Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3

by Ronie Kendig

  Titanis caught his drag strap again, pulled him on.

  They rushed into the predawn morning, air cool and coated with dust. “Keep moving,” Sal shouted as they sprinted into the blue haze.

  Groooaaaannn!

  Whoosh! Boom! Whoosh!

  Superheated air punched them into the ground.

  CHAPTER 29

  Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan

  5 April—0715 Hours

  Onboard the helo back to Kandahar, Sal dumped ibuprofen down his throat and let Harrier wrap gauze around the cut in his arm. What kind of messed-up person cuts up their arm right before a mission?

  I killed him. I killed Brian. The guy’s visage wouldn’t leave his mind. Sal was sure it’d never leave. Just like the sound of Vida’s laugh echoed in his head like a daily reminder—a taunt.

  First Vida, now Hawk.

  A slap against his shoulder startled Sal. He jerked and found Harrier waving him off the bird, which sat on the tarmac already. Robotically, Sal hopped out and stalked away from the rotor wash. They climbed into a vehicle to head to the Command center.

  He had to get back there. Hawk had to be alive. And if he was, then he was lying there on that floor as the building came down.

  How could he survive that?

  Because Hawk was thickheaded and never gave up.

  The Jeep lurched to a stop and doors flung open. Sal moved with the flow of traffic into the Command building.

  “Hey, you need the hospital?”

  Sal turned, his mind half engaged in the question. Eagle reached over and held up Sal’s arm streaked with blood. “No.” Sal tugged free. “I’m fine. We need to debrief.”

  Get your head in the game, Russo.

  As he strode down the hall, gathering up the broken pieces of his psyche, he spotted Dean through a glass window. The Command room. Sick to his stomach, Sal didn’t let himself stop or slow or turn around, though he would’ve taken any or all of them right now. Anything not to face telling his friend and CO what happened.

  He pushed through the door and dragged his unwilling gaze to Dean’s.

  Hands on his tactical belt, Dean nodded and moved away from the man next to him. “Grab a chair and get comfortable. Coffee’s on the way.”

  The gloom of the team was as palpable as thick goo. Sal tugged back a chair and lowered himself into it. Though pressure lifted from his knees and back, the one surrounding his heart didn’t ease.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, waiting. How exactly did one confess to killing a teammate? Sal slumped back in his chair, hand over his mouth. He stroked the beard, finding no comfort in the motion this time.

  Dean shut the door. Locked it.

  Interesting.

  The captain moved to the boards and folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, I’ll give a rundown of what’s on the logs, what happened, then I’ll open it up. If anyone has ideas on what went wrong, what could’ve been done better, we’ll hear that then. Understood?”

  A chorus of “hooahs” filled the room.

  He had to come clean. Tell Dean about the cutting. About being responsible for failing the team and Hawk.

  “First, the most obvious—we failed to meet the mission objective,” Dean said. “Kiew Tang evaded our capture.”

  “Sir,” Harrier spoke up. “I… on two occasions, with the long-range microphone, heard Lieutenant Walker dialogue with the objective.”

  Sal lifted his head, glanced from Harrier to a now white-faced Cassie.

  “What kind of dialogue?” Dean asked.

  Harrier hesitated, skating a glance in Cassie’s direction but not really making eye contact with her. “Personal, sir.”

  Someone on the SEAL team cursed. “That explains it all.” Schmidt.

  Sal pushed straight in his chair, hackles raising. “Explains what?”

  “I saw her—she dove into you when you were holding Hawk, trying to pull him to safety.” Schmidt’s white-blond beard and curly-wiry hair made him look like a biker. “It’s her fault Hawk went down.”

  “Now, hold up—”

  “It didn’t make sense. Everyone knows how precarious things are in a situation like that. One wrong move—and well, I guess we know what happens now. A man dies.” He stabbed a finger at Cassie. “If she—”

  “You need to back up,” Sal said, coming to his feet. “That wasn’t Cassie’s fault in no way.”

  “Sal,” came Dean’s voice of reason and warning.

  “Cassie?” Riordan snapped. “First name—that sounds personal. What, were you two hooking up or something? That’d make sense, why you’re defending her.”

  “Hey!” Dean snapped. “Enough. Riordan.” He nodded from Riordan to the other SEAL. “Get him in line.” He pivoted to where Sal stood—now in front of Cassie.

  His hazel eyes had darkened beneath that stern brow. “Sal?”

  “She tried to help me. I was losing my grip.” Now or never, chicken. “I—”

  Cassie pushed in front of him. “Schmidt is right,” she bit out.

  Sal started. “Cassie.”

  She turned to him, her cheeks bright. Her determination brighter. After sliding him a sympathetic smile, she faced the captain again. “What I did was stupid. But it wasn’t meant to harm anyone.”

  “Doesn’t make Hawk any less dead.”

  Sal lunged.

  Cassie stepped into his path. Hands on his chest. “Stop. Don’t listen.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he whispered around a tight voice.

  “Stand down!” Dean shouted. “Walker, finish what you were saying.”

  She angled around. “I saw Hawk slipping, and what I did was done out of instinct to try to stop him from falling. The floor gave way then. That broke Sal’s grip.” She tucked her head. “Hawk… fell.”

  “Because of you!”

  “Yeah? And what about you?” Sal couldn’t take it anymore—not Cassie taking the blame or this puke of a SEAL blaming her. “That’s a lot of smack you’re talking, but where were you when Hawk was dangling for his life?”

  Challenge hung in Schmidt’s eyes, which eventually found the floor.

  “Captain Watters,” Riordan said as he patted Schmidt’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”

  Scratching the side of his face, Dean huffed. “Raptor, get cleaned up. Sal, Walker—get to the infirmary to check those wounds.”

  Cassie emerged from the hospital with stitches on her cheek and a patched shoulder. The doctor warned her she’d have a few new aches in the morning, compliments of the bruise in her back—which would’ve been a bullet had it not been for her vest—but should have full range of motion in no time.

  It was a lie to make her feel better. Once Penner and Phelps got wind of this, she’d be out of action. And she might just make that decision on her own. She’d wanted to get close to Sal, to make amends, and it seemed the divide between them just grew and grew.

  She’d prayed he’d open up to her. That they could reconcile. She’d greedily accepted this assignment believing it was God’s answer to her prayer to provide a way for her to talk to Sal. And here she stood, with him trusting her less than ever. Hating her more.

  She snorted. Hadn’t thought it possible.

  She stepped into the morning and started across the rocky path. Her stomach growled, sending her in the direction of the chow hall for lunch.

  “Hey,” a voice hissed behind her.

  Cassie glanced back, surprised to see Sal. And despite the storm in his expression, her heart betrayed her with a wonky ka-thump. “Sal.”

  He clutched her arm.

  She winced.

  And he immediately relented, his rich brown eyes flicking to her arm. “Sorry.” He let go. Stepped back. “What did you do that for?”

  Cassie frowned. Looked at her arm.

  “No,” Sal said, inching closer, his words barely audible. “In the debrief. You lied to them. Said it was your fault.”

  Swallowing didn’t help dislodge t
he lump in her throat. “It’s true.”

  “You and I both know that’s a lie.”

  She wet her lips and glanced around them. She didn’t want to admit why she’d done that. “It’s a peace offering.”

  This time, Sal frowned. Stared down at her with a mixture of confusion and—dare she believe it?—admiration. The why question lingered loud and proud in this soldier’s eyes.

  “Even if you hadn’t lost your grip because of the blood, you would’ve eventually. There was no way you’d have hauled him up. Gravity, his injury, and the explosions were all against you.” She touched his bandaged arm. “Sal, you’re oozing agony. I see it in your everyday life as much as in the blood that slipped down your arm.”

  “What do you know about what I feel? It’s been four years—”

  Cassie shook her head, her eyes glossing. Then she nodded. “You’re right. It has been. But I stare into your eyes every day I’m home because Mila has your eyes. She’s a reminder of the man I fell in love with.”

  Sal muttered something and spun away from her then dropped onto a picnic bench tucked in a corner. He steepled his fingers and bent over, huffing out heavy breaths. “It’s all so screwed up.”

  Cassie went and sat beside him, their knees touching. “Sal, you probably don’t want to hear this, but you have to let go of Vida.”

  His head came up.

  She held out a hand. “Hear me out. Bitterness rots the soul. And it’s clawing its way out of you. Blame me if you want.” Again, her eyes glossed. “But let go. And Hawk—”

  “I can’t believe you lied about that. I have to tell Dean.”

  “No—”

  “We have a code to live by, and I can’t let that lie stand.” His chest rose and fell unevenly. “I can’t let that go. It was my fault he died. Not yours.”

  “You believe it’s your fault because of the guilt you feel for cutting.” When his gaze narrowed, Cassie rushed on. “Don’t lie to me or try to hide it. I know you’re doing it. And you haven’t told anyone, have you?”

  Sal’s lips flattened.

  “No, of course not, because they’d put you out.”

  She didn’t want him cutting anymore, and if that meant extending him some grace and mercy he desperately needed, some that might cost her a little, she would go there. “I was there, Sal.” She leaned closer. “I threw myself across that floor. As soon as my stomach hit, I heard the crack.”

  His gaze swung to hers. Desperation resonating from him to be freed of the noose he’d hung around his own neck.

  She touched his cheek. Smoothed her fingers over his beard. “Please, let it go. Your soul can’t take any more of that poison you’re feeding it. The self-condemnation.” She smiled, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You’re a good man, Sal. An amazing soldier. A loyal friend.”

  He punched to his feet, the raging storm back. “No. That’s not true. I’m not loyal. I’m not a good man. It’s my fault Vida died.”

  Surprise drew Cassie to her feet.

  He rounded on her, dark brows drawn together. “I had no business getting involved with you, and that’s what killed her. Now my inability to deal with the nightmare life keeps serving up killed one of the best soldiers I’ve ever known.” He pivoted, rocks crunching beneath his boots. “How can you call me good when I’ve done all that?”

  “Because I know you. Not the horrible circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?” His voice pitched. “Vida and Hawk were people! Friends—my girlfriend. And now they’re both dead because of me.”

  “Fine. You want to play the blame game, I’m in.” Cassie’s pulse sped as she held out her arms. “The entire freakin’ mission is my fault.”

  He glared at her.

  “I broke rank and went after Kiew. When you found me, I’d been talking to her, trying to convince her to come with me.” Oh, man, what are you doing? “I wasn’t there to capture her. I wanted to help her get free.”

  Sal drew up short.

  In the seconds of that moment, of seeing how deeply she’d disappointed him, wounded him, Cassie felt a blow to her gut.

  “Tell me that’s not true.” His tone went deadly.

  Why had she told him that? It was true, but… she would lose her job for admitting it.

  He muttered an oath and shifted away, holding his head.

  “Sal—”

  “No.” He held out a hand to her in a severing fashion. “No more, Cassie.” He held a hand over his mouth then dragged it down his beard. “I can’t do this anymore. I think I’m about to let go of it, and then you punch me in the gut with something like this. You were actively working against my team?”

  His words, the truth of those words, stunned her. She’d had an assignment. “I thought she needed a way out. I thought…” Wow, it sounded so lame now, especially remembering the horrible things Kiew had said. The bombs she’d set off.

  “It’s over.”

  “Sal, I came here to fix this between us because we have a daughter. I prayed God would provide a way for me to see and talk to you, and I got this assignment. It was screwed up and they manipulated me, but I came. We need resolution. You said you wanted to get to know Mila…”

  “Is that your get-out-of-jail-free card? The way you thought you could drag me back to your bed?”

  Cassie sucked in a breath. Snapped back as if he’d slapped her. “How dare you! I had no intention of telling you about Mila. You know what, you don’t deserve to be a part of her life! Or mine!”

  “You can’t stop me from being a part of her life.”

  Fear squirreled through her chest at the threat that hung in his words. She didn’t want it to go this way. Things were supposed to be smoothed over, at best, between them. She’d never expected to win him back. Oh, she’d hoped—a fool’s fancy, she understood now—but she knew Sal hated her. “Why can’t you put as much effort into working this out as you do into hating and blaming me? If there’s a way to fix this, tell me!”

  Sal angled in a shoulder, the scent of iodine and antiseptic shielding his normal smell. “You want to fix things? Then fix this.”

  “Fix what?” She flashed her palms at him. “Ya know what? I’m not doing this. You want to be ticked off and keep hating me, then fine. But don’t drag me through this.”

  “You just said Hawk’s dead because of you, so how is it I’m dragging you? First Vida—”

  “Stop. Blaming. Me. For. Vida!” Her breath shuddered from the emotion. The ping-pong of their relationship. The yanking of each others’ chains. “I can’t take it anymore. It has to stop.”

  He studied her for a minute, his left cheek just below his eye twitching. “Neither can I. And you’re right—this stops. Right here. Right now. We’re done, Cassandra.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan

  5 April—1335 Hours

  You stupid, idiotic sons of—” Ramsey flung a metal chair across the briefing room, his ruddy face a mixture of rage and combat exhaustion.

  Dean threaded his fingers together on the table. The men with him included Sal, Knight, Eagle, and Harrier. Riordan and his team had joined them, but the verbal lashing didn’t have the weight it carried for Raptor. Nothing like getting flogged when you’re already missing a limb. Hawk.

  Even thinking the man’s call sign pressed heavily on Dean.

  “Do you realize the delicate relations you have completely upended tonight with your harebrained, failed operation?” He careened around the room, his arms writhing and lashing out. “And not just any building because that would be too easy.”

  Eagle folded his arms over his chest, his feelings about the general’s tirade clear.

  “You have compromised years of intricate political maneuvering with one of the most important assets this side of the Atlantic.” He let out a growl and threw a punch in the air.

  Sal sat with his head in his hands, his expression awash with grief. Shock. Fury. His fingertips whitened as he pressed them agains
t his closely shaven head.

  They’d lost two men—Burnett and now Brian.

  “What brand of stupidity possessed you to think you could just go off half-cocked and do that?”

  “It wasn’t half-cocked,” Riordan countered.

  “What?” Ramsey roared.

  Face blank, Riordan didn’t back down. “We had a plan. We executed the plan.”

  “You executed one of your own!”

  Sal shifted, dragging his leg in and extending the other. His breathing was growing heavier. More agitated.

  “There is always risk.” Riordan sure didn’t care that he was arguing with a general. Then again, he reported to Admiral Rosen. “And every man in this room’s aware of that.”

  “So that gives you the right to screw with lives and wreck—”

  “No, but when a mission goes south as it did tonight, it means we deal with it, learn from it.”

  Ramsey bent toward Sal. “How are you doing with Bledsoe’s death, Russo?”

  Dean about came out of his chair. “Sir.” That was uncalled for, shoving that down Sal’s throat. And if he knew his friend, a physical confrontation could ensue.

  Ramsey met his gaze for a moment then moved away, apparently seeing the storm brewing in Sal’s expression. “This piece of dirt is racking up lives like they’re candy, and what in the name of all that’s holy have we accomplished? Except to get our butts handed to us time and again?” He pounded a fist on the table.

  Harrier flinched. Shook his head and sagged under the verbal lashing.

  “Do you have any idea the political damage you’ve done, how much this will cost the government? You can bet your sorry butts I’ll find a way to take this out of your hides.”

  “Sir,” Dean finally spoke up. “We had actionable intelligence that told us Kiew Tang was an asset. One we needed to secure. We put a plan in play.”

  “And did you succeed in that mission, Captain?” Ramsey’s blue eyes blazed as he whipped around the table pressed in on Dean, who stared him down. “I should’ve been fully briefed before you went out.”

  “With all due respect, sir, our team is granted autonomy under the direction of General Burnett’s—”