The Protector

by Gennita Low

His hand reached down and pulled up his black shirt. His bare flesh gleamed for a few moments in the darkness as he pulled out a package. He handed it to her.

  “A show of good faith,” he said, simply. “Take it with you and consider.”

  Vivi took a few steps forward, carefully keeping an eye on the other hand, keeping the walking stick in front of her, between them. The small package felt like a folder or some kind of large envelope.

  “I’ll contact you another time, old lady,” he said, backing away. He was very surefooted, each step very secure.

  “Wait.”

  The man stopped.

  “What is your price?” Vivi asked.

  He reached out, and a rope appeared so suddenly, it almost startled a gasp out of her. She watched as he gracefully swung upward, effortlessly pulling his body weight and bracing his feet against the wall as if he weighed nothing. He finally stopped near a window that had an iron stairway next to it. He dangled, piratelike, and pivoted around, using just his arms and the rope. It was a beautiful sight.

  “My freedom,” he replied, and swung up onto the stair landing and slipped between the shadows. In a blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Vivi tucked the envelope into her loose clothing and continued on her way home. What a day. Sea mammals. And now wild alley cats. Add T. into the mix, and it was a recipe for wild and dangerous times ahead.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Whatever this GEM outfit was, their Intel was impressively detailed. Jazz had spent part of the morning going through the information on the CD Hawk had passed on to him. There were radio intercepts and aerial photographs, suggesting high-tech flyover Intel-gathering techniques. There were also maps tracking similar past movements of the target. Everything had the feel of a smoothly run operation.

  His curiosity was piqued. Government-sponsored? Un-koshered? These were familiar words but not familiar territory. As long as he had been out in the field, those terms had belonged to special operations groups, not independent contractors.

  Jazz’s immediate thoughts turned to his favorite subject, Vivienne Verreau. Being in spec ops, he had learned to expect the unexpected, to deal with the constant change of plans, because war was not only strategy but also the ability to go with the flow. But that woman had truly confounded him.

  Icy cold one moment and sultry tease another, she didn’t fit the image of an Interpol interrogator, and she damn sure didn’t look as if she had ever run a group of operatives. Yet he knew she was the former and she appeared knowledgeable enough to do the latter. Of course, appearing to know how to run a team was very different from actually running it. An unknown factor in an operation was a very risky move on the admiral’s part. There had to be more than just a simple extraction operation going on here.

  “What do you think of the plan?” Hawk interrupted his thoughts.

  Jazz shrugged. “It reads like SOP. We’ve blown up bridges before.” He used the cursor to enlarge a segment of the map. “Look. The territory has plenty of good hiding spots.”

  “That’s advantage and disadvantage.”

  “Do we need to recon the area first?”

  “We can do an insertion of two or three men earlier, set up a hideout at an overwatch location, and have them stay there all day.”

  “What would that do?”

  It was Hawk’s turn to shrug. “I don’t fully trust Intel that’s not ours.”

  “Agreed. So we watch for…?”

  “Dilaver isn’t a crime boss for nothing. He could send someone ahead of him to check out the area; who knows? This is new for him, coming to new territory and seeking the Triads. He would be nervous, or at least wary.”

  Hawk had always been good at analyzing his opponents. Jazz preferred to coordinate the strategy. With combined background in warfare and music, he had always had a unique perspective on how to create and destroy things. His superiors had appreciated it enough to encourage him to take the necessary courses, and he and his team had won many war games that tested strategy.

  His new mission was to destroy a bridge at a precise time. Usually that was easy as pie, like any piece of elevator music, but this time they had two oncoming vehicles, one of which he had to leave out of the danger. Timing, as in a complicated music piece, was going to be very, very important here.

  Jazz turned. “You said they will provide what we need. Give me the inventory.”

  “Plenty of C-4.” Hawk grinned at Jazz. “You don’t have to give me that ‘yeah, stupid’ look. Blow up a bridge, Jazz. You’ve done it enough times to do it blindfolded with one hand playing some damn music instrument.”

  “I’m not that bigheaded. I need both eyes to see what I’m doing,” Jazz retorted.

  “Conflict resolution, SEAL-style,” Hawk said, still grinning. “There’s even TNT if you need that. We have Prima-cord to connect the charges. We have cable. We have sniper rifles. M67 hand grenades, if we feel like tossing some baseballs around.”

  Jazz lifted an eyebrow. “Happy children, aren’t we?”

  “What can I say? I like blowing things up.” Hawk slapped him on the back. “I’ll take care of that. You coordinate the ambush.”

  Jazz studied the map again. The target point was well chosen. There was a nice sharp bend a little ways after the bridge to keep the “kill zone” out of sight. He and Hawk would be able to control the whole operation from that vantage point, depending on the time of day. That was one of the key unknown factors—when exactly the target would appear.

  “Tell me again why we need her along for this?” Jazz asked, knowing he didn’t need to give their subject a name.

  “Because it’s a joint mission ordered by the admiral?” Hawk offered the obvious reply in the form of a question.

  “Is that good enough for you? Do we really need her there?”

  “Remember the envelopes we exchanged? Besides this particular computer disk with all the Intel on Dilaver, it also contains names of the Triad gang leaders that Dilaver hopes to meet with. GEM’s main contract is to stop certain key exchanges between these two groups. They need our muscle. All they want is the cargo. Vivi speaks the languages and she knows the area.”

  “We’re talking jungle here, not city tours,” Jazz pointed out. He just couldn’t see Vivi running around in the jungle as they had been doing a few nights ago.

  Hawk shrugged. “I’m not happy with her there, but to be honest, I’m intrigued, too. As long as she isn’t in the way or jeopardizes the operation, I might even enjoy having her.”

  Jazz swiveled in his seat and met Hawk’s amused gaze. His eyes were glittering with suppressed laughter. “Having her?” Jazz repeated. “Don’t count on it.”

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you so prickly over a woman, bro. Tell me why and maybe I won’t chase her.” Hawk paused, then added with quiet emphasis, “Maybe.”

  “I don’t know,” Jazz admitted. “She’s different.”

  “Yes, she is,” Hawk agreed, “but that isn’t a good enough reason to interrupt a session of strategic planning before an ambush. Our heads are in our pants and that’s not good.”

  Actually, they had never been like this, thinking of a woman when they should be sitting down planning every detail of a dangerous operation. In fact, Hawk had never allowed that kind of interference before. Catnip for women he might be, but nothing came between him and battle.

  “You’re right. We put this aside till after the operation,” Jazz said. “You keep your head out of my pants.”

  Hawk grinned. “I’m not interested in getting my head or any parts of me in your pants.”

  The electronic alarm signaled the steel door being activated just before it slid open and the men trotted in, most of them carrying their newly cleaned and oiled weapons. They were grimy from outdoor exercises, the heat and dust outside evident on their soaking T-shirts and dirt-streaked faces and arms.

  “What I want to know is,” Cucumber said, toting his AK-47 on his big shoulders, “why we had t
o run around the yard like some chickens in search of worms when you two are sitting in the air-conditioned cave drinking iced water?”

  The huge SEAL had on a dark green bandana to keep the sweat from his eyes, his jaw darkened by dirt and stubble. He chomped on an unlit cigar as he flapped his sticky T-shirt in an exaggerated fashion with his free hand. Finally he just took it off altogether.

  Jazz gestured at the pitchers of water on the nearby table. “Must have been some tough exercise, since you guys found time to get some cigars.”

  Cucumber threw a box at Hawk who caught it. “Cuban cigars, man. Vivi’s guys gave it to us. A present.”

  Hawk extracted one and placed it under his nose, taking a long whiff. “Why were they giving out dog turds?”

  “Hell, man, there were men hidden all over the whole damn compound,” Turner said as he wiped his face with his shirt. “They were watching us.”

  Jazz leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at the offer of a cigar from Hawk. “Did they cause trouble?” He remembered the hidden weapons under the tables and counters yesterday. Those men had meant business.

  “Nah, they were just watching.” Cucumber shrugged. “We pulled a couple of them out of the bushes or bellied up behind them and poked them with our weapons. They didn’t even seem to mind, just laughed. Then one of them handed us the cigars, saying that he just became a daddy.”

  Hawk rolled the cigar thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. “It sounds like they’re testing us.”

  “Maybe our new Assistant Patrol Leader can tell us something about it,” Dirk said, a sly note creeping into his voice as he eyed first Jazz then Hawk. “When will we see her again?”

  Jazz refused to be baited. He knew the men were curious about Hawk’s and his interest in Vivi. Ignoring Dirk’s comment, he just answered, “In fifteen minutes or less.”

  “Do we have to clean up for her?” Cucumber asked. “Female is female, you know.”

  “Hell, no,” Turner said. “She’s coming with us on an ambush and extraction, she’d better be able to take the sight and smell of sweaty men.”

  “We heard something today, sir,” Mink said.

  Jazz sighed. He knew what was coming. “What?” Jazz asked, resigned.

  “That you kissed a woman last night, and”—Mink paused a dramatic beat, then leaning forward, he added—“and she ain’t no spring chicken!”

  The men laughed and Jazz shook his head. Hawk’s grin was positively evil. “Laugh. You’re next.”

  The men hooted some more at this revelation.

  “Playtime’s over, boys,” Hawk said, putting down his cigar. “We have an op coming up that we need to prepare for, so get your chicken heads back in place. We have Dilaver to deal with, and Miss Verreau will be here soon.”

  “Yes, sir.” One by one the men nodded and echoed Cucumber.

  “Our main target is Dilaver, not the extraction, but we are part of the extraction, get it?” Jazz tapped on the open map that he and Hawk had earlier perused. “He isn’t your usual drug dealer. He has an army and he’s known to sell illegal arms to the KLA in Europe. And,” he paused, “there are the young girls he sells for quick cash flow. They’re our extraction targets.”

  “Fucking piece of chicken shit,” Mink said.

  “I can’t wait to take him out,” Turner said.

  “Hell, for what he’s done to those kids, I’ll do a reversed Godfather thing—cut his chicken head off and put it next to his horse in bed.” Cucumber picked up his newly oiled M16, glaring at the picture of Dilaver that was still on the big screen.

  Jazz stood up. Trust Cumber to end with a gory and macabre image. “’Cumber, you got to quit watching those gangster movies, especially if you’re going to make weird references. You got the right attitude, men,” he said. “Let’s—”

  The electronic alarm went off again and the sight of Vivi in the screen interrupted Jazz’s train of thought. She stared back at the camera, her expression guarded, as she waited outside. He hadn’t seen her for a few hours and he had been missing her like crazy. Man, he had it bad.

  “Look at that. We have company,” Cucumber said, in a singsong voice.

  “Hey, Jazz, you look like you just kissed an old lady,” someone snickered. Jazz didn’t acknowledge the comment as he watched the steel door opening slowly.

  “Hey, sir, one last question,” Dirk said.

  “What?” Jazz murmured as Vivi came into view. Like the mysterious lady in film noir, she walked in, dressed to kill. A black halter-top with some kind of tight stretch pants that emphasized every elegant curve. He immediately noticed his necklace, his pendant tucked into her top, out of sight. But that didn’t stop the satisfaction in knowing where it was.

  “What did the old lady taste like?”

  Jazz strode toward his target. “Like chicken,” he said, as he closed the gap.

  Vivienne hadn’t expected a group of sweaty men waiting for her. She paused just inside the electronic door, taking in the sight. Raw and ready men, handling their weapons with casual familiarity, making jokes about women as they stood next to maps showing their next battle. They had that look in their eyes she had learned to recognize. It was challenge mixed with male appreciation. They didn’t want her there, intruding on their male world of guns and sexual prowess.

  She caught the gaze of Lieutenant Zola Zeringue. A man. Definitely. And not a simple one. She had witnessed first-hand the contrasting parts of him playing soldier and protector and was drawn to him in spite of her aversion to his profession. There was something gentle about him, in the way he went out of his way to help women, the way he tolerated the kids hanging on to him yesterday, and the way he poked fun at himself the night before. Right now he had a look in his eyes that made her think of the impossible. A lover. The thought sent unexpected shivers down her spine.

  “Good afternoon,” he greeted, his eyes appearing even bluer than she remembered.

  Shoving aside the memory of his lips on hers, she strode into the room. She sniffed and smiled, addressing all the men lightly. “I see you’re all ready for combat.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they answered collectively.

  But there was skepticism in their eyes. She didn’t belong.

  Vivi looked at Hawk at the other side of the room. He hadn’t moved since she entered. She had to win her battle one front at a time. “Good afternoon, Monsieur Lieutenant Commander. Have you gone through the material yet?”

  He nodded. “Yes. We’re ready when you are.”

  “Any time.” Vivi turned to Jazz. The next front. His eyes rested for a moment on his necklace around her neck. Her heart skipped a beat and she avoided looking at him directly. She hadn’t been able to explain to herself why she hadn’t taken the thing off. “Lieutenant, I hope you find the new facilities a little better than the ones from your previous accommodations?”

  “It’s an improvement,” he said. “But I didn’t know we were prisoners.”

  She frowned. “Prisoners?”

  “My men told me they were being watched as they worked out in the compound. And that they found men hiding in the bushes, weapons ready.”

  Vivi smiled. She had known the SEALs wouldn’t like that. She gave the roomful of men an arched look. “You found them anyway, so what’s the problem?”

  “Did you give those men the order to hide there? And if so, why?” Hawk asked, straightening up for the first time.

  Vivi wondered at the intensity of his gaze, trying to gauge whether it was anger or curiosity. She found it difficult to read Hawk. “You have to understand. The men outside have been hearing about SEALs operatives, that they are the elite warriors of the United States. Surely you can see why they decided to have a little fun.”

  “What if an accident had happened?” Jazz asked. “Someone loses his temper and fires off a shot or two. We could have had a situation here.”

  She looked around at the group of men. They were all watching closely, studying her response to t
heir leaders’ drilling.

  “You must understand too, Vivi, that SEALs don’t operate with the same rules. We don’t trust everything around us, no matter how ‘safe’ the setup looks.” Hawk pointed to the electronic eye with its blinking red light. “There is no observing camera looking on in our world. We don’t appreciate being watched and we tend to eliminate things we don’t appreciate.”

  Vivi allowed the tension to stretch as she made eye contact with each of the men. She was quite ready for this. “Displeasure noted, but it isn’t my job to make sure I or my men tiptoe around your rules. If I don’t push it before our joint mission, how would I know what my limits are? Talk is cheap around here. I prefer to observe the action.” She slowly strode past the men toward the front of the room. “I had confidence in your men’s ability to judge a war game being played, Lieutenants. No one was injured. Now I ask the same from you all, that you have some confidence in my abilities. I know”—she paused, turned and faced them, the entire front—“when to let men be men and when to bend the rules a little.”

  She broke into a smile, leaning a hip on the long table in front of the room. “Besides, now that we’ve gotten my men’s curiosity out of the way, we can start work. Ready?”

  They appeared to accept her explanation, although it was difficult to tell with Hawk and Jazz. The two of them had exchanged one of those baffling glances. Hawk gave a small nod and the men moved around the room, taking their places.

  Her other problem, Lieutenant Jazz Zeringue, didn’t seem so understanding. “I would still like to know your reason for giving your men permission to test my team,” he said, his expression serious. “First, it doesn’t strike confidence in my men and they will be suspicious of a possible ambush in future exercises. Second, it brings up the question as to the need for our team at all, when there are obviously enough hands out there to perform this mission.”

  Vivi had asked the same question. With T. in the picture, she knew this wasn’t a standard operation, and her chief wasn’t about to tell her everything. The few times she had been in operations that involved T., she had learned that there were always side deals going on, that nothing was ever as it seemed. But she couldn’t tell these men that, could she? They were plenty nervous enough. She could just imagine what they would say if they found out that yet another female operative might be involved. Trust the strategist among them to catch the little details, she noted ruefully.