Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(27)

Six months ago, when I’d learned that the Alpha was trying to erase the past, I’d been so afraid of losing everything that I’d risked my own soul to remain silent.

But I was done with that. No matter what it cost me—my job, my GI Bill, even my freedom if my actions in Iraq came to light and I was court-martialed as a reservist—I would see it through.

The Alpha—whoever he was—would pay for his treason.



Long after we left Zarif’s home, Hamid said, “You can remove the blindfold.”

I tugged off the scarf and let it flutter to the seat. Outside, day had surrendered to night, and all around us city lights blazed against the darkness. We sped along a highway through a river of traffic.

“We’re in Mexico City?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“How much farther to the airport?”

“Forty minutes, give or take.”

I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time on the digital display. Cohen would be in bed, but probably not yet asleep. I typed a text.

You in bed?

Cohen responded immediately.





With the fur ball

I smiled and typed. Something I should know about?





He smells bad





Stop feeding him steak

We live like kings when the queen is away I miss you

Miss you too. Things OK?

I debated, then typed, Good and bad Home soon?





Tomorrow early

Didn’t work out?





Not sure

What’s your flight #? Clyde and I will be at the curb.

I’ll get a taxi

We’ll be there. Then he typed, Love you.

Before I could think of a response, another text popped up on my screen.

No pressure. See you soon.

I felt a smile on my face as I slid the phone back in my pocket.



The driver pulled up to the curb at departures. Hamid hopped out and came around to open the door.

“You have a few hours to wait,” he said. “My apologies that I couldn’t get you an earlier flight.”

I grabbed my duffel and stepped out of the SUV. “It’s fine.”

“The driver will park. I’ll stay with you until you go through security. Mr. Zarif expressed his concern that the Americans might be watching the airport.”

I opened my mouth to say no, then thought better of it. If I wanted to live long enough to help Malik, I would be a fool to fight alone.

“Thank you,” I said.

The Benito Juárez International Airport was bustling with crowds of tourists and businesspeople. Hamid carried credentials of some kind, because he was able to get me to the front of the ticketing line. Even so, by the time we finished and walked to security, there was a mob at the gate.

Hamid pointed toward a restaurant. “Miguel’s. They have excellent red mole. Would you like to wait there until the line goes down?”

I nodded. In truth, being on the other side of the security gate made me feel trapped. A leftover from my time in the Marines, when we couldn’t leave the FOB.

Miguel’s was dark and moody, heavy on the oak and brass, more British pub than Mexican cantina. Despite the crowd at security, it was almost entirely deserted—there was only the bartender and a middle-aged couple in a back booth. My lucky night—Hamid wasn’t the chatty type, and the quiet and solitude suited my mood. We both ordered a Negra Modelo at the bar, skipped the glasses, and carried our drinks to a booth where we could keep an eye on the room.

Hamid set his beer on the table across from mine. He sat, but when his phone buzzed, he glanced at the screen and frowned.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I must take this call. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him head out the front door, then pulled up the Denver Post site on my phone, hoping to learn more about the murder. The article in the Post was longer than the story in the Times, but there wasn’t much that was new. Just some filler on Kane’s background and the fact that the police had set up a hotline and were pursuing all leads.

Next to the article was an artist’s rendering of the suspect. Wide and angry eyes stared into mine, a wild halo of hair framing a face stretched tight with fury. The eyes were empty of everything human but rage.

I startled when a presence loomed over the table, and a man slid into the booth next to me.

“Don’t make a sound,” he said. “Or I’ll gut you.”

Something sharp pricked my side, and I glanced down. The man turned his wrist enough to show me a blade.

I stayed silent. But inwardly, I cursed myself for my carelessness.

Where the hell was Hamid?

I said, “My guard just stepped out. He’ll be right back.”

The man laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”

My skin went cold at the implication. “What did you—?”

“Use your imagination. Now me, I’m just here with a friendly word of warning. Relax. Take a sip of your drink.”

I did as he said, swallowing hard as I moved my eyes enough to glance around the bar. The bartender had vanished. The couple in the booth were still ogling each other, oblivious to anything around them. A man in jeans and a hoodie staggered through the door and made his way toward the bar, clearly drunk and as oblivious as the couple. He sat down and rested his face in his arms.