Cassidy
Page 34
Man, I love my job.
High altitude low openings were common in his line of work, at least for him. Nicknamed the flying squirrel by his fellow agents on The TEAM, the ex-Navy SEAL thrived between earth and sky. All agents working had to be capable, physically fit, and qualified to HALO jump. The day a man could not perform was the day he was put to pasture, or worse, turned into something dead called a senior agent. Adam never intended to graze clover. He loved the sensation of flight too much, the freedom of falling, the heady rush of air over, around, and seemingly through his entire body.
Only specialized equipment allowed this miracle, from the Special Forces HALO helmet with its oxygen mask strapped snuggly to his face, the goggles that allowed peripheral vision and much needed facial protection, to the backlit altimeter on his wrist that registered nothing at the moment, its altitude range less than his current position at the edge of the earth’s atmosphere.
The experimental GPS wrapped around his wrist matched its digital partner’s lack of information. No matter. They would both flash to life soon enough, within seconds if the new technology behind them was accurate. The GPS was part of the reason for this HALO. This was its maiden flight. Its beta-test, and he was just the man for the job.
Until it kicked in, supposedly at a higher altitude than all others, he gloried in the few seconds of an adrenaline rush, free-falling to what very well could be his death if things went wrong. Therein lay the magic of skydiving, all the risk of dying only to cheat the Grim Reaper at the last possible second, to pull up and spit in the stone cold eye of Death.
Yeah. Nothing like it in the world.
The fact that another brave soul had recently made a twenty-four miles jump from the stratosphere only proved Adam’s point. Some men were made to fly, and he was one of them. This ordinary jump of nearly seven miles straight down was adrenaline enough. For now. Maybe someday he’d match that other man’s record. Maybe not. He truly didn’t care about setting records. Just the fall. Just the flight.
He liked that initial ‘what the hell have I done?’ sensation moreso because he understood the physics, the very real concept of terminal velocity when the downward force of gravity equaled the restraining force of drag. Yep. Science. Laws of gravity. Risk of splat. Gotta love it.
Every HALO jump involved unique dangers—the frigid cold, decompression sickness, or hypoxia. Death was never more than a heartbeat away. But the thrill. The view. Nothing like it.
He could’ve gone faster, could’ve pulled his body into a compact, cylindrical projectile, secured his arms to his side and his legs together instead of splayed like they were. Skydivers called it free flying, when a man’s body became more bullet than human. But as much as Adam loved the speed, he loved the journey more. Only HALO jumps brought him out of the world and this close to heaven.
In the sky he was free, not so much bird as shooting star. Plummeting.
On land he became a bulky beast of burden bound to earth’s core. A turtle.
Why hurry a three-minute ride?
He glanced up. No moon tonight, just the constellations and Ursa Major glittering in the sub-polar altitude, crisp and clear. Adam’s favorite star, Polaris, shone exactly where the pointer stars in the bowl of the Big Dipper indicated. The North Star beckoned like the true friend it was, as constant and a thousand times squared more reliable than any woman Adam had ever known. Always beckoning him home. Always faithful. The ultimate ‘semper fi.’
His last and final relationship encounter flashed through his mind. Like it or not, in a nanosecond he relived Shirley. His ex-girlfriend. Ex-lover. Ex-nightmare.
He forced his very disciplined mind to shove the biggest mistake of his life out of his head. Shirley was old news, the poison of her manipulative grasp at last diluted with enough good times mingled with plenty of scotch.
The digital readouts strapped to his wrist and arm flashed to life right on schedule, reminding him that he had better things to think about. Like living.
Impact in less than two.
South Dakota lay below, now the site of a lost proto-type, the multi-million dollar HH UAV, the Hummingbird Hawk Unmanned Aerial Vehicle. Named for its compact but predatory stealth design, it went down during its initial test flight out of Ellsworth Air Force Base, just miles away. Its advanced technology and extremely small size made it immeasurably valuable in the world of covert ops. All DoD held its breath when they’d heard it went missing. The CIA too. This was their baby. Their future. And now their worst nightmare. Too many others wanted it. Russia. China. Terrorists. Allies.
Checking altimeter and GPS coordinates, he allowed a small smile of success. No meteorological events interfered with his flight tonight. Smooth descent. Right on target.
Earth approached fast.
Fifteen thousand.
His latest favorite song popped into his head, its heavy bass a heartbeat that matched his philosophy. Yeah, he agreed with country singer. What was the use of life? And man, this was living at its most extreme. Adam’s hint of a smile easily slid into a grin as he belted out a few more lines at his buddy, Polaris. Live damn it. That’s why we’re here, to live.
Eight thousand.
His GPS flashed once. Then twice. His target might as well be already acquired and the mission over as far as he was concerned. Smoothest drop ever.
Six thousand.
Thicker atmosphere at the earth’s surface brought warmer temperatures. Almost time to deploy.
Four thousand.
Two.
Adam tugged the handle that triggered his chute. Whoosh. Instantly, the flat-black, eight-celled nylon fabric of his ram-air canopy released, stopping death in its tracks, and giving Adam a few seconds to view the LZ before his boots hit the dirt. Drifting toward touchdown, the sight below was all he expected. Grasslands. Prairie. Flat. Dark.
He activated another specialized tracking device set to pick up the HH locator signal only. Just in time. The earth rushed up to meet him. To be safe, he removed the night vision goggles from the rucksack and strapped them around his neck. No matter the ease of the landing, it never hurt to be prepared. Freedom lived in the heavens. Not on the earth.
He braced for impact, his knees bent and his senses sharp, primed for all possibilities.
Oomph. Touchdown.
Adam rolled as he landed, expelling nothing more than a soft grunt that none heard, unless the few curious prairie dogs scampering out of his path mattered. Gathering the black nylon chute into big handfuls, he stuffed it into the empty nylon bag he’d stored in another pocket, using those same few minutes to survey the wide-open space around him. The pure silence of the dark Dakota night met his ears. Soft sounds of nature. Nothing man-made.
Smoothest op ever.
Once the parachute was stowed, he let the rucksack drop from his back. It carried what-if supplies like water, MREs, medical supplies, and his all-important EPIRB, his emergency position-indicating radio beacon. Anything could happen, especially on a peculiar mission like this.
The feeling that this was bizarre game persisted, mostly because a HALO drop into harmless South Dakota made no sense in the wary world of a black operator. Why old man Reagan, the billionaire eccentric behind Reagan Industries, demanded such a high security measure in the middle of grassland seemed irrational and foolish.
Adam fought the sensation that he was not alone. He had yet to glimpse any reason for it. Even if he were being watched, this night was still a lot of fun.
He held the HH tracking device up to his face. The soft green glow from the screen lit its map of his immediate area, a red dot pinging a heartbeat less than three klicks to the northeast and the exact position of the missing drone. Good enough. Setting a steady pace, he jogged toward it, watching where he stepped as much as he could. Landing in a prairie dog hole could snap a man’s leg. He had no intention of being airlifted, not after the exhilaration of this perfect drop.
The sweet Dakota air smelled good at 0245 hours. Cool. Pleasan
t. And a good run relaxed a man. It allowed the adrenaline overload from the jump to burn away. He checked the tracker again. Less than a thousand meters straight ahead. Instantly, his mind provided equivalents. Three thousand, two hundred, and eighty-one feet. One thousand, ninety-four yards.
Man, I love my job.
A prairie dog barked off to his left. Adam grinned. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. What’s more, this very expensive, very top-secret UAV would be home before the world knew it had gone missing.
The tracking device alarm that indicated he was nearly on target sounded steady beeps. Slowing his gait, he glanced to his right and then left. Only grass and more grass. All good. How hard could it be to find a two-foot long baby bird, attach it to a miniature aerostat, punch the can of helium to inflate, and let it fly away home? Not hard at all in his book. Once the thing was airborne, a larger UAV would snag the line between baby bird and the aerostat with a specially designed pincer attached to its nose. By the time Adam’s boss inhaled his first cup of coffee in far off Virginia, baby bird would be back in its hanger at Reagan Research, and all would be well.
As big a fiasco as this loss might have been were the HH not recovered, the mechanics of baby-bird’s rescue would once again prove the undeniable need for drones in defense and industrial missions. Technology upon technology. The world was an amazing place, and Adam reveled in it. It helped him fly. Yeah. Technology was great.
Brushing his palms over the knee-high grass, Adam let it tickle between his splayed fingers. Buffalo used to roam here. The Lakota and Sioux Indian tribes too. The place was just plain magic. Ellsworth Air Force Base had been alerted. They’d known he was dropping in tonight, but were advised not to engage. No one else knew. For now it was just him, a missing baby bird, a few barking rodents, and the romance of days gone by.
The foolishness of his mission still nagged. Nearby Ellsworth Air Force Base would’ve been happy to retrieve the UAV. They could’ve, and they should’ve. The request for a HALO was one hundred percent unnecessary, but the CIA said, ‘Hell, no,’ to the offer. Hands off. Like the control freaks they were, they demanded that someone non defense-related do the retrieval.
To make matters worse, the man responsible for developing the HH, Mr. Paul Reagan, had gone straight to Alex Stewart, the owner of best covert surveillance company of the East Coast, The TEAM, and the deal was struck before the Air Force could shoot off their well-prepared rebuttal. One agent and one only would handle retrieval. Adam smiled again. Given his aptitude for HALO drops, it was a no-brainer. He was in transit before his boss’s signature was dry on the dotted line.
The GPS pinged louder, leading him straight to his prize. A dark shadow in the grass turned into the smooth body of the tiny predator. He knelt on knee to the ground in awe, pulling the HH gently out of the shallow depression of its crash-landing. The weight of it surprised him. He’d expected more, but this little darling felt less than twenty pounds. Coated in flat black, radar absorbent material, the overall smooth design contributed to its invisibility. Wings swept back and tailless, it was the perfect predator. Small. Invisible. Deadly.
He cradled it tenderly, proud of his skill and his aptitude. Best day ever.
“Come on, little guy,” he said fondly. “Let’s get you home.”
He stood, turning back to his initial touchdown, and breathed a sigh of relief. The tiny drone did not appear damaged, other that a few scrapes along its metallic skin, nothing a good buffing couldn’t handle.
A soft whirring sound overhead interrupted his self-congratulations; the telltale ruffling of silky nylon ballooned tight with air. Adam jerked his gaze heavenward. Another jumper? Here? Nothing revealed itself, but his ears hadn’t lied. He crouched one knee in the tall grass, the infant UAV tucked tightly to his chest, letting nature provided the camouflage. No other sound rent the silence. No boots on the ground. No un-oiled squeak of a control lever to bring a chute to pinpoint landing. Nothing.
He held his breath, trusting his gut more than sight. His sixth sense screamed, “You’re not alone.”
A rippling breeze parted the way ahead of him for mere seconds. Sliding his night vision goggles up over his face, the world turned lime green. But he’d switched to NV too late. Somebody dropkicked the side of his head, hard, but not disorienting him enough to release the baby in his arms.
Adam hunkered into the natural cover of the land until he could make out the man in black beneath a triangular-shaped paraglide flying low and as silent as the night itself. An engine noise would have confirmed the visual, but there was none. Whoever this guy was, he’d banked and was coming around again, no doubt thinking he’d rendered his target unconscious.
Guess again. Adam growled low in his throat. The predator in him sprang to life. Two can play that game.
Rolling to his back with the baby still in his arms, he waited until his assailant was nearly overhead again. And firing. Automatic rounds strafed the ground alongside Adam. Enough was enough! He rolled to his stomach, set the drone on the ground, and pushed off the prairie, charging the would-be assassin.
Surprised, the man banked sharply. Too sharp. With a running leap, Adam grabbed the guy’s ankle and jerked him off his seat. Either the idiot hadn’t buckled up or the harness broke. Uumph. Down he came, hitting the dirt hard. Adam followed through with a mean kick to the guy’s midsection. His boot connected with body armor. The guy had anticipated trouble.
Good to know. Me too.
Reaching to his ankle holster, Adam pulled his knife up, and...
“Got it!” A woman shrieked behind him. He whirled as another black silhouette materialized against the midnight sky, drifting in a similar paraglide and too high to reach. Whoever she was, she now had the HH.
He cocked his arm back and propelled the knife forward, hurtling it at the thief. Bulls-eye! She grunted, sagged, and collapsed limp in her harness. The paraglide continued overhead and away with the tiny drone tucked into the silvery netting beneath the woman’s seat.
No way! Adam ran with long-legged strides, his lungs bursting and every muscle on fire to get that damned HH! Fortunately, the paraglide descended as it slowed.
It’s not lost yet!
The nearly silent engine offered the barest hum as he closed the distance, his heart pounding with adrenaline and rage. No one—and I mean NO ONE—messed with Adam Torrey.
Six more yards. Maybe less. His lungs burned with the taste of sulphur and blood. Almost there. Almost got it. Almost.
He forced his last reserves into a final burst of speed, stretching with all he had to secure that baby bird again when—
BLAM!
A burning blast of fire and pain caught his shoulder. The blast spun him around and turned him into a ragdoll tumbling end over end over the grassland. Forward momentum finally ceased when he came to a breathless stop, landing face up, blood streaming in a hot, pain-filled spurt out of the hole in his chest.
Blinking up at the dark sky, Adam gasped. Polaris and Ursa Major swirled overhead. He had no way to reach his gear bag or his locator. Thunder rumbled too close. Not thunder. Maybe boots on the ground. Running fast. Coming straight toward him.
A black shadow descended, cruel and cold.
The butt of a rifle.
The last thing he saw.
About the Author
Irish Winters is an award-winning author who dabbles in poetry, grandchildren, and rarely (as in extremely rarely) the kitchen. More prone to be outdoors than in, she grew up the quintessential tomboy on a farm in rural Wisconsin, spent her teenage years in the Pacific Northwest, but calls the Wasatch Mountains of Northern Utah home. For now.
The wife of one handsome husband and mother of three perfect sons, Irish divides her time between writing at home, and travelling the country with her man while – writing. (Seriously, what else?)
She believes in making every day count for something, and follows the wise admonition of her mother to, “Look out the window and see something!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost I thank God for the supreme gift of being born in America, the land of the free because of the brave. He has blessed me with talent and inspiration, but the spirit of America is the true wind beneath my wings. I thank God every day for our military, quietly and honorably serving, too. These are the real leaders of our country.
My sincerest appreciation to my round one, beta-readers, Nancy Richardson and Lynn Hill, who keep me believing in my dream. To Jeanne Taylor Thomas and Darby Briar, my ass-the-chair partners in crime who never fail to make me laugh. To Bob Houston, the formatting expert who never fails to come up with the perfect finished product. To Kelli Ann Morgan, the genius cover artist who makes my heroes sexy and patriotic. To Lauren McKellar and Katie Johnson, the delightful editors who polish my heroes until they shine.
To my fans and friends the world over, I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. You’ve touched me with your patriotism and dedication to my country.
As always, I end with my husband, Bill. My real hero. You are my greatest source of inspiration. Because of you, The TEAM lives.
The rest of The TEAM
ALEX
MARK
ZACK
HARLEY
CONNOR
RORY
TAYLOR
GABE
MAVERICK
Coming soon
Adam (2016)
Lee (2016)
Jake (2016)
Hunter (2017)
Eric (2017)
Ky (2017)
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GOODREADS
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three