The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(3)

She sucked in air. Intel from two hours ago had confirmed Sampson’s location in that outbuilding. He must have been moved.

“Abort.” It killed her to do this, but she couldn’t endanger her team members’ lives by ordering an exploration of the camp. There wasn’t enough time. They’d tried—and failed. The intel was bad. End of story. End of mission.

Silence greeted her. Dammit. Rif was a pro; he knew to respond to her command.

“Abort mission. Confirm.” She scanned the camp. A few more rebels had joined the group around the fire.

Rif’s voice filled the silence. “Give me three minutes, over.”

No way. Three minutes was a lifetime. They needed to leave immediately to meet the choppers.

“I repeat, abort mission, over.”

Silence.

Her earpiece finally crackled. “Wait, out.” Operator speak for Bugger off, I’m busy. Rif had spent years in Delta Force, but this wasn’t the US Army. She was in charge of this mission, and he was defying orders.

Before she could respond, gunfire erupted below at the campfire. No more hiding in the shadows. Time to bring it.

“Go active,” she commanded her team.

The men from the campfire scrambled for their weapons while Brown and Johansson blasted their M4s from their positions on the ridge. Figures dropped to the muddy earth. Bullets ripped through the night, and the scent of gunpowder flooded her nostrils.

“Brown, take your shot.” He was responsible for disabling the rebels’ ammo hut with the grenade launcher.

“Eyes shut,” Brown warned, protecting the team from the bright lights of the explosion, since they all wore night-vision goggles. Seconds later, the building erupted in a burst of crimson flames.

The sound of metal hitting rock sharpened her focus. Bullets showered the area around her. She pressed her chin into the mud, flattened her body, and returned fire.

A group of rebels stormed toward the cliff, but the team’s NVGs made the figures easy targets. Blasts reverberated across the valley as muzzle flashes flared.

“Return to home base, over.” Her voice remained calm, but four-letter words ricocheted through her brain.

Where was Rif?

She spotted rebels at the base of the hill, the men cutting off Team A’s egress route. Dammit to hell. Well, “all in” was obviously the theme of the day.

“Cover me, Brown.” She jumped up and ran down the slippery hillside, her footing uncertain in the muck. Before the rebels could react to her presence, she flipped the M4’s setting to full auto and pressed the trigger, rattling off round after round. She slammed in a fresh magazine and kept firing. Several men fell; others ran for cover. She continued the suppressive fire. The egress route was clear. At least now Rif and the others had a chance of getting out.

Her earpiece buzzed. “Bravo Four, hit.” Johansson’s voice was reedy. He’d been shot.

The northeast wasn’t covered, and Rif was AWOL. It was up to her to help.

She pressed the talk button. “Coming, Jo. Brown, watch my back.”

Sprinting back up the hill, she traversed the ridge, mud sucking at her combat boots.

Fifty feet. She pushed harder.

Thirty.

Ten.

Bullets peppered the air around her. She dove behind a tree. Her forearms bore the brunt of her landing, the pain rumbling up to her shoulders. She low-crawled toward Johansson. Blood seeped from his shoulder. His face was ashen, his eyes unfocused. She grabbed a QuikClot from the first-aid kit in his backpack and placed it on his wound. “I’m too scared to face your pregnant wife alone, so keep your shit together.”

He gave her a weak smile.

She removed the morphine syringe from his front pocket and jammed it into his left quad. He’d be comfortably numb soon enough.

A group of rebels climbed the embankment. Brown maintained his disciplined fire but couldn’t keep up. Thea aimed her own M4 at the oncoming attackers and pressed the trigger. Several men fell. She shoved a fresh magazine in.

Figures appeared in the distant mist, the heat of their bodies a hazy green through the night-vision goggles. She counted them. Four. The tallest one, Rif, had a body slung over his right shoulder. Sampson. They’d found him, but she couldn’t tell if the hostage was dead or alive.

“Jo, Team A’s back. Can you walk?”

His breath was rapid and shallow. “Hell, yes.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him, given the morphine. She was strong for a buck-thirty but couldn’t run while carrying over two hundred pounds. They’d make too easy a mark.

“Stand up, soldier,” Thea said.

Johansson groaned. “My wife’s going to kill me.”

“She’s going to have to take a number.” She helped him to his feet. He stumbled, unsteady in the mud. She wrapped his left arm around her shoulder, supporting his weight. “Let’s get you home.”

The faint sound of incoming rotor wash spurred her. They only had a few minutes to reach the clearing.

A burst of nearby gunfire startled her. She looked up, prepared to shoot, but realized it was Rif firing suppressive bursts while sprinting across the ridge. Having handed off the hostage, he joined them behind a massive tree. Rain smeared his black camo paint, giving his face a sinister look. “Team A’s headed back to the clearing with Sampson.” He slung his rifle across his back and hoisted Johansson over his shoulder. “Cover me.”