“Alex, nice work,” Blunt said as he answered. “The news is already out. I just hung up with the president and he sends his congratulations.”
“I’d hold off on celebrating just yet.”
He scowled. “What do you mean? Is Hawk okay?”
“He didn’t make the extraction point,” she said. “He’s still alive, but he’s in a tough spot right now.”
“Oh, Alex, I’m sorry. I’m sure he’ll—”
“That’s not what I called to tell you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, there’s something else. It’s worse. Far worse than we could’ve ever imagined.”
CHAPTER 3
Baghran, Afghanistan
HAWK SPIED A MOTORCYCLE tucked behind several seed sacks. He loosened the gas cap to see how much fuel was inside. Not much, but he figured it might be enough to get him out of his current jam.
Better than being someone’s target practice.
Hawk hoisted his leg over the seat and took a deep breath. Then he squeezed the clutch while he jammed his foot onto the kickstart. His first three attempts failed as the bike didn’t give any indication that it was inclined to start. But on the fourth try, the engine roared to life. Hawk goosed the gas as he popped the clutch and tore out of the backside of the barn.
Hawk leaned forward, crouching low to reduce his target size. Bullets peppered the ground all around him as he wove back and forth on the rocky ground. With the road back to town blocked, he needed to navigate the unforgiving terrain to escape the looming threat.
The men who’d been closing in on him in the barn sprinted toward their vehicles, which were about three hundred meters away. Hawk drove to the edge of the steep mountainside and paused for a second. He didn’t have much time to plot a course, but he couldn’t expect to fly blindly down the embankment. Loose sand, large boulders, and sprawling bushes provided a daunting challenge to reaching the valley floor without crashing and getting hurt. Any leg injury would be a death sentence.
Bullets pinged nearby, forcing Hawk to choose his path more quickly than he would’ve liked. He took another deep breath and pointed his bike down the hill. The handlebars vibrated while the seat rattled beneath him in a rhythmic fashion. Twisting and turning as he went, he avoided a handful of major boulders.
Upon reaching a short stretch of smooth dirt, he glanced back up toward the ridge. Some of the terrorists were watching, reporting his movements on their radios, while others sped down the dusty road in an attempt to cut him off. He turned on his coms and tried to reach Alex.
“Alex, are you there?” Hawk asked.
Silence.
“Alex, do you read me?”
Still nothing.
He left the channel open, hoping he might hear her. But her voice never came through his ear.
The route to the valley floor consisted of ripples of hills, creating pockets to hide from the prying eyes overhead. And Hawk needed to pick one fast before the men in pursuit converged on his position. After he went up and over a third rise, he spotted a house with a boy playing in the lone tree nearby.
As Hawk drew closer, he cut off the engine and coasted to a stop. Upon further examination, he guessed the boy was about twelve years old. He stopped and squinted as Hawk eased to a halt.
After a friendly wave, Hawk steadied the bike with his feet on the ground. The engine continued to hum as the boy cautiously eyed Hawk. After a quick glance over his shoulder, Hawk sighed in relief. He was hidden from view of the men on the ridge.
“Do you know how to ride?” Hawk asked the boy in Farsi.
He nodded.
Hawk gestured toward the bike. “For you.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “For me?”
“You can keep it if you like,” Hawk said. “But I need you to do me a favor.”
“What do you want?” the boy asked.
“Are your parents home?” Hawk asked as he eyed the adobo home a few meters away.
The boy shook his head.
“I need to hide. There are some bad men after me, so please don’t tell anyone I’m here. Can you do that for me?”
“If I do that, you’ll give me this motorcycle?”
Hawk nodded. “She’s all yours.”
“Okay.”
The boy motioned for Hawk to follow. As they drew near to the house, the boy crouched low and put his index finger to his lips. They eased past an open window, where his mother belted out a song in English that he recognized.
They listen to Brittany Spears out here? Wait until I tell Alex about this. She’ll never believe me.
As they rounded the corner, the boy led Hawk into a small room and then gestured under the bed.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” Hawk said.
The boy nodded, signaling he understood.
Hawk scanned the room, noting an open window where he could see a straight shot deeper into a ravine. He slid beneath the bed. Inching his way out of sight, he listened to the mother blare renditions of a few Celine Dion songs followed by a couple Reba McEntire and Billie Eilish tunes.
What kind of station is this?
In this distance, he heard his motorcycle engine winding in the distance.
A half-hour later, a man’s voice bellowed as he entered the house. The wife was interrupted midway through the chorus of Salt ’n Pepper’s “Push It” when presumably her husband turned off the song. A brief argument followed before he asked where his son was.
Moments later, the motorcycle roared back toward the house.
Outside, the sun had dipped below the mountains, muting the scant daylight remaining. In the fifteen minutes since that had happened, the temperature had plunged, bringing welcome relief from the heat.
However, he started to sweat again as the father initiated an inquisition with his son about the arrival of the motorcycle just outside the boy’s window.
“Where did you get this from?” the father demanded in Farsi. “Did you steal it? You know what we do to thieves, don’t you?”
“I didn’t steal it,” the boy said. “A man gave it to me.”
“You expect me
