Forged in Ember (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 4)

by Trish McCallan

  If one were to believe the Englishman, the device should have gone off by now. They were well past the minute he’d claimed was on the timer. Which should have reassured him but didn’t. Perhaps the council member who’d set the timer had miscalculated. Perhaps he’d transposed the numbers or added an extra zero. There were too many variables, and without access to the control clock, they had no clue whether the damn thing was counting down to detonation.

  At the two-minute mark, Wolf turned to his warriors. “Samuel, John, write down everything they say. Jessup, David—you’re on recording detail. Mikael, you broadcast the interrogation live to Command central.”

  Even though the entire interrogation would be broadcast live to Shadow Command—he’d still send notes and recordings with each helicopter after evac. In the unlikely event the live broadcast didn’t patch through or one of the Eagles went down, there would be a backup copy. The information they were about to extract was too crucial not to take second and third precautions.

  If the circumstances had been different, he would simply drag both men aboard the birds and haul them back to base—interrogate them there. It was too dangerous to loiter around in the open like this. While the Eagles’ pilots were monitoring the local law enforcement and military channels, there was always a chance a team from one or both of those entities had gone off the com and was ghosting in on them.

  However, they wouldn’t be able to interrogate their captives aboard the Eagles. The noise of the rotors made that option impossible. Nor could they leave the bomb on the boat when they evacuated. If it went off, it would kill millions. It had to be removed.

  The NRO council members had flown in on helicopters, two of which were perched aboard right now. He would pull one of the copilots from the Eagle and fly the bomb far away via the most unpopulated route he could find. If the device went off before he got it to safety, it would kill a lot fewer people that way. Most of his warriors would survive.

  But first he needed to acquire the warehouse locations and send them to Shadow Command. If the device blew before he flew it to safety, those locations had to be in safe hands.

  If it didn’t blow . . .

  Wolf glanced at Mackenzie and frowned thoughtfully.

  William had his fingers pressed to the commander’s head, and the silver glow of healing was climbing his arms.

  Maybe Mackenzie had connected with the device and mentally turned it off.

  Maybe the cerebral exertion had caused the pain in his head, along with the vomiting and the bleeding from his nose and eyes. Faith hadn’t mentioned any side effects from mentally connecting to her prototype, but this was not the same device. Perhaps the rewiring had resulted in Mackenzie’s symptoms.

  Neniiseti’ had insisted the commander be fully healed in time to join this mission. Was this why? Had the beesnenitee known that without Mackenzie the mission was doomed to fail, and millions of people would die?

  Rawls looked up, caught his eye, and arched a sandy eyebrow. “We’re not dead yet. I’m taking that as a good sign.” He nodded to his CO, who was sprawled out next to his knees. “How much you want to bet he’s the reason we’re still breathing?”

  “You think the machine synced with his brain? That he’s the reason the damn thing went dark?” Cosky asked.

  He didn’t sound like he disagreed, more like he was asking to confirm his own suspicions.

  “It makes sense.” Rawls shrugged. “Something was sure as hell affecting him, and it got worse the closer we got to this room.”

  Black Cloud and his beniiinenno will fight beside you. The spirits have spoken. It will be so.

  Neniiseti’s cryptic comment blazed through Wolf’s mind.

  If what they suspected was true, and Mackenzie had synced with the NRO’s bomb and turned it off before it could detonate, then he’d saved all their lives.

  Wolf grimaced. It didn’t sit well to owe this particular nih’oo3oo anything. Let alone his life or the lives of his men. Hell, the lives of the entire world.

  However, it was impossible to ignore the fact that according to Eric Manheim, who should know, everyone on this boat should be dead by now.

  Perhaps the spirits had had good cause for their demand after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  MAC AWOKE WITH dozens of questions.

  On the plus side, he was alive, the nausea and headache were gone, and he was already aboard the Eagle—which was one way to avoid climbing the caving ladder. On the downside, he had no idea what the fuck had happened on that boat, but judging by the reaction of his men, who were eyeing him with varying degrees of concern, it must have been bad. Hell, Rawls’s constant blood pressure and pupil checks were a clear indication that things had turned ugly back there. But the roar of the engine and rotors made conversation impossible, which meant he wouldn’t find out the details anytime soon.

  By the time the bird landed for refuel, he’d already filled in some of the blanks on his own. He was alive, as were the rest of the men on the bird, so the device hadn’t detonated. He’d been miraculously restored to full health; even that bloody graze along his arm sported tender new skin. Ergo, one of Shadow Mountain’s healers had gotten their hands on him.

  Obviously someone had shut down the bomb, regardless of Manheim’s insistence that the countdown had been locked and unalterable. If Manheim hadn’t lied, if the device really had been sealed in countdown mode, who had turned it off? He flashed back to the blinds in the boat’s dining room.

  He might know the answer to that question too.

  He waited for the rotors to power down on the Eagle before hopping to the tarmac. The smell of jet fuel stung his eyes and burned his nose.

  Rawls joined him twenty feet from the fuel tanks. “How’s the head?”

  “Fine,” Mac said impatiently. There were more important matters to discuss than his health. “Did we get the locations to the warehouses?”

  “Yep,” Rawls said. “Wolfie sent the coordinates to his big bad boss while we were still on the Princess.”

  “Shadow Command already has teams moving on the warehouses,” Cosky added as he and Zane joined them.

  “The council members?” Mac asked.

  “Manheim and Coulson are on Eagle Two. The others are dead. Except for Manheim’s wife. She wasn’t on board.”

  Well, that was good news, at least on the first two counts. He stared at Rawls, then Cosky, and finally Zane. “What the fuck happened back there?”

  Rawls scanned Mac’s face, his blond eyebrows arching. “How much do ya recall?”

  Mac thought back. “Not much. Manheim said the device was armed and counting down. Considering we’re alive, the bastard must have been lying.”

  Or . . .

  He didn’t mention the other option in case he was way off. No sense in sounding the fool.

  Zane cocked his head. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Mac’s face closely. “The damn thing just shut down. Out of the blue. For no apparent reason. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  Okay, so obviously Mac wasn’t the only one mulling over that other option.

  “See, the thing is, Skipper, the bomb shut off at the same time you went down. We’re thinkin’ the two might be connected,” Rawls added.

  Time to stop playing dumb. “You’re thinking I mentally connected with the damn thing and turned it off, and that’s what caused the headache and nausea.”

  “Did you?” The point-blank question came from Cosky.

  No surprise there.

  “How the hell would I know?” At the rash of disbelieving looks, he shrugged. “I don’t know, okay? Maybe? Before I crashed and burned, I was thinking I had to turn it off.” He hesitated. “Plus—some weird shit happened in the dining room on the deck above.”

  “The blinds?” Rawls looked at Mac for confirmation.

  “Yeah.” Mac blew out a breath.

  “What about them?” Zane asked, looking back and forth between Rawls and Mac. Zane
and Cosky had departed the room before the incident had happened.

  “My head was killing me, and that damn room was so fucking bright . . . I remember thinking it was too bad the blinds weren’t down, and next thing I know—”

  “The blinds are rolling down,” Rawls broke in.

  “Yeah.” Mac rocked back on his boots. “Could just be a coincidence. The blinds, the bomb—hell, both malfunctions could be caused by faulty wiring, crossed circuits.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cosky said. “What matters is the damn thing didn’t go off.” He glanced at Mac. “Even if you did connect with it, the minute the device shut off, that connection broke. Your superpowers would be long gone by now.”

  “I dunno, Cos.” Rawls casually scratched his chin, but his eyes were gleaming bright blue. “We can’t know that for sure. We need to test him. Make sure he’s not a danger to himself and others.” He cocked his head at Mac. “How ’bout you try to levitate Cos? I know for a fact he’s always wanted to fly . . . you know, like Superman.”

  Cos shoved Rawls hard enough to rock him back on his boots. “Or you could turn off this bastard’s mouth. Christ knows that’s an impossible task without superpowers.”

  Mac was regretting his lack of superpowers by the time they climbed on the Eagle and the sound of the engine and rotors washed away his teammates’ remaining suggestions. It would be sweet to send the whole lot of them to Antarctica.

  Six hours later Mac was on his feet, impatiently waiting for the cargo lift to draw the Eagle into the belly of Shadow Mountain. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he glared at the men surrounding him—all of them still sitting on the bird’s floor. Was it too fucking much to get off their asses and out of his way? He had places to be and people to see.

  Or at least one place and one person.

  When fate gave you three chances to get it right, and you blew those first two chances—the smart man grabbed on to that last one with both hands and clung like a motherfucker.

  Evidence suggested he might not be the smartest of men, not with those first two chances washed down the shithole. But he’d never been called a stupid one either.

  He wasn’t fucking around with this last chance.

  “Still no headache?” Rawls asked, rising to stretch beside him, piercing blue eyes scanning his face.

  “I’m fine,” Mac said curtly.

  “I’m serious, Mac. You need to go to the clinic and get your noggin checked out.”

  Fine, he would . . . later. “Stop being such a damn mother hen.”

  As soon as the last of the Shadow Mountain warriors jumped down from the Eagle, Mac made his escape. Without waiting for his team, he headed—at a good clip—for the hangar’s exit.

  “Where you headed in such a hurry?” Rawls asked, catching up with him. The intense scrutiny in his eyes gave way to something sly and even more unwelcome.

  “None of your fucking business.” Mac kept walking.

  Rawls smirked. “You realize it’s oh-three-hundred, right? The lady will be fast asleep.”

  Fuck. Mac stopped walking. Planting his hands on his hips, he scowled across the bay. Rawls was right. Amy would be asleep, and she damn well needed that sleep.

  Rawls slapped him on his shoulder. “You look like a man in need of advice.”

  “You need your eyesight checked,” Mac said. Now that Rawls had shot down his plans, his adrenaline was fading fast.

  “Not sure if you’re aware, Commander,” Rawls drawled, “but your interactions with the ladies can come off as somewhat”—he lifted his eyebrows delicately—“hostile.” A wicked grin broke over his face. “’Course, if you don’t care that they run off screamin’ when they see you comin’.”

  Mac showed his appreciation for his corpsman’s concern by giving him the middle finger salute.

  “Why don’t you two get a room,” Cosky said, walking up behind them.

  Well, look at that. Cos is talking to me again.

  Deep inside him a hard little knot of regret eased.

  “Can’t.” Rawls shot Cosky a conspiratorial wink. “Mac’s in a relationship.”

  Cosky gave Rawls a no-shit glare. “Fuck, that’s news to you? Anyone with eyes could see that.”

  Mac scowled. It was news to him.

  “I’m thinkin’ he needs the wisdom of the big boys.” Rawls gave Mac a taunting shove. “Otherwise he’s liable to lose the girl.”

  Zane, who’d approached on Mac’s right, paused with a thoughtful look on his face. “Rawls has a point.”

  Ah fuck.

  Cosky stopped too, his face deadpan. “How much time we have?”

  “Seven hundred?” Rawls’s grin was blinding white. “She should be up by then.”

  Lifting his arm, Cosky consulted his clock. “Hell—” He shook his head, the flat expression never leaving his face. “Not sure we’ll be done by then.”

  With a laugh, Rawls slung an arm over Mac’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Mac my boy. We’ve got your back. Everything you wanted to know about the birds and the bees and the Amys is coming right up.”

  Oh for Christ’s sake.

  But Mac followed them out of the hangar. The hazing the bastards planned to unleash on him was better than sitting in his quarters all by his lonesome, stewing over what he was going to say to Amy. Or what she was going to say back. At least it would keep him occupied for the next few hours.

  As they headed through the maze of corridors to the personnel quarters, Mac stopped at one of the phone stations along the wall and rang the clinic for an update. Both boys were doing well. Still admitted but due to be released in the afternoon. Amy wasn’t there.

  Relieved that shit hadn’t hit the fan in his absence, he rejoined the loose huddle of his team, ready to kill some hours until it was time to take back his streak of cowardice.

  “First thing to remember,” Rawls said fifteen minutes later around Mac’s table as he filled everyone’s tumbler with two fingers of Johnnie Walker, “is you don’t demand anything of her. Ladies don’t appreciate that. You ask her.” Setting the bottle down, Rawls sprawled out in the chair next to Mac.

  “Without yelling,” Zane added, taking his dose of Johnnie by throwing back his head and tossing it down his throat.

  “Or swearing.” Cosky slid a dry look his way.

  “You wanna make eye contact,” Rawls continued.

  “Without trying to glare her into submission.” Zane’s slight smile told Mac he was enjoying this way too fucking much.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Mac said, picking up his tumbler. “I’m not a fucking nub here. You forget I’ve been married before?”

  Three sets of eyebrows climbed, but Cosky was the one to clear that land mine. “And we all know how well that turned out.”

  He had a point. Mac grimaced.

  “Remember,” Rawls said. “If she nods at what you’re sayin’, it doesn’t mean she’s agreein’ with you, just that she’s listenin’ to you.”

  Zane turned to stare at Rawls. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

  “Psychology Today. They had this article on body language.”

  Zane’s face wrinkled. “That sure explains a fucking lot.”

  “Remember to smile at her.” Rawls’s attention shifted to Mac. “Smiling is your friend.”

  Cosky froze for a second, then slowly lowered his glass to the table. “Not sure about that. Hell, with the way the muscles of his face are fixed in a perpetual scowl, trying to smile might scare the fucking shit out of her.”

  Before Mac had a chance to respond to that taunt, Zane stepped in with more helpful advice. “For fuck’s sake, don’t try to solve one of her problems. They don’t want you to actually solve it. Apparently they just want to know that you’re listening and that you know about it.”

  “Right?” Rawls’s shoulders cinched up. “What the sweet Jesus is that about?”

  By the time 0700 rolled around, the convoy had shifted from advice, to women, to sports, to weapo
ns, back to women, and from there into shop talk. As the hour marched closer, Mac’s earlier nerves returned. When the guys finally rose from the table, he was so fucking tense he felt like he could rip apart just by moving.

  “Good luck, buddy,” Rawls said, pounding the hell out of his back. As he stepped around him, Rawls suddenly stopped dead and flicked the flex-cuffs hanging from a belt loop on Mac’s BDUs. “Oh, and, Commander. FYI, you never want to bring handcuffs to a first date.”

  Asshole.

  Although in this case the flex-cuffs might come in handy. It was a hell of a lot easier to keep his hands to himself if they were bound together.

  Before heading out he rang the clinic again. Amy wasn’t there.

  The walk over to Amy’s quarters went way too fast. He still had no idea what he wanted to say when he arrived at her door. Fuck. He’d wing it. Before he could chicken out, he knocked on the door and waited—his skin crawling, his heart pounding, his gut trying to worm its way into his chest.

  Christ, being brave was damn uncomfortable.

  When there was no response to his first knock, he tried again. Was she still sleeping? In the shower? Had she left for the clinic while he was walking over? He should have rung her instead of the—

  The door opened.

  Her hair was wet and tousled, her face scrubbed and shiny. The scent of cocoa butter and peaches clung to her. The nerves rumbling in his belly stilled as primal hunger rose.

  “Mac,” she said, her eyes cool and blank.

  “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

  Obviously the wrong choice of words, as her eyes narrowed.

  “Sure.” She stepped back, opening the door wider. “But I can’t talk long. The boys are being released today.”

  “I heard.” Mac stepped through the door. How the hell would he recover from that first misfire? She’d already erected an invisible barrier. “I called the clinic when we landed.”

  “That was kind of you,” she murmured, throwing another billion miles of cold front between them.

  Son of a bitch, he’d just tripped over another land mine. He could sense it. What the hell had he said this time?