Bodyguard Lockdown(34)

Aaron swore. “Who—”

“Wait.” Booker raised his rifle. Two helicopters settled on the ground a few yards away. “They might not be friendly.”

Cain MacAlister, dressed in full desert military fatigues, jumped from the nearest helicopter. A moment later, Jarek Al Asadi followed, wearing identical fatigues.

“I’ll be damned.” When Booker stood, Aaron joined him. Three additional helicopters approached from the farthest ridge and landed by the others.

Military personnel—both Taer and U.S.—poured from the birds.

“Secure the area,” Cain shouted to the nearest men. “Then watch the ridge in case more show.”

Half the soldiers climbed the dunes; the others stayed to guard the helicopters and the King of Taer.

“How in the hell did you know where we were?” Aaron asked.

“Omar Haddad called the President,” Cain admitted. “He informed Jon that Keith Harper was no longer a threat to national security. Then he gave him the frequency on the microchip. Omar led us to believe we were tracking the airbus.”

“Omar wanted you to save his daughter,” Booker stated, understanding. If Omar had the frequency to the airbus, he’d want to stop Trygg himself.

“We found Senator Harper, dead, in Omar’s medical offices,” Jarek explained. “Cain and Kate arrived in Taer earlier today. When Jon called Cain with the microchip frequency, I offered my assistance.”

“I believe, Your Majesty, the exact words were, ‘Either I help you, or you rot in my dungeons,’” Cain remarked.

“Quamar took my men,” Aaron stated. “He’s following the original frequency, possibly into a trap. We need to bring them back.”

“Your men?” Jarek demanded. “Who are your men?”

“He’s Minos,” Booker stated. “Your new Al Asheera leader.”

Aaron ignored Jarek’s surprise, then anger. “The Al Asheera are heading to the southwest area of the Sahara. We need to warn them.”

“Quamar is with the Al Asheera?” Jarek looked at Booker. “You approved of this plan?”

Booker shrugged, enjoying Jarek’s bewilderment. “Not until the Contee brothers offered to act as Quamar’s second lieutenants.”

“What—”

“Let’s go,” Cain insisted. “We can radio Quamar, turn him back, then head to the correct coordinates. Booker and Aaron can give us a situation report on the way.”

“This is Colonel Jim Rayo.” Booker nudged the body with his toe. “Trygg’s first in command. He left us geographic coordinates. That’s where we’ll find Trygg and Sandra.”

“How can you be sure it’s not another trap?”

“I know Trygg,” Booker explained. “He sent us on a wild-goose chase. Then laid a trap. But the man is arrogant. He thinks he outmaneuvered us. And we’ve been taken out of the equation. If so, he’ll leave himself vulnerable, just because he thinks he’s indestructible now.”

“You hope,” Jarek added.

“Didn’t I just say that?” Booker smirked. “No other alternative has presented itself.”

“Then you sold me.” Cain turned to one of his men. “Get on the radio.” He nodded toward Aaron. “He’ll give you the frequency and the camp coordinates. Inform Quamar Al Asadi that they need to head back. Tell him where.”





Chapter Seventeen



“They’re there,” Cain observed, then adjusted his scope. The dunes sloped and rose under the moon and stars in waves of shadows. “Thermal imaging shows maybe fifty men.”

Booker followed Cain’s line of vision, noting Trygg’s men were moving to the eastern outer boundary of the camp. “It looks like they’re taking up positions to protect the airplane.”

Cain’s satellite phone buzzed. He grabbed it from his belt and punched a button. “MacAlister.”

A moment later he checked his watch. “Got it.”

“Quamar is an hour out with the Al Asheera, Jarek,” Cain said, putting away the phone.

“So,” Jarek acknowledged. “We wait.”

“You wait,” Booker stated. He checked his pistol, holstered it, then shoved additional clips into his pocket. “I’m going in to find Sandra.”

“We’re going to stop him, Booker.” Jarek gripped his arm, stopping his friend. “And find Sandra, too. But the fact remains that Trygg plans on releasing CIRCADIAN on my city. That’s fifty thousand people. We can’t risk tipping our hand too soon.”

“You and I both know he’ll kill her first,” Booker stated, then yanked his arm free. He grabbed his rifle from the helicopter. “I’m going in, and I’m bringing her out.”

“Hell,” Aaron bit out. “I don’t get my payoff unless Doctor Haddad walks away from this relatively healthy.”

Aaron lifted his machine gun, checked the clips. “I’ll go with him.”

Jarek nodded. “You have an hour to get her out of there. By that time, Quamar is going to be here. And we are going to flatten that camp and everyone in it.”

* * *

BOOKER SCANNED THE PERIMETER, his gun raised, his stance ready. He studied the airbus less than a hundred yards away. “But I don’t like it.”

Aaron took a step away from the nearest tent, then froze. “Booker, look at the netting by the plane.”

Two guards lay unmoving, tangled in the web of rope.

“Omar,” Booker bit out.

Omar Haddad, dressed in full military gear, stepped over another body and made his way to the steps into the airplane.

“Looks like Senator Harper gave him more than the frequencies for the microchips.” Aaron pulled out his binoculars, thumbed them into focus. “He must have given Omar the new camp location.”

“Tent,” Booker commented, annoyed. “Another dead soldier.”

“Doesn’t he know he’s too old for this?” Aaron whistled, his eyes still on Omar. “Hell, we’re too old for this.”

He pressed the button, zoomed in on Omar’s name patch. “The uniform is Harper’s, too. Not bad, put on a helmet and face shield, step into the plane and they think he’s Harper.”

“We need to stop him.”

Aaron’s gaze swung to the airplane. “Don’t suppose we could just shoot the tires and call it a day.”

“Shooting the tires won’t stop Trygg from releasing the poison. Or killing Sandra.” Booker observed the situation through the scope of his rifle. “We need to get on board, change course and destroy the cylinders.”

Omar pulled a package from his backpack.

Aaron swore. “He’s got C4 explosives. He’s going to blow up that plane.”

“Damn fool,” Booker snapped. “He must not realize Sandra is on board.”



“What are you going to do? We can’t reach him in time.”

“Shoot him.” Booker adjusted the scope, bringing Omar’s image closer.

“He might be your future father-in-law—”

“Better injured than dead.” Booker squeezed the trigger.

Omar cried out; his right leg went out from under him.

“If we survive this, you’d better tell him exactly why you shot him,” Aaron warned, running after Booker, gun raised. “Quamar told me what he did to Harper.”

Both men sprinted to the aircraft. Aaron knelt beside the doctor.

Omar swore, his hands gripping the bullet wound. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving you.” Booker lifted the backpack, checked the contents. “There’s no timer. You were going in as a suicide bomber?”

“Trygg has loaded the plane with the best military technology available. Including an EMP shield. An electromagnetic pulse shield will kill any jet or missile instruments within five miles of the airbus.”

“I know. I delivered it to him,” Aaron muttered.

“You what?” Omar and Booker asked in unison.

“Under orders, damn it,” Aaron snapped. “We couldn’t sabotage it without blowing the mission. It’s fully functional.”



Booker swore. “Did you leave us any advantage in your undercover work, Sabra?”

“I got you the girl, didn’t I?”

“What girl?” Omar’s eyes narrowed. “If you mean Sandra—”

“Later,” Booker said, his voice terse. “We have more pressing matters right now.”

“All right.” Omar nodded stiffly. “Jarek’s missiles will never get close enough to bring Trygg down before he reaches Taer,” he insisted. “The only way to destroy the cylinders is from the inside. The heat of the explosion will burn off the serum, disrupt the nanites’ sensors.”