Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series)(40)
Hancock lifted one eyebrow. “How long have you studied Middle Eastern languages?”
“I was self-taught in high school,” she admitted. “Well, before that in junior high, but I went hard-core in high school. There aren’t many high schools in the entire country that even offer Arabic as a course, much less the less-spoken regional languages.”
“You must be a very good student to pull that off in less than a decade.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment even though it wasn’t stated as such. It was more a statement of fact.
“I have an affinity for languages. In addition to the Middle Eastern languages I speak, I’m also fluent in French and Spanish and can carry basic conversation in German and Italian. It was just something that always interested me and I pick them up quickly. Once I got to university, I spent an extra three semesters beyond the time it would have taken to earn my degree taking every Middle East language course they offered and taking another dozen online courses concurrently. I knew what I wanted to do after college. My degree was simply a training tool that enabled me to better understand the culture I would be immersing myself in.”
“What’s the going rate for an angel of mercy these days?” Viper drawled.
She felt a quick surge of anger and to her surprise, Hancock shot his man a look of clear reprimand that had Viper clearing his throat.
“No disrespect intended,” he said before focusing his attention through the windshield once more.
“I receive a tax-free stipend,” she said through stiff lips. Somehow for him to question the reason for what she did, to reduce it to a mercenary business, pricked her nerves. “A very small stipend. Certainly not enough to make a living wage back home. My housing is provided for here, but I share—I shared,” she added quietly, “quarters with three other women relief workers. And food is more often than not provided by the villages, though they have little to spare. The certified medical staff certainly make more—they’d have to be paid well to take this kind of job—but the people like me, we’re basically volunteers.”
She fell silent, refusing to say anything further—to defend herself any further when she had no obligation to justify her life to these men. Even if they were saving it.
“Since it will be obvious that we aren’t from this immediate area, if and only if you must speak, do so in the common language, Arabic,” Hancock instructed needlessly.
But this time she didn’t remind him of her extensive knowledge. As he said, when life or death was the ultimate consequence, it never paid to assume.
CHAPTER 11
THOUGH Hancock had warned her—them all—that the village was a crossroads in a rural area, she hadn’t been prepared for just how much traffic flowed through the village seemingly dropped in the middle of nowhere. It was as if the outpost served as a central hub to the entire country. Everyone traveled through this place when traversing the region.
Before they pulled into the outskirts of the settlement, Hancock had quietly warned them to stay close and stick together and for Conrad to get Honor in and out in minutes. Not only was the village an epicenter for people traveling to the far reaches and to other lands, but it was a place where one could acquire just about . . . anything.
Not only was the local economy supported by its steady fuel reserves and an army that protected those reserves day and night, but there were also arms dealers in every other tent, openly displaying their wares. It wasn’t legal, but the government looked the other way, turning a blind eye to the goings-on in the small population.
It was hard to imagine a bustling marketplace where for miles there was literally nothing in every direction. Interspersed among the tents selling guns and explosives and defensive apparatus were women preparing food and selling it. Clothing. Supplies. Fresh water. It could all be had for a price.
There was deceptiveness to the air of festivity. An innocuous feel that was quickly dispelled once someone looked beyond the surface and studied the faces and stances of the people buying and selling wares.
Honor studied every single person they passed as they weaved their way through the village to the opposite end where the fuel tanks were. There was grimness, an air of expectancy, watchfulness and wariness. On constant guard, guns—assault rifles—at the ready that no one tried to hide but kept in plain sight at all times.
She shuddered, imagining what the reality of living such a life was for these people. Yes, she’d lived and worked in an area of unrest, but apart from outsiders encroaching, the village was peaceful. Full of people who only wanted sanctuary from the senseless violence that was so predominant here and who had no wish to wake up each day facing a fight for their lives. And until A New Era’s attack, the village had gone largely unnoticed, even with the Western presence in the relief center. She had no doubt that her—and others’—presence wasn’t well received by most, but they were left alone. And they did provide shelter, food and essentials for survival that even those who despised everything Honor stood for didn’t quibble over accepting.
The people in this far-flung, hole-in-the-wall crossroads dealt with death and battle on a daily basis. Living in paranoia. Reacting instantly to any threat, imagined or real.
A very real chill worked its way to her bones, despite the heavy burka enveloping her from head to toe.
“Get ready,” Hancock warned, his tone low and utterly grave.