“There’s about a ten second delay from when the individual sees it and we get the feed. All dependent on conditions, sat feeds—”
“It’s as close as anyone can get to real time,” Dix said, cutting off the Petty Officer with a death glare.
Flaherty swallowed and turned his attention back to the screens.
Man, Dix is a…dick.
But he came highly recommended, so he must thrive during ops, because Lance couldn’t see how this guy was going to be a fit for his team. If Dix didn’t shine on this mission, Lance was going to have to let his CO know they needed to keep looking. That was going to push back the training with the team by a few weeks. Which meant they wouldn’t be mission ready for potentially months.
With the world seemingly going to hell in a handbasket…time was of the essence. And The 13 was the answer to some of the world’s trickier problems since they operated outside the stricter confines of the regular special operations forces. Sometimes, the less hands in a project, a minimum of political intervention, the easier it becomes to actually get shit done. And make a difference.
Chapter 4
Dix moved into the bullpen and stood like a proud peacock displaying his feathers.
Jesus, the man was an asshole. He acted as if he was solely responsible for the operation.
“Five minutes from doors open.” The voice of the helo pilot filled the room.
Riley grabbed a couple of headsets with battery packs and walked to the back of the room where Lance stood. Handing one to him, she unraveled the cord on hers and turned on the battery pack.
Lance leaned close and whispered, “Not participating?”
Riley snorted. “Welcome to the Tom Dix Show.”
“Three minutes to target,” the voice from the helo said.
Riley watched the small screens. The video feed from the SEALs night vision goggles bounced around as they prepared to set down and exit the bird.
Riley watched as the men exited the helo single-file, rifles up, each man in close proximity to the one he followed. Horse’s voice came over the comms, low, just above a whisper, giving commands to his men. They surrounded the building and prepared to breach.
She tried to keep track of who was going where, but it was impossible to watch every screen at the same time.
A line of dark SUV’s pulled up in front of the school. Men exited the vehicles, covered from head to toe. Faces down.
“Can we get visual ID on them?” Riley asked.
Dix cleared his throat. “Bray, remember your role here.”
She met his icy glare and lifted a hand. Not her op. Not her place to give direction.
Flaherty obviously either didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to listen to her, or didn’t care, because he opened comms and said, “Alpha team, can you confirm the targets ID?”
Crackling came over the comms. “Negative, command. They never looked up before rushing inside.”
Dammit. They’d have to wait until the SEALs breached the school and were able to see them.
“Tangos in the street, three o’clock,” Bull whispered as he and two other men flattened against the wall of the school. “No obvious weapons in view.” The tangos passed by the SEALs, apparently feeling the men’s eyes on them because each turned his head toward where they stood. Bull was able to get a great view of the men’s faces.
Riley stared at the men, and waited for Dix to say something. She glanced at him, but he didn’t speak. Just stood there, legs apart, one arm across his bulbous beer gut, the other hand lazily rubbing his bottom lip as he stared at the screens.
Dumbass. He had no business being in the TOC, let alone running an op.
Riley slid up to Flaherty. “Tell me you got stills of them.”
“Of course,” he murmured. Both needed to keep their conversation out of earshot of Dix. Riley knew he would take any further interference from her as a reason to toss her out of the tent.
“Run them through face recognition. They don’t look like the guys we have associated with security for Farad and Muraq.”
She stepped back to where Lance stood, not wanting to make Dix suspicious of her directions to Faherty.
“What’s up?” Lance whispered.
“Something’s not right.” The way the men were just walking by, no guns, apparently oblivious to the danger around the school, sent a burst of foreboding through her veins.
Lance shifted closer to her. “Tell me.”
“Why are they there? That school is on the outskirts of town. If they are just a bunch of guys in the wrong place at the wrong time then where are they coming from? Where are they going?”
“Maybe they’re part of Farad and Muraq’s contingent.”
“Not any I’m familiar with. I get that body guards are a dime a dozen, and due to the steep mort rate, there is a high degree of job turnover…but these guys—at this level—they don’t change them out often.
“And they’re not armed.” She turned her body toward him to block Dix’s curious gaze. “How many top security details do you know that walk perimeters of high target meetings without firepower?”
Lance opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Ripper’s voice over comms. They both looked at the screen with Rippers call sign along the bottom. “Guys, I got an Anglo trolling the grounds. Not carrying, but shifty fucking eyes—as if he’s looking for something. Or someone.”
The man halted and turned toward the darkened alcove where Ripper stood and held his breath.
“What the fuck?” Lance murmured under his breath. He took the few steps towards Flaherty’s desk, and placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Can you get me a shot of him?”
“Yes, sir,” Flaherty responded, his fingers moving at lightning speed over the keyboard.
“Thanks,” Lance said. “Save that for me until later.”
Riley couldn’t get the three middle eastern men and the odd white guy out of her head. None of them had the usual instruments of body guards. No rifles. No handguns. How were they supposed to protect their terrorist bosses without weapons?
The answer hit her, an explosion in her mind so fierce it nearly knocked her on her ass.
They weren’t there to protect their bosses.
“The high value targets aren’t there,” she said under her breath. Oh God…it’s a set up.
“Pull the team back!” She darted over to Flaherty’s desk. “Extract them!”
“Disregard that order, Flaherty,” Dix hollered. “Bray, stand down. This is not your mission.”
She swung around. “It’s a trap.”
“And you know this how?” he sneered.
“None of us saw the faces of the men that entered that building. There is no way to confirm it was Muraq and Farad.”
“Except that our intel stated the two were meeting at this very place at the exact time they arrived.”
“Their security isn’t armed, Dix!”
“You have no proof of anything, Bray. The mission remains a go. Just because you can’t see their weapons, doesn’t mean they don’t have any on them.” He pointed to the men on the screen. “Maybe they’re carrying them under those large dresses they love to wear.”
Bingo.
Cold dread washed over her. She glanced at Lance. His eyes were full of questions. She was held captive by his gaze. He was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation.
“Suicide bombers,” she said.
“Fuck.” He pulled his hand down his face. “I think you’re right.” He looked past her to where Dix stood, eyes wide. Unsure of what he should do.
Dix trusted Lance more than he trusted her. As if she had ever given any indication that she wasn’t mission first, as long as her men were as safe as she could make them.
“Call it off,” Riley yelled at him. “Get them back now.”
His demeanor shifted with the sound of her voice, and the asshat returned in all his glory. He thrust his chin out and switched his gaze back to the screens. “The mission
remains a go.” His voice was calm. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t acknowledge Lance as he exhaled noisily.
“Jesus Christ, Dix! This isn’t some fucking pissing match between us. Get them out of there. If I’m wrong, you can demote me. Send me out of your unit, burn me at the stake in the courtyard of the Embassy—I don’t care—but get them the fuck out of there!”
With a sideways glance, he smirked and shook his head. “No, Ms. Bray. Now, I’d like you to get your high and mighty ass out—”
A blast sounded over the comms. The screens filled with bright green. Screams filtered through the explosions. The sound was deafening in the headset.
Riley looked at Dix. His mouth agape. Even in the low light of the TOC she could see all the blood had drained from his face. She waited for him to give the evac commands. But he stood, rooted to his spot, big, disbelieving eyes glued to the screens.
Riley moved fast to Flaherty’s side. “I need that helo on the ground now.”
Flaherty nodded and spoke into the headset. “Dunkirk.”
The abort code. A word not used during tactical operations, and one not mistaken for any other command.
The cameras hadn’t survived the blast, so the TOC was silent as they concentrated on the sounds of the men moving toward the pre-planned extraction point. Men grunted and moaned. The knot in Riley’s chest loosened a bit at the sound of the helo landing and men climbing aboard.
“You’re clear,” the door gunner said. “Go! Go! Go!”
“Inbound, ETA fifteen minutes. Four injured, one severe.”
The words sliced through Riley like a sword. These were her guys. She had promised to always look after them.
And she had failed.
Riley covered her mouth with her hand and slumped into a chair. “No,” she whispered. “Please, God, no deaths.”
The truth burned a path up her throat. She struggled to swallow the bile. Fought to keep the tears at bay.
She twisted sharply in her seat, her gaze zeroed in on the man who had caused this. She knew what she had to do.
Dix was going to pay.
* * *
“You son of a bitch!”
Riley launched across the tent towards Dix. Before Lance could comprehend what was going on, her fist connected with the man’s nose. Dix’s head flew back, blood spurted and ran in heavy streams down his face and throat.
He stumbled backwards, put his hand over his face.
“I told you to pull them back! But you didn’t listen and now men are injured.” Riley pulled his hand away, and hit him again. “My men!”
Her arm cocked back, ready to level the man.
Shit.
Lance raced to where she stood. Grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. “Easy, Riley.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were wild. Murderous. Face red. Pained. Determination hummed through her rapid heavy breaths.
“You piece of shit, Dix.” She thrust her finger toward him as Lance held her back against his body. At any other time, he might find this exciting. Hell, even now he relished her warmth pressed against him. But this was not the time. She wanted to kill her boss. And Lance seemed to be the only thing saving the man’s life.
And saving Riley from a lifetime of regret.
“Time to go, Riley.” Lance walked her backwards with him towards the doors. She wrestled away from him, and put up her hands as he reached for her.
“I’m leaving,” she said. “But I’ll have your ass for this, Dix.”
And she stormed out of the TOC.
Lance glanced around. Everyone remained in shocked silence, but no one made a move to assist Dix. Lance tossed a glance at Flaherty, nodded toward Dix. “Can you make sure he’s taken to the medic?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, then stepped closer to Lance and lowered his voice. “Tell Riley we’re all behind her.”
Lance nodded and headed out of the TOC to find Riley before she did something else that would land her in jail. Although, he had to admit, he enjoyed the hell out of watching her knock the little prick around.
Riley stood under a lone lamp post, bathed in orange light. The whir of helo blades kicked up the dirt as it landed. Lance shaded his eyes from the dust storm. Riley’s red hair swirled around her head, but she remained stoic as sand pelted her face and arms. When the bird finally touched down, she turned her head away to block the sandstorm that blasted her.
Six men filed off the bird and jogged to the medic tent carrying a stretcher. Riley watched them pass her. No one spoke to her. No one acknowledged her. And she said nothing to them.
The remainder of Alpha team helped the other less severely injured teammates across the open area, disappearing into the tent. Lance kept his gaze on Riley. He hoped she would turn and walk away. Leave the team to decompress before attempting to engage them.
But even as the thoughts entered his mind, he knew she wouldn’t leave. She stood stock still for a moment after the men passed her. As if her brain was trying to catch up with the scene unfolding before her, she turned on her heel and walked toward the tent.
Crap.
Lance knew from experience—especially when a mission had failed as epically as this one had—the team needed to unwind. Outsiders were not welcome. And while they seemed to accept Riley as an extension of the team, there was no way to know their feelings about her at the moment. If they were looking for someone to blame, they would lash out at the first person they saw that wasn’t one of their own.
And at that time, Riley was not one of them.
Lance jogged over to the tent. He nodded to the men, a few of them he had either worked with previously, or had met at one time or another. SEALs were a small family within the larger Navy community. The mood was somber. The only voices he heard were the medics attending to the wounded. But everything was hushed. Reverent.
He caught sight of Riley as she walked through an opening into another room. The men had parted, allowing her to walk past them. But no one spoke to her. No one acknowledged her. They all just turned away.
He strode across the space with a purpose. The stretcher the men were carrying was in the middle of the room, bloodied gauze littered the floor. But no one was working on the man who was laid out on the table.
Lance’s heart sunk to his feet. A brother lost. He felt the weight of every heavy heart in the tent. They were all brothers. When one brother bled, they all bled.
When one brother died, so did a little piece of every SEAL.
Riley glanced at one of the men who dropped his chin to his chest. She walked on shaky legs, nearly stumbling a few times, as she approached the stretcher.
A gargled gasp-cry erupted from her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand. Eyes wide, glossy. “No...” She reached out to touch the man’s face. “Ripper.”
A man stepped inside the room next to Lance. He recognized the man. He and Horse had been on a few ops together.
“What the fuck happened, Riley?” Horse’s voice reverberated through the solemn space. Riley ducked as if the words were bullets aimed straight at her head.
“I—I don’t know.” She turned and looked the man in the eye. “I’m sorry, Horse.”
“You’re sorry?” The words sent off shock waves, rattling even Lance’s weathered bones. Horse stepped closer to Riley. Lance stood straighter. Brother or not, Lance wasn’t going to let him put a hand on Riley.
None of this was her fault.
Horse didn’t know what had happened in the TOC. Had no idea Riley had tried to pull them out before the suicide bomber blew himself—and Ripper—up.
Riley took in a deep breath. Her lips thin, white. Her eyes still soft, shimmering with unshed tears. “You’re right. It was my responsibility to bring you back safe.” She glanced over her shoulder at the lifeless man on the stretcher. “All of you. There are no excuses. I know saying I’m sorry will never be enough, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I have no other words.”
Horse strode towa
rd her. His face was within inches of hers. “Tell that to his family.” Lance darted to Horse’s side, pulling on his arm to get him to step away.
Riley never flinched. Took the admonishment as if she’d earned it.
Which, of course, she hadn’t. But Horse was pissed, and needed to hammer someone. And Riley was apparently willing to be the nail.
The woman never ceased to impress him.
The two stared at each other. Horse’s breathing was rapid. Nostrils flared. “Time for you to leave, little girl.” He poked his finger in Riley’s chest.
Lance moved between the two, pushing Riley back. Hands up, he looked at Horse. “Easy, man. Best for everyone if this doesn’t escalate.”
Horse made a move toward him, eyes wide and wild. He raised his arm, hand fisted, elbow cocked. Lance braced for the impact. Better him receiving the blow than Riley.
Horse’s eyes darted between Lance’s as if the words were starting to sink in. Relaxing, he lowered his arm. “Get her the fuck out of here.”
Lance nodded, grasped Riley’s arm, and escorted her out of the rear of the tent. No way was he taking her back through the team. They needed to cool down. Work through the loss.
At the exit, Riley stopped and turned back toward the lifeless body on the stretcher.
“I’m so sorry, Ripper.”
Chapter 5
The air was still warm. The night dark. Quiet. As if the heavens were also mourning the loss of someone so young and full of life.
Hey Riley, when are you going to marry me?
Her heart shattered. She could see him as clear as day. Brown hair lightened by the dust of the Syrian desert. Eyes shimmering with mischievousness. The quirky grin.
Had that really only been a few hours ago?
Now—he was gone. The light extinguished. And Riley wondered if the sun would even bother coming up the next morning. What was the point? One of the most amazing, sincere, fun-loving men she’d ever met was dead. Riley never wanted to see daylight again. The rest of her life should be spent in the dark cloak of night to remind her of how she had failed him. Failed them all.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Painful. Destroyed. She stopped, closed her eyes, and raised her head to the night sky. Why? Why him? Why not her? Or that fucking piece of shit, Dix? Why did you have to take Ripper?
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