Bodyguard Lockdown Page 16

  Booker dropped to the papers to the ground. “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because it holds the truth.” Quamar stepped through the opening in the tent. “I have read the file.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron demanded. “You were supposed to find Sandra’s father.”

  “Omar Haddad is nowhere in the city,” Quamar answered, his tone matching Aaron’s. “He has gone rogue.”

  “Why don’t you both enlighten me, Sabra?” Booker held the gun steady. “And we’ll move this meeting right along.”

  “Let us treat this as a civilized meeting.” Quamar walked over to his friend and placed his hand on the gun.

  “I love Sandra as I would a sister. You are not the only one who is afraid for her safety, Booker. But you need to hear everything,” Quamar stated. “Then you can react with anger.”

  Booker forced his body to relax. He lowered the gun. “I’m listening.”

  “About thirty years ago, Omar Haddad inadvertently started the chain of events we’re dealing with today.” Aaron walked over to the bar, poured himself two fingers of whiskey, then turned back. “With one bad decision. A decision he based on the death of his eldest son, Andon.”

  “The doc told me about her brother. How the Al Asheera forced Omar to watch while they killed him.”

  “She told you that?” Quamar asked, surprised.

  “Yes. She found out when she was ten. Why?”

  “She never told me or Jarek or anyone else, for that matter,” Quamar responded. “I find that interesting, considering she does not like you, Booker.”

  Aaron snorted, but made no comment. “Andon Haddad’s death started a series of events that included the death of Jarek’s parents and Quamar’s mother.”

  “And now Sandra’s life is in jeopardy.” Booker glanced at the giant. “How long have you known?”

  “I read the file several hours ago,” Quamar answered. “But it makes no difference. Omar is not my enemy. The Al Asheera killed my mother. No one else was responsible.”

  “Explain that to Omar.” Aaron downed the whiskey in one gulp. “Omar hired Trygg over thirty years ago to kill the head of the Al Asheera. The man responsible for Andon’s death. In return, he promised Trygg government secrets. Trygg agreed and killed the man.”

  “Unfortunately, my youngest uncle, Hassan, wanted Taer’s crown. He secretly stepped in as the new Al Asheera leader,” Quamar explained. “Once Hassan established himself as the leader, over the next several years, he arranged for the murder of Jarek’s parents. And many others loyal to the crown.”

  “Omar blames himself for their deaths,” Aaron explained.

  “And the government secrets Trygg gained from Omar?” Booker asked, but he already knew the answer. “What were they?”

  “Everything the United States had on rapid healing serums.”

  “Super Soldiers,” Booker commented, understanding. “Omar introduced Trygg to the concept.”

  “Exactly,” Aaron replied. “Which only adds your men to the list Omar feels he is responsible for.”

  “At some point, after my mother, Theresa Bazan’s, death, Omar came clean to Jon Mercer.” Quamar crossed his arms. “Jon was the Director of Labyrinth at the time. He convinced Omar to become a double agent.”

  “But Trygg turned out to be a slippery bastard,” Aaron added. “Mercer couldn’t get anything on him—not without implicating Omar—until Trygg got himself placed on the research committee for CIRCADIAN several years ago. By then Trygg had maneuvered himself into a four-star general position and accumulated enough money for leverage to get what he wanted.”

  “And Sandra? Why would Omar agree to her assignment to the research?”

  “When Trygg heard about Sandra’s research, he called Omar and threatened him. Omar called Mercer. Mercer convinced Omar that Sandra’s research could bring down Trygg. Omar had no choice. Not after Jon managed to keep Omar’s involvement under wraps. Mercer promised Sandra safety from Trygg by placing Kate MacAlister-D’Amato in charge of the research. At the time, Mercer had considered bringing her on board with Labyrinth.”

  “But Kate didn’t stay assigned long enough to even be briefed on the situation,” Booker guessed. “Trygg wanted her removed almost immediately.”

  “To make matters worse, Omar helped Trygg cover up the death of Jim Rayo’s wife several years before.”

  “It was part of the original deal,” Quamar added. “Omar would offer his medical services, off the radar, for Trygg whenever he needed them.”

  “Trygg contacted Omar and hinted at the possibility he might need him to sign another death certificate.”

  “Kate’s,” Booker guessed.

  “Right,” Aaron answered. “Mercer had Kate reassigned. And protected. Trygg brought in Lewis Pitman.”

  “And eventually Sandra turned on Trygg,” Booker concluded, understanding.

  “Yes,” Aaron responded. “Once Trygg went to prison, Mercer found me at Leavenworth. I was to get on Trygg’s good side, join his ranks. It took me a long time, a couple months, but I managed to earn Trygg’s trust. Then one day I got jumped in the yard by a stoned-out psychopath with a homemade knife. I spent six months in the infirmary recovering. My opportunity was lost. Trygg didn’t want anything to do with me afterward.”

  “So Mercer sprung you and set you up as the Al Asheera leader?” Booker asked the question.

  Aaron shrugged. “Wasn’t hard. A few years ago, King Jarek destroyed the tribe, brought down the last leader, a woman, who was trying to take over Taer’s new oil supply. Jon Mercer arranged for me to have money. From a private source. The Al Asheera were near poverty, in hiding and desperate for help.”

  “Private source?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aaron explained. “With the money, Mercer helped me get government equipment to Trygg—equipment Keith Harper couldn’t get his hands on without putting him under suspicion.”

  “Aaron has been working with Senator Harper and Colonel Rayo for over the past year,” Quamar added. “As Minos.”

  “How is this history going to save Sandra now?”

  “I received the frequency codes to the tracking device Rayo’s men planted on Sandra.”

  “Madu and Boba found us at the helicopter through the doc’s tracking device,” Booker acknowledged.

  “Madu would’ve been there earlier, but the storm slowed them up. Also, we didn’t have access to a helicopter. Trygg does.”

  “Where did you get the frequency code?”

  “I found Senator Harper, dead, in Omar’s private office.” Quamar sighed, then placed his hands on his hips. “And he did not die quickly. Omar tortured him.”

  “Harper went there to kill Omar. The man had no combat skill, easy pickings for someone with Omar’s experience,” Aaron inserted. “He got the frequency code for Sandra’s tracking chip. Left it with Keith Harper’s body.”

  “Did Harper know that Trygg captured Sandra in the cave? That he has the cylinders?” Booker asked.

  “No,” Aaron said after a moment. “Harper had a meeting scheduled with Omar last night. I warned Omar that Harper might try to kill him. And that Harper had the frequency codes. He’d given me the one to Trygg’s camp. But the frequency has been jammed. And the camp has been moved. The men I left to watch were discovered and killed.”

  “Why didn’t you just kill Trygg when you had the chance?” Booker demanded. “You’ve been dealing with him since his escape.”

  “I was under orders from President Mercer. I wasn’t allowed to take him into custody until I had evidence that the cylinders were contained and not left somewhere to detonate,” Aaron answered. “I wasn’t about to let my people get caught up in this mess, either.”

  “Your people.”

  “You have a problem with that statement?” Aaron demanded. “Because they are the same people your girlfriend cares for.”

  Booker grunted, but let the comment pass. “So this has nothing to do with t
he oil site. There is a lot of oil under that ground. If Taer is destroyed, that ground and everything around it might become contaminated. That means a lot of money to the United States.”

  “It does,” Aaron agreed. “While it might be Mercer’s motivation, it is not mine.”

  “Last question,” Booker said and raised the pistol, once more pointing at Aaron. “Who told Trygg that Sandra was leaving for Tourlay?”

  Aaron put his hands high in the air. “So you can shoot the messenger?”

  Booker thumbed the hammer back on the pistol.

  “All right, damn it. I did,” Aaron confessed. “Under orders.”

  “From who?”

  “President Mercer. It secured my place in Trygg’s plans.” Aaron stared straight down the barrel. “But in the spirit of full disclosure, Mercer ordered me to protect her. And with her help, recover the cylinders before Trygg. I just figured you would do a better job.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you,” Quamar observed wryly.

  “Unless...” Quamar took a long, curious look at Booker. The brown eyes softened, thoughtful. “I understand.”

  “Understand what?” Booker demanded.

  “You are in love with Sandra,” Quamar stated.

  Aaron grinned. “Just call me Cupid.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Booker bit out, and took a step forward.

  “Boss,” Madu yelled, and rushed into the tent. He stopped dead in his tracks; his eyes ran up and down Aaron. “You?” The smuggler glanced from one man to the next, taking in the situation. “You are Minos.”

  Aaron ignored the surprise. “What do you have, Madu?”

  “We picked up the signal on Doctor Haddad’s chip. The jamming disengaged about three minutes ago. We also picked up the frequency on the airbus. Both are in opposite directions and at least a dozen hours from here by vehicle.”

  Quamar stepped in front of Booker’s gun. “Well, it is a good thing that I chose to come here by helicopter.”

  * * *

  “GENERAL?” JIM RAYO stormed into the tent. “Doctor Pitman has informed me that Sandra Haddad has been moved to an undisclosed location.”

  The general set down his pen on the desk, took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair.

  “Yes. That was my order. Sandra Haddad is fine, for the time being.” He studied the colonel for a second or two. “How is Doctor Pitman coming along with his lab?”

  “He just informed me that he needs another six to eight hours to get the cylinders ready for disbursement.”

  “Good.” Trygg paused a moment, frowning. “And the tracking chip for the plane?”

  “A hundred miles away, dropped somewhere over the desert as ordered, sir.”

  “Thank you, Jim.” Trygg sat back in his chair. “How long have we worked together, Jim?”

  “Twenty-five years, sir.”

  “Twenty-five years,” Trygg repeated, then sighed. “It never seems as long as it sounds.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you proud of your life? Are you proud of your career, and what we’ve accomplished over all these years?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Trygg studied the man before him. “You’re a good man, Colonel Rayo. The best soldier I’ve known. And I’ve known many.”

  “Likewise, sir. I’ve always trusted your judgment. I’ve followed your orders for the past thirty years, General.”

  “And you have concerns with this mission—am I correct?”

  Jim gave him a sharp, affirmative nod. “Taer holds well over fifty thousand people.”

  The general placed his elbows on the armrests. Linked his fingers in front of him. “Not all will die, Jim. We have only two cylinders to drop.”

  “Half will die,” Jim answered, his stance widening. “We have no idea of the effect on others. There are women and children who will be killed, General.”

  “So you do have a problem with my decision,” Trygg observed. “This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with collateral damage.”

  “In the past, all collateral damage were military men. Recruits. Their families received honorable compensations,” Jim argued.

  “So after all these years, you’re questioning my judgment. Right at the precipice of our biggest triumph.”

  “Sir, we’ll lose civilian—”

  “We’ve lost civilians before, damn it!” Anger flashed deep in Trygg’s eyes, maybe a hint of insanity.

  Jim ignored both. He saw nothing but the image of his wife, her broken body. “My wife was one of those civilians, wasn’t she, General?”

  Trygg’s gaze snapped to Jim’s. In that moment, Jim understood that everything Booker had told him about the bar fight and his wife had been true.

  “I had nothing to do with your wife’s death, Jim.”

  “And Emily McKnight’s? Or her unborn child’s?”

  “We’ve been over this before, Jim. Emily and her child were unknown factors in an otherwise sound equation. Her death wasn’t preventable,” Trygg explained. “You understand every mission does not go smoothly. It’s expected. She was unexpected.”

  “I don’t believe she was, General. I believe you brought her into the equation on purpose.”

  Trygg laughed and shook his head. “Like I said, we’ve known each other too long, haven’t we?”

  “I’m beginning to think I don’t know you at all, sir.”

  “You’re right, Jim.” Trygg spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I did allow Emily McKnight access through the gates. But it was necessary. She had too much control over her father. It had become a problem when she broke through the gates.”

  “So you killed his daughter,” Jim stated. It was no longer a question to him, but a fact.

  “It was necessary.”

  Trygg slid open the drawer of his desk.

  Jim caught the look. The one that had been growing in the back of the general’s eyes since the rescue. A madness.

  Jim grabbed his gun, pointed it at the general. “Keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

  “I was reaching for a cigar.”

  “You killed my wife.” Jim kept his hand level, his eyes pinned on the general. “Why?”

  “All right. We do this your way.” Trygg sighed, let his hands drop onto the desk, palms spread. “Your wife would have held you back from greatness. I needed you more than she did.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Jim’s finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly, a gun fired from behind him. Pain exploded in Jim’s back, took him to his knees. His stomach burned. Jim pulled his hand away, saw the blood coating his fingers.

  Lewis stepped around him.

  “Meet your replacement, Jim.”

  Lewis kicked Jim’s gun across the tent.

  “I told the general here about your conversation with McKnight, Colonel,” Lewis explained. “From the moment he talked about your wife, you changed sides. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Jim tried to get his feet under him, but the strength wasn’t there. “Sandra Haddad. Where is she?”

  “At the runway,” Lewis taunted. “We’ll be taking care of her real soon.”

  “You won’t get away with...” Jim drew a haggard breath. His back burned, but his legs and arms moved.

  “With this? But I already have, Jim. I have to finish great tasks. While all you have left to do is die.” Trygg stood behind his desk, pulled a gun out of his desk drawer and placed it in a side holster beneath his jacket. “Try to do it quickly.”

  Jim slumped to the floor in a pool of his own blood. He dragged in desperate breaths, breaching the pain that raged in his chest.

  “It’s time to take care of Doctor Haddad.” Trygg stepped over him, then paused. “Give your wife my regards when you see her.”

  * * *

  IT HAD TAKEN THEM three hours to reach the tracking device. Three hours the body lay in the sand. Vultures circling, until the roar of the helicopter chased them away.

&nb
sp; “Just for the record, I am not comfortable out in the open like this, McKnight.”

  Booker jumped from the helicopter. He noted the body had been dumped on the low ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Does to me,” Aaron muttered, then followed Booker a few yards to the body, his rifle raised. His eyes were on the dunes around them.

  “It’s not Sandra.” Booker flipped over the body. Instantly recognized the sand-covered features. “It’s Jim Rayo.”

  “Hell.” Aaron squatted next to Booker, examined the extent of the wound, the dried blood. “He’s been dead for a few hours. Maybe half a day.”

  Booker grunted. “He was shot in the back. The bullet exited above the abdomen. But he didn’t die right away. They dragged him out here and let him suffer a bit.”

  “My bet is that they shot him at their camp,” Aaron said. “Which means we’re close.”

  “Close means nothing in the Sahara.” Booker let the body roll back, angry over the kind of man Rayo could have been if Trygg hadn’t interfered with his life.

  “Our position is risky at best.” Aaron scanned the perimeter, stopped twice on their helicopter. “Too many dunes around us. We’re sitting ducks down here.”

  Booker patted down Jim’s shirt pocket. “I’ve got something.” He pulled out the small microchip. “There’s blood on it.”

  “Sandra’s. Which means she could be alive,” Aaron reasoned. He did a quick check of the pants pockets, then stopped. “Hold on.”

  Aaron grabbed Jim Rayo’s left arm. “I’ll be damned.”

  “That goes without saying,” Booker quipped, then followed Aaron’s gaze to Jim’s outstretched hand.

  Aaron turned the left cuff inside out. Booker recognized the numbers written in blood. “They’re geographic coordinates. Rayo must have written them down before he died.”

  “In his own blood.”

  Bullets ripped across the hull of the helicopter, striking the windows. Pinned them down with nothing but the body for cover.

  “Trygg’s men.” Aaron squinted at the horizon, trying to find the snipers. “Damn it, I knew this was a trap.”

  Another wave of gunfire ripped through the tail of the copter. All it took was one round to hit the gas tank, and the bird exploded, sending balls of fire and metal shards through the air.