Page 150 of Whisper

“Whatis thestatusof thesearch?” he repeated.

Ryan looked like he was chewing glass, like he’d rather murder Kris than speak to him. “We lost the vehicles that penetrated the base. We think they did a car swap under concealment in the village and then drove Haddad away in a secondary vehicle.”

The village around Camp Carson was a warren of mud huts, alleys, and bazaars, perfect to get lost in.

“Have you tracked all cars entering and exiting the village since the attack?”

“Drone pilots were unable to follow all vehicles in the immediate aftermath.” Ryan’s jaw clenched. “The chaos here was overwhelming, and in an absence of leadership, the base’s operations faltered.”

Kris felt the rebuke like a slap against his soul. “What leads do you have?”

“Nothing.”

Panic clawed at Kris’s heart. “Have you sent out the drones? Are you scouring the border crossings? What’s coming through over intercepts, over traffic? Any celebrations, any coded transmissions? What do you mean you have nothing?”

“Caldera, get out of here. You’re not helping. You’re through. Leave, now.”

“Don’t you dare try—”

“Sir.” One of the intercept analysts, three rows of computer monitors away, stood. “Sir, something has been posted to the internet.”

“Put it up on the monitors,” Kris and Ryan said in unison. Ryan glowered at him.

“Start a trace of the upload link. Where is this coming from?” Kris continued.

On the center monitor, a video appeared. Al-Qaeda’s new operations specialist, who had taken over for Suleyman, a man named Al Jabal, sat next to a bound and bloodied David.

“My fellow Muslims, rejoice!” Al Jabal began in Arabic. “We have launched a great strike against the Imperialists, against the Great Satan! The infidels, they believed they could turn one of our brothers against us. But we tell you, a true brother will never turn against his fellow Muslims. Our brother’s conscience would not allow him to fall prey to the Great Satan’s promises. He would not spy on his brothers for the infidels!”

Kris’s heart, what was left of it, sank.David, you were right. He watched David sway on the video, tried to will his downturned head to look up.David, look into the camera. Show me you’re all right. Show me you’re alive, that you’re fighting. Come on, my love.

“The American devils strike with their missiles and destroy lives in Pakistan, in Afghanistan!” Al Jabal cried. “But now, we have struck you in the heart of your CIA spy nests, your home in Afghanistan. Now, you will taste the blood of your family as your home is destroyed.”

He went on, praising Hamid for being a martyr and a true fighter of the faith, promising eternal glory to him and his family.

Kris wanted to puke. Bile rose in his throat, burning the back of his tongue.

“Now, we will try thiskufir, this false Muslim, this apostate who works for the Great Satan,” Al Jabal said, grabbing David’s hair. He wrenched David’s head back, and Kris saw, finally, his bruised and bloody face. He gasped, his hands flying up, covering his mouth.

David had been beaten to within an inch of his life. He was practically unrecognizable.

But Kris would always know, always, David’s soul.

“We will try this apostate for his crimes against theummah, against Allah, and when his sentence is passed, we will carry out his execution for theummahto witness. By Allah, theummahwill taste the blood of the apostate!”

“No!” Kris screamed. He turned away from the video, turned his back on it, tried to block out the sound. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan give the kill signal to the analyst.

“Any information on the upload?” Ryan growled. “Where did that video come from?”

“Still searching, sir,” the analyst called. She and a dozen others were working furiously at the network, trawling trunk lines and diving into ISPs, hunting for the source of the upload.

“Sir, I think I found something. An internet café outside Alizai.” The analyst pulled up satellite footage of the village, a settlement of homes and bazaars and weapons markets just across the border, through the mountains.

Ryan’s jaw worked, muscles bulging out in time to his furious clenches. “Wecannotlet a CIA officer be slaughtered by al-Qaeda. We have to get him back.” He started barking orders as Kris clung to the chair back, desperate to stay standing. “I want two teams ready to go at the airfield in five minutes. Give me everything you have on Alizai. Satellite footage. Drone coverage. Intercepts. Who operates out of there? Who had been identified as working there? What safe houses are in the village? Get me drones overhead covering all angles of the village. Let’s move!”

The command center burst into action all around Kris. He sank into the chair, clutching his ribs, head in his hands, as the image of David’s beaten face burned itself into the backs of his eyelids.

“ETA to Alizai, eight minutes.”