Lose Your Breath (Detectives Kane and Alton)

Chapter One

Six Years Ago

US Embassy, Jerusalem, Israel

Darkness surrounded Annie Parkes as she made her way through the gates of the sandstone building and hustled along the sidewalk. The lighting dropped away to a few scattered lampposts as she hurried through the gates and headed along the narrow sidewalks. Deserted roads wound away in all directions, although as she walked, she noticed a few men congregating in store doorways. She hated this part of the day, walking along a dark road at night to where she’d parked her car. The winter moon cast long shadows that crossed the blacktop in zebra stripes and she quickened her pace. This part of Jerusalem was packed with dark side roads. The tiny place she shared with a friend didn’t come close to the apartment overlooking the Potomac in Washington, DC, but she wouldn’t be at the embassy forever. The job was for six months and she’d made it through the first half.

Hesitating before crossing the road to where she’d parked her old Toyota, she stared at the deepening shadows. Had she imagined the movement and slight scratch of shoes on the loose gravel, the click of metal? Unnerved, she grasped her car keys in one hand and searched the gloom with the light on her phone. She’d left her vehicle under a tree and she could hardly make it out in the dark. Overhead an owl shrieked and her nerves shattered as she ran to her vehicle. Fingers trembling, she pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel. Heart thumping, she locked the door and pushed the keys into the ignition. The instant she looked into the mirror terror gripped her. It was her worst nightmare. A man stared back at her from the back seat and the cold steel muzzle of a gun pressed into her temple. Terrified, she stared at him too frightened to flinch. Their eyes met and a cold chill slid down her spine.

“Drive.” His face was covered but his dark brown eyes menaced her as he dug the gun into tender flesh. “Look at the road not me.” His English was good but heavily accented with the local dialect.

Trying not to scream, Annie gripped the wheel white knuckled. “Where do you want me to go?”

“Drive toward Batei Nitin.” He pressed the gun harder. “I will direct you. Do not make any sudden moves or I will shoot you.”

Survival instinct setting in real fast, Annie swallowed the rising panic. Keep him talking. “Why are you taking me there?”

“Enough with your questions.” He glared at her in the mirror. “Drive or die.”

Chapter Two

Syria

“Target moving into position. Countdown in three minutes.”

The instruction was the last failsafe. Once the countdown began, they’d be no turning back.

“Copy.” Ninety-eight H checked the instruments on his sniper rifle one last time and then relaxed. He looked at his spotter. “Get the hell out of Dodge.”

“I’m gone.” Ninety-eight G packed up his gear and vanished over the rooftops to the evac point.

Taking out a target was personal and he preferred to be

alone. His rifle gave him all the information he needed and being six-five and two hundred and fifty pounds made him stick out like a sore thumb in this neck of the woods. He’d give Jimmy a better chance of escaping alone.

“Countdown in one minute.”

There was no need to reply and he dropped into the zone. He hardly took a breath as his heart slowed and each blink felt like a minute. The dirty bomb-damaged room faded into obscurity. It would be just him and the target. Soon, the voice in his ear would count down the seconds. His eye dropped to the scope. Nothing but the flicker of a curtain at the open window and an empty chair came into view, but each day at this time, the target, selected as a threat to the free world, would sit at his desk and greet his visitors.

“In five, four, three, two, one.”

Ninety-eight H squeezed the trigger, and the second the bullet left the muzzle he stripped down the rifle, packed it up, and headed out into the bright sunshine. He wouldn’t see the aftermath. The target was over a mile away but as he made his way onto the roof of an apartment building, the confirmation came in his ear. He didn’t need it. He never missed.

Gunshots echoed through the narrow streets; they were too damn close for comfort. He peered toward the evacuation point. A vehicle should be waiting to take them to the chopper but a militant force swarmed the area. Someone had betrayed them. He pressed his mic. “We have company.”

“Abort evac. Repeat, abort evac.”

“Copy.” He needed to have Jimmy’s six and pressed his com. “Ninety-eight G, do you copy?”

Nothing.

The group of militants yelled in celebration, shooting their weapons into the air. This meant only one thing. They’d caught Jimmy. He estimated his chances of taking out the twenty or so men as a possibility. No way would he leave Jimmy behind. Looking for a suitable place to set up his rifle, he glanced back over the edge of the building and swallowed in disgust. One of the militants held Jimmy’s head high in triumph. He moved away from the edge and pressed into the shadows. The US would deny all knowledge of Jimmy’s existence. He couldn’t trust anyone and if he wanted to survive, he’d be doing it alone. The planned exit was compromised. He had no choice but to head in the opposite direction. After gauging the distance between his building and the next, he backed up to extend the distance and ran flat out toward the edge of the roof.

Heart in his mouth, he sailed out across the divide, misjudged the landing, and slammed into the side of the building. His fingertips grazed the edge of the roof and he hung suspended by one arm. Muscles burning with overexertion, he edged the other hand over the wall. Beneath his palms the crumbling edge of the damaged building shifted, his feet scrambled to find purchase on the top of a window frame. Bending his knees, he gave one almighty push and rolled over the edge onto a flat rooftop crammed with satellite dishes and air conditioners. Drawing his weapon, he stared around, but the damaged building was empty. The residents long gone, leaving their washing still hanging dusty on makeshift lines on the roof. Bullets rained down, striking the metal dishes and ricocheting in all directions. Shooting in the air was crazy. What goes up must come down.

Grabbing clothes from the washing line, he ran across the roof. The distance to the next building was an easy jump and he made the next six or more without a problem. He slid into the shadows of the next building, dragged the dark kaftan over his clothes and covered his head. Few Syrian men seemed to wear shades in winter but his would cover his blue eyes, and the deep suntan from long months in the desert would carry him through, but not his size. He needed transport and fast.

The door to the building stood ajar, propped open with a bucket. A woman pushed through carrying a basket of laundry. The second she slipped between a line of sheets, he moved with stealth, not making a sound across the roof, and headed down the stone steps into the building. The door to the first apartment was open and the sound of a child singing came from inside. He glanced into the dim hallway. In a dish on a table beside the door sat a set of keys. He snatched them up and headed down the hallway, slipping down the stairs and out into the late afternoon sun. He kept to the shadows, one hand pressing the fob, his gaze moving up and down the row of parked vehicles. Old sedans lined the road. He didn’t recognize the make of any of them and glanced around him. The gunfire had stopped and engine noise rumbled through the streets. He dived behind a wall, pressing hard against the sandstone bricks as a convoy of militia, their black flag flying high on a battered military vehicle, drove past. He waited for the dust to settle and pressed the fob again. A battered silver Audi blinked at him. Wasting no time, he slid inside. The sedan smelled of dirty diapers but he dumped his backpack on the passenger seat and eased out onto the road in the opposite direction the militia had headed. He drove slowly, joining the line of traffic.

The instant the militia left, the town became alive again, people moving around and vehicles heading in all directions. He glanced at his fuel and heaved a sigh of relief. Unless he was stopped, he could go a long way on a full tank. Once on the outskirts of town, he’d need to avoid the military checkpoints, but without a map he’d be toast. The com in his ear and tracker embedded under his skin would give his location via a military satellite. He tapped his com for instructions. “Have you got eyes on me? I need a way out of this hellhole.”

“Copy, Ninety-eight H. We’re going out of range. Stand by.”

Oh, that couldn’t be good. If the plane carrying his command team had to bug out, they’d been picked up on enemy radar. He’d have to make it alone. “Dammit.”

He waited, listening for instructions, but it wasn’t the usual communications officer in his ear, it was his handler, code name Terabyte, who came through the earpiece. The connection was secure, something had happened to prevent his evac. He ground his teeth and waited for the bad news.