Abducted

By Jaid Black

When an underground CIA bunker in Jalalabad, Afghanistan is bombed and raided by terrorists, Agent Marisol Kennedy is stripped naked, bound, and abducted by enemy forces. She knows whatever plan the insurgents have in store for her is gruesome at best... And that her only chance of survival is escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaid Black
• Release date: May 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463509845

Jaid Black

Jaid Black is the founder and driving force of Ellora's Cave Publishing, the award-winning online source for erotic literature. She is also the founder and publisher of Lady Jaided, a sexy new magazine for women. Her novella "Hunter's Right" appears in the collection Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down, and her novel Deep, Dark & Dangerous is forthcoming from Pocket Books in March 2006. Vistit her on the web at www.jaidblack.com.

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Copyright © February 2016 by Jaid Black.

Republished May 3, 2020.

All rights reserved.

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ABDUCTED

American Infidel – Book 2

By Jaid Black

A Note From Jaid

It isn’t necessary to read book 1 in this series before reading book 2. For maximum enjoyment, I nevertheless recommend reading them in order.

Chapter One

Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan

Approximately two kilometers east of Jalalabad

I’m not sure how much longer I can take this shit.

Agent Marisol Kennedy glanced up from her computer and grinned back at her colleague, Dr. Viviana Lincoln. Viviana was also an agent with the Central Intelligence Agency, but a linguist instead of an analyst like Marisol. The two women worked together frequently and Marisol enjoyed her company. She sensed they were in the beginning stages of a friendship, which was an anomaly for her. Put simply, Agent Kennedy trusted a grand total of nobody.

What? Marisol asked with feigned shock. You don’t enjoy living a sensory-deprived life in an underground bunker?

Viviana chuckled. Headquarters didn’t mention the underground part when I accepted this assignment.

They’re good like that. Marisol took her reading glasses off and stretched in her swivel chair. Have you been deployed to Antarctica yet?

Not me. No need for translating Middle Eastern dialects to penguins, I guess.

Consider yourself lucky and also forewarned.

It was that bad?

Oh God yes! There are two seasons—summer and winter. In the summertime you never see the moon and in wintertime you never see the sun. You get white nights or dark days, but rarely a combo.

Viviana winced. That’ll throw your circadian rhythm off as badly as this place does.

It did. Marisol smiled. At least our current kitchen makes decent food. In the Arctic we had to eat a combination of Army rations and astronaut protein packs. If you couldn’t take it anymore and stopped eating three square meals a day—and by square I’m referring to the shape—they’d force you to drink hot cocoa with an entire stick of butter in it.

Oh gross! I could vomit from the mental picture alone. Viviana’s expression turned thoughtful. Although that explains another piece of the Marisol puzzle.

What do you mean?

I always wondered why you eat bread without butter. Sounds like a PTSD thing.

The women shared a laugh. Marisol stood up to give her booty some relief from sitting on it all morning.

Speaking of bread, Viviana said. You feel like accompanying me to the chow hall?

Sure. Can we meet there in approximately twenty minutes? I have to print out a report I’ve been working on for this afternoon’s briefing.

Sounds good.

Marisol nodded. Viviana turned to walk away, then stopped and glanced back.

That’s disappointing to hear. About Antarctica I mean. It was on my bucket list.

Scratch it off. Marisol grinned. "The only thing I got out of the trip was a congressional medal for being idiotic enough—excuse me courageous enough—to work there for what was surely the longest forty-five days of my life."

A congressional medal? That’s pretty cool!

Marisol waved that away. "The Antarctica Service Medal awarded by the Defense Department. Trust me… Agent Kennedy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. It’s not that cool."

Hey, I haven’t earned any medals. Be proud!

Marisol had a lifelong history of downplaying her accomplishments, but then any behavior less than self-deprecating had been beaten out of her long ago. Viviana didn’t know that of course. The linguist had a way of making Marisol see when she was regressing into old patterns without realizing it.

You’re right, Agent Kennedy murmured. I am.

Marisol absently watched Dr. Lincoln stroll back toward her office. It was no wonder Viviana was growing on her. The language expert was a full decade younger than her, but she possessed a wisdom most people twice her age didn’t.

Agent Kennedy, another colleague called out, snagging her attention. Can I talk to you for a moment?

Marisol turned around and smiled at Kendra Rossi. How can I help you, agent?

Can we sit? Kendra asked, holstering her gun.

Of course.

Agent Rossi was a living, breathing paradox, even to someone as enigmatic as Marisol. She wasn’t particularly tall—maybe five foot five on a good day. Nor was she overly muscular, like the majority of her male counterparts. Nevertheless, she was reputed to be one of the CIA’s most efficient and deadly assassins. She was cheerful yet guarded, friendly but aloof. Kendra was arguably one of the most beautiful women in existence, yet seemed entirely unaware of that fact.

What’s up? Marisol asked, sitting back down. She winced a little.

Everything okay?

Yeah. My ass is killing me from being chained to my desk, but otherwise I’m gold.

Kendra chuckled. Sorry to keep you then.

Not at all. Marisol waved that away. It’s not your fault I’m aging.

How old can you possibly be?

As of last week? Forty-three.

Not that that’s old, but no way! I thought you were younger than me.

How old are you?

Kendra smiled. Technically I don’t exist so I suppose it’s okay to tell you thirty-five.

It would be fun to technically not exist, Marisol mused. Of course it would also be fun to have your bombshell beauty and bad-ass ‘skillz dat literally killz.’ She grinned. One can but dream.

Agent Rossi didn’t smile back. You’re kidding, right? I look like every other blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman around.

Marisol blinked. Not even a little bit. You really don’t know how gorgeous you are, do you?

Me? She waved a hand toward Marisol. You’re the leggy redhead with huge boobs and flawless skin. How many redheads have a natural beige skin tone? I’m jelly.

Marisol blushed. It’s a very light beige, you’re not jealous, and you’re much prettier, she muttered. Now! Before we turn into the Mutual Admiration Society, what can I do for you?

Kendra pulled out a map of Nangarhar Province and set it in front of Marisol. Is this accurate?

Marisol put her reading glasses back on. She frowned thoughtfully at the worn piece of paper. No, it isn’t.

Agent Rossi’s blue eyes flared with rapt interest. Which part?

Most of it actually. Marisol examined it closely. All of the terrain is accurate, but mislabeled. I’ll print you an accurate one before I print out my report for the briefing.

Thank you.

Of course. It took Marisol mere seconds to pull up a precise map and hit the print button. I don’t suppose you can tell me why this fraudulent map was given to you? At Kendra’s sheepish shrug, she winked. It’s okay. I’m used to providing intel for reasons I never learn.

Kendra sighed. Yeah. It sometimes sucks to be us.

I hear you, Marisol mumbled as she reached over to the printer. Here you go. She grinned, her dimples popping out. But fuck it. At this point I’m here until retirement.

Agent Rossi snorted. "It’s like Hotel California. You can check out, but you can never leave."

Marisol picked up a pencil and pointed to the new map. See the differences? I don’t know what you’re looking for, but my educated guess is the mapmaker wants to fool you—or whoever—into thinking Lal Pur borders Jalalabad. It doesn’t. In between Jalalabad and Lal Pur is a substantial amount of terrain, most of which has heavy pockets of al-Qaeda and their sympathizers.

What’s the significance of Lal Pur?

Marisol drew a circle around the city’s location. Huge. Lal Pur not only borders Pakistan, but there is a UN installment there.

Interesting, Agent Rossi murmured.

Lal Pur has another interesting characteristic to it.

Kendra looked up. What’s that?

Zero ethnic diversity. It’s one of the few Afghan territories that is one hundred percent Pashtun. A lot of areas in Nangarhar Province are classified wholly Pashtun, but due to outsider influences like al-Qaeda…let’s just say I remain unconvinced.

Forgive my ignorance, but I was recently sent here. Kabul I know inside and out, but the tribal lands…no.

Marisol smiled. That’s why the bad-asses like you have the intel geeks like me. She pushed her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. In an area that is one hundred percent Pashtun such as Lal Pur, chances are high the majority of tribesmen live by the ancient customs of Pashtunwali. Without hitting you over the head with an overload of information, Pashtunwali has a very strict ethical code.

Kendra’s eyebrows drew together. Like?

Bravery, honor, and autonomy are qualities pretty high on the list. I’d go so far as to call those characteristics the keys to understanding Pashtunwali. Their ways haven’t changed since prehistoric times.

I think I see where you’re going with this, Kendra said. "A proud, autonomous people with a rich heritage will not look kindly on U.S. or al-Qaeda interference."

Exactly.

The Pashtun strongholds are like…I don’t know…Switzerland?

I wouldn’t go that far, but in this region they’d be the closest thing, yeah. Marisol hit the print button and waited on her report. She would be late for lunch, but only by a few minutes. Just don’t make the mistake of thinking all Pashtun adhere to Pashtunwali. The Pashtun are a warrior caste and proud of it. Some of them are Taliban. Unfortunately, it’s hard to know who’s Taliban and who’s Pashtunwali until it’s too late.

That’s not very comforting.

Sorry. Marisol smiled. She splayed her hands. Welcome to the tribal lands.

One more question. What’s the difference between Pashtunwali and al-Qaeda?

A lot actually, but most of it boils down to their strict ethical code. As a quick ‘for instance’, a tribesman who follows Pashtunwali would never embroil himself in something like 9/11 because such an act goes against his moral duty to protect the weak.

Gotcha. Kendra stood up. Thanks.

Anytime.

Agent Rossi hesitated, as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t certain she should. Marisol quirked a red eyebrow.

Listen, Kendra said quietly.

Okay.

What you basically just told me is that if anything went awry here in Jalalabad, Lal Pur is where to go. Correct?

It’s where you have 50/50 odds of receiving asylum from a Pashtun tribe that follows Pashtunwali, yes.

Kendra inclined her head. Don’t ever forget that. She offered a weak smile. And don’t ever trust anyone.

At the precise moment Marisol opened her mouth to speak, a deafening roar pierced the once tranquil bunker. She yelped as she fell from her chair and onto the ground. Disoriented by the shaking and noise, her first thought was there had been an earthquake. When she heard machine gun fire and shouting in Arabic, she realized the situation was far direr.

Stay down! Kendra instructed her.

Marisol nodded, wide-eyed. Her pulse racing, she watched Agent Rossi belly-crawl closer to her and reload her gun.

Listen, Kendra said quietly, I can tell by the sounds there are multiple shooters.

How many?

Approximately two platoons.

Oh my God, Marisol breathed out. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Al-Qaeda?

I don’t know. Could be Taliban.

I’d rather it be Taliban!

Kendra’s eyes narrowed. You need to hide. She pulled a tiny gadget out of an ankle strap and thrust it towards her. Take this gun and go. Now!

What about you? Marisol desperately whispered as she accepted the thing that looked nothing like any gun she’d ever fired. I don’t know how to use this!

I’ll take care of myself. Worry about you. She took the gun from Marisol and quickly went over its basics.

Marisol stared, half frightened and half bewildered. She didn’t know the U.S. even possessed technology like this. Kendra shoved it back into her hand.

Last thing, Agent Rossi said. If you get the intuition you’re trapped, hit this button and shove the gun into one of your orifices. Remove it only when you can do so without being seen and use it wisely. You’ve got five to ten shots—I don’t know how many bullets are left.

My orifices?!

Press the button and it won’t go off, trust me.

She didn’t have a choice. Be careful, Marisol whispered, coming up to her knees.

I will. Now go!

Marisol shot up to her feet and ran. She couldn’t speak Arabic, but she knew she’d been spotted. Of all the days to wear a pencil skirt and high heels—fuck! Running into a safe room, she turned around to seal its door. She could see men making their way toward her. Her pulse racing, she quickly hit the button that would cause the safe room’s door to shut and lock. The men ran faster. Marisol’s breathing grew labored. Hurry up and close you stupid fucking door!

The ingress whizzed shut. The last visual of