Saint by Zoe Dawson

3

Saint cameto across Pitbull’s shoulders as his teammate ran past the bonfire and toward the team. Bitter disappointment mingled in with pain of the cuts, bruises and abrasions. Aella wasn’t here, and they had no idea where she had been taken. To top it off, the militia was moving against the city, massing for a heavy assault.

Still groggy and dizzy, Saint looked up back toward the city and saw and heard massive explosions. Hemingway was running behind them, Dragon behind him, both of them protecting their rear, but Hemingway and Dragon stopped, turned, and exchanged glances. Pit did the same. For a moment, shock flashed across Hemingway and Dragon’s faces and the easy-going SEAL swore.

“What the fuck was that?” Mad Max’s voice came through the comms as Pitbull, Dragon and Hemingway lurched back into motion. Behind them, lights were flashing, and shadows were moving in a way that told a seasoned gunfighter they were being pursued.

Fast Lane’s voice came through the comms. “TOC? Do you copy?” There was nothing but an ominous silence. “TOC? Come in.” Still nothing.

“They hit base,” 2-Stroke said, his voice hushed with disbelief. In the distance the sound of gunfire and explosions rocked the night. Plumes of smoke wafted into the air, drifting on the hot breeze.

“Dragon, Hemingway, Pitbull, get back here on the double. How is Saint?” Fast Lane growled.

“I’m awake,” he said hoarsely.

“Welcome back,” Pitbull said. “He’s conscious, LT. We’re hauling ass back to you a-sap. We’ve got a lot of company.”

“Copy that.”

His teammate’s harsh breathing, swishing through the dry grass and dusty earth and running footfalls were loud in Saint’s ears.

Saint was pissed that they were the ones on the run and that Omar had duped them into an ambush with Aella as bait. They were better than this.

They were also cut off completely from intel, drones, air support, QRF, and exfil. They were completely on their own.

“Put me down, Pit. I’m all right,” Saint said. Pitbull stopped and set him down. He was wobbly for a moment then regained his equilibrium. Hemingway and Pitbull were a bit banged up, looking worse for wear. He wanted to treat them, but they had no time. As soon as he was steady, they took off again. His head ached and he fought off dizzy spells as he ran, lurching every so often. He kept up with them. They were heading for thick vegetation. Luckily the rain had been heavy this year and they had not only ground cover, but acacia trees for camouflage.

Saint could hear the river as they made it to the rest of the team hidden in the grass and trees.

The four of them hit the deck. Saint landed closer to the river and farther from his teammates. But they were relatively concealed here. He had to close his eyes for a moment.

“We’re going to make for the river,” Fast Lane whispered into the comms. “We’ll cross over and head for the airport. Maybe there’ll be survivors. We can regroup and figure out our next steps.”

All Saint could think was that he didn’t want to leave Aella out there. He jerked awake and realized that he’d passed out again. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.

“Saint? Saint, come in.”

That was LT’s voice. “Copy,” he said.

“Where the hell are you!”

He carefully lifted his head, then heard footsteps move to his position. Through his NVGs above him, spears of light from headlights projected over where he lay and silhouetted a swarm of men walking close to where he was concealed. They couldn’t see shit as it was still pitch black.

His gaze swept the area in a quick recon, ducking back down when he spied someone close. He saw a pair of boots right near his head. He held his breath and slowly pulled his knife.

He watched him, ready to strike, only his gaze shifting as the man retreated, not realizing how close he’d come to death. The main body was pulling back. That was the good news. The bad news…he was cut off from the team. There were too many men along the river for him to cross.

He wasn’t deluding himself. He didn’t want to head back toward the airport. Aella was still out there alone, helpless and vulnerable. He couldn’t leave her behind without making a strong effort to find her.

“LT, I’m cut off.”

“What the fuck! We’re coming back for you.”

“No. They need you at base. I can go after Aella. They’re not going to suspect a lone man.” The thought of leaving her in Omar’s clutches crippled him, and he was desperate for all his training to kick in and keep him focused.

There was so much chatter on the comms, the burst hurt his ears. Finally, Fast Lane cut through the noise. “Are you out of your mind?”

“No, sir. I’m not. I can find her and get her out.” When he heard Fast Lane winding up for an ass chewing, he cut in. “Most of the main force is moving away from this area toward the government buildings. That will leave Omar with a smaller guard. He’s overconfident. He won’t see me coming.” Silence crackled over the comms and Saint clenched his jaw. “LT, they’ll kill her before we can regroup and go after her again.” He took a hard breath. “You’re needed at the base. People are dying there.”

“You want to find her and free her without our help?”

“Yes. I can do this. If I don’t, she’s as good as dead.”

“This is bull,” 2-Stroke said. “We’ll find some other way to rescue her. You don’t need to run off half-cocked.”

“I’m not half-cocked,” Saint said. “There is no other way, and we all know it. We leave now and she is as good as dead.”

“I can work my way back to him,” 2-Stroke said.

“No, that’s too risky. I’ve got this LT.”

“Son of a bitch,” Fast Lane swore. “Keep in contact with your progress. For the record, I don’t like this one damn bit. But you are her only hope. Good luck, Saint.”

He breathed a soft sigh of relief. “I’ll get her back. Hoo-yah!”

With the advantage of his NVGs, he could see like it was daytime. The troops were retreating, realizing they couldn’t track the SEALs in the pitch dark. But that didn’t mean they were giving up. They had men stationed everywhere and come daylight they would be in pursuit of the rest of his team.

He was pretty sure he had a mild concussion and the best thing for it was staying awake. The adrenaline should help. If he were advising one of his teammates, he would tell them to avoid reinjury.

Okay,he thought. Don’t get blown up again.

He moved as quickly as he could between the enemy and his goal. He suspected that Omar wouldn’t leave the safety of his compound until he knew if the coup had succeeded. He was a coward at best, not willing to risk his own neck. He was happy to let his lackeys take the brunt of winning the city at the sacrifice of their blood.

He leapfrogged across the open ground, knowing that he needed to get to cover before daylight, but he was hoping he would be able to get to Aella while it was still dark.

What had happened to Aella between the time she was captured and now? Had that bastard Omar…he couldn’t finish the thought. He would kill that son of a bitch with his bare hands. She was strong. She would survive. But what would this do to her? A bolt of fear arced through him. What was Aella suffering?

When he got close to the city, he skirted along the fringe until he came to what looked promising. He surveyed the area. There was a contingent of guards that looked to be protecting someone important. Through his binoculars, he spied a young girl getting shoved by a burly guard. He gritted his teeth when he saw a school bus parked near one of the structures. There was also a makeshift ring that was now abandoned. Was that where Aella had fought?

All the signs were there. He scanned back to the small girl and watched to see where they were taking her. Hopefully all the captives were being held in one place.

He wouldn’t sleep until he found her.

* * *

Fast Laneand the team double-timed it on the outskirts of the city, across the river where the vegetation was a little thicker. There were patrols, but they easily avoided them, or when that wasn’t possible, took them out.

He had compartmentalized Saint being out there on his own just as he’d compartmentalized his acute fear for Solace and the TOC staff. They all had a job to do. As they ran along the dusty road, it would only be a matter of time before they had to cross the river back into the city and brave the streets.

A city that was on alert with the base of special ops and Somali soldiers attacked. His only thought was to get there and assess the damage and then try to get word to Djibouti and Camp Lemmioner. They were the closest assistance.

When they were in sight of the camp, they crossed the river and cautiously entered the city. It was pitch black, sunrise still hours away. They ran down a flat street, turning every couple of blocks near blasted out buildings and rubble, some of it still smoldering. Looked like the clowns hit a residential area. He saw bodies and limbs and his humanitarian nature won over his command one. This was risky, but he didn’t want to lower his standards down to the animals who had done this. He stopped along with the men behind him. “Check to see if there are any survivors,” he said, clenching his teeth at the grim sound of his voice.

They took up precious minutes sifting through the ruins, but there was no one alive. Out of options, there was nothing they could do for these people now. Not in this beleaguered country.

He was bracing himself for what they would find back at the base.

They headed up the street away from all the buildings harboring death in the debris. His team was right behind him. They turned the corner and weren’t far from the road that led to the airport. The night was quiet, and he wondered if the palace had fallen. Most likely. There weren’t enough guards there to make a difference, even if they barricaded themselves inside the building.

His duty was clear. Take care of his own people, especially his team. If they were going to get out of Somalia alive, it had to be their only mindset. It was heartbreaking that these people had been dealt such a terrible lot in life. It never seemed to end.

He looked over at his men. None of them had been happy about leaving Saint behind. Hemingway was still angry. He could feel it pulsing off him, but they’d had no choice with Saint. What Fast Lane decided was what would stand. He was the leader. Period.

They had a job to do, and everything else had to be put aside until it was done. That was professional…the personal would have to wait. They had just seemingly put the pieces back together with his team and he may have ruined that forever. All these years, all the crap they’d been through, he wanted that back. But…maybe it was just too late.

Right now, he had more pressing concerns—just how to survive the next hour let alone days here without relief.

Keeping low and in line with the buildings, they started toward the road, weaving a path through a landscape of abandoned cars and scooters. Thirty more yards to the south, the junk and tires created a funnel, a three-yard opening along the entrance to the base. Way too dense for vehicles, but his team could fit.

Fast Lane signaled Dragon and he took up a guard position next to the tires. There was a lot of trash, spills, broken glass and just plain bad stuff. Fast Lane picked his way through carefully, as falling at this point would be either toxic or bloody.

Up ahead there could be sniper nests, machine gun nests, ambushes. But he had to go in. It was a dangerous crossing, where they would be exposed for precious seconds until they reached the darkness and cover of the building on the other side.

His keen senses told him whoever had attacked the base was gone. Their work complete.

Pitbull rushed to the edge of the junk area and went to one knee. “What do you think, LT?” he said, his voice no more than a whisper into his mic.

“I think we hightail it across on the double.”

“Hoo-yah!” Mad Max said. “Jugs is calm. Tangos minimal if at all.”

Pitbull moved slightly to improve his firing position. “Ready,” he said, and Dragon echoed his status.

“Execute,” Fast Lane said as Mad Max and Jugs took point and zipped across the road, then an SVU came out of nowhere. Tucking himself back as Mad Max and his K9 partner got to safety, the SVU came to a stop. They hadn’t seen Max.

“We need that vehicle,” Pitbull said.

“Copy that,” Dragon said. The driver got out of the vehicle along with the passenger.

“Doesn’t look like they’re coming,” the man said, and Fast Lane knew that accent. Bosnian. His comrade nodded.

“Radio her that we’re going to check out the rear, then come in.”

He reached for the radio on his belt.

“LT?” Dragon said.

“Let him call in. Then take them. Alive if possible.”

As soon as the call was complete. The SEALs moved forward. The person in the front passenger’s seat opened the vehicle’s door and the road illuminated. He and the backseat passenger who was standing in the road saw them coming. He reached for his weapon, but Dragon shot caught him clean in the head and he went down. Another bullet ended the man in the passenger seat, his limp body hanging out of the open door.

The driver started running, but Jugs was already racing full out from Max’s position. He hit the man in the back going forty miles an hour and he flew forward landing flat on his face.

He pulled out a pistol and Max shouted, “Gun!”

Dragon pulled off two shots and the guy went down.

They ran up on him, and he weakly went for the pistol, but Jugs’s growl made him hesitate.

He laughed softly, blood pooling around him. “You’re too late. Zasha offers you her condolences.”

Then he was looking up at the sky he’d never see again.

For a second, Fast Lane didn’t absorb anything beyond Zasha’s name.

She had been here.

In Somalia, here at the base, within reach.

Everything in him stopped for an instant, then started up faster. Both monsters were here because wherever Zasha was Darko was sure to be close.

They were here.

Here.

A sick, winding rope of vengeance twisted in his gut along with an unholy fear, then wound tighter, escalating faster, his skin suddenly cold.

Here.

Fast Lane turned toward the base. Oh, God. Solace. I’m sorry.

They concealed the bodies and headed to the SUV and piled inside. It was a tight fit.

When the vehicle came around the bend and Fast Lane saw the carnage, his heart sank. They drove to the destroyed TOC base. Working their way inside, they found all of the staff, including Commander Jackson. He bent down and gently closed his CO’s eyes.

“How about Rose?” Fast Lane asked. “Radios?”

“She’s not here,” Mad Max replied, and he saw the sheen in his eyes.

“Radios are toast, LT,” Dodger said.

“Spread out and see if there are any survivors.”

Dragon stood there looking stricken, his fists clenched. “That bitch and her boyfriend are going to pay for this,” he said.

Every man’s head nodded, including Fast Lane. But he knew it wouldn’t assuage their grief or bring the people back that they had all worked with. It couldn’t soften the blow to all their families. Commander Jackson’s wife…God, he wished he could be there when they delivered the tragic news about his death to Annabeth.

Zasha and Darko were rumored to be here selling weapons. Little did they know they were working on destabilizing the whole fucking country, their tenuous government. That bitch had some guts. How ironic she had gone rogue to defend the death of her father and she was taking away so many fathers from their own children. He was trying to make something senseless make sense.

Fast Lane left the TOC base and walked toward the barracks. The females had been separated from the males, but he found the same situation. Still smoldering ruins. He went inside and found remnants of Solace’s belongings. Something fluttered and he bent down to find a scorched picture of her and her parents.

Rage, heartbreak and mortification filled him as everything seemed to slow down except the grief that was clawing up his throat, throttling his chest, breaking his heart. It took everything he had not to break down. She was gone. There had been nothing he could do to save her.

His eyes burned and he stared at his boots. A horrible sensation poured over him like hot wax and his throat grew tighter and tighter. He pulled off his helmet, rubbing his face and everything shifted into normal speed.

This space seemed too big, echoing with a hollow, god-awful sound.

There was nothing but emptiness inside him as the world turned without Solace in it.

* * *

Omar actually allowedher a doctor who stitched up her wounds, gave her antibiotics and painkillers. He said she was a tough woman and he saw no need for alarm regarding her KO, in addition to any internal harm. It was mostly soft tissue damage.

She didn’t know how long she dozed on the floor, floating in a bubble of painkillers. Yasmiin wasn’t back and she feared for the teenager’s innocence, feared for them all down to her bones.

These girls should be given a chance to grow up and have healthy consensual relationships with the men of their choice. Not be introduced to the carnal ways of life by a pig who had nothing on his mind but his own pleasure.

That brought David Kessler immediately to her mind. She had only been dating him for a short period of time—a handful of dates, some sex. But she could already tell he wanted more. She wasn’t sure she could give him that.

Then her heart stumbled. Just like she’d closed Zach down. She’d let him go back to the West Coast without even a word about how she felt about him, really felt about him. She’d had to move on. She had a plan, and her career was her focus. She hadn’t worked this hard to get where she was to give it up to take a lesser job on the West Coast. She’d vowed she wouldn’t be that woman, not like her estranged mother who went where the boyfriends went, wherever that took her, ate up what they dished out, and kowtowed to their demands.

But Zach…she couldn’t seem to forget Zach and everything they had shared.

When she heard the lock and the door again, she came fully awake. The girls were tense around her, but when the door opened, only Yasmiin was shoved through. She landed on her hands and knees. The girls rushed to her, helping her up. Aella struggled up, her body protesting.

“Yasmiin,” she whispered. “Come here.” The girl walked over and collapsed against Aella. She wrapped her arms around the teenager and felt her trembling. “It’s okay, baby,” she said.

She cupped the girl’s face and Yasmiin flinched. That’s when Aella saw the mark on her cheek. He’d hit Yasmiin, and Aella’s anger was like a live ember in her gut. “Did he hurt you?” Had he raped a defenseless child?

Aella forced Yasmiin to look at her. She was extraordinarily beautiful. Her big chocolate eyes in that delicate face were filled with defiance. Her mouth hardened.

“Omar hit me when I told him to go to the devil. I am not for him. His son Warsame claimed me for his own. I hate him. He’s always leering at me.”

“What did they want with you?”

“They wanted to make sure I understood what would happen if we…all of us…refused them. Omar made it clear that we would be cherished and well taken care of if we submit. If we don’t, he will beat us and force us anyway.” Her voice hardened. “I am to be Warsame’s wife.”

Aella pulled her close. “You are so brave.”

“When he hit me, I made sure I fell near the table.” She pulled something from underneath her dress. “I thought it would be good for when we escape.”

Aella tightened her grip and laughed softly, taking the knife out of her small grip. “You are a little warrior, aren’t you?”

“I know how to survive.” She looked around at her friends. “We will not submit. He will not win against us.”

“No. He won’t,” Aella said. She pushed up from the floor. Her body ached, but she knew she couldn’t wait.

“Where are you going?” Yasmiin asked, clutching Aella’s shirt.

“I’m going to take care of the problem.” She bent down and tucked the knife in her boot. “Be ready. I’ll be back for you.”

She went to the door and banged on it. “I want to talk to Omar.” The guards looked at each other, grinning and laughing. “Take me to him now,” she demanded. “He’ll be angry that you delayed me from his night with me.”

That wiped the smiles off their faces. They immediately unlocked the door. One took her arm and pulled her out, then relocked the door. They marched her through the dirty house. She looked out to the compound, spying the school bus they had brought the children in, and the ring where she’d lost her completely unfair fight.

They brought her down a hall to a room with the door closed. Axmed Omar, the monster, was in there, waiting for her, and she knew exactly what he wanted. She was going to see he got what was coming to him.

When they opened it, she noted how much cleaner it was here and how the windows were boarded up to protect him from anyone seeing inside. It was clear this was his bedroom.

Aella’s blood was running hot and fast, pumping through her veins. She could feel it. even through the pain, the night was getting clearer to her, brighter, starker, turning black and white at the edges. This feeling suffused her, new, unprecedented, unlike any feelings or emotions that had come before. Most intriguing of all was that it wasn’t disturbing. She felt stronger, faster, even though she had been through hell.

The night moved on, the blacks and whites streaking into gray. It didn’t matter.

“Wait here,” the man said. The other one stepped out of the room.

She turned around, trying to see anything through the blinding boards. She turned just enough to see the guard exit.

Before she could turn around at the sound of footsteps, she was grabbed from behind.

“You have come for your time with me,” Omar’s breath gusted past her ear and her gut recoiled. He lifted her off her feet. He was like a freaking boa constrictor.

She wasn’t used to feeling helpless, not in her past and not now, and it started a curl of panic inside her. Then she got a grip. She was a United States federal agent, ATF, and she was tougher than some lecherous, sell-out warlord.

“Let me go and you can have what you want,” she said, her fingers itching for the knife. He released the pressure on her throat and with quick hands patted her down. He didn’t check her boot, her anticipation of taking him out hidden by the schooled blank mask she’d adopted.

She was the only thing that stood between him and those babies back in her jail room. She couldn’t let them down. Neither he nor his son was going to touch a hair on their sweet, beautiful, innocent heads.

He spun her hard against the wall, his eyes taking on a gleam she could feel in the space that separated them.

He moved toward her, pinning her against the wall, his mouth descending to hers and she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him touch her. She turned her head away, and he backhanded her across the face. She fell to the floor, her face exploding with fiery pain. The impact to her shoulder rattled her as she frantically clawed for the knife. He grabbed her braid, his smile downright evil as he yanked her to her feet.

Oh, God that hurt. Tears burned her eyes, and she smothered the pain inside her rage. He twisted the rope of her hair in his fist, her scalp on fire. She lashed out, her elbow impacting his throat. He barely flinched, blistering the air with his curses.

He dragged her close and said, “I will have you and have you and have you until you are used up, then I will put a bullet in your head.

“You’re never going to have anyone again,” she said, then plunged the knife into his chest. He staggered back, his eyes bulging, his mouth agape.

The door opened and she realized this was it. She’d failed those girls and she’d go to her grave with that terrible knowledge.

She whipped her head around and her eyes widened. Before her mind could process who was in the doorway, he raised his weapon. The whole action, from his first movement until Axmed Omar dropped like a stone took less than a second.

Zach freaking Bartholomew.

Head shot. Clean. Fast. Deadly accurate.