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  My phone beeps. It’s a message from Steve. I enter my password and prepare to listen to it.

  “Asher, you should still be in the air when you get this. We went to the location. Someone’s been at the Azure location, but we don’t know who. Rihana wasn’t there. We’ll fix this, I promise you. But for now, Bashur still has her. Call when you land.”

  Niang is asleep in the rear of the plane. Fletcher, sitting across the aisle, is looking at his phone.

  “Did you, like, get a message as well?” I ask.

  He grimaces and responds a little too slowly for me, “Not exactly.” Fletch taps on the screen and then passes me his device.

  It’s streaming video shot from the rear.

  A man resembling Bashur drags what appears to be a woman from a house. The image is too dark to make out details.

  “Tell Lieutenant Jones I am not pleased,” Bashur barks out. “He is expected to do his job or I will do mine. Try to undermine me again, and I will have no choice but to eliminate all that he holds dear.”

  The camera moves around, and I make out the gruesome image. My breath stutters. A vest is strapped to Rihana chest. There are enough explosives to blow up the whole damn neighborhood. Bashur holds an object, most likely the detonator.

  The image fades out.

  I drop Fletcher’s phone.

  “Captain? Captain Jones?”

  My heart and mind are at war. One wants to order the plane back to Los Alamos, find Bashur, and tear him from limb to limb. The rational one urges me to stay calm, finish the mission, and then destroy the culprit.

  I drop my head in my hands. Not since I lost my family and my first love, years ago, have I felt so damned helpless. Rihana believed Bashur wouldn’t harm her. Well, there is one thing we can all be certain of—take it to the bank and cash it in. If he harms my wife, I will not stop until he meets his maker.

  “I’m fine, Fletch. Send a message. Let Bashur know that we’re, like, on our way to North Woods. His mission will be completed in twenty-four hours.”

  His neck bends forward. “Captain, we can’t—”

  “Twenty-four hours, Fletch.” I tighten my fists. “That’s all we have.” According to the timer visible on the vest, it’s all Rihana will have as well.

  RELATIONS

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “The American Republic and its citizens are in grave danger, and we have only our leaders and Riza to blame.”

  —from “Reflections on Riza” by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones

  We touch down at an airstrip located seven miles west of New Detroit. Not the most convenient spot since we still have to travel to North Woods. Hopefully, it keeps us off Riza radar, but something tells me that Bashur and the Alliance are watching.

  Niang, Fletcher, and I pile into the waiting vehicle. The first thing I do is call my step-grandfather.

  “So you know,” he says. “I figured your team wouldn’t keep the news from you.”

  “Any contact from Bashur?”

  “No. How long before you’re in North Woods?”

  “At least, like, seven hours.” I rub the back of my neck. “Did Taft reach Mark?”

  “He’ll meet you in Gwinn at the safe house.”

  My mind is scrambling with possible ways to protect Rihana. A munitions expert could jam the relay signal on Bashur’s detonator. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?

  “Steve, anyone on your team a munitions expert?”

  “I have a couple, and I know what you’re thinking. We’re already working on jamming the relay signal. Try not to worry about this end of things. I promise you I’ve got every available person assigned to getting Rihana out.”

  “I saw the footage, Steve. She only has—”

  “I know, Asher,” he interjects. “We’re on it.”

  “What about Viyan? How’s my daughter?”

  “I assure you everyone else is safe. I’m holding her right now.”

  “You’re back at the compound?”

  “Just got here an hour ago. I’ve checked every inch of the house. We’re safe. The Fakhourys are staying in the main house. My men are guarding your place.”

  “Good. Can you, like, patch me through to Zared?”

  The line goes quiet as I wait.

  “What do you need, Asher?”

  “A fucking miracle, that’s what.”

  “Short of that?”

  “Backup. Lots of it.”

  Heavy breathing comes through the phone. “Let me see what I can do. I’m sure there have to be members of the Alliance who aren’t aligned with Bashur.”

  “Find them. Tell them to, like, meet us at North Woods.”

  “On it. And Asher, we’ll get Rihana. Some of the best men and women are working on disabling Bashur’s detonator.”

  “I know.” I start to hang up, but quickly say, “Hey, Zared?”

  “Yeah, man?”

  “Get confirmation on the Azure Street house.”

  “We’re getting eyes and ears—”

  “No educated guesses. Make sure she’s there.”

  “Do you know something?”

  “No, but I feel like something’s off.”

  “Okay. I’ll get on it.”

  “Thanks, dude.” My gut is telling me that all of this with Rihana is some sort of distraction—one I can’t put my finger on.

  —

  The ride to Gwinn is uneventful, leaving me too much time to think. I recall my numerous conversations with Zared, warning him why he had to stay away from Tru. That’s difficult advice to heed when your heart’s involved.

  Maybe this turmoil is the result of karma kicking my ass. Although I never slept with Ko, I was tempted. If my conscience hadn’t got in the way, it would have happened. Now my wife is paying for my indiscretion.

  If Rihana were here, she’d tell me that this is another reason why I needed therapy. But honestly I don’t have time to lie on someone’s sofa and bellyache about the shoulda, woulda, couldas in life. I know where I’ve fucked up. I just need to grow a pair and straighten shit out.

  Looking out the window, I notice the Old Mackinac Point lighthouse in the distance before the vehicle stops at the security crossing at the bridge. Traces of snow cling to the sides of the long suspension bridge connecting the upper and lower peninsulas. Whitecaps outline the undulating waves crashing to shore. Low-level, thick, dark clouds fill the gray sky—looks like we might be in for some rough weather.

  I quickly don the black beanie tucked into the seat’s back pocket and pull out the fake identification.

  “State your business,” the crossing guard, an obvious Riza soldier, says.

  “Transporting a prisoner,” says Niang.

  “Paperwork.” The guard holds out his hand.

  Fletcher, sitting in the passenger seat, reaches inside his jacket and produces a folded document.

  The soldier peruses it carefully. “Another good capture. Sick and tired of these dissidents spreading their garbage. Hope you get a bonus.”

  He returns the document to Niang and waves the car through.

  “Who the hell does he think you’re, like, transporting?” I ask once we’ve cleared the checkpoint.

  Fletcher turns in his seat with a shit-eating grin on his face. “None other than Mohammad Raman Bashur.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “It was Zared’s idea. He hacked the system and added Bashur’s name to the Terrorist Bureau’s list. If he goes anywhere and uses his identification, he’ll be arrested on the spot.”

  I settle back on the seat. Leave it to Zared and his ingenuity. I just hope it won’t get the wrong person killed.

  —

  It’s early morning when we pull up to 144 East Johnson Lake Road in the town of Gwinn. Personally, I’d hoped never to lay eyes again on the white wood-frame house cloistered in a copse of trees.

  Before anyone can object, I open the door and exit the vehicle. “Keep an eye out, guys. I’m going inside.”

  L
ast time I was here, the back door was an easier entry point. Running around the house, I quickly scan the area searching for anything out of place. The sliding door, still coated in blood from the demise of a couple of Riza soldiers, is unlocked. I say a silent prayer and hope that Mark is the only one inside. Just in case, I remove and ready my gun.

  A foul stench blasts me, forcing me to lift my shirt collar and cover my nose. Holding my head outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air and then slip inside the darkened room. My eyes dart around the area. It looks like we never left it—dishes are piled on the counter and discarded cups litter the table.

  Keeping my back to the wall, I move room to room, giving the house a once-over. My foot is on the bottom stair when I hear a noise coming from the kitchen. Retracing my steps, I hurry toward the intruder.

  “Surfer, it’s me,” the voice cuts through the murkiness.

  “Outlaw?” I holster my weapon when he steps closer. “Dude, I almost, like, blew your fucking head off.”

  “Tell me about it.” Mark slaps my shoulder. “I saw Mutt and Jeff out front. Want to fill me in before we join them?”

  “Yeah.” I pull out a kitchen chair and swat at a couple of flies. The stink from the trash wrinkles my nose. Synthetic meats smell worse than the real stuff. The odor is like horse shit and burnt plastic mixed together, not something I want to inhale for too long.

  “Let’s go out back,” Mark says.

  The cold air is welcome after the fetidness indoors. “Steve thinks they found Bashur and Rihana.”

  “How?”

  “She gave us some clues, and Zared located them.”

  Mark frowns. “Aoki’s on the team?”

  “Yeah. He’s on the payroll. Before you complain, he’s been, like, an asset to us.”

  “Bottom line? Is Rihana safe?”

  My voice catches when I say, “No fucking idea.”

  “Why is that?”

  “No one’s been seen moving around the spot. No noise, nothing. Makes me nervous.” I lean over the railing and stare at the ground.

  Mark mimics my position. “Out with it, Ash. I know when you’re keeping shit from me.”

  Of course, he does. We’ve been through too much to keep secrets.

  “Bashur’s got a fucking suicide vest on her. When I saw the streaming video, she had twenty-four hours. It took me eight hours to get to Michigan and another seven to get here.”

  “Shit. Gives us nine hours to pull this off.”

  “Give or take.” I glance at Mark. “Steve’s got a team in the area. They’re probably at North Woods already.”

  “Okay, man. Let’s get this done.” He raps the railing with his knuckles.

  “Wait.” I hold up my hand. My leg muscles twitch, urging me to move, but I can’t. I grip the banister and draw in a staggered breath. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Mark places his hand on my back. “Ash, when is the last time you slept? Ate anything?”

  Shaking my head, I admit, “Don’t know.” Closing my eyes, I try breathing again. “Mark, I can’t lose her.”

  “You won’t.” He slides his arm around my shoulders. “I know where your head’s at, but you’ve gotta stop thinking the worst. Okay?”

  “But—”

  “Listen to me. You’re stronger than this. We’ve been through a hell of a lot of shit together and always… Always we come out on top. This time is no different. We’ll finish this mission, get your woman, and I’ll kick Bashur’s ass for you. Got it?”

  I answer with a small nod.

  Mark drops his arm. “Good. Then let’s go. Time’s ticking down.”

  Thank God… Allah… whomever… for Mark Carter. He’s always had my back. I don’t know where I’d be without out him. Actually, I do. If it hadn’t been for Mark dragging me along to a Riza Corps meeting, I would have ended up in a prison cell and would have never met Rihana.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “We have tried every means of getting the oppressor to hear us. Sitting by, praying, begging does not work. It is time to stand up and show them what we want, what we demand. Time to take what belongs to us under the old law.”

  —from the Honorable M. Raman Bashur,

  Kurdish political & religious thinker

  Welcome back to hell. That’s the only description I have for North Woods—a former military base serving as a prison for traitors, dissidents, and other enemies of state located on a barren strip of land.

  We’re at the fence, standing behind the SUV, where we busted through to rescue Tru. Somebody’s already patched the hole. So much has happened, but I swear it feels like just yesterday.

  The black backpack resting at my feet contains supplies, courtesy of Red, to help with the mission. Zared forwarded pics of the New York team to our phones. I’m reading the bio of the person in charge—an ex-Army man originally from New Detroit—when I hear the crunch of gravel. Mark elbows me. Everyone readies their weapons.

  “Captain Jones?” a deep voice inquires.

  A stocky, chestnut-colored man with a beard stands in front of me. Aaron Butler—a Purebred, major rank. This person is at least five years older than the picture on my phone. There’s a slight resemblance, but in my line of work, one can never be one-hundred-percent sure.

  “Like, who wants to know?” I ask.

  He extends his hand, “Name’s Butler. Steve Winters sent me and my men.”

  “Where are your men?” I shake his hand.

  Butler jerks his thumb toward a spot beyond the fence. “We parked our vehicle a ways back and hiked in. They’re at key points ‘round the perimeter waiting for you and your team.”

  “Any experience with North Woods?”

  “Affirmative.”

  My cringe is automatic. No one should have experience with this prison. If you’re fortunate to survive, you won’t be the same person you were when you entered.

  “We need to get inside the medical wing,” I tell him. “Did Steve inform you why we’re here?”

  “Extracting members of Helix.” He scratches underneath his beard. “What makes you think the medical wing’s the target?”

  “I was here recently. The medical wing is a little too well-staffed for a facility catering to a small number of prisoners. Too many made-up rooms, supplies… It’s like there are more people hiding on the premises.”

  Butler glances past me toward Niang and Fletcher. “Why don’t y’all follow me? We found a possible entry point.”

  “Good for you, but this point is the most direct,” I counter. “We used it before. It’s recently been patched so they won’t be looking for us to use it twice.”

  A flicker of impatience and irritation shines in Butler’s eyes. “Fine. I’ll get a pair of bolt cutters. Be back.”

  “See that you do,” I respond.

  Mark walks up to me. “What’s with the jackass?”

  “Power trip.” The man outranks me, but that isn’t the issue. I worked my ass off in Riza and moved quickly through the ranks. My goal, when I first joined, was to become one of the youngest officers in its history. Those above my pay grade consider me an arrogant prick… ah, there’s that reputation thing again.

  “Fuck ‘em.” Mark reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a black wand.

  “An EFD?”

  “Yeah. I remember Sweetheart telling me this fence is charged.” He waves the electric field detector over the chain-link fence. The device starts squealing. Mark mutters, “Of course, this can’t be easy.”

  Niang comes over. “On the contrary. We need a metal stake, copper wire, a clip from a battery charger, a steel-head mallet, and a bottle of water.”

  “What’s wrong?” Butler asks as he approaches us.

  “The fence is electrified,” Mark says. “We’ve gotta short-circuit it.”

  The Major exhales and says, “Fuck. Good thing we came prepared.”

  Butler starts to walk away. I gesture for Niang and Fletch to follow him.

  To Mark,
I say, “I swear I don’t need to deal with his shit.”

  “Stay calm. We need help, not a fight. Once we finish this, you can say or do whatever you want to him. Hell, I’ll help.”

  —

  Minutes later, sparks fly as someone on Butler’s team short-circuits the fence. I make sure the pack I brought is out of range. Mark runs the wand over the fence again. Nothing registers. I gesture for Butler to cut us an opening.

  “We only have minutes to get in and out before someone discovers the power’s out,” I tell my team.

  Butler’s men join us.

  Fletcher hands me a tablet with a layout of the facility. I point to our location and then the medical wing. “This is our destination. Once inside, we check all the rooms. We’re looking for eleven teens—six boys and five girls.”

  One of Butler’s men asks, “What’s security like?”

  “Riza patrol the corridors. Cameras are everywhere. Look out for—”

  “We got this,” Butler interjects. “This ain’t our first time in.”

  This asshat is trying my patience. “Whether it’s your first extraction or your fiftieth isn’t the point. We’re on limited time. I have to report our status in an hour. It better be positive. Screw this up and if Riza doesn’t kill you, I’ll do it my damned self!”

  Butler gets in my face. His hot, stale breath scorches my face. He jabs his finger in my chest. “Let’s get something straight. I outrank your damn narrow ass. If it weren’t for Winters being your grandfather, I’d have laid your butt out when you questioned my authority. Keep your shit opinions to yourself and do what you’re told. I know the fucking timetable here. I don’t give a fuck what you think you know.”

  Pushing his hand away, I say, “And last time I checked, motherfucker, your old ass is retired. Your rank doesn’t matter to me. Like I said, screw this shit up, and you’ll answer to me. There won’t be a damned thing my step-grandfather can do to save you.”

  My team stands toe-to-toe with Butler’s team. Tension constricts the air around us. After a few minutes, Butler mutters something under his breath and then directs his men to get the fence opened up wider.