“I’ve got to call the SCO. Warn them.”
“Wait, Mr. President.” Archie could feel Kee trembling under his hand. He could empathize. World War III could come out of this.
He had to speak up. “You can’t.”
“Why not!” Not much of a question in his tone.
“What will you tell them? A renegade American colonel has slipped into Uzbekistan, with the aid of United States of America Special Forces SOAR, to steal a jet and kill all your presidents and chairmen? We’d be lucky if they didn’t all turn around and attack us. Even if they didn’t, it would be a political disaster that the US would not recover from for years.”
“Damn it!” The President’s voice came out as low growl. Then his labored breathing sounded clearly over the microphone. “You’re right. You learned a lot from your mother.”
Archie rocked back on his heels. If his hand hadn’t still been on Kee’s shoulder, he’d have stumbled backwards.
Was that possible? He still felt as if he’d never spoken with his mother in all of growing up, certainly not about matters such as this. Or had he? He had to grant that he’d always been a better strategist than Emily Beale. And that had bothered him. Now the President had told him why and it made impossible sense. Later. Think about it later.
Kee patted his hand without turning. She’d know. Of course she’d know how that knowledge slammed into him.
“So, what do we do?” The President didn’t sound happy.
“We do it ourselves, sir.” That was his Kee.
“And if you fail?” The President growled back at her.
“If we fail, place the call. But sir…”
“What is it, Smith?”
“We didn’t sign up to fail, sir. Night Stalkers don’t quit, sir.”
Yup! That was his Kee, through and through. How could he help but love this woman?
46
“You have, the weirdest, idea, of what, is restful.”
“We. Can’t. Leave. For.” Kee gasped out as she rocked her hips on top of him in a way she’d found to make him completely insane. Long, deep motion that almost dragged him free of her each time before she drove him back inside her like a velvet punch. “Six. Hours. This. Best.”
He slid his hands up the outside of her T-shirt, catching her nipples tight between his fingers. Again, with that perfect judgment of his, he found the pressure to drive her into heaven, not pain.
“Maybe. Sleep.” His voice as fractured as hers.
“Lat, er.” She gasped out. She hoped they weren’t making the parked helicopter rock too much. It was seven hours until sunset. And—She groaned as Archie pounded up into her with that long, hard release of his. His whole body clenched and shook when it happened. His eyes, she knew without looking, would be squeezed shut. His fingertips dug into her breasts, holding on as he shook with the force of it.
She rocked her hips back and leaned forward to drive him all the way home and her own release hammered through her. She grabbed the backs of his hands, holding his grip to her so that he wouldn’t let go. Couldn’t let go. She leaned into those grasping hands as the light pounded through her.
Night Stalkers might live in the dark, but Archie spread a searing light through her every time. One that lit old alleys and filled in dark corners. One that shone through her present and her past with equal ease, shedding warmth and safety wherever it flowed.
A part of her brain kept trying to compare it to something, as if labeling it would make it better. Safer. Better than flying? Cliché. Better than firing a Minigun and bringing the wrath of justice upon the heads of those who killed in the name of their God? Sure, but by any standards, including hers, that was a creepy image. She couldn’t find it, but she knew it existed somewhere. There must be a way to describe how incredible he could make her feel.
Both their bodies relaxed in stages, the odd shudder of sudden muscle release rippling through them both as if they were inside the same skin. He lowered her by the hands clenched on her breasts until they lay chest to chest. Until her head tucked under his chin, her ear on his chest, the rapid trip-hammer of his heart slowing as she rested her ear there.
“Now,” she whispered.
“Now, what?” Archie barely managed a mumble. This time she could smile. His need for a short nap after sex would tick her off if he didn’t always wake with such renewed vigor.
“Now, you can sleep.”
Archie had managed to slip his hands off her breasts as their bodies came together. Which was a good thing as it saved him potentially dislocating a shoulder to maintain his hold. They lay on the cargo deck of the Hawk with the bay doors slid shut. It was hot, midday hot, and he didn’t care. He loved the feel of her lying upon him. Thought it was a good thing they hadn’t taken the time to get completely undressed. Without shirts, they’d be sticking together at the moment, rather than not so cozy together he never wanted to move again.
He slid one arm over her back, amazed as always at what a small-waisted woman Kee was. She made it difficult think of her that way, with those strong shoulders and that bulldozer-strong attitude, but she was quite deliciously trim. His arm reached all the way around to hold her by her far side. He rested his hand over the spot where her life had come so close to leaking away. He slid his other hand up her back and into her hair, spreading it like a soft wash of silk over his face.
He picked up his head enough to kiss her atop her hair. She mumbled something against his chest.
“What?” he whispered.
“You didn’t say it.” Her voice partly a complaint, but closer to sleep than she’d ever been after sex. And he felt wide awake for a change.
Didn’t say what? He brushed her hair aside to look down at her as well as he could with her head under his chin, her body sprawled limply on his and still connected in the most delicious way. Which meant he could see a bit of tousled hair, a muscled shoulder, and then across a long valley, that splendid rise of firm buttock that would stand out in any room that didn’t already include her chest. He’d never been with such a perfectly proportioned woman. Shocked him speechless every time he looked at her.
He was about to ask what he had failed to enunciate when it clicked. He knew exactly what she meant.
He had told her he loved her after sex. He told her when he was especially proud of her across the chow table. Thankfully Big John looked too tired to remember hearing him say it.
And he’d stopped saying it because not hearing it in return hurt. Hurt more than he’d expected. She could have simply requested that he no longer say it. He would have stopped. Would have stopped laying his heart at her feet far sooner than he had. But now that he had managed to keep his silence, she had reprimanded him.
He looked again at what he could see, tousled hair, shoulder, and hip. Thought of the joy she gave his body and his mind. Thought of the joy she’d taught him about his own mother when she didn’t have one. Whether he spoke it aloud or not, no question remained. For the first time in his life, he didn’t merely respect a woman, lust for her, or like her more than anyone he’d ever liked before. For the first time, he truly loved a woman.
He whispered into her hair, “I love you, Keiko Smith.”
“Hmm,” she snuggled down more comfortably against his chest. “I can hear you say that through your chest. I love how that sounds.”
Then with a deep sigh, she fully relaxed and within moments he knew she slept.
She loved how it sounded? How it sounded!?
He lay his head back and looked up at the cargo bay ceiling. At the giant adder painted so that it slid and coiled across the surface. It wound upon itself, sliding over service hatches and cable runs, under emergency supplies and extra headsets snapped in place with bungee cords. John and Crazy Tim had started painting it, adding to it a piece at a time when they were a long time between missions. The detail was magnificent. Every scale was edged with a razor-like brightness. Every twist revealed the muscle beneath scale and skin.
&nbs
p; Then splitting over the forward center of the cabin into a two-headed beast. Each serpent head driving down the curve of the ceiling toward the two Miniguns as if the guns were spitting their death forth from inside the serpent’s mouth. Its own taste for vengeance revealed in wide jaws and glistening fangs.
At least John’s did. Something had been added over Kee’s position. Something new, not a single scuff on the image, no battle scars, no bullet holes punched through. Kee must have made it recently. It took him a few moments to unravel its sense.
A demon. A red-faced, horned demon. With a face revealing stark terror.
She’d drawn a heraldic serpent vorant. The medieval shield crest of the snake swallowing the demon—whole and alive.
He could feel her sleep through his arms and his chest and his hips. The perfect lassitude of the somnolent. This sweet woman, who had used his body most splendidly and asked him to tell her that he loved her, was also the most driven warrior he’d ever met, male or female. Most soldiers like her would have done something stupid and gotten themselves, and probably their squadmates, killed but good. What saved her was a sharp brain.
A street kid who knew about the SCO. An orphan and dropout who had passed every test on her way to SOAR, a height few climbed, and only two women. A gunner, a sniper, and a killer—with a heart that had adopted Dilya without hesitation and certainly cared for him.
Now he understood even if she didn’t.
Kee Smith didn’t think she deserved love because of her past. On top of that, she believed that she didn’t have a heart to give. Of course, she’d never said the words back to him. She might like it, like the sound of it, the feel of it. But she would no more trust her own heart than she’d trust that demon on the ceiling to magically become a good guy.
Well, he was a warrior as well. He had fought and won many battles. If he needed proof of that, he was alive. Where SOAR fought their battles, if you failed, you died. And he wasn’t dead. Clear cut and simple, they hadn’t gotten him yet.
So, he would keep after her until he convinced her that she had the most wonderful heart he’d ever encountered. He would tell her over and over until she understood, until she knew, until she felt how wonderful her heart could be. Then once she knew it was there, maybe, if he won the biggest lottery ever, she would give it to him.
He kissed her once more atop her head. “Love you, Kee.”
47
At least they were up and dressed before anyone found them. No Major Beale hovering over them.
They were halfway to the chow tent before final briefing when Kee realized she was still holding Archie’s hand. Not good. A quick glance showed that they’d walked past a group of red armorers working over Major Henderson’s bird, and a cluster of grapes were heading over to fuel up the Hawk she’d screwed Archie in. A couple of the guys were making fist-pump motions at Archie’s back.
They stopped as soon as they saw her watching.
She casually dropped Archie’s hand and offered a hard fist-pump of her own. That stopped ’em. Give them a moment or two for that to sink in, and they’d be green with envy.
She returned to his side and, as naturally as she could, fell in step without actually taking his hand. A part of her wanted to hold hands as they walked. A soft mushy side she’d never encountered in the first twenty-six years of her life. But she resisted the urge. Messing with the minds of a service crew was one thing. Facing down the majors in broad daylight, that was another.
“Did you find that strictly necessary?”
Kee glanced up at Archie’s profile. She pulled her shades down her nose to check his color. Red, brilliantly.
“Hey. Think of all the respect you’ll get for having nailed the warrior babe.”
His face went several shades darker. Her work here was done. She slapped her shades back into place and didn’t try for a second to suppress the grin she could feel spreading wide across her face.
The briefing went off clean.
Kee felt geared up for the mission. Sometimes they looked nasty before you went in. Those you knew were gonna be ugly. But others felt clean and in the groove; they at least had a chance of not being a complete clusterfuck.
They’d take both DAP Hawks, with a ground refuel before they crossed the border into Uzbekistan—without permission. They didn’t want to risk border radar detecting a midair refuel.
An E-2C Hawkeye turboprop with its massive, UFO-shaped radome would serve as airborne radar observer and communications. The eye-in-the-sky wouldn’t cross out of Afghanistan, but they’d be high enough they could at least watch and report. They probably wouldn’t see a jet flying out of K2, especially if Evans and Arlov stayed close to the ground, but the Hawkeye could see if other nasties were coming their way. Maybe a few jet fighters vectoring in to kill the unwanted helicopters.
No need for D-boys or Rangers on this. It wasn’t a ground action. They’d unraveled the rest of the numbers in the notebook once they knew what they were looking for.
Time of K2 local sunrise. Evans and Arlov wanted to be seen leaving K2 airbase, clearly seen. That meant earliest liftoff would be fifteen minutes before sunrise, but probably fifteen after. There were the calculations for the distance and speed necessary to arrive for the 0800 start-of-conference breakfast meeting at the SCO. This was the one time all six heads of state could be guaranteed to be in one place.
The two dogs wouldn’t do anything flashy, no reason for any special report by the K2 airbase commander. But a clear trail of evidence if someone went looking. And the countries with their newly murdered heads of state would definitely go looking.
SOAR’s mission. Get in place between K2 and Tashkent. There was a hundred-mile stretch of empty countryside northeast of the Karshi-Khanabad airbase. Evans’ notebook calculations showed that he’d be flying a straight path. No reason not to. To do anything else would actually draw the attention of the Uzbekistani Air Force, attention Evans and Arlov wouldn’t want once they were airborne.
So, the two DAP Hawks would wait out there, well below radar cover, and take out the jet without anyone the wiser. You could pretty much guarantee that General Arlov would want to keep a low profile as well. If he went high, he’d be on radar. After takeoff, he didn’t want to be found again until after they were done.
The same reason the US couldn’t send in jets of their own. Too obvious. Too easily spotted. And no one could know the US Armed Forces were there inside a friendly foreign country.
Once they nailed him, before anyone saw them, they’d high tail it back south.
If someone spotted them, they’d run for the Karakoram mountain range and wind their way home through Tajikistan. Not the best choice, but the mountains were nearly impenetrable, so that should work well for cover.
But if they weren’t careful, they’d have a chance of seeing K2 the mountain as well as K2 the airbase. If that happened, they’d be in way over their heads. There were places helicopters were never meant to go. When the air stretched too thin to breathe, rotor-craft died too, they couldn’t find the air to generate enough lift to stay aloft.
That was the other reason the AWACS would be up and watching for them. First, if they failed, it could shout the alarm to the President to call the Uzbekistan government about their rogue Russian jet. Second, if they succeeded but had to retreat into the mountains, the combat search-and-rescue guys would know where to look for them. And if the CSAR guys had a fair guess, they’d find you. They were awesome.
She and John took four parkas and other emergency gear and strapped it all to the rear cargo net. Crazy Tim and Dusty James were doing the same in Henderson’s bird. They were stocking more gear. Connie Davis would be riding in their bird in case her intel could help. She was the only one other than Kee who’d actually seen General Arlov.
“Sweaty work,” Kee offered as she tied them down.
“Yup!” Big John dumped his load and waved his arms around to get air moving across where the parkas had insulated his big arms whil
e they carried them. “Seems weird to be doin’ this in the desert sun.”
“Good thing we won’t need them.”
Big John grimaced. She didn’t like the look. John didn’t strike her as a worrier.
“Yeah. Good thing.” His voice low, his eyes focused too hard on the strap he snapped over the pile.
Now she felt a shiver. One that she didn’t like at all. She’d felt so positive at the briefing, or had that been mere afterglow from sex with Archie? She’d never had a man before who clouded her judgment about a mission.
“Are you coming with us, Sergeant?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” Kee climbed aboard and moved to her seat. In moments they were above the camp in the afternoon light and rising quickly. She stared at the ground again, but could spot no sign of a girl running towards the helo to wave goodbye as she always did. She’d checked the cots twice, the chow line three times, and asked the guards at the gate. Nothing. Nowhere.
Dilya had probably found a cozy spot to study Winnie-the-Pooh and fallen asleep. They were down most of the third page, word by painful word, but Dilya never forgot anything she learned. Kee felt guilty for not doing the same, for not learning more Uzbekistani, but first the interrupted holiday, then this mission had interfered with her plans. She had to smile. Captain Archibald Jeffery Stevenson III also accounted for a part of her distraction. In truly wonderful ways.
She shifted her eyes out over the town where she was supposed to be watching. Dilya had survived alone in the Hindu Kush, she’d be fine for another night at the air base.
“Does this area seem familiar?” Kee didn’t know she’d asked the question aloud until she heard it over her own headset. But it did. They’d been aloft for only two hours. She scanned the rugged hills and winding valleys. It looked exactly like every other lousy part of central Afghanistan, but it felt familiar anyway. Brutal country, near enough impassable without a helicopter. It looked impossibly nastier in daylight.
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