Deny Tomorrow

  Deny Tomorrow

  Copyright © 2014, 2017 Ann Heathman

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Windswept

  an imprint of BHC Press

  Library of Congress Control Number:

  2017935154

  Print edition ISBN numbers:

  ISBN-13: 978-1-946006-71-4

  ISBN-10: 1-946006-71-8

  Also available in eBook format

  Visit the author at:

  www.annheathmanauthor.com

  & www.bhcpress.com

  Book design by

  Blue Harvest Creative

  www.blueharvestcreative.com

  Capture Tomorrow

  Chasing Tomorrow

  For Casey and Haley who have enriched my life

  beyond what I could have ever imagined.

  Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!” came the echo.

  Zach Acevedo covered his head as debris rained down on him. The cave held a treasure trove of ammunition and had blown like the Fourth of July.

  “Damn! How much shit they have in there?” Tony Soto, the team’s second in command asked, spitting and sputtering dirt. “This is bound to get someone’s attention.”

  “Roger that,” Zach said to Tony and three other men who were dusting themselves off. “Gentlemen, let’s get the hell out of here before any Taliban show up.”

  Zach and his team of Special Ops were making their way to Nabolis, a village in the northern province of Kervistan. Their mission was to find and assassinate a Taliban warlord, Ali Hamdra Fasi. With him out of the way, that part of the country would be a prime insertion point for U.S. troops. But this mission, like all the others they had undertaken, was yet another operation that wouldn’t make the nightly news.

  The route to Nabolis was mountainous and the group had to pick its way over one rocky crag after the other. They’d ‘gone in light’ compared to the usual equipment they carried, but the trek was still physically demanding.

  “Hold up, guys,” Zach said about an hour into the trek. “Take five while I check our location.”

  He retrieved a GPS from his backpack and was checking their coordinates when a rocket-propelled grenade came sailing at them, detonating twenty feet away. The explosion knocked the group off its feet as a wall of dirt blew back on them.

  Zach staggered to his feet and checked to see if any men were down. No one down, but everyone had been roughed up. Shaken and somewhat disoriented, he willed himself to scan the horizon for the source of the attack. High on a ridge above he caught sight of a white pick-up truck and another RPG sailing toward them.

  “Incoming!” he yelled, and everyone dove behind a boulder as a second missile flew by. The Taliban had an ample supply of missiles, but thank God, they were not very precise. This RPG had missed its mark as well, landing several feet off to the right.

  “Everyone all right?” Zach asked, dabbing at some blood on his forehead as he rolled to his feet.

  “Fuck, that was a close call,” Juan, the group’s demolition expert, replied. “Where the hell did these guys come from?”

  Zach unshouldered his weapon. “Tony, you take the right flank. I’ll take the left. Juan, you and the rest of the guys cover us. We’re going after these fuckers.”

  Snaking their way up through the hills to an area just above the pick-up, Zach and Tony could see there were only two Taliban fighters.

  “On three,” Zach signaled to Tony. Taking careful aim, they fired and dropped both occupants just as they were about to launch a third RPG. They threaded their way down to the truck… weapons still locked and loaded. A quick body check confirmed both shots had been fatal.

  “Nice shooting,” Zach said as they started going through the truck. “No radio equipment to radio our position, but we’ve got to get rid of this truck and these bodies.” He signaled the kill to the rest of the men who quickly joined them. “Let’s push this into that ravine over there, down into that underbrush.”

  “I’d like to know what dumb-ass general decided we should blow up ammo dumps on our way to Nabolis,” Tony said as they rolled the truck over the edge. “We might as well have taken out a fucking front page ad announcing our arrival.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t worry about that now,” Zach said. “We’ve got a job to do, and right now, we need to keep moving.”

  He checked their coordinates one more time. “We hike to the next ridge due north about two hours away. When we get on the other side, we’ll stop for the night. That puts us about three clicks outside of Nabolis. Everybody, keep your eyes open. We’re moving right into a Taliban stronghold. Things could get worse before they get better.”

  “Yeah, most people move away from the enemy, but not us,” Tony quipped. “I ought to have my head examined for being in this line of work.”

  A faint smile crossed Zach’s lips. Tony was right. This was dangerous work, but that was exactly why the government generously financed his operation. He and his team did what most men wouldn’t do… move right into the mouth of the enemy and hide in plain sight.

  “Well, you can reflect on your true calling in life later,” Zach replied. “Right now we’ve got to get the hell out of here. Let’s move out.”

  THEY CAME over the ridge to the place they would stop for the night. Kervistan was a bleak, barren country with very little vegetation. They would have to make do with a small alcove amidst some large boulders as their campsite.

  The wind howled, and the temperature was dropping, but it wasn’t safe to build a campfire. Staying warm would be a major struggle, and dinner would once again be a cold MRE… meals ready to eat.

  “Listen up,” Zach said as the men gathered around. “Chow down and then, try to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we go into Nabolis and find Fasi.” He turned to Juan and asked him to take the first watch. “There could be Taliban all over the place. Keep an eye out. Tucker will relieve you in two hours.”

  “Roger that,” Juan said. “I’ve been here less than a week, and I hate this fucking country.”

  Everyone let out a groan of agreement. Kervistan wasn’t one of the more environmentally friendly assignments they’d had.

  “Okay. Okay,” Zach said. “We’ll be out of here in a few days, so everybody just suck it up.”

  With that, he moved to the back of the encampment and spread out his gear. He opened a MRE and stared at it a moment before putting it down. He was starving but not hungry for yet another cold pre-packaged meal.

  As he looked around at the group and their surroundings, this all seemed so odd and so far away from his real life. Here were five Hispanic men in Kervistani garb, sporting long, scruffy beards and wearing turbans on their heads. Their naturally dark complexions and brown eyes allowed them to pass as someone indigenous to the area. They also had a basic command of the local language which would make it easy for them to blend into the background when they entered the village in the morning. At least that’s what he counted on. Otherwise their plan to get close enough to assassinate Fasi would fail miserably and probably get them killed.

  He tried to get comfortable on the cold, lumpy ground, but he ached all over from being blown off his feet earlier in the day. He reached up and scratched the long, thick beard covering his normally clean-shaven face. He took his turban off and ran his
fingers through his hair… hair that hadn’t seen a bottle of shampoo in more than a week. Retrieving a stocking cap he had tucked inside his tunic, he pulled it down over his ears, relishing the warmth it provided against the cold Kervistan night.

  He was far from home. The Caribbean island of Costa Luna was his legal address. He and some of his men lived there in his private, gated compound amidst a sea of luxury. He had maids and servants, a private plane and expensive cars. His life there was the complete opposite of the miserable condition he found himself in now.

  However, being here in this bleak environment begged the question of just what was his real life. Was it the life of a modern day gun for hire, off on one dangerous assignment after another, or was it the life of a wealthy bachelor living in luxury back in Costa Luna? Truth be known, he loved both lives. He loved the thrill and adventure he got from being a special agent on assignment, but he also loved the finer things wealth brought him. There certainly was a dualism to his life that even he didn’t understand. Making your living in Black Op’s came with a price. There was a deep emptiness he tried not to think about.

  IN THE morning, everyone rose slowly from their hard, earthen bed, breakfasted on a spaghetti and cheese MRE, and then, began to assemble their gear. This country was a throwback to the Stone Age, but not so the equipment they’d brought with them. At their disposal, they had a state of the art communication system, explosives, and a mini-arsenal of weapons each man had hidden under his baggy tunic. What they couldn’t conceal, they would bury at the campsite.

  “Here’s the plan,” Zach said as they huddled for one last strategy session. “We’ll pair up and enter the city separately from different directions. We don’t have any intel on this, so we’ll finalize things once we get some eyes on Fasi’s compound. Then, we’ll make the kill and head for the hills. Once there, we’ll call in a helo and get the hell out of here. As usual, we’re all alone in this, guys. If we get in trouble, no one’s coming to help us so let’s not screw this up. And keep the chatter to a minimum with the locals. We only know enough Farsi to get by so don’t press your luck. Any questions?”

  There were no questions. They were all keenly aware that the assassination had to be a sterile operation. There couldn’t be any ‘made in the USA’ fingerprints associated with this, otherwise the fragile coalition that currently supported the U.S. war effort would dissolve and leave the U.S. to go it alone. As had been true many times in the past, a lot was riding on the ability of Zach and his men to complete their mission.

  Putting their hands together in a circle, they whispered a collective Hoo rah and then, moved out.

  Fuck this story! I say we turn the hell around and go home.”

  “Chill out,” Arianna Garret said to fellow journalist, Kevin Baxter. “We worked hard to get this assignment, so take a deep breath and relax.”

  They had come to Kervistan to do an exposé on the plight of Muslim women. First, all of their equipment and luggage had been lost on the flight over, forcing them to hole up in a cheap hotel in Pakistan for three days until their belongings were recovered. Now, less than four hours into their journey to Nabolis, they were stranded by the side of the road as their Kervistan guide attempted to repair the sorry excuse of a vehicle they’d rented that morning.

  The noonday sun was brutal, and Arianna was finding it stifling beneath the burqa she’d been forced to wear. The scratchy cloth irritated her face, and sweat ran profusely down her back. It was such a humiliation, but their guide, Tarique, had told her she would never be allowed into the country unless she covered herself as all Kervistan women did.

  “If I’d just brought some tools,” Tarique said, “I could fix this car.”

  “Great,” Kevin snapped. “I don’t suppose you might have thought of that before we left Pakistan this morning. You know it’s not like we can call Triple A or anything.”

  “Triple A?” Tarique asked. “What is a Triple A?”

  “Nothing. Just keep working on the car,” Kevin mumbled.

  Arianna threw the veil back off her face and felt instantly refreshed and alive. Being under that veil made her feel queasy and claustrophobic. The only good thing about wearing the traditional garb was she would be able to write a firsthand account of what it was like to be imprisoned in such a restrictive garment.

  “Need any help?” a voice asked in Farsi.

  Arianna spun around and came face to face with a Kervistani man who had walked up to the vehicle. He was amazingly handsome and had coal, black eyes that seemed to look right through her. She knew he couldn’t, but it felt like he could see her naked form right through the burqa she wore. Despite the extreme heat, a shiver rippled through her body. What a waste! There could be nothing worse than having a man from this country lay his hands on you. Even so, despite the scruffy beard and primitive dress, this guy was stunningly gorgeous.

  “What’s wrong with the car?” a second Kervistan man asked in Farsi and began to look under the hood.

  “Tell him we’ll pay him a lot of money if he can fix this car,” Arianna said to Tarique as she came around to the front of the vehicle.

  Tarique took Arianna by the elbow and spun her around, flipping her veil back over her face as the two Kervistan men stared in disbelief.

  “Please, madam,” he said in a hushed tone as he abruptly escorted her to the back of the car. “You must keep your face covered, and you must not speak English.”

  Arianna began to do a slow boil that had nothing to do with the heat. She hated this subservient role. She had been stubbornly independent all of her life, and it irritated her to take orders from a man like this.

  ZACH HAD heard it as plain as could be. The woman spoke English, and by the way she so boldly came forward, it was clear she was no Kervistan woman. Also, she wore her veil up. A woman could be stoned for showing her face in public in this country. But what a face she had. Beneath that veil was a beautiful girl with sparkling, azure, blue eyes that danced with devilment and a complexion nicely tanned from many days in the sun. It was a face that certainly had not been hidden behind any veil for very long.

  He glanced into the back of the SUV and could see several cameras and other photographic equipment. If he had to make a guess, he would say these were American journalists here on an assignment. Only the guide seemed to be from this region. Thinking it was a Kervistan couple they’d come upon, the idea was to get a ride into town with them which would be a perfect cover. Now, Zach wasn’t sure what he and Tony had walked into.

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Tony said in Farsi as he tinkered with something under the hood. “Give it a try.”

  Tarique slid behind the wheel. No luck. The only sound was the clink of metal against metal. Tony looked under the hood again and made a couple more adjustments. “Okay, try it again,” he said.

  This time the engine sputtered to life.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” Tarique said in his native language. “Let us pay you for your help.”

  “No, we don’t want any money,” Zach responded in the native language, “but we would take a ride into Nabolis with you.”

  “Oh, yes. Please, get in,” Tarique said, bowing in respect.

  “Are you men from Nabolis?” Tarique asked, as the Land Rover rumbled down the unpaved road.

  Tony shook his head. “No, we are from Bekistan.”

  “We are not from here, either. We have come to meet with Ali Hamdra Fasi. This man,” Tarique said, pointing to Kevin, “is doing a report for a Western news group, and he wishes to feature Fasi in the film.”

  So, it was as Zach suspected. He’d hitched a ride with the wrong companions. Even more worrisome was that these journalists had chosen a very bad time to come to Kervistan.

  ARIANNA RODE in silence, sandwiched between Kevin and the handsome looking stranger. She dared a sideward glance at the gorgeous hitchhiker, knowing he could not see her face. As if he sensed her stare, he turned in her direction and looked directly at her, his obsi
dian eyes searing her to the seat. She felt herself blush from head to toe. It was the first, and no doubt would be the last, time she would be thankful to be wearing this face-hiding burqa. Suddenly, the Rover hit a bump and bottomed out, jostling her into the passenger’s lap. The stranger’s strong hands caught her and helped her to right herself. His touch was electric. She felt tingly all over. God, this guy was so hot, but why, Lord, did he have to be from this male dominated country?

  As they entered the center of the village, the vintage SUV chugged to a stop, and Zach and Tony exited. Before leaving, Zach paused and said to Tarique in Farsi, “Tell your friend Kevin this is not a safe place for him to be right now. The three of you should leave the country immediately.” With one last look back at Arianna, he and Tony made their way into the marketplace.

  “What did he say?” Arianna asked after they left.

  “He said to leave this place… that it is not safe to be here, but I do not know why.”

  “So what’s new?” Arianna asked. “This entire region of the world has been a troubled spot for years, but the problem is, this is where we find the Muslim women for our exposé. It’s not like we can shoot this story on the French Riviera.”

  “Well, speaking for myself,” Kevin chimed in, “I must admit this is not the journey I envisioned it to be. I’m feeling more and more uneasy all the time. I say we find Fasi and a couple of Muslim women, get their stories fast, and get the hell out of here.”

  “Okay, but just think. When this documentary airs, it’s going to catapult our careers into the national spotlight. Every major news organization in the country is going to want to hire us,” Arianna said.

  “Oh, and aren’t you just the little optimist?” Kevin shot back. “For all the hassle we’re going through, I hope you’re right.”