Siren in the Wind - book one of the MIT2 series

New York.

Three Years Ago.

Liberation was a few steps away. Today they’d finally be free. Sharon watched the shoppers spill out from jammed escalators. Long wait times fueled the oppressive atmosphere in the mall. Black Friday posters scattered throughout the pandemonium added to the frenzy.

Arisha tugged at Sharon’s jacket, staring up with solemn eyes. “We need to find a seat, Mamma.”

She ran a hand through her daughter’s thick black hair. Sharon despised her own wispy blonde hair and always kept it trimmed in a neat bob. Reaching down, she picked up their two small suitcases, nudging Arisha forward. “Then find us one.”

The packed food court gave them few options. A man and woman situated nearest the terrace railing cleared their table and Arisha ran up and waited. The lady smiled. Her little girl captivated people, with her mother’s delicate features and her father’s Iranian ancestry. Sharon stepped up, and the woman’s smile faltered. Her gaze skimmed over Sharon’s abaya with censure. Sharon was used to a daily dose of anti-Islamic sentiment and mentally shrugged it off. The world was at war, and the Americans knew it. The couple moved on, and Sharon scanned the bustling mall below.

It was an unusually balmy day for November, and the heating in the crowded mall ran high. The man’s broad girth resulted in a warm bucket seat, and Sharon hid her disdain. First-world greed was leading to more obesity. The smell of charred burger hung in the air, making her stomach roil. It was nerves, and she had every right to feel rattled. Today was a big day. The men were coming to take them away.

“I’m thirsty, Mamma,” Arisha said.

Sharon shoved her purse into her daughter’s hand. “Quickly get a drink and please, my love, don’t go far.”

Arisha dashed through the crowd.

Sharon yelled at her disappearing back, “Please do not run!”

Ignoring the noisy kaleidoscope of screaming children, yelling parents and people dashing about, Sharon wiped at the sweat clinging to her brow. This is what it had come to. The feverish air rippled with fresh energy as he stepped up from behind.

Sully had come. Her savior. Her rescuer. Her destruction. Was Sully’s team with him, led by the capable soldier with the icy eyes? She couldn’t let that man see her. It felt like he’d seen into her soul the one time they had met and if he looked at her now, he’d know.

***

The slight stiffening of her delicate neck and the rise of her head were a good indication that Sharon knew he’d arrived. Simon “Sully” Cook squeezed her shoulder as he assessed the environment. Arisha made her way back to the table while gulping down a drink. He glanced down at their packed bags and slid into the seat opposite Sharon Nasari, of New Zealand descent, the current third wife of Abdul-Habsid Nasari.

Abdul Nasari was a suspected terrorist and a wife beater. Sharon was ready to blow the extremist whistle on her husband’s sleeper cell. Cook had approached her twelve weeks ago. Winning over her trust had taken perseverance.

After a particularly harsh beating ten days ago, she’d finally reached out, promising to testify against Abdul. They were preparing the warrant, but Abdul wasn’t the primary target. They were chasing a significant player known as the Sandpiper, who held no allegiances to any extremist group. A businessman who sold arsenals of terror to private organizations and collapsing regimes in East Africa—An arsenal that included training camps, suicide bombers, and weaponry.

Her hollowed-out cheekbones looked harsher than when he’d seen her three weeks ago. Sharon was young enough to be his kid. Anger surged when he thought of one of his daughters trapped in a marriage with a sadistic monster.

Abdul had spotted Sharon in Istanbul when at the tender age of seventeen she’d traveled through Europe on a student holiday. He’d pursued the kid aggressively and hadn’t stopped until she was an indoctrinated wife. They’d climbed up the terrorist watch list after moving from South Sudan to the States three years ago.

Sharon had a tough road ahead. They required intel but first needed to relocate the mother and child. She was terrified and had asked to meet him on Black Friday—the busiest day of the year—feeling safer in the massive crowds where she could easily get lost, terrified that Abdul might suspect something and find her. They’d all get lost together. The priority was getting her to the South Side entrance where they could hustle them away.

Sully had brought along another agent, Mike “Stone” Stretton. Sully and Stone arrived ahead of the rest of the team. Sharon had changed the meeting point at the last minute. Sully knew he’d broken protocol, racing ahead, but the urgency in his gut outweighed the risks. Besides, the rest of his men were just a few minutes behind.

Stone stepped up and leaned in. “I’m sorry, Sharon, but I’ll need to check that you’re clean.”

“After all we’ve been through, you still do not trust me.” Her smile was wooden. “Go ahead.”

“It’s just a formality,” Sully reassured her. Sharon raised her arms and Stone felt around her waist before turning to the luggage.

“Where’s the rest of your team?” she asked.

Sully smiled into her eyes. “Not far off. Relax, we’ve got this. You’ll soon be free of Nasari.”

Sharon glanced down at her clenched hands and spread them out on the cold plastic surface. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

Sully glanced around uneasily. There was no intel indicating they were compromised, but something felt off. Hot little hands closed around his left biceps, causing him to whip around.

Little Arisha looked up shyly. “Hello, Mr. Sully.”

His heart warmed. “Angel, are you ready for a great adventure?” He forced himself to smile into her sweet face.

Something flickered in her eyes that unnerved him. She knew more than a little girl her age should know. A child that young shouldn’t have such sober eyes. What had Arisha seen in her young life?

Sharon pulled Arisha into a chair. “Habibti, sit quietly and play your Candy Game.”

Pulling out her phone, Arisha smiled lovingly at her mother. Through his earpiece, he heard the teams checking in, approaching from the wrong level. That was his fault for rushing the meet.

Sully spoke into his comms. “We’re on level two. At the food court.” He turned to Stone. “They’re approaching from entrance five, but they’re still on level one. Intercept them.”

Stone disappeared into the throng of shoppers as Sully leaned forward. “You’ll be starting your new life and I’ll be here for you. Do what I say, and we’ll get through this just fine.”

Sharon glanced over the balustrade at Sully’s team moving towards the escalators.

“Time to go.” Sully bent over to retrieve the bags.

Sharon grabbed his sleeve, the look on her face stopping him momentarily. “You are family to me, you’ve been there for me in the darkness, and you will always have my heart.”

Sully glanced across as the team moved onto the escalator. They’d spotted him and looked pissed. Stone waited at the top. “Not now Sharon, later we can—”

Sharon continued talking, “But you can never have what’s in my head.”

What did she just say? Her manic smile revealed the fanaticism. Instantly Sully knew. Sharon Nasari had played him for a fool. Everything slowed as adrenaline kicked in. He looked at Arisha playing her game and realization dawned. Hot hands. The kid wore a bulky jacket, too thick for that crowded day in the mall. She wore a fucking suicide vest. The phone lay flat as her tiny finger hovered above a flashing dot on a black screen, before descending. The small cubicle impeded his scrambling lunge.

Through the roaring in his ears, Sully heard Sharon’s last words, “Sandpiper sends his regards.”

White heat flashed, then came the blackness.

***

London.

Heading back to Dubai as the first-class galley slave suited her just fine. The galley was where Joey could avoid passengers on the busier flights. She threw herself into the set routine as soon as she stepped onboard. Safety checks, loading ovens, pouring champagne, prepping hot towels, checking the ovens—the list was long. It was always a rush.

Joey had spent the past three years working a first-class cabin. Aircrafts and airline companies might have changed over her brief career, but the job was primarily the same and being organized was key. Her two colleagues manned the deluxe cabin with grace.

Ahlam Airlines handpicked the girls from thousands of applicants to serve the UAE royal families. They had to possess beauty and, more importantly, intelligence to sustain polite conversations with privileged passengers. Aside from royal personnel, cabin attendants looked after foreign diplomats, prime ministers, politicians, and celebrities. Joey could serve passengers along with the best of them, but lately preferred the quiet routine of the galley.

She stepped into the cockpit and gave the Captain and First Officer their morning coffee before racing back to kitchen duties.

Sarah glided past to hang a jacket. “Joey, when you get a second, Three Alpha wants to say hello, he says he knows you.”

Joey stuck her head out of the curtains and caught an exotic whiff of expensive perfume. A group of local women dressed in designer robes blocked her view as they gathered in the cabin, chattering loudly in Arabic. Joey greeted them warmly and helped to stow their carry-ons. The aisles were crowded, and she couldn’t see past the first row.

There was too much to do before push back. “I’ll check later, thanks Sarah.”

The first few hours were always busy. Joey sent out all six courses for lunch with precision, ensuring the food was hot and the service impeccable. After clearing the last round of Arabic coffee, Joey breathed a sigh of relief, removed her apron and squeezed into a compact lavatory. She stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the sleek mannequin looking back. Another flight, another dollar. She enjoyed her job but lately felt a little worn down and well, just a little lonely. Throwing herself into work wasn’t working. Raking up a few escaping tendrils and with a quick lipstick swipe, she was back in the cabin.

Three Alpha’s seat was empty; instead, Joey came face to face with a peregrine falcon perched on a small wooden stand. Falconry was one of the oldest traditions in the United Arab Emirates, dating back at least two thousand years to when tribesmen used falcons to hunt and capture their food. It was now one of the favorite pastimes of the wealthy. Arabic airlines allowed the birds onboard, as long as they wore hoods and were tethered to a glove or a pole perch.

“Not to worry, Habibti, she is friendly.” Joey swung around as the passenger stepped through the business class curtain. His spicy scent enveloped her immediately.

“As salam alaikum.” The Arabic greeting rolled off her tongue belying the fact that her insides quaked.

“Wa alaikum salam.”

The falcon wasn’t the source of her nerves; she’d seen enough of them on board in her five-year career of Middle Eastern flying. Instead, it was the man cloaked in a white robe, standing in the passage, his hands clasped in front of him.

Khalid Al Juhani.

Her roommate had introduced Khalid to Joey, and now she ran into him everywhere. They hung out in the same circle of friends—which seemed odd, given that he was a wealthy Saudi, in comparison to her humble self.

Khalid bowed. “My apologies, I was stretching my legs while talking with my friend in business class.” He quirked a smile. “I needed to walk off that delightful but long lunch.”

The meal had been a lengthy affair; it was a first-class perk. Joey tried to relax; she never understood why he made her uncomfortable. Khalid had impeccable manners along with a handsome and kind face, in fact, he came off as being a wonderfully groomed vision of perfection.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

He bowed again, this time playfully, and gave her a small wink. “Compliments to the chef.”

Joey smiled. “I’m not the chef, I just warm up the food.”

“I think a little more goes into it than that. I know how hard you ladies work.”

Wow. Nothing like complimenting a girl’s work ethic to get her all warm and fuzzy inside.

Joey studied the beautiful bird perched beside her as Khalid stroked a wing.

“I just bought her in London for sixty-five thousand pounds. She’ll be an excellent candidate for falcon racing.”

Joey gaped at the kestrel. “That’s one expensive bird.”

Khalid laughed. “Hopefully she’s fast enough to be worth it. Besides that, she’s really pretty. What can I say, I have a weakness for a pretty face.”

Khalid was good at flirting. Joey was not and smiled politely.

“Good luck with her and have a lovely flight. I’ll make sure that Sarah looks after you.”

“Wait! Habibti—Josephine—I would like to ask you something.”

Joey turned back.

“I’m having a get-together at my home in Sharjah on Saturday and I’d be honored if you would attend.”

A get-together. Joey had been around Dubai long enough to know that when a man like Khalid mentioned a “get-together,” it was probably a formal party hitting the five-hundred-guests mark.

Her stomach rebelled. “Khalid, I am honored but I—”

“Please say yes. You would not have to stay long, and some of your friends will be there.”

Joey hesitated. She wasn’t the wild partying type and preferred curling up with a good book. Khalid’s eyes glowed with warmth. What the hell. She lived in one of the most exciting cities in the world, and she was acting like a bloody recluse. With a renewed determination to break out of self-imposed hermitude, she graciously accepted.

“Thank you, Khalid. I cannot refuse such a gracious invitation.”

“Habibti, I promise you an unforgettable night.”