Savage Recruit (Ryan Savage Thriller Series Book 8)
today, and we will bring your grandmother and sister here to the city. They will be taken care of. As will you. You will no longer have to concern yourself with those pitiful goats.”Bahar actually enjoyed shepherding “those pitiful goats,” but he kept it to himself. “The car will be waiting for me?”
“Yes. I have already confirmed it.” He nodded toward the front door. “Leave your truck where it is. Someone will get it later.” The man placed a hand on Bahar’s forearm. “You are one of us now. God be with you.”
Bahar nodded. The man stood up, returned his teacup to the front counter, thanked the owner, and, without another glance at Bahar, left through the front door.
Bahar took in a deep breath and smiled. He found that his nerves had calmed. Everything felt right now. He was doing what God had intended for him all along. Who was he to doubt that?
His chair legs scraped across the floor as he stood up. Next week he would return here and purchase an entire plate of sheer pira for his grandmother and sister. They would all enjoy it together. The heat hit him again as he stepped back onto the sidewalk. Opening the side door of his truck, he tucked the keys under the worn floor mat and slammed the door shut.
As he turned and started down the narrow sidewalk, the device in his pocket suddenly seemed heavy. It was all Bahar could think about as he reached the next corner and turned east down a side alley. The job was simple, really; he knew it was a test. Anyone could push a simple button, throw a switch. But only one truly committed to the cause would do it knowing the implications and the risks.
He skirted a dumpster and took shallow breaths as he passed through an invincible cloud that smelled of rotting lamb and discarded cheese. The alley narrowed at the end, and he stepped out into the sunlight that brightened an empty street. The stairwell was just ahead now. Bahar would take it to the rooftop, and from there, he would keep watch. And when the time came, he would do what he was expected to do.
A soft shuffle came from behind him. Bahar turned to see what it was when, with no other warning, his shoulders were seized by strong hands that jerked him away from the stairs with such force that his teeth clicked together. Before he could protest, a black hood dropped over his head, and his accoster, pinning Bahar’s arms behind his back, leaned in and whispered a quiet but menacing, “Shhhhhh…” The man was strong, and Bahar could not resist. As the man pulled a plastic zip tie tight across Bahar’s wrists, his veins iced over, and his heartbeat thumped wildly in his ears. He complied without resisting and was escorted to a waiting vehicle. The man forced Bahar inside, got in beside him, and slammed the door. Bahar heard two more people get in the front. The engine growled to life, and Bahar’s head fell into the headrest as the driver floored the gas and the vehicle lurched forward into the street.
A raw panic crept over his chest, up his neck, and then back down this throat. Fear prevented him from asking them who they were, what he had done, and where they were taking him. There was nothing to do but wait. They could take him to the edge of the city where they would shoot him and leave his body. He wouldn’t be the first. Maybe an opposing sheik had gotten wind of their plan and was seeking to undermine it.
Bahar’s thoughts naturally turned to his grandmother. To his sister. Should he die, they would have no one to provide for them.
“Do not be foolish.” His grandmother’s words, spoken not three hours before, now echoed in his mind. He should have listened. Perhaps he had been wrong about God’s call, calling him to join the resistance. He just didn’t know anymore.
They drove for twenty minutes, no one speaking a word as they crawled through traffic and paused for passing pedestrians. Soon enough, the sounds of the city faded, and all Bahar could hear was the steady hum of tires rolling over dirt.
A wave of lightheadedness forced him to pay special attention to his breathing, and he drew in steady, controlled breaths. It was no use. The air in the sack was warm and stale with his own exhalations, and tiny stars danced across his vision as Bahar contemplated an imminent death. Once, when he was a boy, he had seen his mother experience what she called a panic attack. She was panicked, frightened, and unable to breathe. Bahar thought that he was about to experience the same thing.
His body lurched against the door as the driver took a hard left turn. The tires skidded as the brakes were engaged. The vehicle slid forward and no sooner had they come to a hard stop than the doors flew open.
Bahar’s lips trembled under the hood. He wanted to plead for his life, but no words would come. He was too scared, too frightened by the imminent specter of death.
Strong hands once again grabbed him and pulled him out of the vehicle. He stumbled to regain his footing and was pushed forward before a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder and led him to their destination. Only a dim haze of light permeated through the hood. Not enough for him to orient himself.
They stopped, and a door directly in front of him was unlocked. Bahar felt the direct warmth of the sun leave his skin as they stepped inside. Their footfalls echoed across a concrete floor; lingering smells he did not recognize drifted through the hood—cleaning agents and foods he was unfamiliar with.
They stopped before another door. The latch was thrown, and Bahar led through. Several paces in, he was brought to a stop and pushed down into a hard chair. The