Nazari turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. He didn’t seem terribly angry about being interrupted, but then again, Kyle was barely paying him any attention. “Three weeks ago.”
Alexei leaned into Kyle’s space, squinting at the still image of a tall, thin blonde woman standing in the security line at the Charles de Gaulle Airport, before making a questioning sound in the back of his throat. “We kill her, da?”
Kyle grimaced and sent the image snapping back to the director’s terminal. “Yeah, we did. Something’s not right with your intel.”
“You sure about that?” Nazari asked flatly.
“Her name was Lilia Baudin. I watched her head explode in my scope two years ago in Prague. Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.”
“Possibility of a shapeshifter?” Jamie asked in the tense silence that followed.
Kyle managed to contain his flinch, but just barely.
“High,” Nazari said with an angry twist to his mouth. He picked his tablet up from the table and handed it to Stirling. “Look in to this right now. You run that mission with Strike Force or a different group, Brannigan?”
“CIA,” Kyle replied.
“She wasn’t on the deceased notification lists.”
“Our orders were shoot to kill, sir. The paperwork wasn’t my problem.”
If anything, Nazari got more irritated. “Play hardball, Stirling.”
“Gladly,” she said with a sharp nod before leaving the conference room.
Nazari crossed his arms over his chest, studying the remaining holopics. “Ignoring the possibility of a shapeshifter for the moment, we’ve managed to follow the money trail through dozens of offshore accounts and shell companies to a meat packing company based out of Newton, Kansas, that hasn’t had a working plant in at least a decade. It’s been on the FBI’s radar recently as a possible trafficking location, and they’ve had surveillance running on it for the past month. Drone and satellite imagery shows activity occurring at night that has nothing to do with cattle.”
The images disappeared, replaced by night vision video recordings of three semi-trucks pulling to a stop in front of the storage warehouses and discharging their product, which just so happened to be of the human variety.
“Here’s the problem. Those trucks only began delivering the goods after this terrorist cell made it to America, but no one, and I mean no one, ever comes to pick those people up. To date, we’ve got a head count of at least eight hundred people being dropped off at this location in the past three weeks and none of them ever leave.”
“They might not leave in the one piece and alive sense. It is a cattle processing plant and those warehouses connect to the plant itself,” Madison pointed out. “Black market organ harvesting ring?”
“That was the analysts’ first thought, but nothing ever leaves those buildings. Not packages, not people, not a goddamn thing. We’ve scanned the surrounding terrain and there are no tunnels which could be used as an escape route. This isn’t the border, so they wouldn’t really have a place to go.” Nazari tapped at a command key and the surveillance video disappeared, replaced by a still shot of Marion Durand. “Only common denominator is her. Once she arrived on scene, the deliveries began.”
“So why didn’t the FBI stage a raid?” Katie asked.
“They were going to until they realized what terrorist group was in play. The FBI had to give the case to us once metahumans came into the picture.”
Jamie sat back in his seat, staring hard at the holoscreen. “Teleporter. They must have a metahuman who can teleport. Doing it over a period of time like they have been would probably ensure no one would notice the influx of people.”
Nazari nodded. “Yes, we think so. But where are they taking the victims and why? That’s what we need to know.”
“Why fly here then? Why not just teleport?” Kyle asked.
“Teleporters can only teleport to a place they’ve seen with their own eyes. That’s probably why she moves around a lot. Get to the location, set up a drop site, teleport the goods to wherever they need to go,” Jamie said without looking at him.
“Sounds like a headache to me,” Katie muttered.
“We’re in the process of pushing for a Telepathy Warrant with a federal judge, but who knows if it’ll get approved. You’d think the security of the nation would be enough to get a judge to give us what we want without question, but apparently not,” Nazari said irritably.
“I could scan for the metahuman anyway.”
Nazari shook his head. “We need this to be as above board as possible. The problem didn’t originate with us; it came from the FBI via Interpol. Which means we can’t keep it quiet from everyone. If there’s even an inkling we telepathically scanned a whole town’s worth of people looking for a rogue metahuman there’s going to be rioting in the streets.”
Out of all the powers metahumans acquired, telepaths were the ones who scared the general population the most. Someone who could reach into a person’s mind and read their inner-most intimate thoughts and secrets was the stuff of nightmares to most people. So much so that of all the powers Splice bombs had created, telepathy was the one legislated the most within America.
“So what’s the plan?” Jamie asked.
“CCTV spotted a convoy of trucks coming across the Mexican border yesterday. Truck beds were checked and found full of clothes for delivery to an ecommerce’s distribution hub in San Antonio. The trucks left San Antonio empty once everything was unloaded. Instead of heading south again, they went north. They stopped last night at an out of the way truck stop and took a second off-the-books delivery. Each truck looks to have been fitted with a temporary AC unit so those being trafficked don’t die in the triple-digit heat. As of right now, those three trucks are still on I-35 and haven’t deviated course. Drivers are the same ones from the previous surveillance footage. They should reach the plant tonight. I want the perpetrators captured, alive if possible, especially Durand and whoever is impersonating Lilia Baudin.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Agent Gaines will be in shortly to give you the logistics of the op. Soon as we have something on Baudin, we’ll let you know. The mission will go forward even if we come up with nothing.” Nazari swept his gaze around the table, attention lingering just a little longer on Kyle and Alexei. “Good hunting, all of you.”
The director left the conference room, his absence filled almost immediately by a stern-faced man who wiped the table clean of everything except tactical information and started to speak. Kyle settled in for the long haul and tried to keep his attention focused straight ahead instead of at the other end of the table where Jamie sat.
6
Good Piece of Gear
Jamie clipped the strap of his AKR-75 assault rifle to his streamlined tactical vest before attaching his individual first-aid kit to his belt and securing it in place. The last checks were done by rote, his hands cataloguing everything he’d need while in the field.
“Comms checks,” Katie said from the other side of the ready room, her voice echoing over the line and in his ears.
The team voiced their code names over the comms. Jamie glanced over at their two newest additions as they were linked into the encrypted comms channel Alpha Team used in the field.
“Inferno on line,” Alexei said.
“Reaper on the line,” Kyle said, most of his attention focused on the .50 caliber gun he was bringing into the field. It wasn’t taken from the MDF’s armory, which meant it had to be his own. He and Alexei were kitted out in field ready combat uniforms, the black design different in style if not in purpose to the ones Alpha Team wore. Jamie recognized the coloring and equipment Strike Force preferred to use from the few times he’d seen such soldiers when he served as a Recon Marine.
The eight of them had spent several hours going over further intel, maps of the location, and the infil points for each member of the team. Bringing two new people onto the team right before a mission wasn’t the most ideal situation, b
ut the team had worked through worse.
“Ovechkina, get everyone squared away on the jet,” Jamie said. “Brannigan, stay here. I want to talk to you.”
The order was one Jamie had given many times before when they were assigned new members and she thankfully thought nothing of the request. Jamie was glad for that, even if he felt a little guilty about the subterfuge.
Alexei gave him a long look before leaning in close to his partner and whispering something Jamie couldn’t make out. The words didn’t sound English though, more like Russian. Katie was already out of earshot and couldn’t eavesdrop for him, and he figured it would be pretty damn rude to get Ceres to play back the conversation with translation. Every member of his team knew at least one other foreign language. Jamie was fluent in three other than English and was conversational in at least two more, but none were Russian unless you counted insults and swear words and a couple of phrases he’d picked up from Katie over the years. He’d been educated in several immersion schools while growing up and the Marines had only furthered his linguistic skills.
The door slid shut on Trevor’s heels, leaving Jamie and Kyle alone in the ready room. Jamie approached where Kyle sat on the bench running through the center of the room. Staring down at the other man made him think of the other night and how Kyle looked on his knees, mouth full of Jamie’s cock. Swiftly, Jamie joined him on the bench before his thoughts went any further.
“Well, this is awkward,” Kyle drawled after a moment.
Jamie managed a smile. “Yeah. Just a little.”
Kyle gave him a sidelong look, green eyes calm and bright under the lights. Neither wore their hard helmets just yet, the head gear in question buckled to their tactical belts. They’d put them on near the end of the flight, as well as the balaclavas they’d be wearing to hide their skin in the dark. Stealth meant everything needed to be hidden, especially with a three-quarter moon in the night sky shining down on them.
“You know, I hit up bars that aren’t military for a reason. What the fuck were you doing there?” Kyle asked.
“Drowning my demons.”
“Apparently. How many drinks did you have before I sat down?”
Jamie had to think harder than usual about the answer to that question since his brain kept tripping over how Kyle looked pressed down in expensive sheets while Jamie fucked his ass raw. “Four, all doubles.”
Kyle arched an eyebrow. “Metahuman metabolism definitely has something going for it.”
“Not really. Takes a lot to get me drunk. Some nights I miss it.”
“You miss it that night?”
Jamie looked Kyle in the eye, seeing a stillness and patience in his gaze that hadn’t been there when they’d been fucking. He saw it now in the sniper he knew Kyle to be. While Jamie could have answered with a lie, he opted for the truth. “No. I found something better.”
Kyle didn’t say anything to that. “Heard your team can’t keep a sniper if your lives depended on it. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t like xenophobic assholes who insult my team.” It was Jamie’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That going to be a problem?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but I didn’t have a problem when you held me down and kept me there. I don’t care what powers you and your team have. My job is to make sure all your sixes are covered. The only problem we’re gonna have is if any of you guys run through my crosshairs without giving me a warning.”
“And Dvorkin?”
“Not gonna lie, he’s got some long-standing issues with metahumans, but those are his own and they won’t impact the mission. Dvorkin is a professional, no matter what team he’s on. You don’t need to worry about us.”
“Funny you should say that, because you’re both on my team now and I worry all the damn time about every person on it.”
“Would you say that if we hadn’t fucked?”
Jamie didn’t hesitate when he nodded. “I said that to every sniper who got assigned to us. Wasn’t me who broke that trust.”
“We know how to do our job.”
“Then do it, and we won’t have a problem.”
Kyle gave him a lazy salute with two fingers before standing up. Jamie got to his feet as well and didn’t miss the way Kyle’s gaze raked him up and down.
“Have to say, you looked good in that expensive suit, but you look better in uniform. Wouldn’t mind getting on my knees for you again while you’re in it,” Kyle told him.
Jamie’s cock twitched a little at that confession and he forced himself to ignore it. “We have a mission.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean right now. I know we have a mission.”
Jamie swallowed back the lump in his throat, his next words feeling like glass on his tongue. “I mean, we can’t. You and I…Monday wasn’t a mistake, but it can’t happen again.”
The warmth in Kyle’s green eyes drained away and Jamie hated that he was the cause of the distance rapidly growing between them.
“Why?”
“I’m your CO,” Jamie said, wishing he weren’t. Goddamn it, how he wished he weren’t.
“I’m not really on your team,” Kyle pointed out.
“You don’t know the director.”
“You don’t know my superiors in SOCOM. I’m not leaving Strike Force for the MDF. We could—”
“We can’t,” Jamie said, cutting him off. “I still outrank you.”
Kyle snapped his mouth shut, rocking back on his heels a little. After a moment, he nodded sharply. Jamie couldn’t read anything in Kyle’s face, in his eyes, and it made him want to take back everything he’d just said even though he’d meant it. He did, it was just—Jamie knew what Kyle felt like, tasted like, and he’d denied himself of ever having that again in favor of staying on the right side of regulations.
“We should go,” Kyle said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your team is probably waiting for us.”
Kyle turned on his heels and walked out of the ready room. Jamie watched him go until the door slid shut between them. He swore viciously under his breath and slammed a fist against the wall, ignoring the dent he left in it, before hurrying after Kyle.
The ready rooms all emptied into a corridor that opened up to the airfield. Two rows of snub-nosed X-17 Hermes combat jets were in various states of readiness. The jet in question was larger than a fighter jet deployed by the Air Force or Navy, capable of urban infiltration, as well as mountainous or jungle terrain, and everything in between. The electromagnetic engines were capable of vertical takeoff and landing, giving it the ability to hover in the air like a traditional helo as well as attaining fast flight in mere seconds. The engines were quieter than the older fuel-driven versions once used by the military; paired with the stealth skin on every jet the MDF deployed meant it was difficult as all hell to track them.
Jamie wasn’t surprised to see Alexei waiting for them at the bottom of the jet ramp, arms crossed over his chest, attention locked onto Kyle. The scowl on his face was impossible to miss as they drew closer. Alexei and Jamie were almost of height, with Jamie having an inch on the other man, if just barely, and both were matched for broadness. Despite his enhanced strength, Jamie wasn’t sure he could take the other man in a fight. For all his training as a Recon Marine and powers of a metahuman, Strike Force soldiers were on an entirely different level of deadly skill.
“S toboi vsjo horosho?” Alexei said.
“Da,” Kyle replied shortly. “Everything’s fine. Get on the jet.”
Alexei shot Jamie a narrow-eyed look before promptly hooking a hand around Kyle’s elbow and hauling him into the jet, the both of them talking in rapid Russian all the while. Jamie felt irrationally jealous at the way Kyle easily leaned into his partner’s space before sternly telling himself he didn’t have that right. He and Kyle weren’t together. They’d never been together.
At this rate, they never would.
Katie caught his eye, resorting to telepathy rather than words for their conversation
. You’re in a mood.
Telepathy was invasive and strange, as if someone had cracked open his skull to shove a microphone into the center of his brain and broadcasted a person’s voice from the end of a tunnel. Katie’s mental voice was an echo of her physical one, cutting through the middle of his ears, right behind his eyes. The first few times she’d telepathically linked with him it had hurt like a motherfucker, but with practice, she got better at sending, he got better at mentally listening, and her power was their ace in the hole when comms were no longer an option in the middle of an op for whatever reason.
Drop it, Katie.
Dvorkin seems worried you might have hurt Brannigan for whatever reason. Brannigan is currently shutting him down, Katie said.
Jamie fought back a wince, trying not to think about how close to the mark her comment was. We talked, that’s it. I don’t think we’ll have a problem with these two in the field.
You sure about that? Dvorkin doesn’t seem all that happy he’s working with metahumans and doesn’t seem to care that I understand what he’s saying.
From what Brannigan said, they may have had some previous run-ins with metahumans. I don’t think that’s going to color their interactions with us. They’re Strike Force. They’ll be professional.
Katie looked up from where she was racking her rifle in the mag-lockers and narrowed her eyes at him. You sure about that?
For all the friction between himself and Kyle, he knew that wouldn’t translate into a problem in the field. Kyle was too much of a professional. You had to be, if you were in Strike Force.
Yes. I’m sure.
Katie had too much integrity when it came to her teammates to go snooping through their minds. Jamie wasn’t worried about her reading his thoughts, but he tried not to think about Kyle any more than he had to at the moment.
All right, Jamie. I’ll trust your instincts on this.
She left his mind, the mental link dissolving. Jamie busied himself with stowing his gear and getting settled for the flight west. Annabelle was conversing with the pilots, probably trying to wheedle her way behind the yoke. Usually she’d be their pilot, but they needed her fully in the field this time, not as their extraction point. Trevor eventually pried her away from the flight deck with a shouted apology to their pilots while she sulked.
In the Wreckage: (M/M Sci-Fi Military Romance) (Metahuman Files Book 1) Page 8