“I’m fluent in Arabic and seventeen other lesser spoken languages in a three-country block and quite passable in at least a dozen more. I’m particularly good at mimicry. I hear an accent and can immediately pick up on it.”
Hancock lifted one eyebrow. “How long have you studied Middle Eastern languages?”
“I was self-taught in high school,” she admitted. “Well, before that in junior high, but I went hard-core in high school. There aren’t many high schools in the entire country that even offer Arabic as a course, much less the less-spoken regional languages.”
“You must be a very good student to pull that off in less than a decade.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment even though it wasn’t stated as such. It was more a statement of fact.
“I have an affinity for languages. In addition to the Middle Eastern languages I speak, I’m also fluent in French and Spanish and can carry basic conversation in German and Italian. It was just something that always interested me and I pick them up quickly. Once I got to university, I spent an extra three semesters beyond the time it would have taken to earn my degree taking every Middle East language course they offered and taking another dozen online courses concurrently. I knew what I wanted to do after college. My degree was simply a training tool that enabled me to better understand the culture I would be immersing myself in.”
“What’s the going rate for an angel of mercy these days?” Viper drawled.
She felt a quick surge of anger and to her surprise, Hancock shot his man a look of clear reprimand that had Viper clearing his throat.
“No disrespect intended,” he said before focusing his attention through the windshield once more.
“I receive a tax-free stipend,” she said through stiff lips. Somehow for him to question the reason for what she did, to reduce it to a mercenary business, pricked her nerves. “A very small stipend. Certainly not enough to make a living wage back home. My housing is provided for here, but I share—I shared,” she added quietly, “quarters with three other women relief workers. And food is more often than not provided by the villages, though they have little to spare. The certified medical staff certainly make more—they’d have to be paid well to take this kind of job—but the people like me, we’re basically volunteers.”
She fell silent, refusing to say anything further—to defend herself any further when she had no obligation to justify her life to these men. Even if they were saving it.
“Since it will be obvious that we aren’t from this immediate area, if and only if you must speak, do so in the common language, Arabic,” Hancock instructed needlessly.
But this time she didn’t remind him of her extensive knowledge. As he said, when life or death was the ultimate consequence, it never paid to assume.
CHAPTER 11
THOUGH Hancock had warned her—them all—that the village was a crossroads in a rural area, she hadn’t been prepared for just how much traffic flowed through the village seemingly dropped in the middle of nowhere. It was as if the outpost served as a central hub to the entire country. Everyone traveled through this place when traversing the region.
Before they pulled into the outskirts of the settlement, Hancock had quietly warned them to stay close and stick together and for Conrad to get Honor in and out in minutes. Not only was the village an epicenter for people traveling to the far reaches and to other lands, but it was a place where one could acquire just about . . . anything.
Not only was the local economy supported by its steady fuel reserves and an army that protected those reserves day and night, but there were also arms dealers in every other tent¸ openly displaying their wares. It wasn’t legal, but the government looked the other way, turning a blind eye to the goings-on in the small population.
It was hard to imagine a bustling marketplace where for miles there was literally nothing in every direction. Interspersed among the tents selling guns and explosives and defensive apparatus were women preparing food and selling it. Clothing. Supplies. Fresh water. It could all be had for a price.
There was deceptiveness to the air of festivity. An innocuous feel that was quickly dispelled once someone looked beyond the surface and studied the faces and stances of the people buying and selling wares.
Honor studied every single person they passed as they weaved their way through the village to the opposite end where the fuel tanks were. There was grimness, an air of expectancy, watchfulness and wariness. On constant guard, guns—assault rifles—at the ready that no one tried to hide but kept in plain sight at all times.
She shuddered, imagining what the reality of living such a life was for these people. Yes, she’d lived and worked in an area of unrest, but apart from outsiders encroaching, the village was peaceful. Full of people who only wanted sanctuary from the senseless violence that was so predominant here and who had no wish to wake up each day facing a fight for their lives. And until A New Era’s attack, the village had gone largely unnoticed, even with the Western presence in the relief center. She had no doubt that her—and others’—presence wasn’t well received by most, but they were left alone. And they did provide shelter, food and essentials for survival that even those who despised everything Honor stood for didn’t quibble over accepting.
The people in this far-flung, hole-in-the-wall crossroads dealt with death and battle on a daily basis. Living in paranoia. Reacting instantly to any threat, imagined or real.
A very real chill worked its way to her bones, despite the heavy burka enveloping her from head to toe.
“Get ready,” Hancock warned, his tone low and utterly grave.
Already his gaze was up and sweeping the area, those cold eyes taking in the minutest detail. There was only a nearly imperceptible twitch to his jaw that betrayed his unease and how on guard he was.
“Are you sure she should get out here?” Conrad asked, turning his gaze on his team leader. “We can always find a place in the desert and let her squat where no one is around.”
Hancock shook his head. “I need to know if we’re met with suspicion. I and the others will be closely watching as you and Honor go in to see what attention you gain. I need to know if they’ve been tipped off and know who you are.”
“And if they are?” Honor asked in a strangled tone. “Isn’t this basically setting me up as bait? Like leading a blindfolded cow to slaughter?”
“Yes,” Hancock said bluntly, no apology in his voice. “But you aren’t being meekly led to your demise. My team and I will protect you. I need to know who is enemy and who is oblivious to who you are and most importantly where you are.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” she muttered. “It’s easy for you to say when you aren’t the sacrificial lamb.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he corrected. “You, they want alive. Me and my men? Not so much. Completely expendable. And we’re all that stands in the way of them getting their hands on you. So yeah, we’re definitely taking the bigger risk here.”
She was instantly ashamed at the selfishness of her thoughts. It made perfect sense now that he’d laid it out as matter-of-factly as he had. She’d never approached it from his mind-set, and it made her feel like a spoiled diva whose needs took priority over all others, at all costs. Even as the sobering thoughts dug into her consciousness, she sent Hancock a look of apology he couldn’t possibly misconstrue. But there was no acknowledgment—or condemnation, for that matter—in his eyes. But then he hadn’t pointed out the fact that he and his men were at greater risk than she was to take her down a few notches. He’d merely stated a fact in that unruffled manner he had perfected.
They pulled up to the tanker on the periphery of the village, the one that had the clearest escape route should the shit hit the fan. Conrad immediately herded Honor from the vehicle, and she was careful to keep her head bowed in a posture of submissiveness and remain a step behind and to the side of Conrad as he hurried her into a crude hut used as a washroom.