“To the obstacle course, everyone, now! That includes you, Wright. Get there. That is an order!” Carole sensed Wright clamber to his feet and stumble into the jungle. Horne followed, grabbing his arm and leading Wright in the proper direction. Trembling, she rose to her feet.
“You will have no water until daylight, for taking it without authorization—and for spilling it!” Lincoln sounded furious. Suddenly Carole didn’t dare tell him about the well, about the fresh water on the island. The voices were right, it was impossible for her to have found it in the dark night. She could provide no rational explanation for it.
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Save it.” Lincoln started to stalk away, then paused and turned in her direction. “What the hell do you do to Wright, you bitch? That man was a rock until you got to him! Leave him alone!” He stormed away then, and his words cut into Carole sharper than any had had the power to do in a very long time.
CLOUDS SLID PAST the moon, and occasional patches of moonlight lit the clearing like a ghostly spotlight moving soundlessly over the trees, before vanishing again. The obstacle course had been easy in the light of day, but night and tension took it to a whole new level. Standing at the head of the course, Carole could sense most of it. It consisted of walls to be climbed up and repelled down, wooden hillocks similar to a child’s playground equipment dotted the area, the only difference being these were covered in rusty nails or metal and sharp bits of glass, a large parapet stood in the middle. The team would take turns defending, and then breaching it. Tunnels cut through the course, some manmade corrugated plastic and some reinforced earth, both clogged with refuse and mud.
The men spent the first half hour trying to calm Wright. Their method began with verbally tearing Carole to pieces. Keeping her distance from Wright, she could still hear the men’s deep voices. Bitch seemed a term of endearment after other words floated to her ears: manipulative, calculating, traitor, scheming-lesbian, and tease being the most often repeated. Carole cringed to hear Wright defending her.
“You don’t know, you don’t know!” he said, crouched on the ground, rocking, rubbing his hands over his chest as though frantically petting a dog, and moaning.
Lincoln finally lost it. “Blank! You did this to him, you fix it!”
Carole stormed over to the Pact and slapped Wright across the face. He rolled backwards and landed flat on his back. Carole sensed a spot where his teeth cut his lip and blood trickled out of his mouth. Towering over him in the dark, she said what she meant. “Knock it off! I am sick and tired of you, Wright. What do I have to do to get the message through to you? I don’t even like you. Leave. Me. Alone. If you ever touch me again, I will break your arms. If you don’t think I can do it, get up and try me right now.”
Wright growled two words at her, signaling a return to his senses quite succinctly. Horne hauled him to his feet, slapping him on the back with approval. “If you want to break her arms, we’ll hold her down for you.” Wright repeated the same two words to him, interlaced with several gasping sob sounds. The group moved towards the obstacle course, Brown and Horne dragging Wright by his armpits until he shook them off and lumbered forward on his own.
Lincoln set the scenario for the nighttime run. “Blank, Brown, and Horne team against me and Imars—Wright, you’re rogue. If you get a chance to break any arms, go for it.”
In all her time with the Pact Lincoln had been fair, until tonight. Great, thought Carole. She ran her hands through her short mess of hair, wondering why Lincoln would encourage hostility in the group. He isn’t, I’m not part of the group and he’s not going to pretend anymore. She had become the sacrifice if that’s what it took to keep the Pact together. Carole pulled her mask over her head. If Wright came for her, she would have to hurt him. Horne shoved her towards the first wall, and she slid across the mucky ground. Grabbing onto a fat nylon rope she propelled herself forward away from her own teammates, focusing on the obstacle course and watching her back.
THE ABILITY TO know if her teammates would turn on her wasn’t one of Carole’s hidden talents. The voices expected the men to turn at any moment, but they’d been predicting attack and public execution since she’d been a child. Blessedly her team, Horne and Brown, seemed to automatically slip into their role of professional marine.
Carole climbed the parapet ahead of her team, behind her Brown and Horne struggled to catch up. Lincoln and Imars were up to something on the farthest wall. She suspected they were going to team with Wright at the last minute because he appeared to be attempting to rig some type of a trebuchet on the ground, something out of his skill set. No doubt their intention would be to take her down the next time moonlight broke through. Horne and Brown were still twenty feet below her, groping for hand and footholds, and safely out of the range of anything thrown in her direction. Carole slowly made her way around to the front of the parapet, out of the range of whatever Wright was planning, wondering if he’d decided to settle his feelings by eliminating her. She had no doubt that he’d get whatever he was working on functional if Imars helped.
Something felt out of place. Carole paused to take in the members of the Pact again. They were still at the same tasks, but the feeling niggled at the back of her mind. She was missing something, something besides water. The climb in the heat left her throat parched. Below, Horne’s swallowing sounded like an open drain. She suspected he did it on purpose.
A shadowy figure shot out of the top of the parapet and dropped. With startling speed a man shot past Carole where she clung to the wall. Sensing him as he passed, she almost lost her footing, suddenly disoriented and dizzy. The only sound as he descended was the gentle whir of a repel line. Even the voices in her head silenced as a loud buzzing shock seemed to reverberate through her. A part of her mind reprimanded for not watching above. Amateur mistake! Another part noted that the entire team had gone still at the approach of what was surely the infamous Ted White. The Pact had been both dreading and anticipating the man’s arrival. What Carole hadn’t expected and what left her clinging to the wall was the fact that she too had been waiting for Ted White, but for an entirely different reason.
Carole could sense his heart.
Not since her father had been escorted from the hospital when she was three-years-old had she sensed the heart of another human being. The touch of a heart hadn’t been a delusion, it was real. Tears filled her eyes and she clung to the wall, gasping, as joy surged through her. Ted hit the ground with a faint thud and skidded over brush. The moon broke through, lighting the clearing. Thirty feet below the first heart she’d sensed in fifteen years waited. Tears slid down her cheeks as she watched the men move slowly to where the Lieutenant Colonel waited. Dressed completely in black, with his head and face covered, she couldn’t see what he looked like. It didn’t matter, she could feel him. Leaning into the rough wood of the parapet she pressed her hands against her heart, feeling more awake than she ever remembered.
“Blank!” Lincoln’s voice reminded her that there was protocol to follow. She wiped her eyes, not bothering to hook onto her zip line. Grabbing hold of Ted White’s line, she dropped straight down, not caring who noticed the near-impossibility of the feat. She felt so alive. The Colonel didn’t wait for her to descend. He moved towards the next wall and started to climb. It didn’t matter to Carole. She knew he had to feel her too, how could he not? Strength surged through her, and she followed. She would’ve followed this man anywhere.
WITH NEW INSPIRATION the Pact worked together, tackling the obstacle course with a sudden burst of cooperation. Carole’s body responded, climbing, running, and crawling, but her mind searched for every shred of information it had ever heard about Ted White. He was a legend in the small world of Black Ops, a Lieutenant Colonel at the young age of thirty-one. His reputation preceded him. Ted had a hand in the formation of every team, Lincoln had mentioned that months ago. Ted also had a hand in the dissemination and disbursement of every team member when the time came. L
incoln had mentioned that fact after they’d escaped North Korea. Carole wondered if Ted White also had a hand in the invisible members of the team, the ones who didn’t officially exist—like her. Something about the way he glanced her way when he motioned for the team to follow him told her he hadn’t. Balaclavas still covered their heads, but the faint tilt of Ted’s told her she was being examined for the first time.
Once in a foster home a boy had brought a roadrunner into the house wrapped in a blanket. He’d carried it from room to room showing off to the other kids. Nobody was impressed because the creature didn’t even struggle to break free. The small lump in the fuzzy spread might as well have been dead, because even when the boy uncovered the head it lay limp and unmoving, its eyes open and staring. At the urging of the other kids he’d unfolded the blanket completely. Carole never forgot that moment. The bird sprang to life, shot straight over the kneeling bodies of foster kids, over two dogs, across her bare feet, and up and over the piano before running straight out an open window. It had moved so fast she’d been the only one who could focus quick enough to really see it. That is how she felt now, as though her heart had merely been waiting for space to move in. She kept normal pace with The Pact, walking behind Lincoln, but her heart raced ahead to the space provided by Ted White.
Nobody spoke as they crossed the island. Ted White led them to a floating dock and clambered first into a waiting speedboat. He stood while the members of the team followed him aboard. Then he simply took a seat in the front, facing them. The hour long boat ride back to base camp was devoid of any conversation. The men were too nervous with the Colonel sitting shoulder to shoulder with them to speak, and he said nothing. Arms crossed over his broad chest, his head rested against a window, bumping faintly with the movement of the boat over waves. Carole was certain he had fallen asleep. She could feel it in the touch of his heart. It purred outside of hers, like a sleeping jungle cat. It was exquisite. I want him. The three words popped into her mind, and she blushed under the safety of her mask. I want him forever. I want to jump into that heart and know him. I want him to know me.
The first rays of daylight lit the sky when the boat slowed. Pink and gray light stretched across the water and the Colonel rose, gracefully stepping over their legs in the close confines of the boat. The craft neared the dock and he leaned out, grabbing hold of the pier and tying the boat onto a large metal ring fastened there. Leaping effortlessly to the dock, his muscles rippled beneath black Gore-Tex clothing. It was the same clothing they all wore, and Carole realized she’d never once noticed, let alone admired, the fitness level of any of the other men. Ted White tied the other end of the boat to the dock, and paused beside a guard. Outside Carole’s hearing he murmured something to an MP. Not once did Ted White turn and look at any of them. He moved down the dock with comfortable confidence, and jumped onto the beach. Crossing the beach, he tugged the cap off his head. From behind, his head of dark red curls stood out amongst a camp of buzz cuts, thicker than Carole’s hair, shining in the early morning sun.
Mesmerized, Carole stared until the MP barked at them. “The Pact is to report to study hall for final debriefing and assignment.”
She realized then that they’d all been staring after the Lieutenant Colonel. The group hurried to obey, exhausted but invigorated by the words of forgiveness. They disembarked and walked in a line behind Lincoln. The MP stepped in front of the last member of the team, Carole, with his rifle held across his torso like a sash.
“Not you. You are relieved of duty.”
Not a single member of the Pact turned to look at her, not even Lincoln. They walked towards the study hall building without a word.
FOR TWO DAYS Carole was kept locked in a sparse cinderblock room under guard. The room had no window, and an MP stood armed outside the locked door. It opened and a tray of food slid across the threshold three times a day—if it could be called food—it was dehydrated and rehydrated, processed and preserved. Ravenously hungry, Carole refused to eat even a bite of it. Not one tray was removed. Six of them took up half the floor space in the room. The food dried a bit, hardening around the edges, but other than that it looked pretty much the same as when it had arrived. Carole suspected it was a test, so she drank water from the sink faucet and waited.
With her record Ted White surely knew she could escape. Settling against the wall, knees bent in front of her, she ran her fingers through her hair. What if he’d gone by the time they let her out? The thought made her heart burn. She needed to feel the touch of that heart again, and consoled herself thinking he must have felt her too. Surely he felt the same way. But anxiety continued to prickle, no matter how many times she reassured herself that he couldn’t have left! In her mind she relived the feeling of his heart again and again. Head resting on her knees, she waited, eyes closed, trying to find strength to resist escape and stay put.
The metal door creaked when opened, pushing the trays uncomfortably closer. It wasn’t mealtime and Carole blinked, lifting her head, hopeful. It was a General, and she took to her feet in one swift motion, saluting.
“Sir.” Her unused voice croaked.
“At ease, Private.” Heavy, corpulent, and red faced from the heat of the island, he moved trays aside with one booted foot, scattering utensils and making a path. Crossing to her bed he sat on the end of it, and it protested the act. The cot and mattress had surely been there since World War II, and flakes of rust dusted to the concrete floor. Bloodshot eyes blinked at her.
“You haven’t been debriefed on the incident in North Korea?”
“No, Sir.”
“And you’re not going to be. Your report has been destroyed. If you had a record, we’d call this mission a failure. You went rogue on us, Marine. Do you know what happens to rogue marines?”
“They pay, Sir.”
Nodding, his piercing blue eyes studied her. “Some think it would be a waste to make you pay for common sense. You were right, by the way, about Samish and Ambassador Causer. That doesn’t really matter to me. You disobeyed a direct order. If it were up to me you’d disappear for real at the wrong end of a firing squad.”
Carole didn’t say anything and they just looked at each other for long moments.
“If you were a real marine this conversation would end with your court martial.”
The General stood up. “Rogues do not officially exist in the United States Military. Some think you’d make a good fit with them if they did.”
“Sir?”
“We’re passing the buck. In this case that would be you, giving you to some nasty closet at the CIA. Mess up on them, and you’ll wish you’d met my firing squad.”
The General crossed the floor and went out the door without another word or glance in her direction. He left the door open, and the guard went with him.
THE PACT HAD left the island on a mission. Escorted to a room not unlike the one she’d been kept prisoner in, Carole showered and went to the mess hall for food. It was between meals, but the cook offered her a carton of milk, pointed towards some fruit, and handed her an entire pot of cold oatmeal. Standing in the kitchen, she wolfed it down, barely chewing, scraping every last gooey grain from the pot while he watched her.
“Hain’t no one liked my oatmeal that much before.”
“Thank you,” Carole said. She took the entire bunch of grapes he’d pointed towards and headed for the door.
“You?”
She turned and watched his approach, wary. In her need for food, she hadn’t paid him much attention. Beneath his white apron and baggy pants was a very fit man of about fifty.
“Are you familiar with Non-official Cover?”
Carole shook her head.
“We call it NOC for short.” He pronounced it knock. “Someone will come for you in a week or two or three. NOCs learn to be patient. There’s a joke we tell each other. NOC, NOC?”
“Who’s there?” Carole supplied.
“Wait for it…you’ll get it eventually, might even be
funny when you do. Your password will be oatmeal.” He winked, grabbed her empty pot off the counter, and headed for the sink.
Welcome to the CIA…or some nasty little closet of it.
AFTER AN AFTERNOON spent sidling through clusters of teams, desperately hoping to sense Ted White’s heart, Carole heard enough gossip to know he hadn’t left, and he didn’t sleep in the barracks. The officers slept in apartments in a restricted section of the compound. She managed to last until dark before hunting for him. It didn’t matter to her if he were in a bunk in a barrack full of men, she couldn’t wait any longer. The urge to be with a heart that could touch hers felt primal, mandatory. Luck was with her. Darting around the restricted section, keeping to the shadows, she spotted him through a glass wall of windows. In the half-light his red hair looked wet, dark and slick, but his posture and movements were familiar, burned into her memory. He moved with the confident assurance of a man comfortable in his own skin. Carole gasped when he ran in her direction, and watched him jump, arms straight in front, falling towards the floor headfirst. He landed with a splash and she grinned, belatedly sensing water, her heart pounding so loudly it vibrated in her head. Ted was swimming in a pool in the officer’s gymnasium, after hours. Alone.
Stalking him like a target from a mission, she made her way around the outside of the gym. Certain she could sense his heart—it moved in the distance like wind stirring treetops, more of a promise than a touch—but close enough for Carole to know exactly what that roadrunner had felt wrapped in the blanket: desperate to be free, to be where it belonged.
The doors weren’t locked, and she slipped through, locking them behind her. Ted hadn’t wasted power turning on the lights. A faint glow pointed the way via emergency exit signs, and Carole followed the splash of water. In the darkness Ted White’s hair looked black, and she stood in the shadows watching him swim. With every lap, he neared close enough that she could clearly feel the gentle whisper of his heart against her own. Her own heart beat nervously, and she wondered that he didn’t sense her.
Heartless A Shieldmaiden's Voice: A Covenant Keeper Novel Page 7