Katherine Garbera - Exclusive

“You sure about this?” Larry asked. “Once we go in there, we can’t turn back.”

Russ looked the man in the eyes. Larry had been his buddy for more than twenty years and he didn’t want him chickening out before the mission barely got started. This was what too many years and too much grief did to a man. There was a time when Larry would have taken all of Berzhaan with an AK-47 and a few grenades.

“Yes. Are you?” Russ asked, holding his gun easily at his side. Casually he removed the kaffiyeh from his head and folded the scarflike garment into the right size and density for a silencer.

Larry turned his back to Russ and Russ lifted the gun and the cloth. Larry glanced over his shoulder at Russ, eyes widening and hands coming up in an “I surrender” gesture.

Larry took a step back. “Yeah, man. I’m sure. I want our kids back home where they belong, not in this godforsaken place.”

Russ continued to stare at Larry until beads of sweat dotted Larry’s forehead. Then he lowered his gun, tucking it into the large pocket in the middle of the djellaba. “Then let’s make sure they go home.”

Larry nodded. Russ retied his kaffiyeh and led the way out of the alley. They both were careful to blend in with the people on the street. He’d have to keep a close eye on Larry in case he decided he wanted out of the mission.

Both men moved through the street with the ease of pros used to blending in. They were both hunters, well aware of how to keep their prey from becoming aware of them.

Russ felt a surge of adrenaline. There was something to be said about being on a mission with his comrades at his side. They meandered through the city, which had seen too much fighting in recent years. It showed. Some neighborhoods were still intact but others were shelled-out hulls that used to house families that were probably dead.

Russ felt his determination to make this mission a success harden as they arrived on Sovetski and the house that Jake had indicated. The building reminded Russ of some of the pictures he’d seen of Moscow.

Jake and Rodney waited on the first floor landing of the older apartment building. The Kemeni soldiers they’d hired to obtain their package waited upstairs. Russ didn’t want trouble but he was prepared for it. These men had been bought once and could just as easily have sold them out.

“We go in hard.”

“Affirmative.”

All the men pulled their weapons as they slowly made their way up the stairs.

They entered the building and moved in single-file formation up the stairs. They were dark and dirty and smelled of rotting trash and urine.

Jake moved to the front and Russ covered him as the other man knocked on the third door.

“I’m here to see Uncle Fred,” Jake said in Russian.

“He’s still recovering from the car accident, he’ll be glad for the company,” a voice answered from behind the door.

A few seconds later the door opened inward and the men filed in, all of them keeping their weapons drawn.

“I am Jamal, welcome to my home.”

“Where’s the package?” Russ asked, still in Russian. He wasn’t here to make friends. They were on a short clock and needed to get in and out as quickly as possible.

“In a room in the back,” Jamal said.

Russ started toward the room. “Is there a guard in the room?”

“Two of my men.” Jamal edged down the hallway toward a closed door.

“Tell them to stand down,” Russ ordered.

Jamal switched to Berzhaani, calling out, “The men are here and they are armed.”

“You first, Jamal.”

Russ gestured with his gun and Jamal went into the room. Two men sat at a card table, weapons in close range. On the floor were the hostages. All three of them neatly bound, gagged and unconscious. Drugged, as ordered.

They all looked so young, Russ thought, especially the girl. Just like Tommy had. This girl could have been one of his girlfriends.

Russ carefully controlled his burning anger with the kidnappers—they were supposed to take that annoying sensationalist reporter, Shannon Conner, and give the hostage tape to this woman, Andrea something. Shannon was better known—her kidnapping would have put even more pressure on the White House. Just because the opposite had worked out didn’t mean he could let the men off the hook for their mistake. But for now, Russ would work with what he had. As every good soldier did.

The White House should be ashamed of the way it kept the military here in Berzhaan now that the Kemenis were not a threat. If they’d pulled the military back home, then this young woman and two men wouldn’t be here now. They’d be safe at home.

“Where’s the video camera?” he asked Jamal, this time in Berzhaani.

“In the corner.”

“Set it up. We want to make one more tape before we leave.”

The lobby of the Sheraton Suwan hotel was filled with reporters, and Tory kept an eye out for Shannon Conner. She had a history with the newsperson from the rival ABS network. For some reason Tory couldn’t explain, she and Shannon had never gotten along—not even before Tory had exposed Shannon in the scheme that had caused Shannon to be expelled from Athena Academy.

More than 15 years later, Shannon still held a grudge. She’d slept with Tory’s last boyfriend, Perry Jacobs, and almost gotten Tory killed on Puerto Isla in Central America.

Tory was leery of seeing Shannon, yet at the same time she wanted to know where the newswoman had been. Just in case Andrea had been nabbed by mistake.

“Tory Patton?”

Tory pivoted toward the voice. “Yes?”

“Dash McNamara. I’ll be your segment producer while you’re in Suwan. Welcome.”

She shook Dash’s hand. “Thanks. I’m all checked in. I think we’re supposed to be reporting live in less than forty minutes.”

“You’re correct. I’ve already scouted a few locations for the remote broadcast that are away from the hotel. Most of the networks do a nightly broadcast from the balcony overlooking the city, but I know you like to be different.”

Tory smiled at him, impressed that he’d done his research. “What can I say? I don’t like to be part of the crowd.”

“You never could be,” he said, leading her through the people in the lobby. Jay lounged against the wall, cigarette in one hand, camera bag in the other. Next to him was a kid who looked too young to be working in their business.

“I believe you know Jay Matthews. And this is Sal Martini, my PA.”

Tory hugged Jay, glad to see her old friend here. He smelled of cigarettes and coffee. The scent overpowered her for a minute and she battled a wave of nausea. Damn, she’d almost forgotten about her pregnancy until her stomach reminded her. Jay held her longer than he should have, but it had been a long time since they’d seen each other, so she didn’t mind.

She shook Sal’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Patton,” Sal said. “If you need anything just let me know.”

“If you give Sal your bag and laptop, he can store them until we return to the hotel,” Dash said.

Tory handed over her laptop bag and her suitcase but kept the big messenger-style bag that she always carried. She had notes and notepads in there, pens and minirecorders. Everything she needed to work.

She followed the men out of the hotel into the steamy June day.

A small Renault was parked in the lot to the side of the building. She noticed crumbling mortar and cracks in the wall. The city of Berzhaan was in desperate need of rebuilding.

“Were you working with Andrea?” she asked Dash.

“Not directly, but I produced one of her segments. On the day she disappeared, she left to scout an area for the evening report and never returned.”