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“Then why are we having this conversation? I let you bring your SAS buddy on board as the other team leader. I trust Josh to carry out his responsibilities.”
“I don’t want Josh ending up dead. An American wandering around alone is a tempting target.” Lachlan swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say. Unless Burkette did something that endangered LAI’s contracts, Lachlan’s hands were tied. “There’s more. Mohammad Razul Khan has stockpiled weapons and equipment, possibly with the help of a US contractor, that he intends to auction off very soon.”
“How does this involve LAI?”
Lachlan frowned at the question. It should be evident to the former Ranger why it mattered. “We don’t need the Taliban or ISIS attacking LAI’s projects with the same first-rate firepower and protective gear my teams have. And if the warlord is getting those weapons directly from an American contractor, we need to find the source before this auction takes place.”
Jared’s cool gray gaze assessed him across the desk. He picked up the black and silver Montblanc pen lying on his desk blotter and spun it around his fingers, never taking his eyes off Lachlan. Jared was skilled at keeping his thoughts hidden when he chose to, and Lachlan couldn’t get a clear read on the other man. “That’s not your job.”
A slow, steading pounding took up residence in Lachlan’s temple. “I’m only suggesting I make a few phone calls and do some digging. If that weapons auction takes place, my security teams’ ability to keep our development partners safe in Afghanistan becomes exponentially more difficult.”
Jared shook his head. “I get it, but your job isn’t to track down illegal arms trafficking, nor is it to get involved in the business of an Afghan warlord,”—he pointed the pen at Lachlan—“one, I might add, that enjoys the protection of the Afghan government.” Jared let the Montblanc drop to his desk. He swiveled to face his computer, signaling that the conversation was over as far as he was concerned. “Let the US and Afghan governments work the problem.”
Lachlan stood, frustration making his movements stilted. He may not have Landry’s support, but he wouldn’t let this drop. Khan’s supplier needed to be unmasked and the full extent of Khan’s terrorist activities exposed so the US and Afghan governments would have no choice but to sanction action against him. He gave Jared a curt nod and headed for the door.
“Lachlan.”
At the sound of his name, Lachlan glanced over his shoulder to meet Jared’s flinty gaze.
“Your job is to protect our contractors. Stick to that.”
Jared’s parting words from earlier in the day still rang in Lachlan’s head as he took his frustration out on the paper target silhouette in front of him. The indoor shooting range he and Nathan Long frequented was a favorite of local law enforcement and the military. It was busy for a weekday evening. The room they were in was one of three at the range, each divided into five lanes surrounded by eight-inch block concrete-filled walls. Behind the shooters, ballistic glass windows provided a view into the main lobby and lounge area.
Double-tap to the chest, one to the head,he recited in his head despite the routine being as automatic as breathing. His ear protection muffled each bullet’s sharp report as it left his Sig Sauer on its way to the paper target. The acrid odor of propellant was strangely comforting in its familiarity, as was the din of other weapons discharging around him. He reloaded the magazine, settled back into his ready stance, and fired in the same pattern as before until he ran out of ammo. Pointing his weapon downrange, he placed it on the platform in front of him and flipped the switch to reel in his target.
A concise grouping of holes with tattered paper borders had obliterated the X in the center of the silhouette. He scowled at three shots that barely nicked the target’s head.
Nathan leaned around the partition, glancing at Lachlan’s target, then at Lachlan. The six-foot-six former Navy SEAL turned white hat hacker removed his ear protection before swiping a hand over his spiky dirty-blond hair.
“What’s eating you, amigo?” His central Texas drawl conjured up images of a guy in a cowboy hat and boots. He looked more like a member of a biker gang in his worn jeans, tactical boots, and black metal band t-shirt that exposed the tattoos on his muscular upper arms. Despite his rough-edged appearance, Nathan generally was a relaxed, uncomplicated bloke—unless you got on his bad side.
He was one of the few people in the world Lachlan trusted with his life.
Lachlan stepped closer to his mate to be heard over the noise as he tried to figure out what to say.
The upcoming weapons auction festered like a splinter beneath his skin. He had to find a way to bring down Khan, even if, as everyone continued to remind him, it wasn’t his responsibility.
Then there was his new colleague, Sophia Russo.
He rubbed his chest to try to loosen the bands that were suddenly squeezing his lungs. One day in her presence and he was restless and edgy. She distracted him, which made her dangerous. He had let down his guard with a woman before, and people he was supposed to protect died because of it.
“We both trusted Nadia, you know. We both lost good men.”
Lachlan recoiled, his gaze colliding with Nathan’s icy blue one. Nathan knew where his mind had gone. They had a bond forged in blood and death, cemented by Nadia Haider’s betrayal. They’d led their men into an ambush.
He’dled them.
He’d been the designated mission leader and the one who had pushed Command to greenlight the hostage rescue mission after his beautiful Afghan-born British translator insisted the information she’d gotten on three kidnapped Western aid workers was authentic.
“Mohammad Razul Khan is holding a weapons auction sometime in the next couple of weeks, supposedly with brand new weapons and equipment from a US supplier,” he told Nathan.
The former SEAL’s low whistle conveyed his sentiment. “Shit.” He shook his head. “That guy makes money doing business with his government’s enemy, and they still won’t let the Coalition sanction an operation on him.”
“If I can track down his source, I may be able to disrupt the auction and provide concrete proof of his treachery to both the US and Afghan governments. Maybe they’ll act then.”
Nathan’s answering look was studiously blank.
The back of Lachlan’s neck tightened. “You’re going to tell me it’s not my responsibility like everyone else has.”