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“Not quite.” General Masters ran a hand over his face. “Roberts was blackmailing General Grandville. It seems Grandville likes little girls.”
Shit! “I didn’t know that sir.”
“It was a well-guarded secret. Roberts knew your father has records of his illegal dealings.”
“And if he had control of me, he thought he would have control of my father,” I finished.
“Exactly.”
Sadness welled up in me. “I’m a useful tool to my father. Nothing more.”
“Roberts wants you and your father dead. I’ve just learned he has put a million-dollar bounty on each of you. Every terrorist and mercenary in the Middle East are looking for you.”
Horror knotted my stomach. Holy hell! I needed to find a place to hide, but where?
“The CIA has teams hunting for Roberts, but until he is captured, he’s not going to stop trying to kill you. Wherever you go, Private Reynolds, chaos follows. Two bases have been damaged and one helicopter destroyed.” General Masters’s gaze settled on Stone. “I’ve approved your plan.”
Sergeant Stone smiled. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
“I have a chopper standing by. Good luck.” General Masters saluted us and walked out.
Rodriquez interjected, “What plan?”
“Pack up your gear, we’re going on a road trip,” Stone replied.
A big smile formed on Johnson’s face. “Bulldogging?”
“With a little jump chump thrown in,” Stone answered.
Color me confused. They were acting like kids promised a trip to Disneyland.
“Move it, Reynolds.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter Ten
To my dismay, I wasn’t piloting the chopper. Some old geezer was. His orders were to drop us off and leave. About forty-five minutes later a private airfield with a single asphalt landing strip came into view. A top-of-the-line Learjet was parked on the runway. Next to a lone palm tree was a fuel tanker truck. About ten yards behind it was a metal shed with a busted door. I surveyed the area for any sign of hostiles. All I saw was an endless sea of sand that stretched from horizon to horizon.
The minute we touched down, a slender black male with dreadlocks appeared in the doorway of the Lear jet. He wore a white silk shirt, black pants and combat boots. I eyed his abundant gold jewelry. Yeow! A little over the top and the fact he was flaunting it meant he wasn’t as harmless as he looked.
“Everyone out,” Stone ordered.
“You’re sure about him?”
“I am.” Stone climbed out of the Huey and walked over to him.
“That is Kamous, a Nigerian warlord,” Tex said.
To my surprise, the warlord hugged Stone, and they did this complicated fist bump thing. “Why is he helping us?”
“The sergeant rescued him from an Iraqi prison.”
I let out a whistle. Color me impressed. “How many men did he lose?”
“None,” Rodriquez answered.
“None?”