Danger Zone (Delta Force Echo: An Iniquus Action Adventure Romance Book 2)

by Fiona Quinn

  Remi slid her splayed fingers into her hair, fisted her hands, and bent at the waist as a strangled noise crawled out of her throat.

  He was right.

  Of course, he was.

  Cooler heads prevailing…it was a thing.

  Typically, she was a cooler head. Today… Today, she was horrified.

  “You’re home, I will remind you, to receive the Excellence in International Journalism Award. It’s a big deal. For you. For our news organization. You could mention your friends from FR3 during your acceptance speech, bring attention…” He lowered himself into his black leather captain’s chair.

  Remi wasn’t giving up. “Liu, you could go for me, stand in my place. Shoot, I’ll even lend you my gown. We’re about the same size-ish. You’ll be gorgeous.”

  Liu rolled his eyes at her. “Be serious. This is a big deal. You deserve to stand there and receive your applause.

  “It’s Jean Baptiste. What do you think is more important to me, applause or Jean Baptiste?” She side-stepped, sliding into the guest chair in front of Liu’s desk so they’d be eye to eye. “Please, Liu. If I swear that I won’t try to save Éloïse and Marie-Claude, if I promise to just go and kiss Jean Baptiste and support our staff, can you find me a way over there?” She pitched herself forward. Her gaze was beseeching.

  Liu locked his fingers behind his head and pressed back in his chair, leaning back to the full extent of its springs. He focused unblinkingly on the ceiling.

  Remi knew better than to push. She wanted to talk her way forward; it was what she did for a living, talking her way into situations. Or out of them.

  But here, she knew that would be counterproductive.

  She had to physically bite into her tongue to hold it in place, letting Liu have a moment to see that she was sane in the face of this evil. In control of her emotions as much as one could be.

  “All right. Fine.” He came upright again. “To get you into Lebanon with a quick visa turnaround, we’ll need a reason, preferably diplomatic…government involved...” Liu swung toward his computer.

  Remi sat quietly as Liu scrolled and tapped.

  “Here!” Liu put his finger to the screen, then angled his head toward Remi. “Do you know of a woman named Barb Blankenship?”

  “U.S. Senator representing Texas. I only know the name and background basics. I’ve never reported on her specifically.”

  Liu balanced his reading glasses on his nose. Leaning forward, his fingers blazed over the keyboard. “Okay. I can pull Jasmine.”

  Jasmine Tremblay? She’s a White House reporter.

  Remi didn’t move a muscle; she just held her breath and waited for more information.

  “America hosted an international girls’ robotics competition. Texas Senator Barb Blankenship will be flying two groups back to their homes and giving a string of speeches over a few days. First London for an Oxford speech. Blankenship was a—”

  “Rhode’s scholar, yes.”

  “Then to Iraq for a brief touchdown to deposit the Iraqi girls’ team.” Liu used his index finger to trace down the schedule of events listed on his screen. “Then on to Lebanon to give a speech about women leadership at the American University of Science and Technology in Beirut. A meeting with the embassy and representatives for the Lebanese government.”

  Remi leaned forward. “About?”

  “The U.S.’s ongoing commitment to Lebanese security and to truss up relationships,” he lifted his gaze to catch on Remi, “in that ISIS in Syria is a major threat to Lebanon.” With his chin dipped down, Liu squinted over the tops of his glasses at her. “You actually have to do the job. You have to shadow the senator and write the article. But at least it will get you back to your friends so you all can see each other. Check-in for support. There should be downtime for you to do that. If not, I’d be okay with your tacking a few days onto the end of your visit and flying commercial home to the States.” Without waiting for her response, Liu focused back on the screen. “It looks like Blankenship will mostly be doing photo ops. The photographer is Jules Edward.”

  “Jules?” Remi wrinkled her nose and instantly regretted it. “Cool. Love Jules. Jules and I will be awesome together.”

  Liu paused, assessing her. “Promise me a story. A good one.”

  Remi held up her hand as if taking an oath. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

  “Your mother’s in good health. I saw her at Barney’s two days ago.”

  “Figure of speech.” Rocking forward in her chair, Remi shuffled her feet over the oriental rug, anxious to get moving. “How soon until I can be in Lebanon?”

  “You’re always so eager to take a bite from the apple.”

  Sucking in a breath, letting her chest expand until it lifted her shoulders up to her ears, Remi exhaled with extended lips, not even trying to hide her impatience.

  “I can forward these background notes Jasmine submitted,” he said, turning away from the computer screen to focus back on Remi.

  “Thank you. Okay.” Remi scooted forward to the edge of the chair. “So Blankenship is flying the girls’ teams to England and Iraq.” She paused and tipped her ear toward her shoulder, furrowing her brow. “There’s a girls' robotics team in Iraq?”

  “They’re in an internationally run refugee camp that works at bringing the girls’ literacy rates up to be commensurate with the boys’. You won’t be going to that camp. The charitable group is sending a bus to pick up the girls at the airport. Eventually, I guess…they aren’t releasing information about the time or place where the senator will set down. Security, I assume, is going to be tight. And I suppose that touchdown will be brief. My guess is fifteen-twenty minutes. Dump the kids off the plane, throw the luggage onto the tarmac while the senator says, ‘Huzzah for the girls!’ Back on board and take off. They’d want to get the senator in and out as quickly as possible. If anything happened to Blankenship in Iraq, we’d be right back at war. Iraq, then a quick hop over the border to Beirut. I’m assuming that’s where they’ll take Jean Baptiste to get medical help. Though it could be that they’ll medevac him to France.”

  “No,” Remi said with a shake of her head. “His family’s in Beirut. He’ll want to stay there with his wife. Thank you,” Remi reached out to grip the edge of Liu’s desk, “for finding a story. When does Blankenship leave?”

  “Wednesday, so you have tomorrow to rest up and read through your mail pile. Do some advanced research. I need to check with Blankenship’s office to make sure they’ll accommodate you on the plane…” He leaned over and wrote himself a note on a yellow sticky.

  Though upside down, Remi could make out “Pull Jasmine from London trip,” written in cramped script.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” Liu said. “Having you along is a feather in Blankenship’s cap. It gives her speeches and action not only visibility but the power of your byline.”

  “You’re spreading it on a little thick now.” Remi raised a single brow.

  “I’m perfectly serious. I’ll reach out to Blankenship’s office and let them know we’ve changed journalist assignments. I’ll make sure there’s room on her plane. If not, that might complicate things in terms of the fast turnaround on getting your visa. But I’ll do my best. I’ll email you logistics.”

  Pressing to her feet, Remi put her hand on her heart. “Liu, I could kiss you.”

  “You’re not my preferred gender,” he deadpanned.

  “Figure of speech, and it would be in the vein of a daughterly kiss on the forehead. Not sexually.” She squished up her face in exaggerated disgust. “Ewww.”

  “And thanks for that.” Liu stood.

  “Seriously, Liu, it’s a big favor. I’ll owe you.”

  “It’s not a bad story. Feel good. Forward-looking. Hopeful at a time when we could all use it. It’s a spin on what you normally do. But if it’s done right, we can make this an important glimpse into the struggles of womanhood and what the next generation is doing to overcome despite the horror
s of the girls’ pasts. Pay me back by making it worth our while to send you.”

  “Yup. Got it. I can do this.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, try anyway.” He tipped his head. “Remi, go home. Get yourself a massage or whatever you do to help yourself unwind. Pack. And we’ll keep our fingers crossed that I can make this a go.”

  With a curt nod, Remi started for the door.

  “Oh, and Remi, the senator will be escorted by a military personal protection team. Just a reminder,” he pulled his reading glasses off his nose and jabbed them toward her, “the operators will safeguard the senator. They won’t do jack shit for you. As the operators like to say, watch your six.”

  Chapter Three

  T-Rex

  Monday, along the Niger border in west-central Africa

  Delta Force Echo ran full tilt for the Black Hawk heli with their commander, Master Chief T-Rex Landry, bringing up the rear.

  More mule than man at that point, T-Rex was laden with equipment. The hundred and fifty pounds of banging, clanging, bruising packs strapped over his body armor felt twice as heavy to T-Rex. His thigh muscles quivered, and his butt cheeks cramped from exertion.

  He’d pushed his forty-year-old body to the breaking point.

  Echo hadn’t stopped, let alone slept in the last thirty-six hours.

  They hadn’t even paused to heat and eat an MRE. They simply ripped the packages open and threw what calories they could down their gullets.

  As master chief, it was on T-Rex to grit his teeth and plow on, setting an example for his men.

  Standing six-feet-seven, three hundred pounds of lean muscle, T-Rex sank up to the tops of his boots in the monsoon saturated clay with each stride. That clay sucked at his feet, trying to hold him prisoner, trip him, take him down.

  T-Rex bit down hard, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in oxygen and powered forward like a locomotive.

  From previous experience, T-Rex knew that when he finally shucked the boots after this mission was over, there would be a ring of blisters encircling his ankles. The clay slime made its way past his boot laces, into his socks, and between his toes. With each step, T-Rex could feel the grit cutting tiny nicks into his feet.

  Ground moisture wicked up the length of his pants to his hips. The fabric rubbed against his thighs. Rug burns and chafing lit his skin on fire.

  Bonus, the night air was only ninety degrees, much cooler than when the sun burned bright. The humidity, though, continued to hover around one hundred percent. It was like running through soup.

  Hounded by intermittent bullets buzzing past them, knowing the enemy was regrouping and coming after their team, every step getting themselves out of this mess was life or death.

  This exfil had been nuts.

  Navigating the terrain with night vision, the eerie green landscape created by the vegetation was dappled in the warmer spectrum of reds and oranges. The body heat of animals sleeping under branches lit up their lenses and drew the operators’ attention away from their trajectory.

  With speed as their priority for this run, T-Rex just had to pray that none of those red circles was the head of an enemy peeking up from a shooter’s hole or a machete-wielding tribesman ready to amputate a limb.

  His teammate Ty, their team K9 handler, had given up trying to run his Belgian Malinois, Rory, over this terrain. Rory had floundered in the muck and couldn’t keep up, his fur matted with the thick clay. Not willing to risk an injury, Ty had handed off his rucksack to Havoc. Now, Ty was running with Rory draped over his shoulders.

  Rory’s tongue lolled out, panting in the heat, his saliva dripping in long frothy strands down Ty’s back.

  Havoc and Nitro each grabbed a strap of their brother’s pack. It swayed between them as they added that weight to their burden.

  They pushed to their limits.

  The labored breathing of the Delta Force Echo teammates fell into a machine-like cadence.

  Completing this mission had been much more complicated than they’d planned. Or contingency planned.

  Their window to get to the landing zone was counted down by the TOC—tactical operations center—where the unfolding mission was monitored in Djibouti.

  The problem was: The Black Hawk could only hold so much fuel, and, with engines running, their pilot was counting every drop, staying on the ground as long as she could before she had no choice but to bug out.

  D-Day Rochambeau was a special forces pilot with the Soar 160th—a Night Stalker. Their task was to put special forces where they needed to be, when they needed to be there. D-Day was precise to within thirty seconds on any given mission. So when she said, “T-Rex, your team has twelve seconds to get on my bird,” it was an exact number, and then she’d be gone.

  There was a timer tick-tick-ticking on her control panel.

  Man, as they came over this last berm, seeing the black outline of the helicopter against the night sky felt like a miracle.

  As they reached their landing zone, the men threw themselves onto the waiting heli with groans and heaving gasps. Rolling to the side to make room for the next teammate to leap, their limbs quivered with overexertion.

  Jeopardy stood outside the door opening, slapping each man as he piled in, counting off, making sure that each of his Delta Force brothers made it onto the aircraft. He squeezed the shoulder of the last man, Ty Newcomb, as he bounded on with Rory. “All accounted for, Master Chief.”

  Swiveling, T-Rex planted his hips on the deck, grabbing at the strap and attaching it to his D ring, securing himself in place as he did his own head count. Double-checking. It wouldn’t be unprecedented to make a mistake with this level of brain haze. Forty miles, it had felt like he was back at the Delta Force “Long Walk,” but they’d only been expected to carry seventy pounds back then.

  Sleep. It was the only thing that was going to defog his brain.

  Nick of Time, the co-pilot, swiveled forward and signaled to D-Day that they had indeed gotten every last man.

  She maneuvered them up into the sky, over the terrain, and onward to base. T-Rex closed his eyes and let the adrenaline slide from his system.

  He knew D-day had it handled.

  The men on this flight were silent.

  Exhausted.

  They’d accomplished their mission. Even with things turning sideways on them, they could land with their heads held high.

  Right now, everyone needed a long shower, a hot meal, and sleep.

  T-Rex pressed his finger into his ear as he listened to the TOC.

  “Change of plans.” Their commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Burnside, bellowed into the comms, loud enough that T-Rex could make out his words.

  T-Rex toggled his mic. “Echo Actual, copy.”

  “D-day’s racing the clock to get you here in time. We have a transport willing to wait a short while. You, Havoc, Ty, and K9 Rory are heading to Washington D.C. The rest of Echo will return home on the previous timeline.”

  “Understood.”

  “We’re handling logistics on your personal gear. The rest of the equipment can head back with Echo.”

  T-Rex turned to scan over his brothers’ faces. They’d all fallen into an instantaneous and profound sleep. Everyone except for Ty and K9 Rory, who focused on T-Rex expectantly. Ty was his number two. “Copy,” T-Rex bellowed past the sound of wind and rotor.

  T-Rex knew that their logician would have everything squared away when they landed. The three-man team could jump off the Black Hawk and jump right onto their taxi stateside.

  “You’ll get cleaned up once you’re back home.”

  T-Rex looked down at his mud-caked clothing. TOC had no clue what they looked like.

  If the three-man team didn’t have time to change, they’d at least have to find a water hose to spray the clumps off their boots and to clean Rory up.

  Burnside’s gravelly voice rumbled past the whistle of wind. “I’d pop some Ambien and do what sleeping you can on the transport.”

  T-Rex looked across
at his men. Typically, T-Rex and the team were read into a program, they did their homework, and T-Rex assigned the roles. “Who chose the team?”

  “That comes from up the chain.”

  “Good copy.” T-Rex called into his mic.

  “Three things went into the decision making. One, your team is fresh off operations simulation.”

  Because The Unit often did close protection for vulnerable VIPs, the men did a rotation in major cities worldwide, learning the layout of the cities, learning the mass transportation systems, the rules of etiquette. More importantly, they trained on negotiating the various countries’ traffic, practicing their protective maneuvers in cars with left-side and right-side steering wheels.

  “Once Echo was chosen, they pared down to you three because of language proficiency and because Rory is a bomb sniffer.”

  T-Rex glanced toward Ty then Havoc, scrolling through the languages his men spoke, trying to weed out where they might be headed.

  All Delta Force operators did a stint at language school to develop their fluency, depending on needs. Everyone on his team had some Spanish, some Arabic, and Russian. They had a smattering of other languages that they’d picked up from deployments.

  French was a common denominator for Africa, and his men could all get through the basics—Stop! Hands in the air! Do it now!

  T-Rex, Ty, and Havoc shared the same language fluency. He tried that on for size. “So Arabic and French?”

  “Bingo. You’re headed to London, then Iraq, and Lebanon. You’ll be escorting U.S. Senator Barb Blankenship.”

  “Numbers that we’ll be guarding?”

  “You’ll be on a private jet. Blankenship is escorting two robotics teams home after competing in a U.N.-sponsored competition in Washington. These girls’ teams are both comprised of refugee teens. The team from London is a mixed bag of Syrian and Afghan girls. Once they’re deposited, Blankenship is flying the Iraqi girls home. There is a quick stop in Trebil on the border to let them off the plane, then Blankenship has a few days of speeches planned for Lebanon. I’ve already uploaded a file with the information. We’ve been working on getting your threat assessment together. We won’t have time to send a forward team to scope out the situations, so the CIA and the State Department are handling that for you.”