The chopper rose quickly, got off some more blasts from the .50 cal, then climbed and banked to the south. It disappeared over the trees.
Striker reached them. “That was some crazy-ass shit!” Striker yelled, shaking him.
“You saw that?”
“Yeah, from the air before we took out those guys. Geezus, you’re a mad son of a bitch!”
Saint just chuckled as 2-Stroke grinned.
“Who was in the chopper?”
“Iceman is flying. Preach got stabbed bad and is bleeding out. He’s on his way to Sarajevo for treatment.”
“Alek?” 2-Stroke asked, his heart tight. If anything happened to that kid, he was going back for Darko right now.
“Someone tried to murder him, but we took him down and got out of there. I take it you were also compromised.”
“I think it was Zasha,” Chry said. “She had access to all CIA information. She must have figured out what safehouse we were staying at when we didn’t try for the consulate.”
2-Stroke noted how pale she was. At least they would have a nice head start before they were pursued again. For some reason, he assumed Zasha and Darko had escaped any real harm and would be looking for them again. Their luck couldn’t be that good. He was going to err on the side of caution, though. 2-Stroke slipped his arm around Chry and she looked up at him with gratitude.
“That fucking bitch. I hope she got the bad end of one of those wrecks along with her ruthless lover,” Striker said.
“You all right?” he asked. She was clutching her side and she nodded.
“I’ll make it,” she whispered.
“Come on, Mario Andretti. Let’s get out of here,” Striker said, clapping his brother on the back.
Saint, Aella, and Striker headed for the van. 2-Stroke simply bent at the knees and lifted Chry into his arms.
She dropped her head onto his shoulder. “You giving me the VIP treatment?” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered back and walked with her to the bullet-ridden van. He tucked her back into the front seat and got in behind the wheel.
“Stay off the main road. We’re going to have to navigate from these back roads until we hit the border. Your team will meet us there,” Striker said.
“Copy that,” 2-Stroke said, satisfied that they had finally delivered a strong blow to Zasha and Darko. It was payback time, and everyone knew how much of a bitch that was.
15
Zasha couldn’t move. She was either paralyzed or stunned. She opened her eyes to find Darko’s face above hers.
“Baby? You okay?”
Suddenly her body was infused with rage beyond anything she’d ever felt before. She’d had the upper hand for such a long time. Getting punked by men and women who were out of their element, in a foreign country, and pursued by one of the toughest and most ruthless crime syndicates in the world made her want to tear them limb from limb.
Feeling returned everywhere, and she tried to rise as Darko, blood dripping from another gash on his face, helped her to sit up.
“Find them.”
“I already have a chopper heading this way. They will find them and then we’ll take them out, one by one until there is no one left.”
Then it dawned on her. “They are going for the border. Once they get beyond Republika Srpska, the full weight of the US can be applied in getting them free of us. We must catch them before they make the border.
Chry was jerked awake, jarring her side when the van rolled over a particularly rough part of the dirt road. She bit her lip and tried to muffle the sound of pain, but by the tightness in 2-Stroke’s shoulders, it was clear he heard her.
There was a tense, solemn atmosphere in the van. Aella was hanging tough after her bullet wound. Saint and Striker were vigilant and as ready for action as they always were.
She looked out the window and sighed. These were the places travel books told tourists to avoid. This country was broken into two regions, separated by the Dinaric Alps, with Bosnia to the North and Herzegovina to the south. They each had their own unique cultural histories but shared many similarities in language, ethnicity, culture, and identity. The ravages of the war, even now, were clear here in the wide, still green valley, surrounded by towering mountains. Empty, derelict and deserted houses, so many small graveyards, untamed and neglected land, untarred roads, tangled and overgrown orchards and full abandoned villages were the norm now instead of bustling communities and well-groomed working farms.
It made her sad to think that this countryside had once been home to many people now either gone, refugeed, or dead.
There was a small river with low, muddy banks that wound alongside them, sometimes widening, then narrowing. They passed several burned-out husks of cars, adding to the tense silence.
Originally, if they had stuck to the main road, it would have been a short hour to the border, but at this crawl it was going to take some time, possibly another hour. It was late afternoon now, and hopefully they would cross the border with Fast Lane and the cavalry waiting for them on the other side, effectively making them safe from any more attacks by Darko and Zasha.
Yet she was still anxious. Those two had never given up on them when they could have cut their losses. It was now very personal for Zasha and by association, Darko, who she had tight around her little finger. God, the bitch must be good in the sack.
Chry had spent most of her CIA career since she got out of college as an analyst. It was where her strengths really were the most applicable. She hadn’t been interested in field service, and now that she had been through one of the most harrowing experiences of her life, she was convinced that she was a much better analyst than she was either a SEAL liaison or operative.
As her mind wandered, she thought about how she’d gotten into this terrible mess. Zasha and Darko had attacked their convoy on the way to the airport in Prague, hitting the SUV she and 2-Stroke were in where he was letting her down kindly by explaining how they couldn’t get involved.
She looked over at him. Time in captivity had given him a rough, almost desperado look. His hair was a glorious shaggy mess of silky chestnut, and when the sun hit it, it shone a deep russet red. He’d trimmed the beard he’d grown back at the safe house, but it added age to his young face, enhancing his dark and dangerous look.
She thought he was gorgeous in high school, his face like that of an angel. His body was lanky but showing the strength and promise of the man he was going to become…had become.
Now, he was just Neo—courageous, fearless, tough, gentle, and broken. But with every breath he took, he’d overcome so much except that reconciliation he had to make with his brothers, the dead one and the living one. He had to come to terms that he meant the world to her and she loved him beyond his body or his looks. It was his heart and his soul that she wanted down to the very depths of her own soul, her soul that had been mated with his a long time ago.
However, it worked out. He would always be half of her.
She sidled across the seat and pressed against him, closing her eyes and resting her hand against his chest just to feel the beat of his heart. She had learned a hard lesson when he left. She’d learned that she could survive after Neo, but she hadn’t ever let him go. She was tired and afraid, but she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of revealing any of it. She barely had any resources left to draw on.