“I’m Cynthia Lopez. We actually haven’t met formally.”

  Jenny leaned her head back against the wall. “I’d say nice to meet you, but, well, you know.”

  “Yeah. Did they…you know.”

  Jenny peered at her through the tiny bars Islamic fundamentalists let their women suffer through, struggling to picture Cynthia’s face. “Rape me?”

  The covered head nodded.

  “Yeah. You?”

  Cynthia broke out into sobs. “Yes. What am I gonna tell my father? What am I gonna tell my future husband?”

  Jenny inhaled sharply. “Were you a virgin?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “You’re gonna tell them the truth.” Jenny took her by the shoulders. “You’re gonna tell them you did nothing wrong. That you did whatever it took to stay alive, that you’re the victim, and nothing you could have said or done would’ve changed what happened.”

  “But I just let them.”

  “No, you didn’t. And neither did I. They’re men with guns. What were we supposed to do? Darnell tried to stop them, but they killed him.” Her heart ached at the memory, the poor boy’s death brutal, though it paled in comparison to what they had done to him while violating her. They had taken their turns hacking away at his body with machetes, beheading, and dismembering him, all the while cheering and screaming “Allahu Akbar!” as one of them did whatever he wanted to her.

  Allahu Akbar. God is greatest. Though Jewish, she had never considered herself very religious. But after what He had allowed to happen to her, she was certain He didn’t exist. No God could possibly allow what had happened today.

  Her entire body trembled. They had broken her. They had won. She had lost her faith, and she cursed them for it. There had to be a God, for there had to be a Hell where men like this burned for eternity.

  Cynthia wrapped her arms around her and she flinched, resisting the urge to pull away, her last human contact something to recoil from, not embrace. But she needed this. She needed this desperately. She hugged her back, holding her tight, and they both wept. Was this the rest of their life for weeks or months to come? Or would God grant them the sweet mercy of death before the atrocities committed against them continued?

  The slide bolt lifting had everyone scrambling to their feet, backs pressed against the wall as the door swung open, the squeak of the hinges echoing loudly. A man entered, someone she didn’t recognize, though if she were honest, she could barely tell them apart. They all had wild eyes and wilder beards, all wearing the same long, flowing robes.

  He pointed at her, yelling something, beckoning her with his hand. She had to make a stand. She couldn’t go through this anymore.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Rage filled the man’s face as he rushed forward and grabbed her.

  “No!” She swung a closed fist at him, making contact with his chin. She winced in pain. It was the first punch she had thrown in her life with any real force, but he barely noticed, instead closing a fist and punching her directly in the nose so hard, her world fell dark, and she just prayed it remained so while they did whatever they were going to do to her.

  30 |

  Coast of Yemen

  Jack hopped onto the shore, a blustery wind sending a wave crashing onto the beach, the blast of salty water sending a refreshing spray up his crotch, the traditional white dishdasha robes worn by Yemeni men liberating, to say the least. Frankly, he loved them. They were incredibly comfortable to wear, though they weren’t stylish by Western standards.

  He turned around and exchanged a fist bump with the Navy SEAL that had brought him ashore. “Thanks for the ride, Commander.”

  “Anytime. You just find those bastards and let us know so we can get in there and take care of business.”

  “Oh, I’ll find them, all right. But I make no promises that I won’t have killed them all by the time you get there.”

  The man grunted. “As long as they’re dead, I don’t care. Just watch your back. You might be able to blend in at night, but in the light of day, you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Jack scratched at his beard. “I wonder if there’s such a thing as beard extensions.”

  “I don’t know. But if I were you, I’d be asking Langley to add it to your kit.”

  Jack helped push the boat back into the water and the SEAL team paddled away, not risking the motor, no matter how quiet the specially designed engine might be.

  He hurried across the beach, his head on a swivel, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might be watching. He scurried up a small bluff when a bird call, a loon, not native to this area, rang out. It had come from his left. He headed for it and made out a form in the darkness, the only light from a half-moon in a sky full of stars.

  He smiled at a grinning Samir Al-Harazi. “Sammy, how the hell are you?” he asked in perfect Arabic, just in case someone was within earshot. A midnight rendezvous might raise suspicions, but one held in English absolutely would. By now, the world was aware of what had happened, including here in Yemen, crowds already on the streets celebrating another victory against the infidel, proving yet again how thoroughly indoctrinated so many of these people were.

  “I’m good, my friend. It’s been too long.”

  “It has been.” A camel snorted, and Jack glanced over at the two animals. “Camels? Seriously?”

  Sammy shrugged. “My hog was shot up earlier today, and two men riding into town on the backs of these won’t draw any attention, whereas my car might.”

  Jack sighed. “Fine. But you know how much I hate these damn things.”

  Sammy rolled his eyes. “A camel bites you on the ass once, and you hate them all forever?”

  “If you saw how perfect my ass was before it took a bite, you’d understand why.”

  Sammy snickered, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Let’s get out of here before someone sees us. I hope you’re hungry. My wife has prepared a midnight feast for you.”

  Jack grinned as he climbed on the back of the beast, the odor overpowering. The camel stood, and he held on for dear life before things stabilized, then let Sammy lead the way. “I skipped the mess hall in hopes of just that. Your wife is an exceptional cook, and I rarely get a home-cooked meal.”

  Sammy urged his beast of burden forward a little quicker. “My wife will be thrilled to hear that.”

  “And she still doesn’t know what you do?”

  “My wife is a very wise woman. I have little doubt she knows exactly what I do, but she’s also wise enough not to question. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her or the children.”

  Jack came up beside Sammy then matched his speed. “Say the word, and we’ll get all of you out.”

  Sammy dismissed the offer. “No, my people need me, even if they don’t know it. These aren’t bad people. They’ve just been misled. If I can play a part in taking down the Houthis and others like them, then maybe my country stands a chance. And besides, my family goes far beyond my wife and children. The CIA couldn’t afford to bring out all my cousins. We’re talking hundreds of people.”

  “It’s up to you. If you ever change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

  “I will, my friend. And Allah willing, it’ll be the day my people are free and I’m no longer needed here.”

  “Amen to that.”

  31 |

  Over the Red Sea

  “How do I look?”

  The crewman of the CIA-owned Learjet frowned at her. “Like you’ve been hit by a bus, ma’am.”

  “That’s the idea.” Sherrie fit her helmet in place, and the crewman checked her gear for her HALO jump, the High Altitude—Low Opening insertion made necessary as the Iranians had provided the Houthis with multiple air defense systems. They were at 35,000 feet in international airspace with a registered flight plan. The only reason the Houthis would attempt to shoot them down was because they were generally assholes.

  She checked her heads-up display and confirmed it was working.

  “Thirty seconds to drop,” announced the pilot over the PA.

  “You set?”

  She gave a thumbs-up to the crewman. She stepped down into the hold, positioning herself on a rectangular hatch, a bit of custom engineering added after the ten-million-dollar aircraft left the factory. The crewman looked down at her, holding up five fingers, counting down visually and audibly. She folded her arms across her chest, prepping herself.

  “Two, one, jump!” He hit a button and the panel underneath her abruptly split in half, dropping out from under her. She fell from the fuselage feet first, and as her body hit the wind whipping along the airframe, she gasped as if walloped by a mattress swung at her entire body.

  The plane was out of sight a moment later, the entire process barely taking a second or two, and as she adjusted to her new speed, the forces tearing at her body eased up. She shifted her body position and flipped over before arching her back so she was now face down toward the rapidly approaching ground. She checked her HUD, showing her altitude and a bearing toward her target then drew in her left arm, adjusting her heading slightly. She straightened out again then grinned as she shouted, “I love my job!”

  Leroux cleared his throat in her ear. “Skylark, Control Actual. Just a reminder, you’re on active comms the entire way in.”

  She grinned. “Who cares? The Chief already knows I love my job. He’s not gonna fire me for it.”

  There was a click, then Morrison’s voice filled her helmet. “Skylark, this is the Chief. While I don’t mind the official record reflecting the fact you love your job, we don’t want the bean counters to know you’re actually having fun. They might count this as vacation time.”

  She grinned. “Copy that, Chief. Dialing down the fun factor. I wouldn’t wanna lose any one-on-one time with my stud.”

  Leroux cut in. “Umm, I’m quite confident I don’t want that on the official record.”

  Before she had a chance to contradict him, the Chief beat her to it. “Son, when a beautiful woman says something like that, you always want it on the official record.”

  She roared with laughter, picturing what must be happening in the ops center right now. God, she loved her job, not just for being allowed to jump out of airplanes at ridiculously high altitudes, but because of the people she worked with.

  Who could ask for anything more?

  32 |

  North of Sana’a, Yemen

  Jack, his belly full, stared up at the sky, searching for his partner. Sammy had thought the idea of her insertion idiotic and had said so. “This is a bad idea. You realize what they’ll do to her if they catch her?”

  “She’s aware of the risks, and she’s willing to take them if it means a chance at saving those hostages who didn’t volunteer.”

  Sammy regarded him for a moment. “You admire her, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve worked with her on a few missions. She’s an exceptional agent. Young. She’s only been at it for a few years, but in time, I think she’ll end up being one of our best.”

  “If she doesn’t get herself killed.”

  Jack shrugged. “That’s part of the job. You don’t set out to get yourself killed, but if you assume you’re already dead, then it might actually save your life.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “If you’re not afraid to die, sometimes you’ll take the risk you normally wouldn’t that actually ends up saving your life.”

  “So, you go in to a mission assuming you’re dead already?”

  “Most of us do. At least the good ones. It’s why they prefer we don’t make attachments.”

  “You mean like wife and kids?”

  “Yeah. The powers that be seem to think if we have nothing to live for, we’re more likely to succeed than if we’re afraid to die because of families back home.”

  “But there’s no rule, right?”

  “Oh, of course not. And there are agents with partners back home who are exceptional. You’ve worked with Dylan Kane?”

  “Yeah, a few times. He’s good. As good as you think you are.”

  Jack laughed, reaching over and punching Sammy on the shoulder. “Well, he’s got a woman back home that he’s infatuated with. But he doesn’t let it affect the job. Scuttlebutt at the Agency says the Chief considers him his best agent, his go-to guy.”

  Sammy grinned. “Then why are you here?”

  Jack gave him the eye. “The almighty Kane can’t be everywhere at once. Believe it or not, this little crisis isn’t America’s only one, nor its top one. There are bigger things going on in this world than what the public knows about.”

  “Jackrabbit, Control. Skylark is approaching your position now, over.”

  Jack tapped his ear, indicating the communication to Sammy, who wasn’t on comms. “Copy that, Control. Is she on target?”

  “Affirmative, Jackrabbit. She’s homed in on your signal and appears on target.”

  Sherrie’s voice cut in. “I am on target. Tell Jackass to step ten feet to his right, or I’m gonna land right on top of him.”

  Jack grinned. He always loved working with Sherrie. She was a riot. “I’ll have you know it’s Jackrabbit, not Jackass. And you landing right on top of me sounds like a lot of fun.”

  Her boyfriend’s voice cut in. “You people do realize I’m on comms with you, right?”

  “Don’t worry, dear. He means nothing to me.”

  Something fluttered overhead and Jack turned, finally spotting Sherrie coming in from behind him. “Holy shit!” He scrambled out of the way as she flared her chute, cutting her speed before landing. She had timed it perfectly, and instead of rolling, managed to maintain her balance, spinning around and pulling in her chute in one fluid motion. “Control, Jackrabbit, reporting Skylark is safely on the ground. And don’t worry, Control Actual, she is not on top of me, much to my disappointment, over.”

  “Acknowledged, Jackrabbit. Good luck and behave yourselves. Control Actual, absolutely out.”

  Sherrie handed him her bundled up chute then removed her helmet, revealing her long blond hair, the blue-eyed beauty the very definition of bombshell. But this was no bimbo. This was a lethal weapon in a beautiful package. He handed the chute over to Sammy, and they exchanged a hug. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Ooh, hairy.”

  He scratched at the beard, two weeks long. “Trying to blend in a bit.”

  “Oh yeah, you blend.”

  He gestured at her face. “Hit by a truck?”

  She vogued. “Nice job they did, huh?”

  Jack frowned. “Disturbing, for sure.” He stepped back and extended a hand toward Sammy as their asset expertly rolled up the chute. “Skylark, may I present our man in Sana’a, Samir Al-Harazi.”

  “As-salamu alaykum,” she said, extending her hand.

  Sammy’s eyebrows shot up. “Wa alaykumu s-salam. Do you speak Arabic?”

  “No, but I’m learning. If I tried to speak it, I’d give myself away, but it’s handy to be able to listen when people think you can’t understand them.”

  “Good point.”

  She stripped out of her jumpsuit, revealing her ridonculous body, nothing but a bra and panties covering her stunning physique. Sammy turned away to preserve her modesty and Jack suppressed a smile, knowing full well Sherrie had no scruples when it came to nudity. He eyed her badly bruised face. “Please tell me that’s a makeup job, and you didn’t fully commit to the role.”

  “I offered, but Langley refused. The Chief said makeup only.”

  “I bet Chris was relieved.”

  “I have no doubt. Otherwise, when I get home, it’d be nothing but doggy.”

  Sammy groaned. “I wish I didn’t speak English.”

  Jack tossed his head back and roared as Sherrie grinned. “You’re gonna have to get used to her. She’s a man with boobs.”

  “She is? I’ve heard of such things.”

  Sherrie punched Jack’s shoulder. “That’s not what he meant. Now look what you’ve done. You’ve confused the poor man. Now, where’s my oppression suit?”

  Sammy stepped over to his car and popped the trunk. He bent over to place the chute inside when Jack stopped him. “You don’t wanna do that. If we get pulled over for any reason and they find a parachute in your trunk, they’re gonna know something’s up.”

  Sammy frowned, staring at the bundle. “I was going to give it to my wife. She might be able to make something out of it.”

  “That’s not silk, my friend,” said Sherrie. “It’s ripstop nylon.”

  “Oh.” He tossed it to Jack then reached into the trunk and pulled out a short shovel, passing it over. “Start digging, my friend.”

  Jack took the shovel and set to work as Sammy retrieved a burka from the trunk. “I regret that you must wear this. I regret that any woman must wear this.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s thirteen-hundred years of sexual repression, oppression, and suppression.” She unrolled the cloth garment with a flourish then donned it as Jack dug a hole in the sand to bury the evidence of her arrival. She stretched her arms out to her sides. “How do I look?”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder at her. “Like a Jawa.”

  “Utini!”

  Jack stopped what he was doing and just stared at her. “No wonder Chris loves you so much. All that and a Star Wars fan.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m a fan. But I enjoy it.”

  “Sweetheart, anyone who knows to say ‘Utini’ to a Jawa reference is a fan, whether she wants to admit it or not.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But let’s keep that between ourselves.” She turned to Sammy. “Shoes? Boots? Anything that they let women wear around here?”

  He produced a pair of shoes from the trunk, and Sherrie slipped them on. “Activate the self-destruct on that helmet.”

  Jack picked up the helmet sitting in the sand beside the hole he had dug then reached inside, pressing on three different hidden sensors in a one-three-two order. There was a popping sound as a tiny detonator destroyed the circuitry inside, rendering the helmet useless and preventing any reverse engineering of the tech it contained. He tossed it in the hole along with her chute and flight suit.

 

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