The Secret Soldier. Jennifer Morey

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СКАЧАТЬ A tall figure appeared. Silhouetted by meager light in the doorway, the man stood with an automatic weapon ready to fire. The folds of his black clothes and body armor encased a powerful body that was at least twice the size of any of her captors’. He turned first to his left, then scanned the room until he saw her.

      Her heart felt like it skipped several beats as she watched him turn to look over his shoulder and make quick, firm gestures with his hand, holding the automatic rifle with the other. Slinging a strap over his shoulder, he hung the rifle against his back and approached.

      Sabine wavered between elation and fear. Dare she hope this man had come to free her?

      The tall man knelt in front of her, a small scope attached to his helmet and positioned in front of one eye. She guessed it was some sort of night-vision device. He was laden with other gear, too. A pistol strapped to his waist. Straps around his thighs from his parachute. A wide, dark backpack and several bulky pockets gave the appearance of size. Not that he was small; he had to be at least six-five and was no rail of a man.

      “Are you injured?” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

      She jerked away from his touch, so conditioned to fear that the reaction was automatic.

      He pulled his hand up as though in surrender. “I’m from the United States. I’m going to get you out of here. Do you understand?”

      English. Her brain swirled in reverse and forward and sideways. He spoke English. And not just any English. He had a distinctive Western swagger to his vowels, strong and confident, marking him a wholly, one-hundred-percent, proud-to-be-American man. She couldn’t let herself believe it, yet she felt her head nod twice.

      “Where is Samuel Barry?” he asked.

      Reminded of Samuel’s death, the swell of tears renewed in her throat. “I … I’m the only one left.”

      The tall man’s only reaction was the grim set of his mouth as he flipped another device down from his helmet.

      “I’ve got the package. There’s only one,” he said into the small radio that arched in front of his mouth. “Have you found anything?”

      “We’re searching, sir,” a voice came across the radio, barely audible. “So far nothing’s turned up.”

      “Set the explosives and keep looking. Kill anything that moves.”

      “Roger that.”

      The tall man flipped the radio back against his helmet. There was nothing emotional about him. He was focused on his purpose, and right now that seemed to be getting her out of there.

      “Can you stand?” he asked.

      She didn’t know and he didn’t wait for an answer. He helped her to her feet with one arm around her back. She welcomed his strength as he supported her to the door. There, he leaned her against the wall beside the opening. She heard sounds outside. Something moving in the street.

      Had her rescue been discovered?

      “Don’t move,” the tall man said, his eye gleaming through the shadows, the other concealed behind the night-vision device.

      Sabine didn’t think she could move if she tried, she was so weak. Her legs were already trembling with the effort to keep her upright.

      Pulling his weapon from his shoulder, the tall man peered outside. He had wide cheekbones and a prominent brow that gave his intense eyes a fearsome set. She didn’t know how much time passed before she heard the sound of footfalls. The tall man made hand gestures through the open door, then shrugged his weapon back over his shoulder. He bent to lift Sabine, his arms under and behind her.

      She looked over his shoulder as he carried her through the door of the small, six-by-six concrete cell that had been her home for so long. A crippling wave of remorse consumed her. She was leaving without Samuel. His wife. What would it do to her when she found out about her husband? Sabine squeezed her eyes shut to a grief that would stay with her always.

      Outside the door the tall man joined two other men dressed like him. Aiming their weapons, the other men flanked the tall man as he carried her into the street. Two bodies were sprawled on the ground near the door of the concrete cell. She hoped one of them was Asad.

      “Find anything?” the tall man asked.

      “Negative.”

      “Detonate when we reach the Mi-8.”

      “With pleasure, sir.”

      The two other men swung their weapons on either side of the tall man as they moved across the street.

      Shouts erupted behind them. The tall man ran faster while his partners turned and jogged backward, aiming their weapons and firing. Over the tall man’s shoulder, she saw three figures drop in the distance, lifeless shadows in the night.

      The tall man slowed his pace as he carried her through an alley. One of his partners moved ahead and the other fell back. They emerged onto another street. Bombed-out buildings and burned shells of vehicles echoed a violent tale of the past.

      The woof, woof of a helicopter sounded in the distance. The bombed-out buildings thinned as they came to the outskirts of the deserted village where her captors had taken her and Samuel. Sabine could make out the dark shape of a helicopter just ahead of them.

      One of the tall man’s partners jumped into the helicopter. The tall man handed her over to him. He swooped her through a narrow door and inside the pod, and she found herself lowered onto a toboggan-like stretcher. The interior of the helicopter had no seats, but the exposed metal walls contained small round windows. It was dim inside.

      Sabine kept her gaze fixed on the tall man. He stood to one side of the opening as the helicopter lifted into the air. One of his partners knelt beside him. Both aimed their guns at the ground. The man kneeling depressed a remote of some sort. What she could see of the night sky lit up, and the sound of a giant explosion followed. Something pricked her arm.

      Sabine looked up at the man kneeling beside her. In the light of the fire, she could see his brown hair and blue eyes. He smiled at her while he inserted the IV.

      “You’re goin’ to be okay now,” he said with a rich Southern drawl.

      God bless America, she thought.

      Gunshots made her grip the sides of the stretcher. Bullets sprayed the helicopter, and it dipped. It felt like something vital had been hit. Some of her captors must have survived and discovered her escape.

      The man who’d inserted her IV scrambled to the cockpit.

      “We’re in big trouble if this thing goes down!” the pilot shouted, barely audible over the noise of the rotor.

      The helicopter swayed and rattled amidst rounds of machine-gun fire.

      “I can’t go back there.” Sabine struggled to raise her body. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the open door of the helicopter, heedless of the IV that ripped free of her arm and the sting of her raw shins, where her captors had beaten her the most. She searched for a weapon and spotted the pistol in the tall man’s holster. When she reached for it, he put his hand around her wrist and stopped her.

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