Monkeying Around [Drunk Monkeys 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  “I guess so,” Chief said. “Where are they now?”

  The only true emotion Tank allowed to take over bled through at that answer. “Mom’s safe in Germany. I think. I hope. They’re buttoned down. Dad’s…” She swallowed hard, not needing to fake the grief threatening to overwhelm her. “He’s in Manila. Status unknown.”

  “Oh.” Chief went silent again, her tight, soft reply slicing like a dull, rusty knife through Tank’s gut.

  Chief knew probably as much, or more, than Tank did about the state of the world and the situation in Manila.

  Clarification on either of their parts wasn’t necessary, and fortunately, Chief didn’t opt to give her a bunch of bullshit lines meant to be comforting.

  She seemed to get it, that Tank knew the odds.

  Tank turned to watch behind them, relieved that the SUV’s interior once again fell quiet.

  When a car fell in behind them not too far from where she knew the turnoff to the base lay, she called out to Lima. “You got someone joining our party?”

  He apparently looked in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, she’s with us. Sniper.”

  Of course. Papa, their leader, wouldn’t have been alone with his second. Positioning at least one or more snipers on a nearby roof for both cover as well as a lookout was not only wise, it would have concerned her and had her questioning his command competency had he not taken the precaution.

  Not that it was a question she could have voiced out loud without drawing undue suspicion.

  Again.

  Once they’d turned off the road, Tank started to relax a little. She’d been through this base several times, but never via ground transport, always by air, and always at night. As they approached the barn and drove right inside and down a steep ramp, it took every ounce of self-control she had not to laugh at her compatriots’ shock over the secret base.

  But Tank’s first serious “gotcha” almost happened less than thirty seconds after climbing out of the SUV. Several armed men, base security personnel in black fatigues, had shown them where to park and were supervising their unloading.

  Tank accidentally locked gazes with one guy she recognized from her last time through, turning away from him and brushing her fingers across her throat in the hint of a slicing motion as she did so.

  She caught the single nod of his head as he turned away.

  Dammit.

  It would be a horribly ironic twist of fate to blow her cover in the base’s parking garage, and not because she killed the four guys from the STK team.

  Another mental note to take up with Bubba. A heads-up about the STK team’s impending arrival would have been nice, if he’d had prior knowledge.

  She gathered with the others around Papa when he called for their attention.

  “They’ll get a couple of carts up here to unload.” He focused on her, since she’d taken a position in front of the other students. “We have a few hours before we leave again. Anything that’s not important gets left behind. We’ll be providing you shelter and food, so take only clothes, your computers, the essentials. Weight’s at a premium. You can leave everything else here and it’ll get brought later.”

  “I want to clarify one thing,” Tank said, stepping back into her role now that she’d gotten her mental bearings. “We’re safe now, right? Immunity?”

  “Safe, yes. You aren’t going to be allowed to get online from here, though. You’ll find even your sat-link signals jammed. No offense, it’s for security purposes. Once we’re at our final destination, you’ll be debriefed and instructed on how to securely access the Internet so you don’t give away your location. As far as ‘immunity,’ that’s above my pay grade. My instructions are to get you safely to our final destination so you can get back to work.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.” Of course they’d have immunity since Arliss was the one engineering things. She knew that.

  She couldn’t let the others know that, though. It played to her charade to have the kids think she’d needed to go to bat for them, once again, to keep them safe.

  “No problem,” Papa said. “And before you ask, the personnel stationed here is not standard military. Their direct orders are to keep you safe.”

  “I take it Leavenworth still doesn’t know this place exists?”

  Tank regretted the question as soon as she’d asked it.

  Idiot. Hopefully, none of her people picked up on that. If they did, she’d tell them she was trying to rattle Papa, that she’d seen the intel in her delvings through government servers. Making him understand that she knew more than he thought she did.

  Papa frowned, but shook his head. “No. It’s totally black ops.” He addressed the rest of the students. “You’ll have time to shower and eat before we leave. Our unit’s QM will get you some cold-weather gear to take with us. Anything else we’ll have to have brought in after arrival.”

  Well, a shower will make Sylvan happy.

  Speaking of, Sylvan seemed to have taken a definite shine to Alpha despite Tank dressing her down on the ride to the base. The girl tried to walk around Tank to speak to Alpha, but Tank grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her back.

  “We stay together,” Tank told her, glaring at her.

  The girl blanched but finally nodded.

  Not only was Tank not going to let any of these kids butt in line for a chance with Alpha and Papa, but especially not a moron like Sylvan.

  No way in hell would Tank do that to the men, saddle them with someone like the girl.

  Alpha apparently had enough of Tank’s interference. “She’s safe here. She won’t be allowed to go off-limits, but—”

  “We stay together. That’s how we’ve stayed alive.” Tank defiantly stared up at Alpha until he finally blinked first.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself, lady.” He turned away to speak to Lima.

  Damn. He had gorgeous blue eyes, a Southern accent, and was around six three, the perfect height to climb him like a tree and swing from him.

  Everything she loved about a guy.

  Papa was an inch taller than Alpha. With hazel eyes and brown hair, he radiated his position as CO of the Drunk Monkeys, SOTIF1. A calm air surrounded him, and she hoped she’d be able to climb into his lap for a little R and R of her own with him.

  Both of them.

  Yowza.

  Based on Sylvan’s tenacious desire to latch onto the men, Tank knew she wouldn’t be able to settle for subtle wooing of those two, either, if she wanted a chance with them.

  Wait, what?

  Yeah, it’d been over two years since her last roll in a rack, and she wouldn’t deny she had an itch she wanted those two men to scratch. Besides, if she did end up with them, that would make it all the easier for her to carry on with her role with the students, keeping them protected with the team, right?

  Or Sylvan might want to rip my hair out for “taking” them from her.

  Yeah, there was that. Surely age and experience could easily out-think a college coed who could barely wipe her own ass successfully, hacker skills or not.

  Fortunately, Tank didn’t have to referee for long. After getting stick-tested, they were all quickly escorted down into the base and shown to a barracks room, several rows of double-stacked racks, more than enough to house them all, complete with its own latrine and showers. A large black man who introduced himself as Omega arrived before they’d even had a chance to call dibs on the showers.

  Holy…cow. This was one of Chief’s men?

  Yowza.

  “I need sizes from all of you so I can requisition supplies. I’ve also got them bringing you some gear lockers to stash your extra stuff in. Label them, and they’ll be brought along later.”

  Sylvan’s gaze flicked from Tank to Omega. “So what do we take with us?” She smiled at him. “Nightgowns?”

  Tank didn’t bother trying to hide rolling her eyes in disgust. “This guy is taken, Sylvan. Show some damn respect. That woman in the SUV with us? Chief? He’s hers.”


  Sylvan’s face reddened. “Sorry,” she mumbled. At least some of the other students were also throwing Sylvan chastising glares as well.

  Tank started the process by giving Omega her sizes and realized after she’d listed them that she’d used military descriptors in her gear request.

  Quick save. “Sorry. Curse of being a military brat.”

  Omega shook his head. “Don’t apologize. You made it that much easier on me. Next?”

  Ten minutes later he’d departed just as someone else delivered a cartful of storage lockers for them.

  Without hesitation, Tank grabbed one and started going through her gear. She knew she wouldn’t need to leave much behind except her survival gear. She’d already been traveling lean in terms of clothing.

  She hadn’t yet gotten her shower when Omega and another guy returned with the cold-weather gear. As they all sorted through it and checked sizes, Tank pulled Omega aside.

  “Can I ask a favor?” she whispered.

  He frowned even as he nodded.

  “Can you ask the base to station someone at our barracks door and not let them leave?” She nodded her head at the others. “I really need a damn nap. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worried about them roaming.”

  He smiled. “No worries. We’re not leaving here until 2200 hours. Plenty of time to sleep. We were going to see if you all needed chow, though.”

  “Seriously, just bring a couple of cases of MREs and some water or coffee.”

  His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “Chief warned me you’re not exactly a clueless civvie.”

  “You got that right, dude.”

  More than you know.

  But, finally, she was able to grab a quick shower before lying down in a lower rack, the one closest to the door, to grab some sleep.

  Which was promptly interrupted fifteen minutes later by Sylvan getting a little noisy when the guard at the door wouldn’t let her leave.

  Fuck. Tank propped herself up on her elbows. “Go take a nap, Sylvan.”

  She looked put out. “I just want to go talk to Alpha and thank him.” All that was missing was a pouty lip.

  “Jesus fucking christ, Sylvan,” Ellsen groused. “Haven’t you fucking done enough today? Go lay the fuck down and take a goddamned nap.”

  “Well, who put her in charge?” Sylvan pointed at Tank.

  “I want her in charge,” Ellsen shot back. “She’s our best chance to live. She’s got knowledge none of us have, that’s for damn sure. Her parents are in the military, so she knows a lot more about it than we do. I didn’t see you shooting at those assholes.” Everyone else but Sylvan and Tank nodded.

  Sylvan’s face turned red.

  Tank noted with not a little satisfaction that everyone else was also glaring at Sylvan.

  Finally, the girl huffed but returned to her bunk and flopped down on it.

  Turning to face the wall, Tank smiled as she closed her eyes and, for the first time in a week, dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Tank awoke with a start to a quiet room. Not because she was alone, but because everyone else, including Sylvan, was asleep. The room was dimly lit by two cheap, functional floor lamps in the far corner, dark enough to sleep in, and just light enough to make your way around without stumbling into everyone else and waking the others.

  Head count. Yep, twelve others.

  As her pulse started to slow and even out to a more normal pace, she breathed in a sigh of relief and looked at her watch.

  She’d had over six hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. That was almost like being in a damn spa. That was the most sleep she’d managed at one time in months, since before the fall of LA and their escape.

  Holy crap. I could get used to that.

  Yes, she knew she shouldn’t complain. The men of the Drunk Monkeys were probably used to existing on far less sleep for far longer periods of time under far worse conditions than she’d been in.

  But the difference there was that they had each other’s sixes. They watched out for each other. If someone needed rack time, they didn’t have to stay on high alert because there was at least one other person watching out.

  They trusted each other.

  She didn’t trust a single damn one of these kids. She’d come close to trusting Gatsby and Connell, and they were dead now.

  Shit.

  The six deaths came screaming back to her mind with a vengeance.

  Sitting up, she turned and sat there on the edge of the bunk for a few minutes, hands clasped, elbows on her knees, head lowered. Thankfully she hadn’t had to share the rack with anyone up top, both because they’d had enough racks to go around, but mostly because she didn’t miss how everyone now appeared more than a little scared of her.

  One benefit to everyone now giving her a wide berth, at least.

  But she’d have to figure out a way to get them over that hurdle, despite their earlier agreement that they wanted her in charge, if they were going to effectively complete the mission they’d set out on.

  Arliss had already somehow pegged the group before Tank was brought into the operation. He’d had a guy embedded with them for over a year, but who was “aging out” and wouldn’t have a good reason to hang out much longer since he’d originally told them he was from New York and was going to graduate that year.

  When Tank had been cycled in, presumably as a freshman and a friend of the guy, she had already set up a nearby “post graduate” location as her current hometown so she wouldn’t have to leave the group altogether. Of course, lying about her age when she already looked a lot younger than she was didn’t hurt any, either.

  Arliss had never expected the group, at first, to be as successful and tenacious as they were.

  At first, he’d wanted them kept completely in the dark as to his involvement in the operation should the true motives ever be exposed. He’d wanted them to think they were organically and independently dredging up the info and spreading it.

  Originally, they were supposed to be focused on big business money in elections, and special interest lobbies and corporations buying votes in Congress. But with TMFU, Arliss had quickly shifted their focus to his advantage.

  There were other ways to form cracks in the foundations of the fuckery in Washington DC, cracks he wanted to exploit and drive gigantic wedges into.

  And they were just the group to do it.

  Tank had enthusiastically gone along with them naming the group the Freedom World Fighters, and calling themselves “anarchists,” all of that.

  In reality, she’d been fed a steady diet of verifiable deets and leads by her handlers to spread to the group. That grew to encompass Kite-related events in New York, LA.

  Barstow.

  No one in this group was supposed to die.

  No one in this group was supposed to get hurt.

  Arliss had been clear on that from the start, that he didn’t want the group doing anything but what they were doing, gathering intel, disbursing information, and creating a headache for the powers that be.

  No dirty tricks of anything other than the electronic kind.

  Absolutely no violence, no physical actions.

  To actively stop them if they started engaging in crimes against average citizens instead of focusing on the big picture.

  Gatsby and Connell had been good guys with good hearts, wanting to make a difference. They weren’t hacking for lulz, or for financial crimes and self-gain. They were trying to get the world to take notice, to change the status quo.

  To save lives.

  She’d failed them.

  Worse, because she’d failed them, she’d failed others as well.

  Right now, she needed to find a way to live with her actions and focus on her mission. They weren’t in the clear yet. She needed to get the kids relocated and back on the job. Until she did that, everything else was on hold.

  I’ll have to contact Bubba when we relocate.

  Part of her understood
it’d be emotionally masochistic, but she wanted to know about those four men.

  Maybe see if Bubba could at least financially atone for her actions if they had families.

  Make sure their families got the damn vaccine in the first rounds of distribution.

  More casualties in Silo’s Kite war. That’s how she thought of it now, because North Korea no longer existed. Silo had been the driving force behind what happened there in the US.

  And she damn sure wanted to be on the team that paid him a special house call once they were cleared to take him out.

  She’d also make sure Silo knew those six names, four of which she didn’t even know yet, before he died.

  * * * *

  Before they were called to leave, a woman and a man entered their room. Tank recognized the man as being one of the Drunk Monkeys, but couldn’t recall his name off the top of her head. She assumed the woman was one of the women who’d joined the Drunk Monkeys, because Tank didn’t recognize her from The List.

  “We need to get you all vaccinated,” she said.

  Tank glanced around as if not sure. “For what?”

  “Kite. We have a preliminary vaccine. We’ve all had it, it’s safe. It’s just not covering all of the strains yet. But since you’re going to be near the RV, better safe than sorry.”

  Tank wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, and hoped they weren’t all being set up. But she nodded and stepped up first, exposing her left shoulder for the injection.

  If they’d planned to po-clo the lot of them, they would have had several armed guards with them to keep order when the others saw the first victims fall, or would have separated them so the others didn’t see it happen.

  Tank indicated one of the others after she got hers. “Go ahead.”

  The safety proven, everyone got inoculated without hesitation.

  “So what about the other strains?” Tank asked the woman.

  “They’re working on it.” Her expression grew dark. “If we hadn’t had to bug out of Atlanta—”

  The guy nudged her.

  She stopped talking. “Sorry.”

  “Someone will come get you shortly to move out to the plane,” the guy said.