Hot Extraction (8 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After a light workout and breakfast, Ryker and Ronnie part without so much as a kiss in deference to watching eyes. He isn’t sure what he can do more than he is already doing, but he is more determined than ever to find Dr. Julian Baker and bring him home safely.

He spends the day canvassing an area of Beirut known for not asking too many questions, showing a picture of Julian Baker and spreading Pound notes around along with a card containing a contact number. It gets a lot of promises, but nothing concrete. He knows that what he is doing is only slightly better than useless, but he can’t just sit around waiting while the spooks scrounge. Sometimes you have to depend on a bit of luck.

He is sitting in a small cafe having a light lunch of
Fattoush,
a type of vegetable salad served with pita bread, when a man sits down across from him. He is instantly on his guard, drawing his weapon but keeping it hidden under the table.

“You are looking for a Dr. Julian Baker, are you not?” the man asks in barely understandable English.

“I am,” Ryker replies, his eyes never stopping as he scans for threats while the man distracts him. “Do you know where he is?”

“No. But I am to deliver a message. An old friend of yours has asked to meet with you at Hanaii, outside, on the patio, at 5:30. He has information that he said you will find useful. He said come alone.”

“Who is it?” Ryker asks, suspicious. Nobody is supposed to know he is in the country.

“I do not know. I am but the messenger,” the man says as he rises, turns, and walks away.

Ryker keys his mic with a touch to his ear bud. “Give me Colonel Hargraves.”

After a few minutes Hargraves speaks in his ear and Ryker gives Hargraves the detail of his conversation.

“You know it is probably a trap.” Hargraves says.

“Yes. But we have to take that chance. Have the spooks turned up anything useful?”

“No.”

“So we have to go with it. Let’s put two men in the restaurant well before we meet. Have them bring a date or something. Get one of those female CIA agents. I will go out on the patio alone, but if the shit hits the fan at least I will have some backup.”

“I don’t like this,” Hargraves says.

“You think I do? But what choice do we have?”

Hargraves is quiet a moment. “Okay. I have a female Marine that is rated as expert with the service pistol. We’ll use her and I’ll find someone else. That will give us two two-man fire teams if the shit gets deep. But you are going to be on your own at first.”

“Roger that,” Ryker says.

Hargraves chuckles. “You’ve got balls, Evans. More balls than brains.”

This time Ryker chuckles. “Roger that.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ryker returns to the embassy to wait for his appointment. He could continue to pound the pavement but he feels his time would be better spent returning and working out the details of the meeting. He, Hargraves, and a small mousy man that provides intel on the restaurant discuss the logistics of what they are about to attempt. The fire teams are still being assembled. He only knows that it is going to be three Marines in plain clothes and one of the three female CIA field operatives. With that much firepower he knows if he can hold his own for ten seconds they can handle just about any threat short of a full on assault. And that isn’t likely to happen, otherwise the meet wouldn’t be scheduled for a popular and well known location.

After two hours of talking out the logistics of the meet, Ryker is confident that they are as well-prepared as possible given the uncertain nature of the plan. With some extra time to kill, he tracks Ronnie down in the infirmary where she is sitting in a chair and reading to two of the wounded Marines from a Kindle.

“I’m going to borrow this lovely lady for a few moments,” he announces, stepping up and interrupting.

One of the Marines nods slowly. “Just bring her back. Jack Ryan is about to board the Russian sub,” he mutters painfully.

He smiles and nods. “We won’t be but a moment.” He escorts her out of the ward and into the hall. “That’s a good thing you are doing,” he nods approvingly as they glide to a stop.

“I got bored in my room. I thought they could use some company. You’re back sooner than normal.”

“We have a lead on your father. I meet with the contact in just over an hour. I came back to get ready.”

“Let me go with you,” she begs.

“Out of the question,” he says firmly. “Not only is it too dangerous, I am to meet the contact alone.”

She can feel her blood run cold. “Ryker…”

“Don’t worry. I told you. I’m hard to kill. Plus we are putting some backup nearby.” He takes a quick look around. Other than the security camera, no one will see. He bends down, takes her face in his hands and kisses her gently on the lips for a moment before turning her loose. “It will be okay.”

“But…” Ronnie begins, then stops. So far as she knows this is the only lead they have had since the explosion at the apartment. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Ryker begins to chuckle. “I sense a certain lack of confidence in my abilities.”

She smiles and looks down, avoiding his gaze. “No. But I have seen what you are willing to do first hand. I don’t want you to have to do that again. Not for me. Not for my father.”

“Don’t worry, Ronnie. This is just a meet in a restaurant. Nothing is going to happen.”

“Then why the backup?”

Ryker smiles. “Because I’m not stupid. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”

She looks back to his face. “Just be careful.”

“I will.”

She smiles softly, then steps in and holds him tight. “See that you are.”

He smiles and surrounds her with his arms, taking her into a loose embrace. While he would like nothing better than to stand there and hold her forever, he pushes her gently away after only a moment. “The Marines are waiting to find out what happens to Jack.”

Ronnie steps back and smiles sadly. “I should go. It’s not nice to leave them hanging like that.”

“No.”

“Come see me the moment you get back. I will be right here.”

Ryker smiles. “Count on it.”

Ryker doesn’t know who the fire teams are so he can’t tell if they are in place as he walks into Hanaii at 5:20. “Table for two. On the patio.”

“Right his way,” the host says, picking up two menus and escorting him to the patio. The patio is unoccupied save for one table.

The host begins to seat him near the occupied table. “Something a little more private, please,” Ryker says when the host places the menus on the table.

“Certainly,” the host replies before turning and offering a table at the opposite end of the patio.

“Perfect,” Ryker says, taking the chair that places his back to the wall and allows him to see the door. He settles in to wait and watch. The restaurant is nearly empty, as it is too late for lunch and too early for dinner. He watches the man and woman dining at the other table rise to leave. He stiffens, preparing for trouble, but they leave without a backwards glance, leaving him alone on the patio.

At 5:45 Ryker has about decided the “friend” is going to be a no show. The host approaches, probably once again to prompt him to order, so he stands to leave. “I’m sorry. It looks like my friend has stood me up.”

“Are you Ryker Evans?” the host asks.

Ryker blinks in surprise then slowly sits back down. “Yes. That’s me.”

“I have been asked to take your radio and your weapon,” the man says, obviously uncomfortable with the request.

“No.”

“Very well,” the man says, backing away.

“Wait! Wait a minute,” Ryker says thinking quickly. He disconnects and pulls the tiny radio out and hands it to the waiter. “If that isn’t enough, then the meeting is off.”

The waiter nods and backs away. Less than a minute later, a man Ryker has been waiting for more than two years steps onto the patio. Ryker reaches into the small of his back and pulls his weapon.

Read on for an excerpt from the sequel,
Warrior's Heart

Now, a sneak peek at the sizzling sequel:

Warrior's Heart

CHAPTER ONE

Petty Officer First Class Ryker Evans, United States Navy, rises from his chair, his Beretta M9 service pistol held at his side as he quickly strides toward the figure stepping onto the patio of the restaurant. Ryker sees the man register the weapon in his hand and watches as his eyes go wide with fear…  … as they should.

Ryker grabs the man, whirls him around and slams him backwards against the concrete wall of the restaurant. “You motherfucker! I’m going to kill you right here!” he snarls into the man’s face while pinning him with a forearm to the throat. He shoves the weapon hard under the man’s chin, pointing it upwards. One pull of the trigger and most of the man’s head will disappear in a spray of blood.

The man stands still, afraid to move. His eyes show his fear, show how near death he knows he is, but his voice is calm. “If you kill me you will never find Dr. Baker.”

Ryker can feel his finger begin to tighten on the trigger as his face hardens. He is the fucking angel of death, here to collect this asshole’s soul, if he has one. “You had better talk fast you fuck.”

The man says nothing, standing stock still with his head his pinned to the wall by Ryker’s arm, his wide eyes staring into Ryker’s. With a menacing growl Ryker pulls his arm back from the man’s throat, takes Baltasar by the back of the head, and slams him face first onto the wooden table and places the gun to his temple, pressing hard. With no windows into the restaurant and a chest-high wall surrounding it, unless someone steps onto the patio from inside the restaurant they won’t be seen.

“You had better start talking!”

Baltasar winces in pain as Ryker pushes the weapon hard into the side of his head. “Is this how the vaulted U.S. military interrogates prisoners?”

“No. This is how one pissed off Navy SEAL interrogates a lying, cheating, son of a bitch that caused a lot of good men to be killed. Talk!”

“How do I know you won’t kill me as soon as I tell you what you want to know?”

“You don’t. But if you don’t tell me I
will
kill you,” Ryker snarls.

Baltasar considers his options and realizes he has none. “I will tell you, but take that fucking gun away from my head.”

Ryker grits his teeth, his mouth working in barely contained rage. He had almost hoped this fucker wouldn’t talk so he could blow his fucking head off. He feels his finger begin to tighten again as he leans in hard, then jerks back, hauling Baltasar off the table and slamming him into a chair. The chair goes over backwards, dumping Baltasar into the floor. Ryker reaches down and hauls the man to his feet, then slams him into another chair, but not quite as hard, causing the chair to rock back but not go over this time.

Ryker knows he is raging out of control, but he can’t help it. Not with his fucker. Two years ago six good men had gone in on a simple smash and grab mission, but only two—he and one other—had come out. All because of this shit Baltasar. He had played them and led them right into a trap.

“Talk!” Ryker snarls, sitting down across from Baltasar. His weapon is still out, pointed directly at him under the table. Gut shooting the bastard would be too good for him… all he needs is an excuse. And Baltasar knows it.

“I know where Dr. Baker is.”

“Where?”

“First I need your guarantee of freedom. I know the CIA is still looking for me. I want them to stop. I want to return home.”

“The only guarantee you’ll get from me is considering not killing you right here, right now,” Ryker mutters, his voice deadly.

“Then kill me,” Baltasar says, leaning back in his chair as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder, wondering when one of your CIA agents will be standing behind me. I would rather die.”

“I can help you with that,” Ryker sneers.

Baltasar says nothing, crossing his arms.

“Don’t press me, Baltasar,” Ryker warns.

Baltasar smiles weakly. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“Like the last time? When you sent us straight into the teeth of a fucking war? That kind of deal? Fuck you Baltasar!” Ryker snarls, jumping to this feet and hauling the man out of the chair. “I think it’s time I reintroduce you to your old pals at the CIA. It will be like old times. I’m sure they will love to talk to you. I wonder… are you the same guy that tipped us to Dr. Baker’s location then told the kidnappers we were on our way? That would be just like you… like what you did the last time. They really enjoy it when one of their guys is playing both sides.”

Baltasar feels his himself go pale. “Wait. Wait! I will tell you everything!” he nearly shouts. He has heard of the interrogation techniques the CIA uses and he wants nothing to do with them. He thought he had at last found a ticket out of his private hell, but this isn’t going the way he had planned at all. “Ryker! Wait! I will tell you! I will tell you everything!”

“Too late pal,” Ryker sneers. “You had your chance and you fucked up. Just like when you double-crossed us.”

“Ryker! Please!”

Ryker jams his weapon hard into Baltasar’s kidneys. “Now we are going to walk out of here nice and easy. One sound, one false move, and you are dead man. Got it?”

“You won’t shoot me in a crowded restaurant,” Baltasar says with more bravado than he feels.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You see, I’m here as part of the embassy staff. I have diplomatic immunity,” Ryker lies softly into Baltasar’s ear as he steers him through the restaurant, shielding his weapon from view with his own body. He sees two couples, his undercover backup probably, rise from their meals. “Get my radio,” Ryker says loudly enough for them to hear, but never stops walking and returns his attention to Baltasar. “It would so be worth being kicked out of the country to get to kill your worthless ass.”

As he steps out on the street the two men are right behind him. “One of you drive while I keep this asshole company.”