by Fiona Quinn
He takes the concept of “the silent professionals” to the extreme, was her first thought. Her second was, if we run into danger, I’m probably on my own. He doesn’t seem to like me much.
Senator Blankenship patted Remi on the knee. She was obviously the touchy-feely type. Remi bet Blankenship liked to give hugs.
Remi, on the other hand, preferred physical distance unless the person was one of her tight circle of friends and family members. Like many of the special forces operators she reported on, Remi liked at least an arm’s length of space; it offered her reaction time.
“Well done indeed, little lady,” the senator said. “I pulled T-Rex there off to the side and asked him what happened out there with them damned buzzards.” She batted her hand through the air. “Turkey vultures, what have you. I liked what he told me about your actions. Clever, brave. Yep, I like that, sets a good example for other women to stand up and not be the shrinking violet type. These girls saw a woman running into the fray instead of just men-folk. ‘Course you’d have to be courageous to be out there reporting under fire the way you do. Rare bird, if you don’t mind my play on words.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re not my usual gal.”
“No, ma’am, I was assigned because I’m familiar with Lebanon.”
“Remi Taleb.” The senator elongated her name as far as she could, stretching each vowel out like a rubber band. “Yep. I know you by way of reputation. Taleb—seeker of knowledge. Seems like an apt name for someone in your profession. Out of curiosity, how much do you make putting your life on the line like you do?”
Remi hitched a thumb toward T-Rex. “Oh, about as much as your security guys but without the added perks.” She caught his eye.
“Perks?” T-Rex asked.
“Housing. Shopping in the PX.”
“You want to stock your cupboards with MREs?” Diamond asked.
“They’re expensive on Amazon.” Remi shrugged. “I eat them all the time. I have cases of them in my apartment. When I get an assignment, I shove some in my backpack, fill my camel water bladder and head out.”
“Moment’s notice,” T-Rex said.
Remi thought she might start counting the man’s syllables and see how high he could get in a single sentence. So far, four was about average, she’d guess. Maybe fewer.
“When a story strikes, it’s not going to wait around for me,” Remi explained. “I have to be there. It’s grab and go. No event is going to wait patiently while I take my sweet time.”
“You know,” Blankenship said. “I think you’re the right kind of gal to be on this trip with me. I’ve read one of your pieces. You’re the reporter that brought the boom down on that Ackerman fellow.”
“I tried. Ackerman was found not guilty.”
“Don’t get yourself down on account of a military tribunal. Your work had its impact. It made me sit up and take notice. When I found out you’d be on this trip with me, I thought, I’d like to buy that gal a drink if it were allowed. I know how you journalists are sticklers for ethical conduct. Just know, I read that article, and it got me to thinkin’ about how I could help my fellow women bypass the crap and reach their potential. I’ve put together a proposal that I’m working to gather bipartisan support—it’s an everybody issue. Who could possibly be against rape? Actually,” she paused to wrinkle her nose, “a surprising number of my male senators seem to shy away from anti-rape legislation. Makes you wonder… Anyway, I need to get the word out because there’s a SEAL in Texas, not going to name names, but he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips, as they used to say—can’t keep up with the lingo, I shouldn’t even try. It’s like my grandma trying to wear a ruffled bikini to the beach. Not a good look.” She gave Remi a broad wink.
Remi was a little confused by the senator's disordered ideas. This wasn’t linear conversation but a scramble of connected thoughts. It’s not how the eloquent senator had spoken on tape.
The plane jostled and dropped, then lifted again.
Remi squeezed her eyes shut.
The pilot came over the speaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated with your safety belts on. We’re going to be flying through turbulence for the next oh-twenty minutes or so. I hope to get us above this air current and get you more comfortable at that point.”
At that point. Ugh. Remi’s whole body felt clammy and overly hot. She unwound her scarf and put it in the seat pocket in front of her, then reached up to adjust the air so it would stream toward her face.
“T-Rex.” Blankenship leaned across Remi, taking up Remi’s personal space and making her claustrophobia that much worse as the plane slid down another gust and back up again, roller-coaster-like. Remi had to focus hard so she didn’t do something outlandish in a bid at self-preservation, like punch the senator in the nose.
“Yes, ma’am?” T-Rex said.
“Which branch of the military brought you to your present duty? Master Chief. You came up the ranks through the Navy?”
“Navy SEALs, ma’am.”
“When you were a SEAL, Master Chief, were you a number or a color?” Without her cowboy hat on her head, the senator had an interesting look. Her hair was plastered down at the top, ringed by a wreath of wiry grey curls.
“I started off in SEAL Platoon One, Bravo, ma’am.”
Oooh, eleven syllables. A personal best.
“And from there?” Blankenship asked.
“From there, I advanced, ma’am.”
Blankenship chuckled. “That answer has the makings of a future politician.”
“That’s not something I’d be interested in pursuing, ma’am.”
“No? Tell me, what do you envision in your future?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll be escorting you to your speech in Oxford. The day after, we’ll deliver the young women to Iraq, and then we’ll move on to Lebanon.”
Blankenship nodded. “All the makings of a politician.” Blankenship leaned even farther across Remi’s lap. “So you knew Ackerman, did you, T-Rex? That’s where he’s from, Platoon One, Bravo.”
“We went through Hell Week together.”
“He caused quite the stir in my committee meeting. That kind of behavior is reprehensible.” She lifted her brows and dropped them. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I liked to kick up my own heels from time to time. In terms of the alcohol, I get that. Finding a warm body to give a soul some comfort. That’s human, isn’t it? It’s not like I’m a prude.” She caught and held T-Rex’s gaze. “I think if a man has a lot of testosterone, it has to get released one way or another. Consensual sex. I’m all for that. Even the naked dancing around the campfires? Psh. No harm, no foul as far as I can tell.”
T-Rex locked his muscles into a form of parade rest. This was a conversation that he, obviously, didn’t want to have.
“The other stuff, though, is mighty disturbing. Drug abuse, violence, murdering Afghan citizens? The dehumanization of our fellow man. And women. And children. Granted, most of us only know about SEALs—you’re not with the SEALs now—but The Unit scoops from the same pool. I’m sure it’s just more of the same.”
T-Rex swung his head around to see if anyone around them was listening.
Remi did the same. Thankfully the girls around them looked engaged in their own conversations.
“Pressure to be super-human. I don’t see a cure for that. Hollywood makes y’all out to be infallible. But in the eyes of God,” Blankenship pointed toward the heavens, “we are all his children, and children are known to mess up a time or two.” She stuck her pinky in her mouth and dug something from her tooth. “I’m forgiving, as I said, about drink and fornication as long as it’s kept personal, not public.” The senator stopped, shifting her gaze to Remi. “It was you who wrote that article that got SEAL Platoon Bravo recalled home. The one that got our boys in a twist with the law.”
“I wrote an article about the incidents, yes, ma’am.” Remi thought that question had already been asked and answered…
�
�You’d be wise to keep your nose clean with this little gal running at our heels.” Blankenship raised her brow toward T-Rex.
Before he could slip in his “Yes, ma’am,” the senator was back focused on Remi.
“Good job. Better out than in is what I like to say. Well, that’s usually when a friend has had too much to drink.” She laughed. “But better for an American to police their own rather than have this mess splashed across some less than advantageous news headline. Moscow or Turkey. China. People who could make hay of this.”
Remi shifted her weight from hip to hip.
“Don’t get me wrong. The press is in our Constitution because they play an important role in a democracy. I’m glad you wrote that story up. With you coming out with it first, it looks like we’re vigilant and hold our soldiers to a high standard. For the sake of our reputation, I had hopes that Akerman and the other one…”
“Gotwold?” Remi offered.
“Yep, that one. I had hoped they’d spend some time in the brig. And because they’re heroes, they deserve psychological support along with that punishment. Yep. Eyes of the world on our special soldiers.” She turned to face T-Rex. “Good thing you’re so good looking, T-Rex. You’re standing behind me in the photos means we can perpetuate that Captain America crap and broadcast it worldwide.”
T-Rex looked uncomfortably at Remi.
The senator noticed.
“Mmmm hmmm.” Blankenship pressed her lips together as she quirked the corner of her mouth up into a half-smile. “I can tell, this is gonna be a humdinger of a trip.”
Chapter Twelve
Remi
Wednesday, London England
“Thank god,” Remi said aloud as she dropped her hotel key card on the table and her backpacks on the floor.
She turned around backward and flopped across the bed. She’d made it. They were in London.
Tomorrow was the speech in Oxford. A second night here at the hotel, then on to Iraq and Lebanon, where she’d get to see Jean Baptiste.
Remi pulled her phone from her thigh pocket, ready to call one of their friends to see if there was an update on anyone from the FR3 team. Scrolling through her texts and missed calls, Remi discovered that an overwhelming volume of communications had come through while en route. Remi figured if she called one, she’d have to call them all.
She was just too tired for that.
Remi set her phone on airplane mode.
She’d start returning messages tomorrow.
Exhausted from holding her muscles braced on the plane for eight hours, then the extra scrutiny paid to her when she was moving through customs because of the kinds of stamps she had in her passport, Remi had been left behind by the senator’s team.
She made it to the hotel on her own.
Noted: Keep up or adios.
Remi was relieved, actually. She needed a little space to decompress.
Having dragged her tunic over her head, Remi unclasped her “utility belt” before she forced herself up and to the bathroom. She wanted to get cleaned up before she fell asleep there on the comfy mattress.
It was luxurious to pull off her shoes and tights and just let the cool air brush over her bare skin.
She stood there in her panties while she drew a bath, looking in the mirror.
Thinking back over her flight, sitting across the aisle from T-Rex—he was the epitome of the strong silent type. She’d gotten nowhere in learning about him. She bet he wasn’t thrilled to be here. A lot of travel without much adrenaline. It didn’t seem like his kind of gig.
She bet he was magnificent in action.
And then a vision of him in bed, sheets draping over his muscular thighs as he pumped his tight hips. Whew. Not the action Remi had originally been considering—running through the jungle Rambo-style. But yeah, she bet he was magnificent doing the horizontal rumba, too.
When was the last time she’d made love to a man? Remi tried to remember. It was August now…months?
Yeah, back in May. She’d been assigned to Cairo. That cute Egyptian studies grad student from Berkeley was there. Excited about life. Clean cut and innocent. That had been nice.
He was twenty-three years old and never seemed to tire in bed.
Remi traced her hands over her breasts, turning this way and that in the mirror. Almost forty…not bad. She was holding it together pretty well. She lifted her breasts and let them go, testing the effects of gravity. Hmmm. Not much of a change from her own graduate days. This was one of the benefits of having an active job. Lots of hiking, hefting equipment, running for her life…
She turned and looked at her butt. She liked the cut of these panties; they made her legs look long and seemed to give her curves a little extra oomph.
Things were still toned, her skin still tight. Stomach flat.
She slipped her fingers under the elastic on her panties, letting them slide down her leg. She used her big toe to work them the rest of the way down past her ankle, so she could step out of them.
When she climbed into the tub, she lay back against the ceramic, her shoulders curved forward. Brrr.
The water was cooler than she wanted it, too. Remi leaned forward to adjust.
Here, the water pressure was almost non-existent. Probably everyone showering for bed at once.
But it was just enough to… Remi propped her heels on either side of the tub. Scooting her hips all the way forward, she let the hot water sluice between the folds of her labia and thrum her clit.
She wiggled her hips to find a more comfortable way to hold her body.
With closed eyes, Remi let her head hang back. Sooo good. This was what she needed—an orgasm to let go of her tension so she could get some sleep.
Tightening her muscles to gather energy, her mind was back on T-Rex. The size of his hands. The breadth of those shoulders, his pecs... Just. So. Good.
So. Good.
Remi let her jaw drop as she panted and groaned, building, building. And then a mild mini-orgasm. Hmph. She guessed it did its job of releasing her travel tension, but it did nothing to soothe her libido.
Her imagination of naked T-Rex was still there front and center in her mind.
With a discouraged sigh, Remi splashed water over her face and body, climbed out, slid her feet back into her bathroom flip flops, toweled off, and went to grab her backpack to find her toothbrush.
It was ten o’clock London time. But Remi’s body was still on an Ethiopian time clock where it was midnight already. Remi’s lifestyle wasn’t conducive to a predictable bedtime, but she tried to be in bed by eleven. Since she was heading on to Lebanon in a day, there was no point in trying to acclimate to Greenwich Mean Time.
Remi moved through her nightly chores. “Set yourself up for success” was the mantra she used each night while organizing for the next day.
She opened her personal backpack and pulled out tomorrow’s outfit. Same as today’s.
A pair of cotton underwear and a sports bra since she was more likely to need to run than seduce a man.
A pair of socks were hidden below the edge of her shoes.
Black. Everything on this trip was black. It meant she didn’t stand out. It also meant that everything matched. The only source of color would be her scarf. Remi chose a beautiful peacock-colored scarf for tomorrow.
Wandering back to the bathroom to grab her shoes, she lined them up neatly under the table. They were comfortable European walking shoes. She could efficiently run, hike, and climb in them. They were quickly on and off when she wanted them to be, but they were also very secure. Once she’d found these shoes, she’d bought ten pairs. Then she’d taken them to a specialized East Indian cobbler who added steel toes.
Out on assignment, Remi had had enough toes broken to know to protect her feet—donkeys, falling rocks, aggressive stomping men. Yes, Remi had learned that if you can’t walk, you can’t chase a story.
With the new toes, the shoes were a little less comfortable. A little heavier.
&
nbsp; You take the good with the bad.
Besides, they made “wicked good” weapons, as her Boston friend Calvin liked to say.
Remi didn’t mind giving a quick kick to get herself out of a dangerous situation.
Next, she shook out a pair of black tactical tights. These, too, were reimagined on that trip to India. Now, they were long enough in the torso to tuck into her bra. This protected her from the utility bag rubbing and abrading her skin. It also helped her stay modest since her tunic slit went past her waist. The tights looked nice, Remi thought, under her tunics. The pockets were amazing and kept her functioning systematically.
With all of her organizational tools, everything had a spot, and she was meticulous that everything was in its correct place every time. Over the years of using a system, her hand would go to the right place and grab the correct item by muscle memory rather than taking up precious focus and time. This was a habit she’d learned from the special forces operators that she’d shadowed.
She moved her tactical pen, flashlight, and multi-tool to the new pants. They came in pretty darned handy this morning during the flock of birds incident.
Remi picked up her phone and sent out a quick text to Liu, “Did Jules keep his eye?” Man, it would be hard to be a photojournalist with only one eye.
A friend of hers was targeted by the American police during the protests earlier in the year. While filming on the West Coast, he’d taken a rubber bullet to the eye, and it had dislodged the retina. Two operations later, and surgeons couldn’t get the retina to stay attached. There was still hope he’d keep his sight, but after this last surgery, that hope was dimming.
Remi looked at the ceiling as the sensation of disgust slid down her body.
Awful.
War reporting was inherently dangerous business. But domestic dangers weren’t as typical.
Remi dragged her tunic out of the bag. That got a shake before she laid it neatly on the table to release the slight wrinkles.
Black, this too was a design that had evolved over time. And she had multiple iterations of them. Washed and stacked in her closet, all Remi had to do when she got the call to pack up and dash to the airport was to decide if this assignment required tan-colored clothing for camouflage or black for urban settings. She’d count off the number of days she’d be gone, lift that number from the pile, shove them in her bag with a like number of tactical tights, and she was basically ready.