Chapter Three

The rickshaw dropped them off in Clock Tower Square. Brianna scurried into the first rug stall and the other girls followed. The locals seemed friendly, and the store owner immediately offered them a traditional green tea. Lizzy loved the sweet tea native to Pakistan so she gladly accepted. Suzie turned her nose up and Lizzy quickly drank it to ease her companion’s faux pas. Lizzy had brought her digital Canon along and snapped photos along the way. The expensive camera had been a gift from her father on her last birthday and she loved it, thinking maybe someday she’d write a travel book.

The narrow streets crammed with wares were an overload on the senses. Donkeys clattered among bearded men in turbans selling their textiles. A pakol hat maker tried to sell her a hat as she dodged a moped bike. The decaying Sikh architecture littering the gray and brown streets was fascinating. Unstable wooden buildings were stacked together in grimy colors. Wires, phone lines and old Bollywood signs hung from above. She snapped away.

Brianna couldn’t find the right rug for her apartment and the day wore on. After they left the third bazaar, Lizzy put her foot down.

“Sadar Road!” she yelled at a driver as they climbed in yet another taxi.

“Apparently they have the best kebabs and fried fish. I’m not doing this without food in my stomach, plus I need to buy some fabric, so your Persian rugs need to wait.”

“I could eat a reverend mother,” Brianna said. “Lead the way. We’ll rest our asses while you buy your materials and shit.”

Lizzy left the girls at the café and bought a mix of bright fabrics in the square. She returned to Suzie giggling at something Brianna said.

“Asses up. We need to finish this gig. I’m running out of steam and need a hot shower.”

Brianna pulled a face. “We’re checking out that donkey.”

Lizzy turned to see a mule with its front hooves flailing in the air. The overloaded cart strapped to its tiny frame pulled the poor beast off its feet. Lizzy’s heart clenched at the cruel sight, and she looked away.

Brianna lurched to the side, her phone swaying erratically. “I need to snap a photo.” Suzie guffawed with laughter.

Something was definitely up. The girls were acting sillier than usual. Suzie swayed as they got up. They linked hands and stumbled ahead of Lizzy. Brianna dragged Suzie’s scarf off her head before trying to strangle her with it. Where they drunk? Or high?

“I’m too racked to look at anything else,” Brianna yelled over her shoulder. “Let’s head back to cockroach city.”

They lurched into a shadowed alley and Lizzy ran to catch up. “What’s going on?” She grabbed Brianna’s arm. “You’re acting crazy.”

“And you’re acting like a Muppet. What’s wrong with a bit of fun?”

Lizzy smelled alcohol. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Relax, we smuggled a few minis off the plane. We’ve even saved some for you!”

Brianna opened her satchel. At least twenty unopened bottles rolled around inside.

“Are you freaking crazy!” Lizzy’s screech met their disappearing backs as Suzie dragged Brianna down the alley. If the local police found alcohol on their person, it could mean imprisonment—there would be zero leniencies for westerners. Respecting laws in other countries was essential to the job.

“Don’t be a party pooper. This looks like a shortcut to the taxi rank. Beat you there!”

This wasn’t good. Lizzy hesitated. Then she ran down the empty alley to catch up. Rounding a corner, she came up empty. The girls were gone. She should leave their stupid asses and head back to the hotel. A distant giggle led her up a hill. The roads were quieter on the back end of the bazaar. A shrouded woman watched from a doorway before shaking her head. A couple of kids paused to stare as she hurried past. Lizzy rushed past a fenced hedge, an iron gate leading to manicured gardens hung open. Brianna’s shriek came from behind the hedge. Stepping into the private park, Lizzy called out to the women in a whispered shout. When no one answered, she made her way off the path towards a rustling thicket.

“BOO!” Suzie jumped out, staggering sideways in a fit of giggles.

“Son of a bucket!” Lizzy stumbled back. “Where’s your silly sidekick?”

“Trying to untangle my scarf. It got caught up in a rose bush.”

“For Pete’s sake, lead the damn way.”

Rounding a tree, Lizzy looked up and slowed. A towering mosque stood centered in the gardens, gleaming in the midday sun. Arabic yelling had her glancing back down and she slammed to a stop. A group of men surrounded Brianna as she held the scarf to her chest. Her handbag lay on the ground, glass bottles lay strewn across the grass. One of the men grabbed Brianna’s sleeve and Lizzy leaped into the fray. “Leave the bag. Let’s move.”

The angry crowd quickly doubled in size and men screamed in Arabic. The horde shoved the three girls among them. Someone grabbed Lizzy’s hair, and she screamed in terror. Bruising hands tried to tear them apart and Lizzy hung onto Brianna like a leech. If they were separated, they were done for.

Her screams were met by a slap to the face, as the growing swarm of men shoved her to the ground. Panicked regret turned to what could’ve been, as an image of John came to mind, then dissipated among the rabid shouts of violent men.

***

Mogadishu

There would be nothing left of them but crispy eco-skeletons if this heat continues, Johnny thought as he emerged back into the scorching shade after a cool shower. The rest of the team sat sprawled under the awning, also recovering from the intense morning training session. They’d shipped off another contingent of Somalian soldiers, trained and ready to fight rebel forces to the south. They occasionally worked alongside AFRICOM to stabilize the region, but as Tier One Operators they worked for a taskforce called MIT—Mobile Intelligence Team—which sat under the Joint Special Operations Command umbrella. 

MIT targeted and quietly removed extremist leaders before their regimes had a chance to grow. Reduce an enemy’s capacity to mount terror operations on US compounds or interests. 

There were six MIT Teams situated around the globe, and Johnny—a former 75th Ranger and medic—worked for MIT2, whose focus was East and Central Africa. Somalia, Kenya, Ethiopia, the Congo and Sudan. In almost three years, his team—under the command of Team Leader Erik “Max” Andersen—had dismantled three international extremist syndicates and provided intel on numerous targets. By eliminating the threats and extremist leaders, the region had a chance to stabilize.

His team had just finished a six-week round of teaching battlefield logistics within the Mogadishu compound, and he was ready to escape the arid military base that had been their home for almost two months. They shared the locked-down facility with four thousand sweaty soldiers and operators.

MIT2 would leave the compound to head to Rwanda for a couple of days before hitting their home base in Nairobi. 

“Zero-beer-thirty. We’re officially off-duty, big man, at least until Rwanda.” Derek “Slater” Banez threw Johnny a water, followed by a beer, and Johnny slid onto a bench before stretching out his aching muscles.

Max tapped away furiously on his phone, probably messaging his pregnant wife back home. Donnie propped up his legs and watched two SAS boys working out in the sun. Crazy British bastards. 

Slater took a long draw of his beer and settled back, closing his eyes. Johnny glanced worriedly at his usually jovial friend. His call sign had been given to him for good reason—he was named after the jock A.C. Slater in Saved by the Bell and was the quick-witted jokester in the group. 

Over the past few months, Slater had changed. He looked burned out, still working through PTSD issues after rescuing teammates and civilians in the Black Friday bombing a couple of years before. And then three months ago, Slater’s long-term girlfriend, Kathleen Flynn broke things off. Johnny and Slater had both commiserated through the past few gloomy months. Unlike Slater, Johnny would get his shit back on track and didn’t need the headache that women brought to his already full table. He’d been foolish enough to think it would work out with Lizette Steyn. It hadn’t, and it was time to move on. 

Johnny watched as a pretty female walked past the tented courtyard. He recognized her as one of the new CIA operatives on base, and he kicked Slater’s foot. 

“What the hell, dude?” Slater cracked open an eye. 

Johnny turned the top of his bottle towards the slim brunette who’d stopped to talk to the British contingent. “That’s your kind of woman.”

“How is that?”

“You like the ambitious, sophisticated, composed type—hell, you hit on Abby when you first met her.”

Max’s fingers paused. 

Slater bristled. “That’s bullshit. I felt bad for her—she’s like my sister. Besides, Abby has a whole load more to her than just ambition and sophistication. She’s cool and artsy and elegant and darn funny.”

Max glanced up. “Easy on the wife compliments. I’ll beat that soppy crush right out of you.”

“Well, she’s my type.” Donnie nodded towards the agent. “My wife was classy, just like that. French girls are smoking hot.”

Donnie mentioned his deceased wife more often these days, and Johnny wondered if the quiet operator was ready to dip his toe into the dating pool. It’d been a couple of years since her passing. 

Johnny sat back. “She reminds me of Kat.” 

“Don’t mention Kathleen’s name, I’ll pound you into the burning sand,” Slater said.

“I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying. I screwed it all up, stay out of it. Besides, she’s doing just fine without me. Probably in New York chasing her dreams. That was our problem. Kat’s ambitious, I’m ambitious. It never worked out.”

“I saw Kat the other day—shopping with a friend.” Donnie said, crossing his legs. 

Slater sat up. “Where?”

“Salt Lake, two months ago.”

This was getting interesting. Slater was already considering moving to the city to be closer to Max. 

“As in Salt Lake City, Utah?”

“Apparently she’s living there now.”

“The hell she is!” Slater shifted to the edge of his seat.

Taking a sip, Donnie stretched out his legs. “She’s looking damn fine.”

Slater launched to his feet.

“Relax, I’d never break the bro-code. She has a cute friend though. Blonde hair with pink highlights.”

“Casey? Stay away from my cousin. Next thing I know, she’s riding on the back of your motorized dick—”

“Relax, Slater, Donnie’s not interested in Casey—he’s yanking your chain.” Max pocketed his phone.

“I am.” Donnie grinned. “But next time, leave my Harley out of it.”

Johnny’s phone buzzed in his pocket just as Slater threw an empty water bottle at Donnie’s head. 

He stared at the number. His lips suddenly felt numb, and his hands, clumsy. No fucking way.

“You okay, buddy?” Max’s voice penetrated his foggy brain. 

“It’s Lizzy. She’s calling me.”

Slater swore. “Well, answer!” 

When she’d first moved to Kenya, he’d tracked down her number. He’d even used it to ping her phone a couple of times while covertly checking on her in the dangerous city of Nairobi. He’d gone so far as to hack her monthly flight schedule, downloading it to his phone. He hadn’t spoken to her in six months and now he was about to hear that beautiful voice. He took a breath and pressed the screen. “Hello, angel.”

“Is this John Calaway?”

The Middle Eastern male voice on the other end had Johnny’s blood freezing. Not Lizzy.

“Where’s the owner of this phone? Who is this?”

The men were on their feet as he struggled with a safe scenario of why a strange man had Lizzy’s number. He ran over her schedule in his head. Peshawar. She was in fucking Peshawar. He was at least a six-hour plane ride away.

The man’s next words were a punch to the gut. “My name is Javid Ibrahim, and Lizette Steyn is with me.”