For a CIA-run conveyance out in the North Sea, they certainly were not ready for deep-sea injuries.
Brandt burst in the room, already stripped down to his boxers, his whole body shuddering as shivering overlaying shivering. His features were etched with worry.
“How is she?”
Davidson answered by giving Rebecca another breath.
Brandt lowered himself beside the cot. This could not be happening. Harvish brought some heat packs, all two-by-two inches of them. They were meant to heat chilled hands, not a hypothermic body.
Davidson alternated between breathing for Rebecca and placing the face mask to fast-flow some oxygen to her. Next to him Harvish ripped open the tiny packs, shaking them to activate their heat. The point man went to reach for the covers, but Brandt blocked him.
“We’ve got to get them to her sink points.”
“I’ve got it.”
Given the sink points were the armpits and groin, he thought he should be the one to do it. Lifting the covers, he was struck by how very white her skin was. Normally Rebecca was all peaches and cream, but now? Bone white. The white you saw on the battlefield. A white normally accomplished only by death.
Damn it, he couldn’t think like that. She was just cold. That was all. Cold.
Hands shaking, Brandt tucked the heat packs against her skin, then tucked the covers over her. “Don’t they have a space heater of some sort?”
“Already on it,” Lopez said as he entered, setting down a small heater.
The corporal torqued the dial to maximum. Hot air pounded from the machine. It felt like the summer sun beating against his skin.
“Bring it closer to her,” Brandt urged as his own shivering subsided.
Lopez obeyed, then frowned. “She’s still not breathing?”
Damn it, no, Brandt wanted to shout, but it wasn’t Lopez’s fault. It was his own. He never should have let Rebecca turn over her mask. Never.
Still in his intact dry suit, Lopez broke off one of the gauge wires. “May I?”
Not knowing what else to do, Brandt moved out of the corporal’s way. He didn’t like the way Lopez removed Rebecca’s faceplate, but again, what else could they do. Lopez took the wire. Then embedded the sharp end right into the tip of her nose.
“What the—”
But Rebecca took a huge breath. A breath that lifted her off the cot. Lopez pulled the wire out, and Rebecca’s breathing returned to normal. He then replaced the face mask.
Off of everyone’s stare Lopez explained. “It’s acupuncture. That point stimulates the lung meridian.”
“Lung meridian?” Brandt asked.
“What? You only thought I knew how to make things go fast?”
“Well, yeah, kinda,” Harvish answered, for which he got slugged in the arm by Lopez.
Brandt smoothed Rebecca’s wet hair away from her neck. Yes, she had a heartbeat. Yes, she was breathing again, but no, she wasn’t shivering yet. She wasn’t self-heating.
“Move out of the way,” Brandt prompted, lifting the covers again. The cot creaked its complaint as he sat beside Rebecca. She needed his heat. His muscles had been working overtime. Heat radiated from him. Might as well share the wealth.
Covering them with the layers of blankets, he pulled Rebecca up against him.
“You do realize any of us could have done that?” Lopez teased.
Of course they could. But he wanted to be right here when she awoke. Because she was going to wake, damn it.
“All right, enough gawking,” Brandt stated. “Lopez, get this tub making best speed to the coast.” Off of the corporal’s raised eyebrow Brandt specified. “And I do mean best speed.”
Lopez darted out of the room. The pounding of his footsteps echoed off the hallway.
“Harvish.” Brandt turned his attention to the point man. “Get some grub. We all need to bump our sugar levels up.”
The redhead nodded before rushing out of the room. Harvish didn’t quite seem to understand you couldn’t just copy Lopez’s action and get into Brandt’s good stead. At the least though he was doing actually doing something useful.
“Talli,” Brandt continued. “Gather what’s left of our equipment. Once we make land, we’ll have to haul ass to make our rendezvous.”
The dark-haired man nodded crisply. Then moved on with a sense of urgency without the frenetic energy of Harvish.
“And myself?” Davidson asked.
Brandt studied the scarred man. Before Rome he’d loved Davidson like a younger brother. Perhaps too much. He had relied on his youthful sense of optimism to counter Brandt’s own darker view of the world. Which of course Davidson’s betrayal only reinforced. Yet the face before him wasn’t the same. Those eyes no longer held a sense of puppy dog exuberance. But what had replaced it?
“Stay within my eye line.”
“Of course, but may I make a suggestion?”
Brandt stiffened. Here we go.
“I would recommend you keep Rebecca’s face mask on for at least twenty minutes. It takes that long for full body oxygen stores to be replenished. It will help with her recovery time.”
As Davidson placed the mask on Rebecca, Brandt didn’t argue, even though he really wanted to. He liked the feeling of her cheek against his chest. That was the man though not the sergeant, so the mask went back on.
He would just have to be content to hold her. Which after his and Maria’s wedding, Brandt never thought he’d see Rebecca again. So he would take moment. And fucking treasure it.
Rebecca snuggled down. She’d been dreaming of strange things. Like Brandt married to someone else and even more odd, submarines. Weird, right? How the mind could play tricks on you. Because under her cheek she could feel Brandt’s heartbeat. Everything was fine.
Except she was cold. Really cold. Brandt must have gotten some time off and they headed to the mountains. Just one more thing she’d never done that Brandt wanted to show her. Skiing.
Clearly they weren’t on the slopes though as her hand snaked up his chest. Time for a little different type of recreation. She slid her leg over his, tugging it tightly to her.
“Whoa there, filly.”
But she didn’t want to whoa at all. How long had it been since they’d been together? It felt like months, but how could that be? She kissed his chest, ignoring the hands trying to push her away. How unlike Brandt to act hard to get.
“Boss? Yo! Brandt,” the voice called out.
Wait. That wasn’t Brandt’s voice.
Rebecca’s eyes snapped open. The skin under her hand was far too dark for Brandt. And there was a large port-wine stain over his sternum. Definitely not Brandt.
She jerked upright, shaking her head and trying to fling the dream from her mind.
“Take it easy,” the man said. No, not man. Lopez. “You’ve had a rough time.”
Gathering the blanket to her nearly naked body she hissed, “What are you doing?”
Lopez held his hands up to either side of him. “Just keeping you warm, I swear to God.” He then glanced about. “It was Brandt’s idea, I swear.” He then shouted. “Boss!”
Rebecca clutched the edge of the blanket, trying to make sense of it all. She was on some kind of cargo plane. The thing was crammed with shipping boxes and oversized freight packages.
Then Brandt was there. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a misunderstanding,” Lopez said. “I think the doc’s brain is still trying to reboot from its cold storage.”
“Rebecca,” Brandt asked as he rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she sobbed. Not because she couldn’t remember but because she did. That damned gold band on his finger. He was married to another woman. And they had in fact been launched out of a torpedo.
Brandt tried to put his arms around her, but Rebecca shied away, drawing the blanket even more tightly to her form.
“I’ll be fine. I just need a few moments,” she pleaded. His eyes searched hers. Worry clear in his
expression. Then that wall came down over his features. The military man’s best friend. His game face.
He backed away. “Good. We’ll be landing in a few minutes.” Brandt glanced to Lopez. “Get a shirt on.”
Rebecca waited until Brandt headed back to the cockpit before turning on Lopez. “And clothes. Do I have clothes?”
The corporal scrambled to get the shirt over his head. “Well, not exactly your clothes, but we got you something.”
At this point she couldn’t care less if it were a burlap sack with a string belt. She needed something on beyond her bra and panties. Horrified didn’t even begin to describe how she felt as Lopez tossed her some clothes and then held up a blanket for what limited privacy one could have on a cargo plane.
As she tugged on the khaki pants, Rebecca hissed, “We will never speak of this. Ever.”
“Right there, sister, right there,” Lopez answered.
Taking in a breath, Rebecca more slowly tugged on the dark green T-shirt. “And please tell me you are wearing your firearm.”
“Like you said,” Lopez said, “never ever speak of this again.”
Oh God. If that wasn’t a gun...
Brandt glanced over his shoulder, trying to pay attention to what Talli was talking about and trying to make sure Rebecca was recovering. Something had spooked her. Something more than her brain misfiring.
“Sarge?”
Brandt tore his gaze away from Rebecca and refocused on Talli. “Yes?”
“I was just saying that I’m worried that I don’t have a perch.”
It took a second for Brandt to realize what Talli was talking about. He glanced to the tablet in Talli’s hand. It showed Osip’s apartment. Or at least his apartment building. The apartment blocks were straight out of the Communist housing book. Tall, unadorned, and utilitarian buildings stacked tightly next to each other. Which might not have been a bad thing since they could set up a position in the next in the adjacent apartment complex. However, Osip’s building was the last in the complex, and his apartment overlooked a large meadow that ended at a very thick forest. To the side was no better as the river ran right by his complex.
Which made it very picturesque and all, but hell for a sniper.
Davidson pointed to a stand of leafless trees on the other side of the meadow. “You should be able to set up in one of those.”
“Right?” Talli said. “Even if I could make that shot, those pine tree branches could never hold—”
“They are spruces,” Davidson corrected. “And this picture was taken in winter. Spruces are deciduous. At this time of year they will be fully leafed, providing great cover, and their top third branches can support up to a couple hundred pounds, but even if they couldn’t you could spread your weight by stabilizing against two branches.”
Talli’s cheeks flared red. The guy clearly thought Davidson was after his job. Which maybe the kid was, however he also wasn’t wrong. The question became, though, could Talli get the job done if needed? If a sniper didn’t have the confidence he could take the shot, the man couldn’t hit the shot.
“Talli, you’ll set up in this office building across the street,” Brandt said as he pointed out the structure. “You’ll cover the main entrance and exits.”
“But—” Davidson tried to inject.
“And that is my final word.”
Davidson obviously wanted to say more. Way more, however the kid buttoned it up. Which was the smartest move for him. Just because Brandt let him take a few shots from the car to an active sniper did not mean Davidson was a part of the team. To give a traitor a sniper gun and perch him up in a tree where he could take every one of them out? No way. No how.
Lopez walked up, putting on his jacket. “What did I miss?”
“No, the question is,” Harvish teased, “what did we miss? Huh? Under those blankets?”
Brandt saw red. Literally. He could see the veins at the back of his retina pulse. The words “that is my fiancée you are talking about” nearly slipped from his lips. She wasn’t though, was she? Harvish was just being the dawg they all knew he was, not knowing the incredibly delicate ground he tread. But still...
“Dude,” Lopez exclaimed. “You are talking about a renowned researcher and friend. Stow it.”
Harvish mumbled some kind of weak apology that Brandt barely heard.
Blood still boiling, Brandt needed to get away from his point man before he said something he, well more Harvish, would regret.
“Lopez, firm up the transportation logistics,” Brandt said before turning away.
“You got it, Sarge.”
Given that they were on such a crowded cargo plane, there was really only one place he could go to get away from his men. Rarely did duty and desire line up so conveniently.
“Rebecca?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin as Brandt pushed the lid of her laptop down an inch. So much for burying herself in research. She’d thought she would have five hours of time to devote to knowing everything Osip. If they were landing soon, that meant she would have only about an hour. Her and her stupid hypothermia.
“Is everything all right?” Brandt asked.
“I’m just behind,” she said, pushing the laptop lid back up.
Even though he didn’t say anything, the sergeant just kept standing there. His tactical “wait them out” maneuver. Sighing, Rebecca lowered the laptop lid until it closed.
“I’m fine,” she explained, hoping it was true. “Lopez checked all my reflexes. There’s no residual damage from the submersion.”
“Then what is it?” he asked. “Did something happen between Lopez and you?”
“No,” Rebecca protested, probably a bit too much. More calmly she answered, “He was fine. Great really. My core temp is already back up to ninety-eight point four degrees. Two more tenths and I’m all set.”
That sounded super logical, didn’t it? That would satisfy Brandt, right?
“I...” Brandt stumbled a bit, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “I know how you hate...you know feeling...not being fully dressed.”
Oh God. He was not really going there. Not now. Not with her cheeks ready to turn magenta.
“I wanted to be the only one...” Brandt said, his voice low. “But you were unconscious for so long, and I had to—”
“Damn it,” Rebecca insisted. “Let it go.”
Brandt bristled in front of her. “It’s my job to make sure your head is in the game. Which means I need to know what the hell is wrong.”
Rebecca glanced down at his wedding ring. “We can’t fix what’s wrong, Brandt.”
His hand made a fist before it disappeared into his pocket.
“So just let it go.”
He looked like he might argue, but blissfully the speakers sparked to life.
“Prepare for landing,” the pilot announced. “Since we don’t have jump seats, we’d suggest hanging onto one of the secured crates to stabilize yourself.”
Rebecca tucked her laptop into her bag. She tried to get out of possibly one of the most awkward conversations which, of course, was occurring directly after the most awkward conversation with the corporal.
“I’m surprised Lopez isn’t flying the plane.”
Brandt didn’t exactly chuckle, however his frown did ease. “Trust me. He would be if he could, but what he did to the CIA’s boat? Not very likely.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say it’s going to be in dry dock for a while getting outfitted with a new motor.”
Yep. That was Lopez at his best.
“So you’re sure you’re ready?” Brandt asked.
“Hey,” she said, trying her best to reassure him. “I’m so on Team: Just Say No to Rinderpest it’s not even funny.”
“Ha!” Lopez laughed as he joined them. “We’ve got to get T-shirts made up.” He handed them some Velcro straps. “But on a more serious note, you’d better lash yourself to something. I don’t think these pilots could land shit
in a can.”
Aunush dug her toes into the thick, plush carpet of the private jet. A little luxury in a life usually lived in dingy safe houses and abandoned barns. Many would call her a mercenary, only mercenaries had no allegiances. She had a singular purpose. Killing for hire was simply a perk of her job.
Around her, others stirred as the rest of the men prepared for landing. Her sniper had no need to prepare. He was always ready for action. The only way you could discern the man was not a machine was the way his eyes stood at half-mast as his head tilted back a few degrees to rest upon his seat.
How long had they fought together? Those years had felt rich and full. What else could they expect? The Disciples’ secret had been secured for centuries. The chance to defend their linage a distant memory. Generations of Disciples had gone into mercenary work. Always being prepared for the day one such as Monroe became too intrigued by the Torah.
A tiny thrill coursed through her body, feeling almost as satisfying as the sniper’s hands upon her body.
“May I inquire as to why we are landing at Kaluga rather than Tula, Aunush?”
Aunush slid her eyes over to inspect the man, Nannan, who stood in front of her. He was not one of her men, clearly, or he would not have asked such a question. However, Nannan was a Watcher of the Word. Yet spending so many years down in the secret chambers had not done much for his sense of tactical strategies.
“Tula would be the obvious choice,” she answered as she donned her socks.
Aunush stroked her hand over the arch of her foot, straightening her sock but also remembering her time with the master. Nannan felt himself above her. This she knew. Why would he not? He was of the Word and she nothing more than a lowly soldier. Her kind had been disdained for so many years as nothing more than swords with no cause.
Now though? Now that Nannan’s precious Word was in harm’s way? Now he needed one such as her.
When she didn’t continue, Nannan seemed confused. “It being the obvious choice is exactly my point.”
“As it is mine as well,” Aunush stated as she laced up her boots, relishing Nannan’s frustration.
Betrayed 02 - Havoc Page 8