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.”