Delta Mission (EBOOK)

Chapter 1
Makenna

The soldier driving our army Humvee had a death wish. Either that, or he was trying to scare me. He would have to try a lot harder. Moose’s erratic driving was nothing compared to what I went through in Colombia.
The Hummer hit a dirt mound, launching us airborne.
We crashed down and my head slammed into the side window. I rubbed my temple, clamping my jaw against the pain.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” Moose grinned at me over his shoulder, contradicting his apology.
I didn’t bother engaging with him. The three men sharing the Hummer with me had already made it known that my company was not welcome. It wasn’t a place for a woman, they’d said like I was wearing a frilly dress and stilettos. I wasn’t. And I rarely did.
My DEA uniform was as practical as possible, and my shoes were for running. Which I did often. Running was my therapy, which I needed more than I’d ever admit. I was fitter and faster now than I was when I completed my training at Quantico. I could probably outrace all the assholes around me.
Besides, I wasn’t a fool. I knew full well that our destination was deadly for women. I’d been studying this remote region of Afghanistan longer than the Delta soldiers who were tasked with escorting me and my team had been on their current tour of duty. It didn’t help that the soldiers had to extend their tour by one week because of me. Or, more specifically, what I believed we were about to find.
My safety was irrelevant. There were much bigger issues at stake, one being the potential to uncover a secret drug lab of record proportions; another being my career. I’d banked a lot on the intel I’d gathered.
Beside me was Lyle Robson, my team leader, who had made me beg to give this mission the go-ahead. I felt him glaring at me. He did that a lot, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to work me out or work up the courage to ask me out. Either way, it was best for both of us if he didn’t.
I reluctantly turned to him. “What?”
“You better be right about this, Makenna.” Lyle scowled at me like I was an insubordinate rookie. He did that a lot, too.
I glared right back at him. “I am. I know it.”
Murphy, the Delta Ops soldier in the front passenger seat, grunted, and I took that as a sign he didn’t agree with my assertion.
I shifted my attention out of the windshield to the lead vehicle ahead of us. A soldier standing through the roof of the Hummer to control the massive machine gun was shielded by a barricade of two-inch thick steel. Nothing could protect him from the rugged terrain we drove over, though. We bounced around like pebbles in a beer can.
Behind us was another Hummer. I was yet to meet the Delta Force soldiers in the additional protection detail. But I knew the DEA agent who was in that Hummer. Trent McMahon had been snatched from the army base just before he’d taken his return flight back to civilization. Trent was going to be as pissed at me as the Delta team soldiers were.
It wasn’t my fault he was added to the mission last minute. He could blame Lyle for that.
The only good thing about Lyle adding Trent and the additional Delta soldiers to our team was it suggested that he secretly believed I was onto something. Why else would he have added the extra manpower?
I had better be right.
Beyond the windows stretched miles and miles of dirt, rocks, and sand. Not a single tree, building, or person graced the landscape. We were in the middle of nowhere.
But somewhere beneath this barren wasteland was an underground opium lab that was reported to be the size of two basketball courts.
And I was going to be the one who found it.
At least, that was the plan.
The village of Amir Momahhadakan appeared out of the ochre landscape like a magic trick. Moose passed the first mud-lined shelter before he skidded to a halt, nearly throwing me into the back of the passenger seat.
We spilled from the vehicles and the soldiers fanned out like a pack of cards. Between them, they had enough weapons to attack a small army.
I had my Glock and a knife that I wouldn’t hesitate to use if I needed to. I’d done it before. I would do it again.
Murphy eyeballed me. “Stay with the vehicle until we secure the village.”
I nodded.
“Is that a yes?” He narrowed his eyes.
“We will,” Lyle answered for me.
“Search the shelters.” The deep voice boomed behind me, and my mind shunted back nine years.
I spun to the soldiers, searching for the source of the gruff voice. And there he was. The man who had ruined me.
Channing Fucking Winston.
I couldn’t believe it. How many Delta ops teams were there? And lucky me just happened to get the one asshole I’d been trying to forget for nine years.
His gaze shifted my way, and he froze. His steely expression confirmed that nearly a decade of time had not softened his hatred for me.
The feeling was mutual.
I hated that his presence still riled me so much.
Forget him, Makenna.
Just find this drug lab and prove to all these bastards that you know what you’re doing.
The village of Amir Momahhadakan comprised of a dozen shelters positioned along a dirt track that spanned hundreds of miles. During my aerial surveillance, I’d seen enough activity at the village to confirm that dozens of people frequented these huts, yet there was no obvious reason. The traffic along this dirt road was more than would be expected for such a remote location.
As Lyle and I waited at our Humvee, and Trent thankfully stayed in his vehicle, the soldiers divided into two groups of three and vanished into the buildings.
The silence was incredible. No people talking, birds chirping, engine noises, or electronics buzzing. Nothing. Not even the whistling wind.
Further down the road, the rusty old school bus that I’d seen hundreds of times on my monitor was still there. The wheels had long ago crumbled to nothing, rust covered just about every square inch of the vehicle, and the windows were either shattered or missing altogether. Not for the first time, I wondered how long that bus had been there, and if it had ever been used to take children to school. I doubted it. There wasn’t a school within two hundred miles of this place.
The stillness, too, was strange. A bad feeling seeped into my veins.
Channing and his group of soldiers came out of the first hut shaking their heads, and he leveled his gaze at me.
My heart thumped in my ears. Something wasn’t right. Where were the villagers? Why weren’t there any cars? Or mules? Or stray cats?
The soldiers disappeared into the next two buildings.
Despite the weather being slightly cooler than I’d expected, sweat dribbled down my temples and I swept it away.
The sun had dipped behind the snow-capped mountain in the distance, casting a massive dark shadow over the village like a demon. I’d never noticed that during my surveillance. Hopefully, that was the only thing I’d missed.
In the last six months, I’d spent more hours studying this tiny patch of earth than I had sleeping. I knew the layout like I knew the contents of my pack. Yet the village was bigger than it had appeared on my computer monitor, making me second guess how many people could live here.
Channing marched out of the furthest shelter clutching his weapon as he dodged around the decrepit bus.
He’d changed since I’d last seen him. He was more rugged. More manly. He was Hollywood-worthy tall, dark, and handsome. But when he clenched his jaw, it took his stunning looks to another level.
I yanked my gaze away, pissed off that I noticed.
I was also pissed off that we were getting nowhere. Our mission was slated to take three days. Two of them were the travel time needed to journey the rugged dirt tracks to reach this remote village. We were running out of time and if we didn’t find something soon, my name was going to hit the shit-list on so many levels.
“Anyone find anything?” Channing snapped his neck side to side in a brutal movement that I’d suggested he stop doing nine years ago.
“I got nothing, Wolf,” Burke said to Channing.
Wolf? Must be Channing’s codename. Was that because of his eyes? Or because he’s a sneaky bastard?
“The buildings are empty. The fucking village is deserted.”
Deserted? But that can’t be.
I’d been investigating the flow of narcotics from the region for twelve months and I’d received a tipoff about a major opium lab in this region that was tied to the Taliban network. I’d convinced my boss that the tipoff was legitimate and that I knew where to look . . . here.
Channing turned to Moose. “Anything?”
“Only women and kids in there.” Moose spat on the dirt and nodded at the only small hut to have a window. Smoke wafted from a pipe atop the roof.
“If there are women here, then there’s men too.” Clamping my jaw, I met Channing’s gaze.
“Maybe it’s a fucking brothel.” Burke grinned like a lunatic and thrust his hips a few times.
“It’s not a brothel.” I glared at the immature idiot. “I’m telling you, there’s something—”
“Looks like you fucked up, Goodspeed.” Channing glared at me, just like he had all those years ago . . . with hatred in his eyes.
No! I refused to believe I was wrong. “I need to talk to the women.”
I pointed at the building I’d been monitoring via satellite for months.
Channing removed his helmet and drove his fingers through his thick hair. “You have ten minutes, then we get the fuck out of here.”
Shit! My neck was on the chopping block if I didn’t get the results I’d been dreaming of since I got that tipoff.
I pulled my Glock from my hip holster and strode away.
Boots stomped behind me, and I spun around with my hand raised. “No men allowed.”
Murphy rolled his eyes. “Knock yourself out.”
“Thank you.” Asshole.
Huffing out a breath, I strode to the hut.
Moment of truth.
Holding my Glock at my thigh, I stepped through the open doorway.
Five women and two small children huddled in one corner of the mud-walled shelter. It was impossible to tell the ages of the women because their eyes were the only part of their faces that weren’t covered by a patterned veil. They bunched together on tattered cushions scattered onto dirt that had probably been compacted by a century of bare feet.
A fire crackled in the opposite corner, spewing smoke into a blackened chamber behind it. Over the fire was a large cast-iron pot with something that looked like goat stew. The smell was somehow both delicious and repugnant.
I holstered my Glock, forced a smile, and speaking in Dari Persian, I introduced myself, explained that we weren’t there to hurt them, and asked where everyone else was.
One woman gripped a large metal spoon in her knobby fingers and didn’t seem to notice the drips falling onto her burqa. Maybe she planned to use the utensil as a weapon. That wouldn’t surprise me. Since I’d become a DEA agent, not much surprised me, especially as my work had taken me to some of the poorest and deadliest countries in the world.
I asked if they lived in this village, but the women and children all stared at me with wide eyes as if they were absolutely terrified, except one woman in a pale green scarf. Her deep wrinkles convinced me she was older than the rest of the women. Her deadly glare had my nerves on edge, telling me to watch her.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to kill me.
In my line of business, it wouldn’t be the last.
Being hated by drug offenders came with the territory of being a DEA agent. I’d had two substantial busts on my resume. One was sheer luck. The other was after months of hard work. If this one came through, it could make the record books and better still, it would make a significant dent in the illicit drug trade.
But that was all conjecture.
I needed this bust to happen first.
Outside the only window of the hut, Channing watched me. If his eyes were daggers, he would have cut my head clean off.
Resisting the urge to flash him the bird, I turned my attention to the women, and in a calm voice, asked where the men were. I spoke the question in three languages. The women and children in this village likely didn’t have any education . . . other than how to follow orders, how to breed, and how to survive off land that was some of the most desolate in the world.
“I’ll watch Goodspeed. You men check those fucking huts again.” Channing barked the order. “Look for trapdoors and keep your eyes on a swivel.”
“Yes, Captain,” the soldiers answered in unison and marched away.
Channing shuddered. Probably with rage over the waste of time—and me.
Drawing on that rage, I squatted in front of the woman whose glare could carve stone and spoke to her in Dari Persian. Her eyes narrowed to pinpricks as she gave a slight head shake, indicating she didn’t understand my question. I was certain she did. I’d heard the women whispering as I strode in.
I was fluent in six languages, two were the official languages of Afghanistan. My language skills had helped forge my DEA career, but I didn’t just want to be the intermediary between us and the bad guys. I wanted to be at the forefront of an operation that took down the bad guys.
Illicit drugs ruined lives. My sister’s life had been a pathetic mess since she’d pushed that first heroin needle into her vein after she’d found her husband in bed with their kid’s nanny. I was too late for her, but I still had to do something.
Trying to establish a line of communication, I asked how old the two kids were, but other than blinking eyes, they were all statues.
I shifted my gaze to the woman in the pale blue headscarf, who was still holding the spoon. She gave the slightest of head shakes. If I hadn’t been looking right at her, I would have missed it.
Was she trying to convey something?
Is she Blue Hawk?
I hadn’t heard from Blue Hawk, the woman who gave me the tip-off for months. Could this woman be her?
I was tempted to switch to another language, Pashto, but I didn’t need to. These women knew what I was saying.
Were they terrified by me and my team?
Or were they terrified by what would happen after we left?
Either way, they knew something.
I needed leverage to get them talking.
They all wore black burqas, and their different colored scarves were the only way to distinguish them. I gazed at the three women seated at the back, but they snapped their attention downward.
Scanning the room, I searched for something of interest. But there was nothing. Not even a table and chairs, or plates and cutlery. This was not a home; this was a kitchen. And barely even that.
Is it a front?
The fire blazed, yet the liquid in the enormous pot wasn’t bubbling.
It wasn’t hot enough! Meaning it had only just been put on the flames.
Three patterned rugs hung on the walls in a rudimentary attempt at decoration. Or they were hiding secret doorways.
I marched to the nearest one and yanked it aside.
It revealed nothing but a mud wall.
Behind the woman with the pale blue scarf hung another rug. Keeping one eye on her, I pushed past a child, but the woman grabbed my wrist.
I glared at her, and she shook her head, no longer being discreet.
Shouts erupted from outside. I peered through the open doorway but didn’t see anyone in the empty street. The soldiers may have finished searching the rest of the village.
Desperation crawled through me like ants.
After what had happened in Colombia, I’d worked so fucking hard to prove myself. But none of that would matter. I would never recover from this failure.
I shifted my attention to the woman in the green scarf. Her killer glare intensified. “Where are the drugs?”
She narrowed her gaze.
A squeaking noise interrupted the silence.
The woman with the spoon jerked a fraction. “No. No. It’s Abdul-Aziz. He’s back early.”
She spoke in Dari Persian.
The older woman snapped her gaze to the woman with the spoon. Her blue scarf shifted as she shook her head, and the terror in her eyes increased. The squeaking sound grew louder.
“Hey, you! Stop!” Channing yelled.
I crossed the room and ducked below the window. Inching up, I was just in time to see Channing run down the narrow gap between the two buildings opposite, chasing a man in a light blue tunic. The local man fired a gun wildly over his shoulder, but Channing didn’t even slow down.
A young shirtless boy on a tricycle watched them go and didn’t seem at all worried about getting hit by a bullet.
Trent stood next to the Hummer that he’d traveled to the village in, also watching Channing.
I couldn’t see any other soldiers. Or locals.
A loud crack split through the air.
Trent flew backward, slammed into the Hummer, and slumped to the dirt.
His head kinked to a ghastly angle. His eyes were wide. Blood plastered the side of his face and neck.
Jesus, he’s dead. Shit. Shit. Shit!
Ducking down, I glanced across the room.
Three women and the kids were gone.
What the hell!
The woman in the green scarf launched to her feet and shrieking, she charged at me with a knife.

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