by Gennita Low
Sean eyed her quizzically for a second and leaned over so close, his breath was hot against her ear. “You can have total control of that part of the report, if you get me the information I want from our girl tomorrow.”
Then he straightened back up and sat back against his seat, eyeing her contemplatively. Kit stared back at him, not at all sure what this all meant.
“Sleep on it,” he continued. He turned his attention back to his tablet and tapped a few times. “We have time.”
From then on, he appeared to be immersed in his work and Kit didn’t feel like asking more questions in loud whispers. The two interpreters were sleeping in the far end of the van, where they had arranged their sleeping bags over the longer seats. The cameraman and photographer were sitting in front with their guide. She could hear the murmurs, indicating they were still awake. Their own quiet conversation was a normal thing for the others because they had to conduct many of their meetings this way. Once they were out of the more touristy areas, being seen together in public too much would only invite trouble since none of them were married to each other, nor did they have any chaperones. All they had were international guides who arranged their meetings and were expected to sit in as “chaperones.” So when necessary, they had mostly used their laptops and cameras as a way to hold their more private get-togethers about details they had gathered, but that still hadn’t felt secure enough.
In the morning, they would be exchanging vehicles, going in two, rather than one, so as not to offend the Pashtun elders who were at the camps set up by the Red Cross and international peace organizations for displaced Pashtuns. These people were without homes due to the many bloody skirmishes in the region. Kit and her team’s plan was for the men to stay in the male side of the camp and take photographs while she and the female interpreter met with the women bringing the young girl. They were told there was a small building where they could set up a formal interview too.
Kit got up, pulling out a small pillow from her rucksack. She made herself as comfortable as she could. Letting her mind wander as she relaxed into sleep, it went to her favorite topic of fantasy these days—Lucas Branson. She wondered where he was—must be somewhere civilized, since he mentioned soap. Of course, he could have been lying. Sleepily, she hoped he was just kidding about someone soaping his back since that would mean a woman was around to do that. She didn’t think he would let Mink or Dirk soap his back. She grinned in the dark at that image. Now, that would be a great blackmail photo for Lulu.
In spite of the challenges of being in a long distance relationship, she and Lucas had grown to know quite a bit about each other. They’d planned on meeting again as soon as he was able to take a few days off and this time, they were going to spend some private time without their gang of friends. She looked forward to that a lot. It was crazy, but she missed touching him.
She’d learned quite a bit more about him through their communication too. He always asked her what she was doing at that moment. When she’d asked why, the answer was, as usual, simple and direct.
Want to see you in my head, especially doing something normal.
Why? She’d asked again.
It relaxes me after a day of shooting at someone.
Kit yawned, letting go of consciousness with a final thought. Whatever would he think if he knew she was in Afghanistan among government insurgents and mountain warlords? He wouldn’t be so relaxed then, she would bet.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucas looked around. The war room was crowded, with two teams coming in—four or five actually, if one counted the contract agents—and seemed more so once the large screen filled up with the bigger-than-life video feed of Admiral Madison. There were only two women in the room—termed contract operatives over here, since some of the men weren’t familiar with them. Amber Hutchens and Vivi Verreau-Zeringue, members of the Joint Task Force which Admiral Madison had formed some time ago to get better Intel for his SEALs, were there. Ever since compromised Intel from the CIA had caused a SEAL squad to be killed in action, the admiral had taken to working with even more underground networks.
The move had paid off, netting Dragan Dilaver, the one responsible for the SEAL deaths, among other international crimes, with the help of Amber Hutchens. She was what Lucas would term, one hot chica. And she was also Hawk’s fiancée. His team commander had met her during the Dilaver operation and had fallen in love.
Not only beautiful, but one hell of a fighter too. Lucas recalled when the team had learned how she’d saved Hawk’s life all by herself, with a big bag of weapons and some grenades. Right now, she was bent over helping the tech get the live feed to work properly, giving the roomful of appreciative male eyes a nice view of...Lucas looked away, pulling a chair out, and nodding at Mink and Dirk to join in. They were gazing raptly at Miss Hutchens too and he gave them a meaningful look. They shrugged and came over. Okay, so it wasn’t politically correct to check out any women in the war room, especially one his own commander was about to marry, but thank the Lord for hot and capable women, anyway.
Mink echoed his thoughts. He leaned over and whispered, “Pity we can’t make remarks about both women. Taken.”
Dirk nodded. “Taken down,” he said, in a mournful voice. “All casualties on our side too, dammit. Miss Hutchens has Hawk’s number. Jazz went down easy. And there’s Joker’s pining for his hot mama. Zone’s revealed he’s going out with a senator’s daughter. Cumber’s got Kit on his mind. We’re being taken down one by one.”
“Kit and I just met,” Lucas pointed out. A month could be a lifetime out here in the arena, though.
“Yeah, and got you texting her non-stop whenever we’re near a hotspot.”
“Maybe she’s his hotspot, ever think of that?” Mink quipped. He looked at the front of the room, and added, “At least she’s normal, not like Miss Hutchens and Mrs. V-Z with their penchant to play with guns and take out gangs of thugs.”
They had all agreed to call Jazz’s wife, Mrs. V-Z. Verreau-Zerringue was just too big mouthful. BZVZ, actually. Because that GEM operative sure kept their other commander, Jazz Zerringue, on the move, hopping continents chasing her in between missions. He finally caught her, though, and they’d recently tied the knot. Their wedding had been a huge celebration—all the SEALs and even the admiral attended, not to mention Jazz’s eight sisters and his best friend Hawk’s large family.
Needless to say, the stooges had a good time. Lucas grinned, remembering all the fun chasing the sisters and partying all night.
Taken down. Damn. Dirk was right. His team was losing its bachelors one by one.
The large screen flickered for a few seconds and then Admiral Madison appeared. Everyone stood at attention. ‘Mad Dog’ Madison was Lucas’ personal hero.
The man was a legend. Every young trooper had heard the story of young Lieutenant Mad Dog’s heroic rescue in Operation Canyon Blitz of 4 SEALs, 3 army Rangers, 3 CIA operatives and 25 civilians who were cornered by the enemy whenever war stories were brought up. Every Navy SEAL wanted to be like the young tough SEAL, Mad Dog Madison.
Now in his mid-fifties, he was well-respected by everyone, Army or Navy. War hero, famed combat commander, leader of the US Special Operations Command, good friend of the President, perhaps heading for the top seat of Supreme Commander.
Lucas stared up at his idol. Once upon a time, they even had a song about him to which to march. He still remembered mouthing the words while trying not to eat sand during BUD/s. He wondered whether his team mates had the lyrics in their heads after one of Mad Dog’s pep talks.
We wanna be tough like Mad Dog Madison!
How tough is Mad Dog Madison?
He eats lightning and craps thunder
We wanna eat lightning and crap thunder
Just like Mad Dog Madison!
“At ease,” Admiral Madison’s smooth voice came through the speaker. “Congratulations on a successful mission, ladies and gentlemen. Good job.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ha
wk said.
“Our Joint Mission was a success because we all did our parts. Miss Hutchens’ Intel about Yakob’s involvement with sales of parts of the fallen Stealth has proven correct. And our inside man’s tracking of Yakob’s whereabouts was also important. Without them, our operation wouldn’t have come about. Thank you, Miss Hutchens, thank you, Mr. Kingsley.”
“My pleasure, Admiral,” Amber said, “but everything depended on Shahrukh’s being actually inside and pinpointing where the ceremony was being held. That made it easier since it saved the men valuable time. Your presence was mostly our good fortune, Shahrukh.”
“Our operations crossed paths. It happens a lot these days,” someone up front said. It was the man they’d “captured” along with the Cob. “Number Nine contacted me and I managed to stay longer. What with so many attending the ceremony, no one suspected.”
“I appreciate COS’ help. I hope your operation was just as successful?” Admiral Madison asked.
Shahrukh nodded. “Yes. With your taking me in as prisoner, there won’t be any suspicions until I reappear again somewhere. By then, Number Nine should have taken care of some details.”
Lucas had heard a bit about the COS commandos, of which there were nine, from conversations with Hawk and Jazz. Everything was hush-hush about them. Their orders were to not ask too many questions when other outfits were around, thus, curious as he was about the “crossed paths” component of the mountain search and seize mission, none of the SEALs nor he said anything. Their focus was on getting the Cob, anyhow. Now it was up to other people to question the prisoner and find out about the sold Stealth parts and the various terrorists organizations. Hopefully, the information would prove useful for their battle against the enemy.
Jazz reported the bare-bones details of what went down. He had a bird’s eye view from the top of the wall before securing the front entrance for the SEALs’ quick exit. The boat crew Chief gave his. Lucas took notes for future reference.
“Again, excellent job tonight. I’d like to hear questions from the rest of the men,” Admiral said.”
“Why is everyone calling it a ceremony and not a wedding, sir?” Joker asked.
“You should ask Cumber that question,” Hawk replied.
Lucas looked up, surprised. “Me?”
“You and the stooges crashed through that barn door in such a timely manner, just as the whole thing was getting started, so I thought you’d know the reason,” Hawk pointed out.
“Yeah, especially since you and the stooges knew part of the ceremony was to first roll around in bird poop before crashing through the barn door. Hell, you guys looked like zombies.”
“Smelled like zombies too.”
“Still do.”
The place roared. Lucas shook his head and gave his buddies a side ways glance. They were never going to hear the end of this one.
“We are SEALs. We use all means,” he deadpanned. “But, no, Joker, can’t answer your question, but I suspected there was something odd going on, since you’d think they wouldn’t hold a wedding outside an animal house.”
“It’s not a wedding,” a quiet voice, with a slight French accent, interjected. Everyone turned to Mrs. V-Z. “It’s a ceremony because a girl is being given away as part of an offering for some crime that had been committed towards Yakob’s family, usually as a way to replace a dead relative. It’s called swara. When Shahrukh reported back to Center about staying longer to help Admiral Madison out, he told T and the commandos about what was taking place and how he could be there without being noticed. T, of course, passed on the information to me.”
Lucas had wondered about Vivi V-Z’s role in the operation, but it was clear now she wasn’t actually part of it at all. Vivi had a very, very soft spot for girls in trouble. She was currently in charge of some UN-funded organization for young women who had been victimized by international criminals, such as those who had escaped the sex trafficking cartels.
“That explains the young girl who climbed the rope,” Zone said. “She sure made it up the wall like a champ.”
“What happened to her?” Turner asked.
Zone shrugged. “Don’t know. I pulled her up. She thanked me in English and she took off down the other side of the rope. I’d say she knew where she was going.”
“That’s my fault,” Shahrukh said. “Once she told me she could climb very well, I told her the very moment there was trouble in the yard, to look in the direction where Team Alpha would be coming down. I advised her to wait till the men had climbed down before running there and scaling the wall. She was not to wait and explain anything to you guys because you would be busy and she needed to be out of sight of her immediate family.”
“Thank you for taking care of her for me, Shahrukh,” Vivi said.
“Our missions also crossed paths,” Shahrukh said, with another small smile. “And T was persuasive, as usual.”
All these crossed-missions were giving Lucas a headache. That was the problem with joint missions. Everyone was busy taking care of their own agenda. All these people Mad Dog had brought in were mysterious as hell, always in some deep covert operation. Their last one big joint venture had the aforementioned T and Vivi running their own thing while his SEAL team had to explode a bridge.
A success, sure. But still, these women sure brought along a whole handful of other problems. For himself, he liked the KISS principle—keep it simple, stupid. As if reading his mind, Vivi V-Z looked in his direction, straight at him, a smile forming on her face.
“You must have taken a page from my tactical book, Cucumber. I had goats. Now I hear you attacked with chickens.”
“Correction, madam, the stooges were wearing the chickens,” Turner chimed in.
There were more chuckles.
“Lieutenant Commander Zeringue once told me, you do what you have to do,” Vivi said. Her eyebrows came up. “Sometimes, simple things get the job done.”
Lucas frowned. Damn if these GEM operatives couldn’t read minds. Hawk had warned them they were trained in some kind of behavioral testing and manipulation or some such mumbo-jumbo. It even had a name—NOPAIN—but he hadn’t really paid much attention to remember what it was all about. He shuffled his feet and shrugged. Let’s see whether he could read minds too and guess Mrs. V-Z’s mission.
“I hope saving the girl who ran off would be just as simple for you, ma’am,” he said.
Vivi shook her head. “Unfortunately, my job is a little bit more complicated since it involves women in a patriarchal-ruled region of the world.” She sighed. “But you and the SEAL team gave me a good running start and for that, I thank you.”
Bingo. He’s got mind-reading skills too.
“Joint missions require clear communication,” Admiral Madison said. His blue eyes flashed some emotion as he continued, “Remember our fallen brothers. They died because every damn agency wasn’t sharing. Meanwhile, the rats stole our weaponry and secrets and sold them around the world. I’m here in DC still trying to untangle this damn mess. One thing is clear. I do not want a repeat of our men coming back in body bags because of greedy traitors. You have questions, go to your leader. They’ll communicate your concerns to me. We’ll try to double check all Intel through our joint missions. Are we clear?”
“Hooyah!”
Heard, understood, acknowledged. Everyone was solemn in the room as they remembered their fallen comrades. It had recently surfaced that traitor rats and sleeper agents had, for the last ten years, been infesting the CIA and FBI. It was going to take years to undo all the damage. The admiral had told them they were in the crossfire and all must be prepared at all times.
Lucas was up to the challenge. He had chosen to be a SEAL because, like his father, he wanted to serve and protect. All these joint missions might be confusing, but the admiral always laid out the big picture. He appreciated that most of all. What was important, what was the honorable thing to do, what was the stuff that made a warrior a warrior.
Hooyah! As alw
ays, he silently hummed the Admiral Madison song in his head.
* * *
Shahrukh liked this group of men and women. A bit too rowdy, compared to his smaller group of commandos, and yet, strangely, a bit too disciplined, what with their rules and standard operation procedures. But then, a military should be rigid, with obedient warriors who would act with courage, or everything would be chaos. If everyone started to question every order, there would be no action at all.
These SEALs in the war room were definitely warriors in his book. He’d seen them in action and admired the precision they had in executing their raid and capture of Yakob. Everything went smoothly, down to the last minute decision to have himself captured too, so that he would have a way out of there without drawing suspicion. They’d done so without asking questions and like good warriors, made a difficult mission seem easy.
On the other hand, these men would never fit in with his own covert group of commandos, better known as Viruses. A specially hand-picked nine, his unit had been trained to subvert and invade insidiously. After all, that was what COS Command stood for—Covert Subversive Command Center.
Shahrukh had no illusions about what his unit was. Their kind was silent killers. None of these “Hooyah” and “Yes, sir, yes!” stuff yelled out in unison. They were the shadows, the scary ones who could be monsters. Center had created them, experimenting more with some or, like with him, picked him for his vast knowledge of weaponry and poison. He was a relatively new addition to the Virus Project, brought in as a replacement to the one of the few who had been murdered in a series of planned explosions. At first, he was “borrowed” from his organization, but he’d chosen to stay on. He was intrigued by his new friends—this silent group of warriors who didn’t quite own their own souls.
Of course he’d been intrigued. He had met his own kind.
Again, he studied those around him in silence. Their world was, by necessity, black and white. They functioned in direct action, looking for direct results. It wasn’t a bad way to live, really. He imagined most civilized people liked to think the world moved that way. And young people, when they joined to be part of an army, should have this outlook—black was black, white was white. Simple.