Bodyguard Lockdown(33)

“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.

“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.

“Quamar is not going to like that.” Aaron swore and raised his rifle. “He’s going to kill you.”

“From the looks of things, he’ll have to take his turn in line.” Booker raised his rifle, fired at a distant movement among the bushes. A cry echoed across the sand. “There’s too many, and they have the high ground.”

Aaron took down another sniper and fired shots at two more who were quick enough to duck behind some boulders.

Suddenly, bullets ripped up the ground above them. The mercenaries scattered, screaming as their ranks broke under the barrage of gunfire.

“What the hell—” Military gunships rose over the dunes, opening fire on the rest of Trygg’s men. Within moments, the gun battle ceased.