The both answered, “Understood.”
Climbing out of the SUV, he tried to find the words to explain the resurrection of two dead people.
2
Pacing himself at decent clip, Carter jogged through the woods to the west of the New Order’s compound. The first few weeks he’d been there, someone had followed him on his daily run, but they eventually learned that he did six miles—three out and three back. He never took a run at the same time every day so there was no pattern to them. No one had been able to keep up with him for the long distance, and when they realized that, they’d switched over to ATVs. Strauss must have finally accepted there was nothing sneaky about the runs—Carter never gave them a reason to think otherwise—because the minions no longer followed him.
Once the coast had been clear and he’d been safely way from the compound’s cell scanners— Any calls or texts within a mile of the perimeter were intercepted—he’d sent a text message to Liam. Carter had only risked the one text, giving the Brit the coordinates to a distinctive boulder off the hiking trail where they now left info for each other. He took perverse pleasure knowing the other spy had to hike in from a nearby logging road, every morning before sunrise, a full mile uphill to access it. Couldn’t have Liam getting too soft and complacent sitting in his four-star hotel in Pueblo, Colorado, an hour away.
Slowing as he reached his destination, the spy furtively checked the surrounding wooded landscape while wiping the sweat from his brow. It was actually quite beautiful here and reminded him of his private retreat in the wilderness of Montana. He had several safe houses all over the world, but that was his Eden. Somewhere he could go to relax and recharge. It was also within an hour’s ATV ride through the rough terrain to the small town where his foster sister Vicki Sanders had settled with her son Justin. While it was very rare for black operatives who’d gone off the grid and “died” to have contact with anyone from their past life, Vicki had been the one person Carter hadn’t been able to leave behind. Two years after finishing his training with Deimos, he’d tracked where the Witness Protection Program had her stashed away. He’d only wanted to check on her, but circumstances lead her to finding out he was alive. He, in turn, had found out he was an uncle. Carter would do anything for his nephew . . . he would sell his soul to the devil for Vicki and Justin to have healthy, normal lives. It was too bad he wasn’t a blood type match for Justin because, somewhere down the road, it was very likely the kid would need a kidney transplant. But they’d cross that bridge if it ever came to that point. For now, Carter and Vicki were doing everything they could to prevent Justin from knowing who his real father was—a man who was currently serving life in prison.
Pushing the past from his mind, he focused on the here and now. Ninety-five percent certain there were no eyes on him, he wandered a few feet off the path to the boulder where he would leave his current intel for Liam. From his sweatshirt pocket, he pulled out a folded up paper wrapped in cellophane. It contained the schedule and routes the Colorado sect was planning on using to move everyone, the weapons, and explosives to the northern compound along with some other info. Palming the small square, he stood next to the huge rock, whipped out his dick and proceeded to take a piss. During the steady stream, he placed his hand on the boulder and shoved the paper into a discreetly marked crevice for his counterpart to retrieve. It wasn’t how James Bond would have done it, but reality always differed from Hollywood.
Once he was certain the intel was secure, he tucked himself back into his sweatpants and started the three-mile journey back to the compound. He had to admit, he was looking forward to working with Mic. Throughout his career and travels all over the world, he’d met numerous kick-ass women, but there was something about the former Army intelligence operative that he found attractive. Not looks, although she had them in spades, but attitude . . . and something else he couldn’t quite zero in on. The woman was an enigma . . . one he wouldn’t mind unraveling and exploring. Maybe there would be some time to mix business with pleasure . . . after all, they were supposed to be hot for each other. At least he didn’t have to fake that. Well, he’d know soon enough. If all went well, she would be in his bed in a little more than six days.
Jake Donovan led a steady pace through the terrain of the wooded area west of the fenced in Trident compound. On his heels were his teammates, Devon, Brody, and Marco, with Mic and Phillips from Steel mixed in, too. Ian and Jackson were back at the office chatting with the Pentagon and MI6 on a video conference call. Hopefully, they’d have an update of when the team was heading out on this mission. But in the meantime, training was in order. After a ten-mile cruise through the woods, they’d be heading to the firing range. After that, they were having a Skype meeting with Boomer Michelson, who would be giving them a rundown on the explosives and ordinance list they’d received from the go-between agent assigned to Carter in Colorado. Their Team Four EOD specialist was currently stateside in Little Creek and would go over all the dos and don’ts for each compound and device on the list. Like them, he understood this was classified and was sworn to secrecy as if it were a SEAL mission.
Thinking about what these bastards had planned for the country Jake loved and fought for had his gut churning. Having been a SEAL, he was no stranger to war and death, but that had been on foreign soil. It was a whole different mindset to bring that war and death to the country you were born and raised in. To idolize one of the biggest psychos in history was beyond Jake’s comprehension. Yeah, Hitler had been intelligent and had almost gotten away with winning the war, but thankfully that hadn’t happened. Jake could see other countries hating America for the freedoms they enjoyed, but for its own citizens to destroy those freedoms was something he would never understand.
But he didn’t need to understand it. All he had to do was fight against it, with his team at his side, and save as many innocent lives as possible. He didn’t do it for the recognition or praise, because there wouldn’t be any. What they did, how they did it, and whether they succeeded or failed would never be made public. He couldn’t even shove it into his bigoted sperm donor’s face. That bastard had stopped being Jake’s father the moment he’d began beating his then seventeen-year-old son after finding out that Jake was gay. The younger Donovan still bore the scars from the belt buckle that had cut into his back with every swing of the old man’s arm. It had taken him weeks to recover since Sean Donovan had refused to let his wife take their son to the doctor for treatment. The day Jake graduated from high school, he’d told his father to shove the football scholarship to Rutgers up his ass, then joined the Navy and never looked back. While he still saw and spoke to his mother and brother, Jake had barely said more than a dozen words to his father in the years since.
The squad reached the banks of a lake with a running path splitting the water into two parts. Culverts under the dry land joined the halves. Taking the path leading to the other side of the lake, Jake glanced over his shoulder when Brody nudged him from behind. The geek’s voice was low so only Jake could hear him. “Slow up and let them pass.”
“Them” being Mic and Phillips. When the two Steel Corps members took the lead, Brody raised his voice again. “Y’all might want to pick up the pace here.”
“Why?” the petite woman asked warily, looking back over her shoulder at them.
“Because the top speed of alligators on land is thirty-five miles per hour.”
“What! Are you shitting me?” Mic started doing double time past the lake while Phillips scanned the area as he ran.
The Trident men burst out laughing which earned them all a middle finger from Phillips and a “fuck you” from Mic. Slowing and turning, she jogged backward as she scowled at them. “Glad you all had a nice, fucking laugh. Just remember, dynamite comes in small packages and revenge is so fucking sweet.”
“Uh-uh, darlin’,” Brody drawled. “That was my revenge for you two making us think y’all were dead. Now we’re even.”
When the rest of them caught up t
o their temporary teammates, Jake grinned at Mic. “Welcome to Florida. And by the way, Egghead wasn’t kidding.” He pointed at what looked like a log not far from the shoreline. “That’s a gator right there. But don’t worry, they tend to stay away from people on land unless they feel threatened—it’s in the water that you have to watch out for them.”
Mic smirked. “Good thing I’m not planning on going swimming. And Evans, if that gives you any ideas, I’ll shoot you in both fucking kneecaps.”
The rest of the run was pretty much uneventful, but Jake chuckled when he noticed Mic staying in the middle of the path past the lake on the return trip. She didn’t show any signs of nervousness, but did keep a close eye on the banks on either side of her as she ran. Arriving back at the compound, they’d all hit the showers and were about to head to the indoor firing range when Ian sent out a mass text.
Conference room. Now.
They filed in and took seats around the table. The looks on Ian and Jackson’s faces weren’t good, and Jake had a sinking feeling in his gut that he was sure the others in the room were also experiencing.
Ian shut the conference room door, then sat at the head of the table. “We just got word from Germany. They know what’s being targeted there, but no word on the date yet. If these bastards are hitting similar targets here, this shit storm is going to be worse than we thought.”
In the seat next to Ian, Jackson hit a button on the laptop in front of him, which activated the large, flat monitor on the far wall of the room. Three pictures appeared and there were several groans and “fucks” spilling from mouths around the table.
Using a laser pen, Jackson pointed to each picture in succession. “Target number one—the Olympiastadion in Berlin. Target two—the Volksparkstadion in Hamburg. Target three—the Allianz Arena in Munich. Three of the largest football—or soccer—stadiums in the country. Combined seating capacity is over 206,000. That’s not including the teams playing and the staff working there. Excuse the pun, but this is a whole new ballgame. We have to assume they will be hitting similar targets in France, the UK, and here in the states, however, until the infiltrating agents confirm that we’re still up shit creek. But, hopefully, not for long—Liam Cooper just heard from Carter. The Colorado sect is moving to South Dakota in ten days, which means we’re moving out tomorrow at 0800.”
Jake ran a hand down his face as he stared at the screen, dumbstruck as everyone else. Fuck a damn duck.
Phillips and I were smashed together in narrow coach seats on a full plane bound for the small South Dakota city of Aberdeen. With a population of only 27,000, how they called it a city was beyond me. But as a result, it had been out of the question to take the jet because there was no way a black, multimillion dollar aircraft would go unnoticed. We were supposed to be half siblings, going back home for a visit. Arriving by private jet was a risk we couldn’t take.
Coach was as expected, cramped as all hell with too many children, and nothing but stale, dry crackers and saltless pretzels—at least they still had gluten in them. I rolled my eyes at the thought. My colleague was about to lose his shit on the seven-year-old kicking the back of his seat. His jaw was tight while his hands gripped the arm rests, and I probably had less than ten seconds to diffuse the situation before he snapped.
Leaning close, I whispered, “Don’t do it. We can’t get arrested because you lost your temper with a kid.”
“Are we fucking there yet?” he snarled as he was thrown forward by a kick followed by an ear-splitting scream—again.
“Shouldn’t be much longer. Just wait until we get out of this tin can, then you can make the kid piss his pants in fear. Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll just sit tight and dream up ways to get back at the little bastard. Think there’s any napalm I can buy in duty-free?”
I almost felt bad for the little tyke. But any drop of sympathy was erased by yet another scream and more kicking, this time on my seatback. Growling under my breath, I unbuckled, stood, and knelt on my seat, looking over the back at the kid. His mother was passed out cold with shiny pink earbuds in her diamond-clad ears. The little boy was red-haired with the eyes of a demon as he stared at me.
“Listen here you little punk, you kick these seats again and I’ll stuff you in the cargo hold. But first I’ll gag you so no one can hear your screams. Your mommy will wake up and leave without you. You’ll be all alone in the dark,” I growled, completely losing my temper, but being careful to keep my voice down—the last thing I needed was to catch the attention of a flight attendant or air marshal. The freckle-faced little imp paled and swallowed hard. “Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes,” he stuttered and tears formed in his eyes. A big fat one rolled down his red cheek, falling onto his Ninja Turtle shirt, but I felt no sympathy. This kid had no idea what it was like to be truly afraid, he was just a spoiled brat.
I sat back down and calmly buckled my seat belt, feeling much better.
Phillips crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me. “What, so you can yell at him and make him cry, but I can’t?”
“It was a spur of the moment decision.”
“So I see. You probably just scarred him for life, you know that, right?”
I shrugged. “Eh, maybe. Bet he’ll be good on airplanes from now on though.”
The overhead lights came on and a bell dinged, the flight attendant stood and made the announcement for everyone to fasten their belts and put their tray tables back up. The aircraft slowly descended and prepared to land in Aberdeen. Thank fuck, because I needed to get out of this sardine can.
The rented Ford sedan Phillips was driving was new enough to still be nice, but crappy enough for him to hate it. Do people actually buy these fucking things?
Mic was asleep in the passenger seat. It was a short ride to their hotel, but she’d passed out as soon as they were out of the lot.
They were meeting Liam something-or-other, he could never remember the Brits last name. Cooper—that was it. Liam Cooper, the British spy and their contact outside the militant compound. They had yet to meet him, but had seen his file. What hadn’t been redacted read pretty well. Moved up quickly through, SAS—Britain’s Special Forces—to intelligence, then went black as a spy with MI6. On paper, he looked like he was going to be a great asset to their team. But Phillips was reserving judgment until they actually met the guy.
His stomach growled with hunger. The disgusting snacks that passed for food on planes these days had been just this side of edible and did nothing to ease his desire for real food.
An image of a red-haired girl on a brightly lit sign was up ahead. Indicting a turn, he pulled into the parking lot and joined a few cars in the drive-through lane. The smell of hot oil and fries slapped him in the face, making his gut growl again in response.
“Yo, wake up.” Touching Mic’s shoulder carefully, he tried to wake her up. She jerked forward suddenly and grabbed his wrist, painfully twisting it backward. “Fuck! Dammit, woman, it’s me! It’s Phillips!” Stomping on the brakes before he rear-ended the mini-van in front of him, he needed to get control—immediately. She wasn’t in the car, not mentally at least. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see him. She lunged at him, going for the throat.
Keeping his foot down on the brake and ignoring the honking horns behind him, Phillips blocked her strike with his forearm, the blow a loud smack in the small car. “Mic! Fucking snap out of it!”
She froze, confusion crossing her face. “W-What’s going on? The fuck?”
Letting him go, she fumbled for the handle on her right, flung open the door, and stomped out into the night, slamming the door behind her.
“Dammit. Fucking shit,” he mumbled. Slamming the gearshift into drive, he whipped the wheel to the right, drove over a small curb, and pulled into a parking spot. Mic was standing on the concrete divider separating this parking lot from the next one. Her hands were behind her head and she was staring upward at the dark sky.
Leaving the car run
ning, he stepped out and silently stood beside her. But not too close. Over the past few years, he’d known quite a few people with PTSD, some worse than others. Mic had classic symptoms, and he wondered how often they popped up. And if Jackson was aware of them.
“Are you okay?” Other than her question, she didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. She stood perfectly still, her only movement was her chest rising and falling rapidly.
He snorted in disbelief. “Really? Like that could ever happen. No, you didn’t hurt me. I could bench you with one arm. Give me a little fucking credit, okay?”
“Arrogant fuck.”
“Yeah, I guess so. You gonna tell me what that was?”
She dropped her arms to her sides. “Don’t fucking touch me to wake me up. Ever. I’m sorry about that, but I have no control over it.”
“How long have you been that way? Since Iraq?” he asked, trying to keep his tone calm and sympathetic.
Turning her head, she looked in his direction. Her eyes were shrouded in darkness, deep, black pools in her otherwise narrow face. The effect was eerie, like something you’d see in a horror flick.
“Long before Iraq, my friend. Long before. Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”
Leading the way, she strode purposefully into the brightly lit restaurant. He noticed her steps were hurried, as if she was anxious to get into the light. He decided he’d leave it alone for now but made a mental note to mention it to Carter and/or Liam when he could. Carter for sure needed to know since he’d be sharing her bed.
He reached through the open car window, shutting it off and pocketing the keys. He followed Mic into the fast food joint, forcing his thoughts from her freak-out to a sweet and juicy heart attack on a bun.
No Way in Hell: A Steel Corp/Trident Security Crossover Novel (Steel Corps/Trident Security Book 2) Page 2