Page 23 of Steel Vengeance
That was the guy he recognized. Ruthless Taliban leader and all-around piece of shit.
He’d have loved to take them both out today, but the timing wasn’t right. He wouldn’t have gotten away clean, and Sloane would’ve been caught in the crossfire.
“Where’d you learn to speak Urdu?” she asked, studying him from over her cup, her dark eyes watching him carefully.
“I’ve spent some time in the Middle East.”
Ten years, but who’s counting?
“You speak it well,” she murmured. “Like a local.”
He reached for his tea, hoping she’d drop it.
“Are you going to tell me about the drug smuggling?”
“It’s how the Taliban fund their militia.”
“I’ve heard that. I just didn’t expect Omari to be involved.”
He was more than involved.
“At first, they taxed the poppy farmers. Now they’re a full-blown cartel, handling everything from production to distribution. Afghanistan supplies most of the world’s heroin.”
She was hanging on every word. “And Omari?”
“He’s the logistics guy. Runs the distribution network, the labs on the border, and the trafficking of raw opium and heroin. The guys he met with today are regional leaders, in charge of production and taxing in their areas.”
“How do you know so much about it?” she asked. “Is the military involved?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not military anymore. Haven’t been for a while.”
She frowned. “So, how do you know all this?”
Sunlight streamed through the window. It was stifling hot and sweat gathered on his brow. He wiped it away with his sleeve.
“I’ve been researching the network... ever since...” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“Ever since?” she pressed gently.
“It’s personal.” He wasn’t going to explain it to her. But one thing was for sure—he recognized one of those men. He’d been after him for months. Him and Omari.
The silence stretched. She watched him carefully. He took a sip of tea, not wanting to meet her eyes.
“Are you going to kill them?” she asked, her voice quiet but direct.
He choked on his tea, coughing. “What makes you say that?”
“I saw it in your eyes the first time we talked about Omari.”
He frowned. “What did you see in my eyes?”
She set her cup down. “I’m good at reading people. When we met, I saw the way you reacted to his name. You hate him. He’s done something to hurt you. I could see the anger in your eyes.” She paused, searching his face. “And something else. Grief, maybe?”
His head snapped up. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”
He was usually good at hiding his emotions. But this woman, a novice, had seen through him from the start.
Not. Good.