“No problem.” Max gathered up the debris. “Amina’s finding us something to eat. Make sure you get something.”

“You should too.”

“Right. I will.”

The walls Max so carefully maintained came down between them with a resounding thud, and Rachel wondered if her questions had been the cause. She’d barely broached the personal, but clearly Max’s armor shielded more than just her body. She could respect that—she had plenty of her own walls, but the more she knew of Max de Milles, the more she wanted to.

Chapter Nine

Rachel sat next to Amina on the cot and opened the meal packet. She’d had MREs before—nutritionally balanced combinations of protein, carbohydrates, and fats in the form of familiar-looking foods that always tasted bland. The meal-ready-to-eat was designed to be eaten as-is or warmed with the self-contained cooking unit, but she doubted even heating the bits of chicken, beans, and rice would make it more palatable today. She had no appetite and was only eating because she knew she should. Beside her, Amina methodically did the same. Rachel squeezed her forearm. “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Amina said softly. “Part of me wants to pretend it’s all a dream, a very, very bad dream, but that seems disrespectful somehow.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel broke open the Fig Newton cookie wrapper and nibbled on the corner. Sugar was a good energy source at least. “Disrespectful?”

“Of our friends who died here, and those who have been injured trying to help us.” Amina’s gaze drifted to Grif and Max, who leaned over him, checking him again, murmuring softly to him. He didn’t appear to hear or to answer. “The least we can do is remember.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, although she wasn’t worried about remembering. She was never going to forget, even though part of her desperately wanted to. “I’d like to think none of this is happening either but…I can’t.” She couldn’t erase the images burned into her mind—Dacar, dead on the ground with part of his neck missing. Grif rushing to help her and then falling, a brilliant arc of warm red blood spurting from his leg. Grif, ignoring his own plight and telling her to leave him, to save herself. Max, facing her first with a gun, then with unexpected and immeasurable kindness in her eyes. The noise, the heat, the stench of cordite and blood. All of it was etched into her consciousness for all time. She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Will the Americans be back?” Amina asked.

“Max said they will come.” Rachel realized as she answered how completely she’d accepted Max’s certainty. She never relied on anyone without question, not even her father, but she was trusting her very survival to Max.

“When?”

Rachel rolled down the foil and set the food aside. “Max says tonight after sundown. If they can.”

“And what about al-Qaeda? Are they coming back too?”

“I don’t know.”

“What will we do if the enemy return?”

“We’ll fight.” Rachel hadn’t really thought of the rebels as her enemy until now. She’d known of them well before she’d reached Somalia—of the threat they posed to the mission, of the barbaric acts they committed, of the terror they perpetrated on the Somali people whose land they overran, whose animals and food and crops they confiscated. She’d understood intellectually the rebels were a potential danger to her and the others, but enemy was not a word she would have used for anyone in her life. She counted only a few people in her life as friends—those with whom she shared her hopes and dreams and, rarely, her fears. Most, even the women she’d been intimate with, were more acquaintances whom she allowed only brief glimpses of her innermost self. She knew individuals she’d rather avoid, but no one she would have called an enemy until now. Here in this foreign land the compass of her life had been recalibrated, and everything took on a different meaning. She squeezed Amina’s hand again. “They may not come back. Try not to worry.”

“Impossible,” Amina said, “but I am glad we are not alone here.”

Rachel glanced at Max. She had no choice but to rely on Max’s knowledge and skill, but she wasn’t going to let Max carry all the burden of keeping them safe alone. She might not be a soldier, but she’d had plenty of practice caring for people in need. Grif needed care. She had no idea what Max needed, but she could still offer. She slid over next to Max. “Is there something that I can do for him? Or…you?”

Max set her stethoscope into her pack. “No. He’s about the same. He just needs to be watched. Amina’s doing a good job with that.”

“Then you should eat something.”

“I will, as soon as—”

“It’s quiet right now. It might not be later,” Rachel said. Max obviously considered herself indestructible, and ordinarily Rachel wouldn’t have pushed her. Everyone was entitled to a little self-delusion if it harmed no one else, but they needed Max healthy if they were going to get out of this mess alive. “Follow your own orders.”

Max sighed. “All right. You ought to try to get some sleep. We’ll need to take turns tonight standing watch.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to collect all the weapons I can find, hit the hospital tent to stock up on medical supplies, and then I’m going to make us a safe place to spend the night.”

“Then I’m going with you. Someone to watch your back, remember?”

“It’s apparent that you never forget anything and I’m likely to find my words coming back at me.” Max smiled. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“You’re right, but then, I doubt you ever say anything you don’t mean, so there’s no need to worry about it.” Rachel smiled and handed her a MRE. “Eat first. Turnabout and all.”

“Fair enough.” Max pulled over a wooden crate, sat down, and shook out the plastic utensil that came in the package. She scooped up a forkful of beef and vegetables and pointed to the plastic bottles Amina had brought inside. “Drink another bottle of water to get hydrated if you’re coming with me.”

“I’m used to the heat,” Rachel said, not wanting to be yet another thing Max had to worry about, but she downed another bottle of water all the same.

“Good.” Max gave her a long look as she upended the foil pack and palmed the cookie that fell out. After disposing of the dessert in one bite, she emptied the big pack Grif had carried on his back and handed it to Amina. “Can you fill this with MREs and water?”

“Yes.” Amina took the bag and pressed it to her chest. “Can you call your base? Is it safe to do that?”

“It’s safe to send a short burst,” Max said, “and I tried several times when I was…out in the jungle, but I’m getting nothing but static. Probably interference from the heavy tree cover and the distance we are from base. Radio silence doesn’t mean they aren’t planning to come for us. They’ll get sat images and recon shots from drone flyovers. They’ll use those to see what our friends out there are up to and figure out a way back.”

“That’s good then, right?” Rachel said. “If our people can see the rebels, they’ll know if we’re in for more trouble. They’ll come sooner then, right?”

“If there are signs of heavy encampment nearby, they may need longer to coordinate the necessary personnel and air support, but they’ll come.” Max shifted some of the ammunition from Grif’s pack to hers, shouldered her pack, and grabbed her rifle. “Until then, we get ready.”

Rachel slipped her rifle over her shoulder with the naturalness she had once used to picked up a briefcase. How quickly she had come to accept the weapon and what it meant about her life. She caught up to Max, who was collecting the rifles and ammunition she had taken off the guards’ bodies earlier. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“You know what I know.” Max motioned to the tent, and after they piled the weapons inside, they started for the medical tent.

“I’m not talking about what you know.” Rachel strode beside Max, trying not to look at the forlorn belongings of her friends and teammates abandoned in the tattered tents along the way. Now she understood the shock and confusion she’d seen over and over again in the faces of the men, women, and children who had straggled into the camp, struggling to survive in a world turned upside down in an instant. “I’m talking about what you think. We’re not children, and we’re not afraid of the dark.” She still was, so it seemed, but she wasn’t going to let Max know that. She’d face those demons on her own when the time came.

The edge of Max’s jaw tightened. “I know you’re not children.”

Rachel said softly, “Remember the part where you explain what’s happening and I say Yes, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t look like a ma’am. And I can tell when you’re trying to change the subject.”

“If surveillance shows an al-Qaeda camp nearby, the birds will be at risk coming back in. If I were planning the op, I’d strike the rebel camp at the same time as I sent a team to rescue us to keep them busy. That kind of op takes coordination.” She grimaced. “And it takes clearance from Washington. As soon as you throw politicians into the mix, everything slows down.”

“So we might be here a while.” Rachel knew her father would be doing everything he could to get her—all of them—out of here, but Max was right. Even with his influence, mounting any kind of offensive would require a lot of debate in Washington and beyond.

“A few days, possibly.”

“What about Grif?”

“He’ll make it,” Max said flatly. “Wait here.” She shouldered her rifle, pushed the flap aside on the medical tent, and ducked inside. “Clear.”

Rachel followed her in. “The supply racks are in the back.”

Max pointed to a canvas litter lying against the side of the tent. “We’ll pile them on that.”