by SE Jakes
“Shut up,” they both told him at once and then Prophet told Tom, “That’s the first logical thing you’ve said in the past hour.”
“Prophet, shut up. I believe what Phil said.” Tom’s eyes snapped with anger.
“Why’d Phil authorize it?” Nico said tightly.
“Better question is, why would Doc do it?” Prophet mused.
“Because that’s Doc,” Nico shot back. “Someone needs to protect him from himself.”
Prophet just stared at him, one of those pot-kettle looks that needed no further explanation, then turned his attention to Tom. “Who’s Phil sending to meet you?”
“No one. It’s just me.”
“No way, T—”
“Fuck you I’m fine.” It came out in a rush, like it was all one word, and the room silenced.
Prophet started with, “I’ll go with—”
“Not necessary.”
Nico crossed his arms and watched them, looking from one to the other like it was a tennis match. Prophet locked gazes with him, then instructed, “Nico, go with Tom.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Nico said without a trace of irony.
Dean snorted.
Tom glanced at Prophet, then said to Nico, “I’ll take the backup, if you’re willing.”
Prophet watched as Nico considered it. They hadn’t gone into detail when they’d arrived about why they were there, but Nico knew the bare bones of the story of John from years earlier, and he’d been involved in the underground world of special ops long enough to know an unsanctioned op.
In truth, he’d be a good one to leave here and help him, Prophet mused. Except they’d probably kill each other first.
Now, Nico looked at Prophet questioningly. Prophet motioned his head silently toward Dean, who said, “Prophet, I’ll be fine. Nico, help Doc. Prophet will help me here.”
Nico glanced at Prophet. “Leaving you with Dean is like literally the blind leading—”
The knife whizzed through the air, but Prophet didn’t open his eyes until he heard the thunk as it lodged into the wall. Right next to Nico’s ear.
Prophet stared at Nico. “How’s that for literal?”
Nico grunted out, “Asshole.”
“Good shot,” Tom told him, and Prophet slid his glance over and mouthed, I missed, while tugging at his ear and pointing to Nico, who watched him and ground his teeth together, his jaw working painfully.
“Prophet, enough,” Dean said. “Nico, please—go with Tom. I know you won’t regret it.”
Nico sighed unhappily but ultimately nodded at Tom before walking away to collect his things.
With a nod in Prophet’s direction, Tom began to do the same . . . but Prophet followed him into their bedroom.
Tom turned on him at the door. “Nico doesn’t work for Phil.”
“Neither do I,” Prophet pointed out, barely concealing a sneer. “But you and I both know it’s better to take him.”
“Because of your eyes?”
Prophet shrugged. “I can fire an AK-47 more easily around here. I don’t need finesse.”
“And John?”
“He hasn’t killed me yet.”
“So ‘yet’ translates to ‘never’?”
Prophet nodded. “So far, yes.”
“And Doc? Is he going to feel better seeing Nico?”
“I don’t give a shit how he feels. People need to stop keeping shit from me.” He watched Tom grit his teeth to ignore the obvious irony of those words, but hell, in this case it was the goddamned truth.
Finally, Tom managed, “How bad’s it going to be with Doc and Nico?” while still looking like he wanted to strangle Prophet with his bare hands.
Which was kind of a turn-on. “Pretty fucking bad.” Prophet dragged a finger along Tom’s cheek, then down to his biceps, tracing the dreamcatcher through his shirt without breaking their gaze. “Check in as soon as you can.”
“If anything happens . . .” Something in Tom’s tone unnerved him, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what.
“I’ll check in, Tom.” The color difference between Tom’s eyes seemed to grow more pronounced, but Prophet convinced himself it was just a trick of light.
“Yeah, see you soon. Guess we’ve got shit to plan.” Tom’s voice was gruff and unforgiving, but it wasn’t unkind.
Unkindness would’ve been easier to take. He took his fingers off Tom’s arm. “We’re planned, T. You’re good to go.”
Tom snorted and brushed past him on the way out.
Of course, Prophet drove Tom back to the airstrip they’d landed on less than twenty-four hours ago. Nico got into the back, grumbling about Prophet’s driving, and Dean insisted on going and called shotgun, no doubt purposely so Tom didn’t have to sit next to Prophet for the ten-minute-plus drive.
Dean and Nico discussed the land surrounding them, with Nico pointing things out to Tom, showing where there were plans to expand things. The conversation definitely eased the tension in the truck, so Tom was grateful.
He still had so many goddamned questions—about Ollie, about Ollie and Prophet—but he supposed that most of those would go unanswered. Not that the answers would actually change anything.
Focus, he instructed himself harshly. He owed Dean to get Nico back in one piece. And when Prophet pulled the car up to the steel bird they’d seen upon landing, Nico touched Dean’s shoulder before getting out of the car.
Tom got out without glancing in the front seat and Prophet didn’t try to stop him.
Tom refused to look back after he walked to the bird, stowed his gear and climbed in. He put on the headphones and Nico started the propellers and the engine, the deafening roar and shake both welcomed sensations.
Only then did he look straight ahead, see the two men lined up against the truck, watching them take off.
“Ready?” Nico asked.
“Ready,” Tom confirmed, and watched the men as the chopper rose, higher and higher, until they were out of sight.
But never out of mind.
“We’re going to hit some rough weather in a few minutes,” Nico called.
Tom nodded, had seen the swirling clouds as they’d driven and knew they’d be in for something on this trip. For several minutes, there was silence, and then the first pings of rain hit the windshield hard. The iron bird bounced a bit with the wind, then rocked back and forth, and Nico turned and smiled. “Beautiful weather we’re having!”
Everyone Prophet knew was crazy. Tom supposed that made him crazy as well.
“So why’d you really let Prophet stay behind?” Nico asked as he tilted the bird purposely and roared through the incoming storm with ease.
Tom was surprised it had taken Nico this long to ask, since he was used to being surrounded by men and women with the uncanny ability to slice through the bullshit in life, to see right to the heart of the matter. It was honed by training, sure, but Tom had met enough of these guys to know that most were born with it, then gravitated toward each other . . . and the professions that appreciated it most. “This is an EE mission. Prophet doesn’t work there anymore.”
Nico nodded and was silent for a while before continuing. “You and Prophet seemed to be having a major disagreement.”
“What clued you in? The yelling or Prophet’s breaking things?”
“That’s his MO, so if it was just that, I wouldn’t have thought anything. But you were bound and determined not to have Prophet come with us.”
Fucking perceptive asshole. And he’d upped his game sure, but . . . “I don’t know what you mean. Prophet hates Phil. I’d never expect him to come.”
Nico nodded. “Never expected you to leave him now.”
“Prophet can take care of himself.”
“Then why are you trying to do it for him?”
“Is it going to be awkward for you to see Doc again?” Tom asked pleasantly.
Nico’s face remained placid. “Depends on if he’s in one piece or not. I need to know what I’m walking into.”
/> Nico clearly didn’t trust EE—or Phil. He and Prophet might not get along but obviously he trusted Prophet’s feelings about Phil.
“I don’t know what we’re walking into, Nico.”
“I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
“That was a tough one,” Dean said finally.
“Tell me about it,” Prophet agreed, unable to tear his eyes away from the empty airspace as he and Dean remained standing outside.
Prophet automatically followed Dean as he walked forward and assured him, “You trained him to handle himself.”
“He was already there, Dean. I just gave him a few tricks.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“Something I can’t put my finger on.”
“Besides John?”
“Yeah.”
Dean stopped walking, put a hand on his shoulder, his face still trained on the empty field. “You think John’s going to find you here?”
“Bet on it.” Because even though no one knew his location, that wouldn’t matter where John was concerned. Granted, Remy and Mal knew, but hell, that wasn’t hurting anyone. He’d lay bets that Cillian could also track him here. And his entire team. It was hard to get away from all those fuckers.
“Why now?”
“John’s getting pissed. He’s already off his game, especially with Ren and King fucking with his business. Takes a lot for the men John works with to trust Americans.” Once they’d taken Sadiq down, John needed to reassemble and reassess. That time gave Prophet exactly the openings he’d needed. “He thinks I’m running from him. And I’m fine with that.”
What he wasn’t fine with was being separated from Tom. But hell, the safest place for Tom was away from him, even if he didn’t trust Phil all together. “Tom thinks we’re in on this together.”
“Aren’t we?” Dean asked.
“Not his battle.”
“You’re his battle, and I mean that literally.” Prophet tried to shush him but Dean wasn’t having it. “And so your battles are his.”
“I’d have more fun if you were mute,” Prophet said glumly.
Dean laughed. “You’re so non-PC.”
By force of habit, Prophet flipped him the finger. “Fuck off—I’m disabled.”
“You know I can’t see the finger you’re holding up.”
“Then how do you know I am?” Prophet demanded and Dean just smiled. Prophet decided he hated him. Again. “Let’s go back.”
He didn’t wait for Dean but somehow, Dean made it into the car before him, the uneven grounds not a deterrent.
“Want me to drive?” Dean offered. “Because I’m sure it’d be better than your driving.”
Prophet ignored him, took off down the dusty back roads that led from the airfield to Dean’s house. He got the all clear from Reggie before he and Dean went back inside the house. There was food spread out on the table, and Prophet sat and sulked and ate, at least until Dean sat across from him and asked, “So why’d you really let Tom leave you behind?”
“Get your bat senses outta my shit,” Prophet grumbled. “I already cried this trip. Isn’t that enough? Place is becoming like some sort of wellness retreat.”
“God forbid.” Dean feigned horror.
Prophet sighed. “John’s close. I can feel him and it’s not pleasant. He was always heavy-handed when he stalked.”
“Isn’t that the point, to get him close?”
Prophet shifted restlessly. “I need to be the bait, not Tom.”
“In this equation, you’ve made me bait too,” Dean pointed out.
“You’re blind—what the fuck else do you have to do?”
“Such an asshole.”
“Aren’t there any blind assholes?”
“None like you.”
“Good, I like being special.”
“You’re definitely special.” Dean sighed. “What’s he want from you, Prophet?”
“I don’t know. Never really did.”
Dean frowned, leaned on his elbows and stared at Prophet, unnerving him. “Bullshit. You just don’t want to remember.”
The observation was so spot on, it was like a physical pain. “Maybe.”
“You’re holding the key. Why not use it?”
“What’re you talking about? Is this blind-code?”
Dean sighed again. “Come on, Proph. He’s been able to fuck with you because he’s never forgotten what he knows about you.”
That was true. And after he admitted it, Dean made him go over everything that happened, start to finish, in painstaking detail. He’d told Prophet to get the fuck over himself and not worry about putting Dean in danger, and by the time Prophet had finished talking, his voice was raspy and it was dark outside.
Dean had listened intently, interrupting when he needed clarification and Prophet hadn’t given him any of the classified bullshit. And when Prophet said, “That’s it,” Dean had waited several long moments before speaking.
When he did, his voice was calm, his back straight, like he was going into battle himself. “You talked about everything John did to hurt you—how he preyed on you . . . but you didn’t say anything about what you can do to turn the fucking tables.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“After how fucking long?” Dean volleyed.
“Jesus, Dean. I can’t—”
“You can, dammit.” Then his voice softened. “You loved him. You feel bad thinking about any of that in front of Tom . . . but this is about survival. Yours. Tom’s. Remy’s. Mal’s . . .”
“I get it, okay? And I’m going to need to drink if we’re doing more of this.” He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten through it this long without.
“Go get it. But close your eyes. If you cheat, I’ll know it.”
“How?” he asked, and Dean gave him that look, so Prophet remained sitting because it was too much to deal with now.
“You’ve been avoiding it.” Dean just as easily could’ve been talking about Prophet practicing with a blindfold, but they both knew he wasn’t.
“Fuck you, Dean. It’s not like I’ve been hiding.”
Dean stared at him, his unseeing gaze cutting through the bullshit. “No—you didn’t hide. You went after him.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Ah, Proph, I knew you were grieving. Angry. Ready to burn it all down to the fucking ground . . . but you and I both know it was an exercise in self-flagellation. A fucking fine effort, yes, but still a punishment to yourself, nonetheless.”
Prophet fisted his hands.
“You can still punch me if you want,” Dean said helpfully. “Proph, I didn’t say you were wrong to do it. But it’s time to stop dicking around now. Going after John was easy. Welcoming Tom into your life? That’s the hard part. That’s what you need to do.”
Prophet knew that. He’d figured it out last week. That was why he was here . . . but until Dean told him all this, Prophet’s sense of purpose hadn’t been very clear at all.
“Thanks,” he said quietly to Dean, who didn’t look surprised. Prophet sometimes forgot how long they’d known each other.
“Don’t mention it. Now go get us that drink.”
The trip to EE’s Eritrea office was relatively uneventful once the storm passed. Elliot was waiting at the airstrip, and he explained more of what happened as he drove them back to the office.
Tom barely listened; his memories of his time spent here came swirling back immediately, and the guilt still washed over him when he thought about how he’d given Prophet up. He’d been the one to back away from his partner after Phil had given him the choice. And then he’d agonized over it, written Prophet emails daily, telling him how he’d fucked up, all the while watching Cope bounce a tennis ball against the ceiling.
And you had a choice to stay with him after he told you a secret and you left him.
Again.
But fuck it, Prophet had pushed him to go, acted like he and Nico were a new dream team.
Asshole.
> “Just a simple extraction,” Elliot was saying.
“Nothing’s simple in this country,” Nico muttered.
“You can take this truck—try to get it back to me in one piece,” Elliot told Tom.
“I’m not Prophet.”
Elliot laughed. “You know how many trucks he’s wrecked?”
“I can only imagine, given his special gift of driving like an insane person,” Tom said dryly. “Any idea where this medical facility is, by the way? General idea?”
“Yes, but I can do you one better. Doc keeps a tracker in his bag.” Elliot ushered them inside the offices, past the alarms with codes and into the computer station. “See that dot? It moved for an hour or so, then stopped . . . and then moved, but more slowly. Like Doc was walking. It’s been steady for the past two hours.”
“Staying in one place while he’s performing surgery,” Nico observed.
“I heard him mention that the surgery could take up to six hours, depending on the conditions of the facility, and how badly the boy was injured,” Elliot told them.
“Then we need to move,” Tom said. “Weapons in the usual spots?”
“Of course. Cash as well.” Elliot nodded. “Please keep me informed.”
“Will do.” Tom and Nico got into the truck, with Tom driving. Nico extracted one of the AKs from under the seat and held it below window level, adjusting the mirror so he could watch for ambushes from behind as well.
Just as Elliot noted, the ride to the pinpoint took slightly over an hour. It was still light but that wouldn’t last much longer. Dark would be great for an escape, but Tom would rather get in and out before that.
They parked far enough away to not be detected, less than a klick, and walked the rest of the way, weapons and grenades in tow. They slid into the makeshift clinic from the sides, where there were no windows and hence, no guards. Nico moved easily, as if being an operator was born into him. It was easy to be good following someone this trained, and Tom was glad for that.
Still, the things that Prophet taught him had sunk in, become as much a part of him as breathing. The way it needed to be in order to be effective.
And it was. Because when they assessed the situation, he told Nico, “Three cars. Maybe ten men. Maybe more.”