“I told you I don’t have much money,” Marla said.
“On the house.” Jason smiled. “A toast to our new partnership.”
“I told you…”
“I know what you said but I also know what you need.”
What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she simply turn and walk away? Tell him to fuck off and get the hell away from him?
“I don’t have any of my stuff,” she said.
“I noticed.”
“Remember? I was at the jail when you called.”
“Yeah, probably not smart to have your needles and shit over there.”
“They have Doctor Buck there. To protect him. And that other guy. The one they arrested.”
Jason stared at her but said nothing.
“So, are we?” Marla asked. “In danger? From those guys?”
Jason actually laughed. “Are you kidding? They’re our suppliers. Our business partners. I’ve talked to them. Everything will go on as before. I’ll be taking over for Tommy.”
She huffed out a breath. “What’ll keep them from doing the same thing to you?”
“Tommy was stupid. He tried to double-cross them. I’m too smart for that.” He extended the bag. “You can snort it.”
“I don’t like doing that. It burns too much.”
“Suit yourself.” He gave the baggie a shake.
She took it and tugged it open. The powder inside appeared clean and pure. It almost glowed in the moonlight that filtered through the tree limbs.
“Here,” Jason said. He tugged a spoon from the back pocket of his jeans. Small, not for heroin cooking but the perfect size for snorting.
She took it. She scooped up a small amount, brought it to her nose, and took a quick sniff. She recoiled, rubbed her nose with the heel of one hand. “Oh, I hate that.”
“You won’t in a hot minute.”
That was true. The rush grabbed her, lifted her, took her over the wave and down the other side. She was sailing.
“What is this?” she asked.
Jason smiled. “A bit of meth and a touch of heroin. Your favorite combination. Right?”
“It’s amazing. Wild, but….” She couldn’t think anymore.
“Here they come,” Jason said.
Marla turned. Through the haze in her brain, she saw two men. They seemed to materialize from the trees and float toward her.
CHAPTER 70
It was one of Cain’s last missions, taking out the garbage for the military. Some small town, using the word loosely, not far from Kabul. More a collection of dingy, crumbling buildings huddled near the base of a mountain slope. The current location of a Taliban commander. One who used his network to get to the Afghani soldiers who were labeled friendlies and who worked alongside US Marines and various other military personnel. Part of the outreach program, the training program that was supposed to rebuild the Afghani military and police units.
A joke. Cain knew that much. None of them could really be trusted. The case in point being the ones that the target had recruited to kill Americans. His head count had been deep into double digits.
Cain had been deployed to the area along with three Seals, two Delta guys, and a Marine sniper, just in case.
It was a new moon and at two a.m. the sky and landscape were pitch black, the wind calm. A stealth helicopter dropped them two clicks from the village. They humped in that direction, crept their way through several dark alleys, and took up positions a block down a dusty street from the two-story house where the target was holed up. Then they turned Cain loose to complete the mission he was trained for.
Cain scurried across the street and then worked his way down a parallel alleyway. He saw no one out and about and each house stood dark and quiet. He peered around a crumbling mud wall and the target building came into view. At the end of the block, left side. Showtime. But just as he took his first step, he froze.
On the roof, directly across from the commander’s hidey hole, he detected movement. A head, just above the short barrier wall that enveloped the rooftop. Then he detected the clear outline of a rifle barrel.
He squatted, tapped his earpiece, and spoke softly. “Sniper. Rooftop across from the target.”
“Roger that,” the reply came.
“Do you think we’ve been compromised?” Cain asked.
“No chatter to that effect.”
Was that true? Or wishful thinking? Or simply bad intel? The CIA guys that ran his ops were good, but not infallible. Still, the mission needed to be completed.
“I’ll take care of him first.”
“Roger. Our guy is repositioning. He’ll get a fix on him for cover.”
Cain was off. He dispatched the sniper, quietly, and then the target, just as quietly. Then they were gone, back into the desert, to the helicopter, and on to the base.
That’s what Cain saw now. A head and a rifle barrel. A sniper. Here in sleepy little Tanner’s Crossroads.
Cain had stuck to the alleyway that ran between Main and Elm, hugging the walls, dodging the trash cans, staying away from the moonlight that had suddenly appeared. Two blocks up he slid between two buildings and peered around a wall and up Elm. Three blocks ahead, he saw Marla enter the park. Their hunch had been correct. Marla no doubt was going to hook up with Jason, making herself an open target. He saw no sign of Jason or Dalton and his crew.
Back in the alley, he made his way two blocks farther, and then slipped between two stores to Elm Street. Everything was quiet.
That’s when he saw the head and the silhouette of a rifle pop up just behind the wall that surrounded the top level of the parking deck. He dropped to a squat. Were all of them up there? Or was this Dalton’s cover while he entered the park? Was Dalton that smart and that cautious? Rifle cover made the most sense. For use only in an emergency to cover them if an escape became necessary. Cain didn’t think Dalton would try to take out two people from a distance. Low probability of success and a lot of noise.
Only one way to find out.
He eased back
