Striker mumbled. “Like I said, she’s missing too.”
“Hey, Monk,” Mantis said when the last man they were waiting on boarded the plane. Monk nodded his head as he walked past him.
Mantis had never known anyone who had a more appropriate code name than Rhys “Monk” Perrin. The man only spoke when absolutely necessary, and evidently saying hello wasn’t.
“Let’s get the briefing out of the way before we get in the air,” Striker suggested.
Mantis followed him into the main cabin and listened as Striker gave them a vector of the situation and laid out their operating plan.
“This isn’t just about Dutch anymore, gentlemen. If we can’t get in there and neutralize Zamed Safi, then a full-blown war is going to break out between the Islamic State and the Taliban.”
“I thought Zamed was operating on his own,” said Mantis.
“He is, but you know Ghafor. He’s a paranoid schizophrenic.”
Mantis wasn’t sure Abdul Ghafor was diagnosable as such, but he understood what Striker was saying. It wouldn’t matter if Allah himself told him Zamed was acting outside of the Taliban; Ghafor probably wouldn’t believe it.
“Zamed wants me,” Mantis said, looking each of the men in the eye. “I’m the target.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Striker responded, “but as I said, it’s bigger than you and Dutch. Zamed could start a chain reaction that would wind up as the worst war the Middle East has ever seen. The agency wouldn’t consider direct involvement if that weren’t the case.”
Striker had retired from the CIA a few months prior and signed on as a K19 partner at the same level Mantis would be when he finally got around to meeting with Doc. Striker, though, still had the closest ties to the agency, seconded by Doc. When Mantis heard they were on their way to Kabul and that this was a CIA op, he knew that meant they were footing the bill. Their operating plan wouldn’t differ much if it were an agency op or a K19 op, though.
“Let’s go,” Striker said, closing his laptop. “The sooner we’re airborne, the sooner we can get the job done and get our asses back home.”
Mantis didn’t know a lot about Striker other than that he was former CIA. He’d heard two rumors. First, that his family was screwed up to the point where, early on, their dubious associations had almost cost Striker his career. Secondly, he was involved with Aine McNamara, twin sister of Razor Sharp’s wife, Ava. That wasn’t as much of a rumor since Mantis had seen them together on Thanksgiving. Based on Striker’s impatience to get the op over with, he guessed that the relationship was still on.
“We’ll talk more when we land at JFK.”
“Roger that,” Mantis answered Striker.
The flight from Boston to JFK would be quick. However, JFK to Dubai would take over twelve hours, and then from Dubai to Kabul would take another three.
With everything going on with Alegria, his sleep hadn’t been worth shit, and now, it would be at least fourteen hours, maybe even twenty, before he’d be able to bunk down.
Knowing Dutch was being held captive when it was really him that Zamed wanted, meant that even if he could close his eyes and sleep, he doubted he’d get much rest.
—:—
Saying goodbye to Mantis was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than any time before this. This time, if he got into trouble, she would be powerless to do anything to help him or the rest of the K19 team.
“You all right, miss?” Tom asked as he wheeled her back to her room after Mantis left.
Alegria squared her shoulders. “I will be.”
Tom gave her a fist pump. “That’s what I like to hear. You tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Alegria opened her eyes; she must’ve drifted off. She raised her head and looked around her empty hospital room, already missing Mantis so much it hurt.
The other hurt that had settled square in her chest was her mother’s news. No matter what she’d said the day before, her parents had to focus on her mother’s recovery, not on Alegria’s. Whatever energy her mother put forth on her daughter’s behalf would only take away from her own battle.
Why did it always take some kind of illness or tragedy to bring people together?