Bodyguard Lockdown - By Donna Young Page 0,57

and children who will be killed, General.”

“So you do have a problem with my decision,” Trygg observed. “This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with collateral damage.”

“In the past, all collateral damage were military men. Recruits. Their families received honorable compensations,” Jim argued.

“So after all these years, you’re questioning my judgment. Right at the precipice of our biggest triumph.”

“Sir, we’ll lose civilian—”

“We’ve lost civilians before, damn it!” Anger flashed deep in Trygg’s eyes, maybe a hint of insanity.

Jim ignored both. He saw nothing but the image of his wife, her broken body. “My wife was one of those civilians, wasn’t she, General?”

Trygg’s gaze snapped to Jim’s. In that moment, Jim understood that everything Booker had told him about the bar fight and his wife had been true.

“I had nothing to do with your wife’s death, Jim.”

“And Emily McKnight’s? Or her unborn child’s?”

“We’ve been over this before, Jim. Emily and her child were unknown factors in an otherwise sound equation. Her death wasn’t preventable,” Trygg explained. “You understand every mission does not go smoothly. It’s expected. She was unexpected.”

“I don’t believe she was, General. I believe you brought her into the equation on purpose.”

Trygg laughed and shook his head. “Like I said, we’ve known each other too long, haven’t we?”

“I’m beginning to think I don’t know you at all, sir.”

“You’re right, Jim.” Trygg spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I did allow Emily McKnight access through the gates. But it was necessary. She had too much control over her father. It had become a problem when she broke through the gates.”

“So you killed his daughter,” Jim stated. It was no longer a question to him, but a fact.

“It was necessary.”

Trygg slid open the drawer of his desk.

Jim caught the look. The one that had been growing in the back of the general’s eyes since the rescue. A madness.

Jim grabbed his gun, pointed it at the general. “Keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

“I was reaching for a cigar.”

“You killed my wife.” Jim kept his hand level, his eyes pinned on the general. “Why?”

“All right. We do this your way.” Trygg sighed, let his hands drop onto the desk, palms spread. “Your wife would have held you back from greatness. I needed you more than she did.”

“You son of a bitch.” Jim’s finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly, a gun fired from behind him. Pain exploded in Jim’s back, took him to his knees. His stomach burned. Jim pulled his hand away, saw the blood coating his fingers.

Lewis stepped around him.

“Meet your replacement, Jim.”

Lewis kicked Jim’s gun across the tent.

“I told the general here about your conversation with McKnight, Colonel,” Lewis explained. “From the moment he talked about your wife, you changed sides. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jim tried to get his feet under him, but the strength wasn’t there. “Sandra Haddad. Where is she?”

“At the runway,” Lewis taunted. “We’ll be taking care of her real soon.”

“You won’t get away with...” Jim drew a haggard breath. His back burned, but his legs and arms moved.

“With this? But I already have, Jim. I have to finish great tasks. While all you have left to do is die.” Trygg stood behind his desk, pulled a gun out of his desk drawer and placed it in a side holster beneath his jacket. “Try to do it quickly.”

Jim slumped to the floor in a pool of his own blood. He dragged in desperate breaths, breaching the pain that raged in his chest.

“It’s time to take care of Doctor Haddad.” Trygg stepped over him, then paused. “Give your wife my regards when you see her.”

* * *

IT HAD TAKEN THEM three hours to reach the tracking device. Three hours the body lay in the sand. Vultures circling, until the roar of the helicopter chased them away.

“Just for the record, I am not comfortable out in the open like this, McKnight.”

Booker jumped from the helicopter. He noted the body had been dumped on the low ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Does to me,” Aaron muttered, then followed Booker a few yards to the body, his rifle raised. His eyes were on the dunes around them.

“It’s not Sandra.” Booker flipped over the body. Instantly recognized the sand-covered features. “It’s Jim Rayo.”

“Hell.” Aaron squatted next to Booker, examined the extent of the wound, the dried blood. “He’s been dead for a few hours. Maybe half a day.”

Booker grunted. “He was shot in the back. The bullet exited above the abdomen. But he didn’t die right away. They dragged him out