Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

scowl. Upon boarding the CH-53E, Riyad had informed her that while he'd been on the ship-to-ship horn arranging for Chief Yrle to retrieve the rat bait, he'd also ordered an immediate search of the brig for any evidence of bait or pure strychnine.

For all his screwups, the decisions had been sound.

The reality of those decisions and their situation gnawed in as the Super Stallion's wheels finally embraced the Griffith's flight deck, albeit heavily.

Regan removed her ear protection and life vest as the chopper's blades began to power down. She stowed the borrowed gear on the seat she'd vacated, then retrieved the rugged case at her feet before heading for the rear ramp of the bird.

Riyad followed.

Reality gnawed in harder as she stepped out onto the flood-lit deck. What the hell. Riyad might not like her—and she definitely couldn't stand him—but they had a case to work. Several, increasingly complicated mysteries to solve. Three critical names to uncover. The quickest way to achieving all of those goals before Durrani's remaining cohorts succeeded in accomplishing whatever they were still plotting was bricked straight down the path of active, interagency cooperation.

Riyad was a spook. She might as well abuse that—and him.

And she knew just where to start.

It might be closing in on midnight aboard the Griffith, but it was barely 1400 back on the East Coast. Universities and medical offices would be open for hours yet. They could concentrate on the stateside ones until the others began opening up around the globe.

Regan swung around and caught that irritating stare through the chilly night mist that swirled in around them. "Look. Right now, we disagree on a number of issues. But there's a lot we do agree on." For one, the motive behind Hachemi's death. While she was willing to entertain other possibilities until they'd been ruled out, her gut was insisting that the translator had been killed for silence, not revenge. Someone wanted to shut him up, and permanently. Which meant Hachemi's murder was intrinsically connected to at least two of the names they were seeking. "You and I need each other. We each have knowledge and skills unique to ourselves. It's going to take all of those skills to work this investigation."

Was it her imagination, or had that ire cooled slightly? "And how do you suggest we begin, Agent Chase?"

"You work counter-intel, right? Usually?"

The simmer remained, but he nodded.

"So work it." She bent down to set the microTLC's case on the nonskid-coated deck, then straightened. "Concentrate on the non-mother. She's our best way in. For all Hachemi's boasts, Nabil Durrani was the real brains behind that cave massacre and the psycho-toxin infections. If Hachemi knew the name of the traitor, you can be damned sure Durrani knows it too. Unfortunately, the doc is not going to give it up. But he just might give up the name of the seventh woman in exchange for the access I offered him to my recent medical records. You weren't there when I questioned him earlier today, but I could see Durrani wavering over that offer. I could feel it."

She held up her hand as the spook's mouth opened.

"I know—your absence was on my orders." She lowered her hand. "But the fact remains: that man is tempted. Plus, he could not take his eyes off the photo of that final woman. Her identity is the key to whatever plans he and this unknown traitor still have." Her hand went up again. "Let's table the Garrison-guilt argument for a moment, okay? Consider these facts instead. The woman was not pregnant. And yet, she was cut open and given an infant to look as though she was while she was lying on the floor of that cave. Durrani took the time to find another woman with twins to complete the image. He had to have known it wouldn't last, that we'd eventually realize she wasn't pregnant at the time of the murders. But that obfuscation bought him time. Nearly two weeks now. That's where our priority needs to be—the identity of that woman. Because the clock is ticking, Agent Riyad, and the hands are not moving in our favor."

"You haven't yet shared precisely what you'd like me to do."

"What spooks do best. Human intel. We need your connections. One of my fellow CID agents, Nathan Castile, has been busting his hump doing legwork on both sides of the border since Garrison and his men discovered those cave victims. Castile's been able to prove that the six identified women all had prenatal visits with Durrani when he volunteered at Malalie Maternity in Kabul. The seventh doesn't appear to have been a patient, not that anyone there can recollect. We need someone with serious human intelligence contacts to comb through the other Afghan hospitals where Durrani worked, along with clinics and refugee camps—even his premed and med days at Harvard. Especially any extracurricular political or religious groups he may have joined while living in Boston, particularly those that have terror leanings. You'll understand that angle better than I or Agent Castile ever will. Our mystery woman may have been a fellow student Durrani met through one his classes or groups. They may even have had a relationship. Based on her dental work, she appears to have been upper class Pakistani. I need someone to coordinate with and direct Agent Castile's in-country searches. Someone who can reach out in fluent Dari, Pashto and Arabic to local laborers and medical professionals alike." If the spook spoke Urdu too, even better. If not, Nathan Castile did. "Our mystery woman's X-rays need to be run against all potential stateside, Afghan and Pakistani dental practices."

Riyad's brow rose pointedly as she finished. "And you? What will you be working on while I'm crunching out message traffic to half the world tonight?"

She tipped her chin toward the case at her boots. "That. I'll start with the bait you had Chief Yrle gather up, then move on to testing the coffee I logged into evidence."

Naturally, she'd have Yrle