Backblast by Candace Irving (brene brown rising strong .TXT) 📗

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Backblast.

BACKBLAST

A US Army Detective Regan Chase Thriller: Deception Point Military Thriller Series, Book 3

Candace Irving

Prologue

US Embassy Islamabad,

Pakistan

Tonight he would enter Paradise.

The certainty that he would soon be freed of this barren, earthly existence caused the sweetest of serenities to flow through his body. He focused on the balm, using it to cleanse his thoughts and distance himself from the crowd pressing in. Unlike so many in whose footsteps he followed, he needed no promise of milk and honey to heed the holiest of calls. It was enough to know he was submitting to Allah's will.

And submit he would.

Soon.

He turned his sandals toward the platform beside the embassy gates, scanning the muted multitude of shalwar kameez that filled the darkened grounds, pleased the rougher-hewn fabric of his matching trousers and oversized tunic did not set him apart—much less trumpet the redemption beneath. The cool, sweat-laden air ripened with the stink of expectation and hope as the betrayer finally deigned to appear. Had his countrymen known how this night would end, they would surely have chosen to attend mosque for Fajr prayers rather than partake in this scripted farce.

Still, he felt no pity. No guilt.

Not when his people persisted in clinging to their shameless desire for peace with the infidel amid this rotted world. The moment he caught sight of the black beret and blue shirt of the Capital Territory policeman, he knew that the imam was right. Allah's will was here. Now. With him and within him.

He need do no more than heed it.

He pushed his way through the crowd, closer to the makeshift platform and the harlot standing upon it. The betrayer stood beside her. And then the betrayer was stepping up to the microphone, adjusting it before he raised those stained hands to silence the shouts of misplaced sympathy, disbelief and righteous discontent.

The clatter and clicks of countless cameras supplanted the quiet.

And then the lies began.

He ignored them, slowly but surely threading his way through the throng for most of that deceptively impassioned speech, all the while guided by that black beret—and Allah. Neither failed him.

The throng thickened as he continued his march, the earlier indignation and disbelief of his countrymen now all but mute as they absorbed the mounting lies that dripped from the microphone. Islam's hidden apostate held them firmly in his thrall.

But not for much longer.

The policeman turned and stiffened. He had been spotted, then.

It mattered not.

He ignored the policeman, turning instead to glimpse one of the Americans moving toward him as well. He slipped his hand into the sleeve of his kameez. Both the policeman and the American were nearly upon him now. Twice the gift. His fingers found their prize as the policeman and the American pushed closer.

They were too late.

He had already pressed the detonator—and smiled.

1

Blanchfield Army Community Hospital

Fort Campbell, Kentucky

With friends like hers, she didn't need enemies.

Cliché or not, the taunting refrain had been hammering through Regan's brain for the past ten minutes. Five more and she'd have the satisfaction of spitting that same refrain into one of her supposed best friends' faces. Regan held fast to the thought as she blew through the automatic glass doors that separated the post hospital's snow-covered parking lot from the emergency room within. Satisfaction set in early as she spotted the sparely populated patient lounge to her left.

Excellent. As head of Trauma, Gil should be free.

Regan dragged her black beret from her head and nodded to the Latina lieutenant manning the nurses' station. "Ma'am."

"Good morning, Chief. I didn't expect to see you unti—"

"This afternoon. I know." Regan jammed the beret beneath her left arm as she reached the counter. "Is Lieutenant Colonel Fourche with a patient?"

"No. He—"

Regan didn't bother waiting for the rest. She headed past the nurses' station and turned down the freshly waxed corridor that led to Gil's office. His door was closed, meaning he was still slugging down his morning gallon of coffee as he caught up on the previous night's cases. Regan offered Gil the single, sharp rap of warning he'd denied her before she shoved his door open.

"You screwed me."

Perhaps she should've waited long enough to hear the nurse out, because not one, but two startled faces greeted her opening.

The closely cropped blond mug behind the desk belonged to Gil. According to the ten-by-twelve-inch framed photo posted behind the nurses' station, the graying ebony mug belonged to Colonel Daniel J. Chilcote, Blanchfield Hospital's spanking new commanding officer.

Great.

Unfortunately, retreat was out of the question. The colonel's dark brown stare had already zeroed in on the paltry chief warrant officer two insignia velcroed to the center placket of her Army Combat Uniform before quickly shifting to take in the nametape above the right pocket of those same camouflaged ACUs.

Regan held her ground as the colonel stood. The man extended a slender surgeon's hand. His low chuckle bathed her nerves, reassuring her that she wasn't destined to end up on report before the morning was out.

"That was quite an entrance, Agent Chase. And definitely more personal information than I needed. That said—" The colonel's amusement faded, the distinct threads of professional curiosity assuming its place. "I've been eager to meet you. I understand I arrived at Campbell a mere hour after you were released from the hospital."

"Yes, sir." Gil had mentioned his new boss' arrival and subsequent disappointment when he'd stopped by her apartment to check up on her that night. It seemed every neurologist, biological warfare expert and infectious disease specialist in the Army had been clamoring for a copy of her medical chart this past week, including Blanchfield's new head honcho.

The soldier who'd survived the unsurvivable.

Lucky her.

But at what cost?

Regan pushed the heartache aside as that eerily steady stare continued to size her up. If her pending showdown with Gil didn't pan out, she had