by Fiona Quinn
T-Rex adjusted his radio frequency. “Base this is Alpha Actual…” his voice blurred as he moved from under the hide and down the hill.
Moments later he was back. “You. You. You. And you.” He pointed out certain team members. “Get on board.” He pointed at the Little Bird. His finger seemed to be his mode of cutting down on verbal clutter.
A general “Hell no, we won’t go” was raised, and T-Rex lifted the corner of his lip in a snarl. The men might have been grumbling under their breath, but they moved to their places.
Grey came panting up under the camouflage, his Delta guardian, Nitro, still gripped the collar of the man’s shirt.
T-Rex pointed at Grey then jerked his thumb toward the Little Bird. And the Nitro guy moved his fistful of cloth toward the heli, jostling Grey to his place.
Grey had lost his other shoe along the way and his socks hung halfway off his feet like flaccid flippers. Flaccid flippers—that alliteration cartwheeled in Christen’s brain while she tried to figure out if Grey was under arrest or if they thought he might flee. She didn’t remember a PC being manhandled like that before. But, then again, she’d never been in these circumstances before. She was just trying to go with the flow. Be a help, not a hindrance nor a distraction.
Christen had noticed T-Rex’s face had clouded when he came back under the tent, a storm brewing in his thoughts. She could guess why. There would be no air-support. Her commanders were coldly-calculating when it came to mission assignments. They were already two helicopters, four Night Stalkers, and ten Delta Force operators down, along with one (whatever the heck Grey was) PC.
Base had calculated that Grey’s extraction was worth the risk of their teams being deployed into the city for the day-time mission. But now that they had Grey in hand, Christen wondered what Delta orders were in place as far as Grey was concerned. Under such circumstances, would the operators go to extremes to make sure there was zero chance that the PC would ever fall back into the hands of the combatants? It was possible. She couldn’t speak to that. Didn’t want to consider it. It wasn’t her call. The military wasn’t a democracy.
She took a good look at Grey sitting facing out of the helicopter. His body said calm, cool, collected. His eyes said exhausted and hungry. His skin color was a shade that matched his name. He was playing a brave role, but he was scared, or maybe just in shock. Who wouldn’t be? Grey was probably dozing on his cot anticipating who might come knocking on his cell door and what horror awaited him when suddenly a crew of wild men with skeleton face masks showed up outside of his window and pulled him through the broken panes five stories off the ground. That might take a day or two to recover from. And recovery wouldn’t start while they were hunkered under reflective cloth on the wrong side of the enemy line.
Christen reached for her emergency pack, pulled out an MRE and handed it over to Grey. He took it and blinked vacantly at her.
“Eat,” she said.
He sat still as a statue as if the words weren’t gelling in his brain.
A Delta bumped Grey with his elbow and lifted his chin, bringing Grey back from lala land.
Grey’s fingers fumbled to open the box.
Christen moved to inspect the patch that sat like a giant pimple on her fuel tank. It wasn’t confidence building. She sent a wry look toward the men, who carefully filled the tank. She wondered how T-Rex saw this playing out. She wished they’d have a powwow and fill her in on the concerns and precautions. A plan. Yeah, a plan would be good.
The shepherds are running. Christen would pay good money to know for sure the reason why. She checked her watch: only thirteen thirty-five hours – time was at a standstill.
How far would the locals have to run before they got where they were going? Did the shepherds have contact with the city? Would they have heard of the prison exfil and been asked to be on the look-out for anything odd? Surely, whoever had taken down the Black Hawk had seen it going down and knew their general location. Surely, the same people had seen her heli follow them to the ground. Could that, and not the child, be the reason that the shepherds were running? From the shepherds’ vantage point, did they see trouble moving into the area?
Just as the thought formed in her mind, she heard Jeopardy’s voice over the radio. “We’ve got insurgents moving into view. Forty – fifty heads. They’ve got some big ass guns mounted, too. Get that Little Bird the hell out of here.”
All in one fluid motion, the Delta reaction machine mobilized. The man tilted the fuel container up, letting the last drop slide in. He tossed the container to the side as he moved to the tent peg. T-Rex grabbed hold of Christen’s flight suit as he shoved her toward her seat.
“No man left behind,” she yelled.
“Fuck that,” he snarled as he half-lifted half-threw her in place. “We’re the customers. You’re here to provide for our needs. We need you to get our precious cargo and our wounded back to base. As soon as we’ve got you cleared, you take off. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner we can get ourselves squared away. Capisch? Strap in and give me a thumbs up.”
This feels wrong. This is wrong. Christen grabbed a hunk of T-Rex’s uniform in an equal display of power. “The jerry-rigged tank isn’t going to hold. The patch needs to be welded in place to cover a hole that big. Duct tape and epoxy just aren’t going to cut it.”
“Watch your gauge and find another place to set down, lady. Anywhere but here. They’re about to light us up, or didn’t you hear?” He turned his head. “You and you. Get the damned tarp off. Get them cleared for takeoff.” He pointed at Nick who was reaching for a peg. “You, either get in your seat or grab a gun.”
Nick sprinted around to the other side and piled in. Snatching at his harness, he strapped down. “Fucking hell,” he said under his breath, slamming his helmet into place.
The camouflaging fabric cleared, Christen cranked her engines. The blades slow whop, whop, whop gained the speed they’d need for lift off. Several Delta’s lay off in the distance, hips on the ground, shoulders curved above their sniper rifles. The first of their bullets flew. Christen knew each carefully-sighted bang meant a life extinguished. She maneuvered the Little Bird up and away from the noise.
Chapter Eight
Gator
Tuesday, The Dodoma Rock Hotel, Dodoma Tanzania
“Yo, good times,” Gator said as he shut the door behind Striker’s retreating back.
“I wonder where our end destination’s gonna be,” Blaze said. “Tanzania isn’t exactly known for surfing. Australia? Hawaii? Maybe Thailand?”
“Your phone buzzed when you raised your hand. Drinks at the bar tonight says it was Lynx.”
“Some voodoo ESP tell you that?” Blaze asked, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Yup, first round’s on me. Lynx sent a text: This is the house that Jack built.”
Gator turned his phone toward Blaze with the same message. “Funny, our phones were the only ones to get anything when our hands went up.”
Blaze gave a full-body shiver. “Damn, I hate it when she does that.”
Gator flopped back across the bed and laced his fingers under his head. “No, you don’t. You thank your lucky stars she does what she does. Now, what do you think it means?”
“We were talking about Jack being out because of his leg injury just before that text came through. Last time she sent one of her cryptic knowing texts it was to Jack while he was clearing the roof on the Philippine’s mission. ‘Jack Be Quick. Jack jump.’”
“Would you have done it?” Gator asked. “Read that text, run to the edge of a three-story building and jumped?”
“It’s not like Jack took the time to think it through. His phone was in his hand with the text still on the screen when he landed. I watched it fly up when he impacted. All I can say is it had to have rung true to some part of his brain. His body just acted. She saved his life. The whole damned building was an inferno by the time his ass hit the car roof. Would I have done it without hesitation like he did? Shit if I know.
” Blaze leaned his hips into the lowboy and crossed his arms over his chest. “Her knowings are always right, but interpretation in the moment can put it in a different frame than what happens in the long run. Her being right is a given, but only in hindsight. Would I jump?” Blaze shook his head. “I damned well hope I’m never in the position to have to make that call.”
“Might as well ask the oracle herself what’s going on.” Gator pressed the phone icon.
Lynx picked up before Gator heard it ring. “Thank goodness! What the heck are you doing, Gator?”
“You’re the one who sent the cryptic text,” he said.
“Not that. Before that. Goats? The little girl? The helicopters? Why the hell were you awash in—”
Helicopters? Those black dots he’d visualized were helicopters? Huh. “I got you on speaker phone. Blaze is here with me.”
“Hey, Lynx. I got your message. We thought you might have some kind of lens that might bring your words into focus.”
“Hey, Blaze. I’m willing to try. I was just lying here thinking, and I got the feeling Striker was coming home.”
“Affirmative.” Blaze said.
“On the physical plane, I got word that Randy was brought in to Suburban, but Panther Force minus Honey was his escort. Before you ask, I’ve pulled all the strings at my disposal, and I can’t get any details beyond ‘he’s in surgery’. They started operating at zero three hundred hours, which seems like a bad time to begin but A) every second counts and B) the surgeon and his team are all in from London, they’re on zulu time so it was eight in the morning for them. They like to stay on their same body clock time and not switch over to Eastern Standard, so they aren’t having to acclimate and deal with jet lag when they’re doing such precise work.”
“Makes good sense,” Gator said, resting the phone on his stomach.
“It made me feel good about the team. Out of the box thinkers.”
“And Jack?” Blaze asked.
“His leg? Is looking good. Time and physical therapy are doing their work.” Lynx replied.
“Noted.” Blaze said. “And he’s built a house?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry my head was on legs. No, he didn’t literally build a house. His actions precipitated whatever you two are up to.”
“Blaze and me, we have a new assignment,” Gator said.
“Stateside?”
“No, the team is heading home. We’re staying here to fulfill a new contract. Elliot said less than ten days, and we’ll be back at HQ, too.”
“We get to surf,” Blaze added.
“Tough life.” Lynx said. “Hey, I have a meeting, and they’re expecting me now. Can we talk on a secure line later? I think we need to figure out what you’re headed into. My knowing wasn’t the full-on body blow I got for Jack. But it wasn’t a subtle tickle either.”
“Damn,” Blaze said.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” Lynx said.
“Yeah, just buzz us when you’re freed up.” Blaze rubbed a hand over his head making his military-cut auburn hair spring into curls. “We’ll make ourselves available. We have a short flight over to Dar es Salaam on the coast around dinner. Other than that, we’re cool.” Blaze said.
“Gator…” Lynx whispered then stalled.
Silence filled the room, as if Lynx’s single word had cast a spell.
Gator blinked. Everything went dark. In his mind’s eye, he was in a different time and place a flash of sensation, he was falling. The taste of salt was bitter on his tongue. His eyes stung. His feet were leaden, dragging him downward. He was desperate but not for himself. He had to save her. He loved her. Would never let her go. Though Gator lay very still on the hotel bed, in his mind he thrashed at his surroundings, grabbing for her. This time, he would save her, or die trying. With another blink, he was back in the Tanzanian hotel room, taking a gulp of air. This time? What the heck was that?
Lynx let out a low moan.
“Lynx, is everything okay?” Blaze was asking.
Whatever Gator had just experienced, it had come and gone in a nanosecond. That was the weird-assed shit that happened when he got linked with Lynx. Did he like it? Hell, no. But it had saved his life and the lives of others many a time. And it seemed he needed to save some woman. His woman.
“Yeah. Sorry. I was distracted by a...Uhm, Gator?” Her voice was somber – filled with foreboding. “You and I, we need to talk.”
“Yeah, we do.” He needed to know who this woman was. He wasn’t in love with anyone. Not even close. Gator scanned through the ladies he spent time with back in DC, not a single one resonated with the impression he’d formed. Did he even know her? How could he feel this strong of an emotion—this depth of belonging—for a stranger? Gator rubbed his hands over his face to erase the sensation. That splash of knowing had all happened in the blink of an eye, but it left a sense of longing in its wake.
Chapter Nine
Gator
Tuesday, The Dodoma Rock Hotel, Dodoma Tanzania
Ahbou was laughing, his limbs splayed wide as he flew through the air, then dunked beneath the cool water, throwing up a spray as he hit the surface. Gator reached out a long arm and scooped the sputtering boy out of the pool. Ahbou had never seen a swimming pool before. The water where he lived had hippopotamuses and other man-eaters, so he didn’t know how to swim. But he seemed to take to the water like a duckling in spring. Ahbou scrambled up Gator’s back to stand on his broad shoulders. Gator grasped Ahbou’s ankles, lifted him toward the sky and gave the boy a toss. Ahbou reached his arms out with a shriek of joy and belly flopped onto the surface.
A tug on the boy’s leg, brought him back to safety.
Meg sat under a wide umbrella grinning at the pair. “Ahbou,” she called as Gator lifted him for another toss. “The waiter is bringing your lunch. Come on out of there.”
Gator wrapped his hands around the boy’s narrow waist and propelled him through the water to the side of the pool. “Come on now, kick your feet. That’s right.” He lifted Ahbou up to where Meg was waiting with an open towel.
“You’re a natural around kids, Gator. Do you have children of your own?” Meg asked enfolding Ahbou in a beach towel and pointing at a chair.
“I’m as single as they come right now.” Gator worked to extinguish the strange sensations that fired along his nerves as he said that. Gator waded farther down the pool. “Course that cain’t last but too much longer. My mama’s already getting ansty and pestering me to get on with it. She won’t be happy until she’s got her a passle of grandkids to dote on.”
Gator jumped out of the water and stood drip drying as a young boy came to talk to Ahbou. Meg smiled and nodded. Ahbou skipped over to the other side of the pool where the kid had some toy he was showing off.
Meg reached back to grab a towel and tossed it to Gator, then raised her hand to signal Blaze. “Lunch is here,” she called to him. “I guess we should properly call it tea, since it’s so late in the day,” she said as Gator pulled out a chair.
Blaze leaned down to kiss Meg’s cheek as Gator picked up the newspaper from the table to make room for the plates. He looked down at the front page where she’d drawn devil horns and a goatee on the guy. William Davidson, it said in bold type. It was the name of their mark. Interesting. He studied the picture—despite the pen marks—so he could compare it later to the photo Iniquus would send them for identification.
“‘Asshat’ is strong language for you, Meg.” Gator pointed to where she’d scrawled the word across the man’s nametag in the picture.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile.
Gator held up the picture for Blaze to see as he pulled a chair to join them.
“Must be a good story behind that,” Blaze said. “Thank you for ordering, Meg.”
“You’re more than welcome. As to the good story — no, not really. Not good. Actually, it could be devastating. To Tanzania. To humanity. To the world.”
“So, he’s an apocalyptic asshat,” Gator said, as h
e scanned through the article in the English translation newspaper. Department of Energy meeting, yup, this was their target. “It says he’s in the country to meet with their energy guy. Energy doesn’t have anything to do with animal migration, does it? How do you know Davidson?”
“I don’t. He may be a perfectly lovely man. But he’s trying to get a deal done here that is controversial. It actually ties to you guys in a way.”
Gator kept his body language casual and relaxed, but his attention was fixed.
“Tanzania was working with Derek Bowen and Hesston Oil on a project. Tanzania needs money to bring its people into the modern world and provide for their basic needs — food and water.” Meg held her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked at him.
Gator moved to a chair on the other side of the table, so she wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Derek Bowen and his wife Anjie – were the victims of a hostage situation in Djibouti that Randy and Rooster were assigned to negotiate and resolve. And they saved the couple, well you already know that.” Meg’s gaze was fixed with a frown on Ahbou. “Can you imagine that? Derek and Anjie got yanked off their yacht out in the Red Sea. Going about their business. Not hurting anyone. And then their world was turned upside down.” She swiped at her eyes.
Gator thought she was probably equating that scene with what she had just gone through with Randy and Honey. They had been on safari and then all hell broke loose. Her brother had been nearly killed. She and Honey were taken hostage.
Blaze reached over and covered her hand with his. They sat in silence while she took a moment to get hold of herself.
Meg tucked her hair behind her ears, and with a little thank you smile to Blaze, she continued. “Hesston wanted to drill for oil off the shore of Zanzibar. There are environmental risks to the operation, but the Hesston company had pivoted to become a not-for-profit green energy company. They wanted to use the money from off-shore drilling to fund some massive renewable energy projects in East Africa – geothermal, wind, and solar. Now, I’m not sure where those negotiations stand.” She reached over and tapped the photo. “I think, reading between the lines, that William Davidson sees an opportunity with the Bowens out of the picture while recovering from their ordeal. Davidson’s trying to snake his way into the negotiations.”