Free Against All Odds by Irene Hannon Page B

lightly, Coop heard the serious undercurrent. But though her logic was sound, he wasn’t comfortable talking about his past with anyone. Even Mark, who was almost like a brother, knew only the barest details about Coop’s childhood.
    “There isn’t much to tell.”
    “How come I don’t buy that?”
    He tried a different tack. “A lot of my work is classified.”
    “I’m not talking about your work.”
    The bathroom door opened, offering Coop an out. Thank you, God!
    Rising, he drained his cold coffee and headed toward the sink to rinse the empty mug. “My turn. I’m in desperate need of a shower and shave and clean clothes.”
    When he risked a glance at her, she was still sitting at the table. Still watching him. She didn’t say anything as he made a beeline for the hall. Nor did he. In fact, he hadn’t said all that much in general during their little tête-à-tête.
    Nevertheless, he had a disturbing sense she had discovered far more about him than he had planned to reveal.
    And despite the title of her book, she’d figured it out without a whole lot of words.

     
    As his cell phone began to vibrate, Tariq withdrew it from the folds in his robe and checked the number. Nouri.
    “Shall we leave?” One of the two turbaned figures sitting across from him on the rough concrete floor started to rise.
    “No need.” Tariq waved him down as he answered the phone. “Yes?”
    “They left the house. We followed them to her church.”
    “She is maintaining her schedule, then.”
    “It appears so. There has been no change in the convention agenda, either.”
    “Security?”
    “Two men close by today. There are others in the crowd at the church. FBI agents. The funds you provided were useful in obtaining information.”
    “Let me know if you need more. You are prepared to implement the next step if it becomes necessary?”
    “All is ready.”
    “I am pleased. Remain in touch.”
    Ending the call, Tariq slipped the phone back into his robe and glanced at the men seated before him. His most trusted lieutenants. Still, they knew only pieces of the plan. And neither could identify more than a few behind-the-scenes players. It was safer that way. Trust was good—and necessary—to achieve his goal. But in limited quantities. He needed Mahmud and Sayed; the former had arranged the kidnappings, the latter was maintaining security on the hostages. They would be instrumental in coordinating the next steps in Afghanistan. After that . . . he would see.
    “All is well in America, I hope?”
    Tariq studied Mahmud before answering. Despite the black beard and smooth skin of youth, he had the shrewdness of a much older man. And despite his deferential attitude, Tariq knew he had his own ambitions.
    “Yes. Everything proceeds according to plan.” He motioned for Sayed to continue. “You were telling us of the hostages.”
    “They are secure. One of the men is ill, but it matters not. They may die soon anyway.” He lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “We are ready to execute at your command.”
    “Good.” The slightly rotund Sayed was older than Tariq, and the leader valued his blind obedience and ruthless disregard for life. He was a good man to oversee hostages. “Mahmud, you will return to Kabul tonight and await further instructions.”
    “Shall I begin to arrange for David Callahan’s . . . demise?”
    Like Anis, Mahmud tended to push for information and question commands. His more subtle approach, however, made his impertinence no more palatable to Tariq.
    “That has not yet been decided.” Tariq gave Mahmud a cool look. “Our focus now is on the daughter.”
    “Does that not seem the more . . . difficult . . . road? Killing Callahan would send a strong message.”
    With an effort, Tariq kept his temper in check. He needed Mahmud. For now. “Are you questioning my judgment, Mahmud?”
    “No, of course you know best. I am simply trying to understand.”
    “It is not important that you