Swift Strike (SEAL Team 14 Book 2)

by Mathis, Loren

  Four Days Later

  Camp Harding

  Djibouti, Africa

  “mARK, THIS IS the newest agent in our counterterrorism unit I told you about.” Glancing up from his desk, Mark found CIA Director Morgan Henson and a young woman blocking his doorway. “Sloane, I’d like you to meet the commanding officer of SEAL Team Fourteen, Mark Dewitt. Mark, Sloane Anderson.”

  Standing behind his desk, Mark’s eyes collided with the exceedingly earnest, aquamarine eyes of the young CIA agent. She was tall, nearly as tall as Morgan was, and slender. She wore her drab brown hair in a short, efficient bob. Like her bob, the suit that she wore was equally efficient, nondescript, and distinctively masculine. Really, the only aspect of her appearance that seemed feminine was her skin, which was creamy and silky smooth.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander Dewitt,” she said, extending her hand out to Mark for a quick shake. From the square glasses on her face to the very practical penny loafers that she wore on her feet, she was no-nonsense from head to toe. Mark had the feeling that she was also probably a colossal pain in the ass.

  “I’ve heard such great things about you and your team,” she continued. “Your takedown of the Al-Jaazeez network earlier this year was, well, brilliant, sir.”

  Mark suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He definitely didn’t need some brown-noser fawning all over him or otherwise trying to kiss his ass in order to get ahead in her career.

  “Sloane was one of our top recruits from the London School of Economics. We lured her away from Goldman Sachs,” Morgan interrupted. “She’s had experience in de-encryption, analysis of Terror Suspect Profiles, and data mining. She’s going to be aiding us in examining the financial information and other data we’ve received, which may be connected to AnSawar.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” Mark said, letting go of her hand. For someone with such a slight build she had a surprisingly firm grip.

  “Sloane will be reporting back to us within the next seventy-two hours, along with two other CIA analysts who are also working diligently on this matter. They’ll be presenting the associations that they’ve been able to discern from the financial documents. Hopefully, we’ll be able to isolate at least one courier to grab.”

  “Great.”

  The existing CIA agents had not made nearly as much progress as Mark had hoped they would have made by now. If they could just track down where AnSawar was obtaining their funding, the information would go a hell of a long way in isolating the financiers and cutting off vital sources of cash flow to the terrorist organization. Once their coffers were drained, the group’s effectiveness would rapidly diminish. Or so went the theory at least.

  To Mark, it seemed very bizarre that AnSawar had suddenly switched course by not only upping the frequency of their attacks, but also by shifting their focus to large installations. Their former modus operandi was to strike small organizations in the heart of rural villages, not to take on facilities containing an extensive protection network. Although WG Oil didn’t have the defensive resources some of the larger industrial plants in the region were equipped with, it still was more guarded than other buildings the terror group had attacked previously.

  The embassy bombings added another unusual layer to an already puzzling patchwork of events. It was one thing to attack an elementary school or a private company in central Somalia. It was another thing entirely to attack a U.S. embassy or consulate. While the Somalian government did not have even close to the amount of resources needed to strike back, all of the force and might of the United States would be brought to bear in order to bring the perpetrators to justice.

  So why would this fledgling group risk that?

  Mark wasn’t certain, but one thing was for sure though—he needed all the help he could get in order to figure this mess out before more innocent people were brutally murdered.

  “Bayla was a complete fucking disaster.” Mark barked as soon as Sloane exited the room.

  “Yeah, I am aware. But at least your team was able to grab Abbas.”

  “Yeah, that was the only sliver of good news in a wretched turn of events. I lost one of my men. The kid wasn’t even thirty years old yet. I had to knock on his wife’s door and inform her that her husband of less than a year isn’t coming home to her. And that her infant daughter will never get to know her father. That she would have to raise her daughter by herself. This shit is fucking personal now. I am going to nail these cockroaches to the wall.”

  Morgan grimaced. “I know, Mark. I’m sorry about Kincaid. He had an impeccable service record.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Morgan. Where were your operatives? Where was the intel my men needed?”

  “Look, Mark you know with reduced funding to the Agency we are spread very thin at the moment. Your team had Hawk as a liaison.”

  “A lot of good that did,” he said, his anger tinting his voice. Consciously, he tried to bring it down a notch. Being pissed off at Morgan and the CIA wasn’t helping anyone at this point. It wasn’t going to get them any closer to nailing AnSawar, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to bring Kincaid back.

  Blowing out a tired breath, Mark asked, “What about the woman? Any identification on who she is and why she was killed?”

  “Not yet, we are still scrambling to find out that information.”

  “Is Abbas talking yet?”

  “He’s been holding out for the past two days. But trust me Mark, he’ll break. We’ll break him. It is only a matter of time.”

  “Yeah, well, time is a commodity we don’t have in excess supply right now.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Morgan answered, the set to his jaw grim and somber.

  “Have you had a chance to review the NIB report that was delivered this morning?” Mark inquired. National Intelligence Briefings—or NIBs as they colloquially referred to them—were daily reports compiled by the National Security Council that used information gathered from the major U.S. intelligence agencies.

  “Yeah, NSA ghosts on the ground in Somalia are hearing whispers that a terrorist group, possibly AnSawar, is in the market for a dirty bomb. Not surprising.”

  “Yeah.” Morgan was right, it wasn’t a big shock that a terrorist group would want as many weapons as they could get their hands on, particularly weapons of mass destruction. But…“Again, where is the money coming from?”

  “That my friend, is the sixty-four-thousand dollar question.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  God must really despise him. He’d committed some unforgivable mortal sin, and now he was cursed for life. That had to be it. Wanting someone more than he wanted his next breath—someone he could never have—would be his eternal torment.

  Six fucking months. It had been six long, torturous months since Will Castle had last laid his eyes on Olivia Lewis. Wait, that wasn’t exactly accurate. It’d been nearly half a year since Will last saw Olivia in person, but she still haunted him every night in his dreams.

  And now, here she was, standing right in front of him like a fucking mirage. Fuck.

  Will initially met Olivia during a stopover in Germany after rescuing a U.S. Congressman from a rogue terrorist group, Al-Jaazeez, in Pakistan a few months back. She just happened to be a friend of his best friend, Joshua Laurent, and Josh’s fiancée, Victoria Sanchez.

  He’d been under the impression that she was still finishing up her residency training at UCLA Medical Center. To his dismay, and as luck would have it, she had been sent to Camp Harding for an impromptu field assignment instead.

  Will hadn’t even noticed her at first. Joshua, he, and the rest of his team members who hadn’t been sent on the Bayla clusterfuck had been toasting their fallen brother. Will still couldn’t believe that Kincaid was gone. The reality of how quickly their lives could be snuffed out while on any given mission was all too real. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, either.

  Out of all of his comrades, Spider had been the most famil
y oriented. All he could talk about was his new wife and his newborn baby girl. But of course, there was a reason why it was recommended in their line of work that they kept their life insurance policies up to date.

  Needless to say, he’d already been in a piss-poor mood when he spotted Olivia Lewis out of the corner of his eye. And after charming some information out of one of the nurses whom Olivia had been chatting with earlier in the evening, he found out that she was here on special assignment. Apparently, Olivia had arrived in Africa about a month ago for additional training in military trauma surgery. And of course, she had to look as striking as ever—radiant, even. She would give even a young Mariah Carey a run for her money.

  Will briefly entertained the idea of sauntering up to her and saying hello. But given their last encounter, he had a real concern that he might end up with a knee to the groin. Besides, she looked completely enthralled in the conversation she was holding with a couple of his teammates, Hank Kellerman and Joshua Laurent. Hell, forget the knee to the groin, by now, she had probably forgotten that he’d ever even existed.

  Will didn’t know too much about Hank—he was new to the team, but Joshua was one of his best friends. He was probably talking with Olivia about out his upcoming nuptials. But the way she was hanging all over Hank? Now that shit really stuck in his craw.

  Will understood that any type of envy that he may be feeling was a lost cause. He didn’t have a right to be jealous and he knew it. He didn’t have any type of claim on her. He’d had his chance with Olivia months ago, and he’d royally screwed things up. He didn’t just burn that bridge; he’d dropped an atomic bomb on it. Or at least that’s how Olivia had taken what transpired between them.

  In an uncharacteristic act of desperation, he’d gone to her apartment months ago in an attempt to apologize to her, to make things right. But he should not have even bothered. She had no interest in forgiving him.

  Licking his wounds, he had done what any other prideful, red-blooded male would have done. He had fallen into bed with the next attractive woman he met after Olivia shut him out of her life.

  For the first four months, he’d dated a waitress near Team Fourteen’s home base in San Diego. The fact that he and Stacey had dated so long had to be a record for him. The relationship was probably as close to monogamous as he had ever approached.

  Will really hadn’t had the right to complain about anything. Stacey was cute, quirky, good in bed, and had a decent head on her shoulders. She wanted her own career and was taking night classes to obtain her degree in dental hygiene. Not to mention, he should have been damn well ecstatic that he had managed to hold down a relationship that lasted longer than it took to microwave a bag of popcorn.

  But he hadn’t been happy. Not completely. And he wouldn’t be, not until he could dream without seeing Liv Lewis’ face. And God only knew when that would be.

  In an atypical moment of self-awareness, he’d broken up with Stacey right before his last mission. They just weren’t a good fit, he’d told her. He’d needed his space, he said. He was a self-absorbed manwhore, she’d screamed. Despite Will’s hope that the breakup would be a nonevent, it’d ending up being violent, tear-filled, and messy—at least on Stacey’s part.

  “So what about it, sailor? Want to get out of here?”

  Will didn’t even glance up from his drink. The buxom brunette with the neverending, slender tanned legs had been chatting him up for the past fifteen minutes. She was an excellent conversationalist, she spoke enough for two people. Actually, she had to speak enough for two people because Will sure as hell wasn’t making much small talk. Undeterred even though he barely said two words to her, she’d continued to plow on and bore him with useless details about her life story. As if he gave a fuck.

  “Want to go back to my place?” she asked again, in her annoying perky voice when he didn’t answer her.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Are you sure about that, handsome?” she asked, crossing her long shapely legs, she leaned into Will’s shoulder. “I’ll make it more than worth your while.”

  She outstretched a perfectly manicured hand to massage his upper thigh suggestively. Still giving him her best pouty “come-hither” look, she practically purred at him as she stroked up and down his thigh.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Will said, removing her hand from where it had purposely wandered over to his crotch.

  Will shifted slightly in his bar stool to look at her crestfallen expression. She had an average face. Nothing to write home about. But her body was a different story. She was completely stacked, and those long leg of hers were definitely working in her advantage. From the looks of her outfit, she knew how to show off her assets. She was wearing a barely-there black mini skirt, a fire engine-red halter top, and red stilettos.

  Any other time, Will would have jumped all over that. Sheila—no Shiloh—would have been an easy lay. The perfect stress reliever after a migraine-inducing few weeks. He could have used a completely mindless fuck. And right about now, he could have been blissfully in the middle of his first orgasm of the night and headed toward a much needed dreamless sleep. But oddly enough, he didn’t find himself the least bit attracted.

  “Idiot,” she muttered as she stormed back over to her friends.

  “Hey.”

  Looking up from his rum and Coke, Will found Joshua staring down at him with a goofy grin on his face. “What’s up, man?”

  “This is like fucking déjà vu. About a year ago, we were in a ramshackle bar, similar to this one; except it was me sulking in the corner looking like someone had pissed in my corn flakes.”

  “Yeah, well. What a difference a year makes. I have to say, you are definitely a lot more cordial when you’re getting your brains fucked out on a regular basis,” he said, sipping some more of the liquid fire and taking an odd comfort in the burn travelling down his throat.

  Joshua laughed. “Yeah, there is that.” His friend was beaming from ear-to-ear. Will would not have thought it a year ago, but Joshua and Victoria Sanchez might actually make it. He’d never been too fond of Victoria, but she seemed like she’d matured a lot and she was obviously head over heels in love with Joshua. So really, Will couldn’t begrudge them their happiness. But he also couldn’t deny that the constant smiles and mushy endearments that Joshua and Victoria erupted into whenever they were together made him want to vomit a little in his mouth.

  “Why don’t you go over there and talk to her, Will?”

  “Hell no.” No pretenses, he knew exactly who Joshua was suggesting that he go speak to.

  “Come on, man. You keep shooting dark looks her way. You know subtlety has never been one of your strong points.”

  “Just mind your own fucking business, man. Don’t you have enough stuff to occupy your time with, like your impending nuptials for one thing? Doesn’t Victoria have you picking out china patterns or something?” he mocked, taking another swallow of his drink. “Olivia Lewis made it crystal clear where she and I stand. And that just happens to be about a thousand miles apart from one another.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. Look, I’m not sure what exactly happened between the two of you, but you should at least have the balls to go and talk to her. Man up already.”

  “Has it slipped your mind that I’ve already apologized to her? I mean, what the fuck does she want? She acts like I killed her cat or something. I’m not going to fucking get down on my knees and beg her to give me another chance, man. ”

  “Look, I’m not saying that you haven’t tried. I’m just saying that you should try again to have a conversation with Olivia. An adult conversation. A civil conversation. A blind man could see that you still have a thing for her.”

  Damn it to hell. Will had to begrudgingly admit that Joshua was right on the money about his feelings for Olivia. And it was true. He was acting like a scared little punk. But shit, what could he do? Olivia Lewis hated his guts. He could still clearly recall the disdain in her eyes—the palpabl
e contempt that she held for him—the last time he’d seen her. He should just respect her wishes and do what she wanted him to do, which was to fade completely out of her life.

  Fuck it. How often did he do what was expected of him anyway? Throwing back a shot originally delivered to Joshua, Will stood up and sought her out.

  “That’s my boy,” Joshua chuckled behind him.

  He found Olivia standing next to Hank and a group of nurses that worked at Camp Harding’s Medical Center. Her long, honey-brown hair was now styled in waves, but it still hung down her back. Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled as she laughed at something Hank whispered in her ear. Will had to battle back the surge of jealousy that made his blood run hot.

  She didn’t belong to him. No matter how much he wished she did.

  Olivia was a stunning woman. From the graceful arch of her back to the slender column of her neck, she was all class and regal elegance. Her caramel-colored skin looked even more sun-kissed and extremely touchable. She wasn’t decked out in a flashy designer dress or “fuck me” pumps, but she didn’t need to be.

  Even in jeans and a blouse she still managed to steal all of the air out of the room. The simple stonewashed blue jeans that she wore did incredible things for her perfectly rounded, toned rear end—or maybe it was her ass that did incredible things for those jeans. The form-fitting bright, amber blouse that she’d donned brought out the flecks of gold in her cerulean eyes. Will was convinced that she could wear a brown paper sack and still manage to take his breath away.

  She didn’t see him approach at first, but he knew the exact moment that she noticed him. The smile instantly melted from her face and she tensed, the smooth muscles in her shoulders bunching up. Will could sense all of her internal walls flying up.

  “Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?” She hesitated for a moment, as if a war was taking place inside of her head as she tried to figure out how to answer him. Her eyes pierced through him as she gazed up at him, her dainty chin jutting out defiantly. For such a small woman, she was one of the most intimidating people Will had ever encountered. And he never got intimidated.