by R. J. Blain
“You’ve been the subject of numerous manhunts, all of which you’ve avoided. That is no easy feat.”
“I was careful.” Not careful enough, but my presence on board the submarine was evidence enough of that.
Captain Williams turned his attention to Haney. “How’d you catch him?”
“His circumstances forced him to use his real passport, which was flagged. We got lucky; we were in range to take advantage of the opportunity. The details are classified.”
I found it interesting Haney trusted the man enough to drop some information but not any of the major details.
“I take it the exact details of your transfer are likewise classified?”
Haney clasped his hands behind his head and smiled his smug smile, his eyes twinkling. “We have a code name and everything.”
“I saw. Why do you get all the nice mission names? Did you bribe someone to assign you WOLF HUNT? You don’t want to know the code name for the exercise we’re about to do.”
I held my breath and was glad I could blame my shiver on my wet clothes. A knock at the door put an end to the conversation.
“Enter,” Captain Williams ordered.
A young woman in officer’s khakis held uniforms in one arm and snapped a salute with the other. “I’ve brought the uniforms, sir.”
Lane relaxed and took them from the woman. Instead of service khakis, they were dress blues, and I masked my grimace by clenching my teeth. Once the door was closed, the SEAL went through the uniforms, thrusting a set to me. “You should get yourself dried and changed before you catch your death, Major.”
Before I had a chance to say a word, Captain Williams directed me to the door beside his desk, which led to his bunk. When I closed the door, the sound reminded me of a jail cell locking me in and sealing my fate.
I had no idea why they had a Marine major’s dress blues on board, but with staying in my wet clothes as my only alternative, I changed. Williams’s officer had included everything I needed, including a cap. The short exposure to the elements hadn’t done me any favors, and my entire body throbbed by the time I emerged from the captain’s sleeping quarters.
All three men inspected me from head to toe. Haney nodded his approval. “You clean up nice, son.”
“Dress blues make anyone look good, sir,” I countered, squeezing by the desk to stand beside Lane. Both men had changed, and considering both of them were dressed in uniforms appropriate for their rank, someone had made preparations before our arrival.
I thought it was a waste, but I kept my opinion to myself.
“The next transfer should be easier.” Captain Williams pulled out a map and spread it over his desk. “If I’ve been given a good weather report, we’ll be clear of the storm in time for the rendezvous. Gear will be waiting for you on shore. You’re going to have a pretty tight schedule until you make landfall. Unfortunately, I have no details on what that schedule will be. Why don’t you three head down to the mess? I have a feeling you’re not going to get a chance for even a cup of coffee once you’re on the move.”
“Appreciate it, Captain,” Haney replied, adjusting his uniform to his satisfaction. “We’ll take you up on that.”
The two men exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes, and when they finished, Lane and I snapped salutes to the submarine’s captain before making a strategic retreat from his quarters. Haney led the way, at home in the tight passages and general confines of the sub.
My wolf hated the lack of natural light and pressure of the ocean around us. When we squeezed against the walls to allow working sailors to pass us, I fidgeted, drawing a disapproving scowl from the Vice Admiral.
“Relax, Major. There’s no need to be so jumpy.”
“Hell is a tour of duty on a submarine,” I muttered under my breath.
Lane snorted and jabbed me with his elbow. “You’re supposed to like working at sea, sir. You’re a Marine.”
“I thought I told you to cut the sirs,” I hissed back.
“You’re in uniform, sir.”
“Point,” I conceded before glaring at Haney’s back. “How did they get a Marine uniform in dress blues in my size on such short notice?”
The Vice Admiral chuckled. “Magic, son.”
“Is there a reason we’re dressed up, sir?”
“Yes.”
I waited. When Haney didn’t elaborate, I was sorely tempted to bang my head into something hard. Instead, I kept my mouth shut.
Sometimes I could mind my manners, especially when there was nothing I could do to change my situation. Unless Haney had changed over the years, all questioning him would do was encourage him to find a way to make the situation even more unpleasant for me.
The mess, like the rest of the submarine, was a work of engineering art, maximizing every bit of space possible. I used up what little good fortune I had; the mess wasn’t as busy as it could have been, allowing us to find a place to sit. One perk of submarine duty was the food, which was superior to everything else I had sampled while flitting through the various military branches.
Any other day, I probably would have enjoyed the corned beef and cabbage, but I picked at it, earning frowns from Lane and Haney. I spent more time pushing food around my plate than eating, a habit I had thought I had broken years ago.
“You’re going to scrape a hole through the plate if you keep that up,” Haney chided.
I wondered if the werewolves in Europe would mind an addition to their numbers, assuming I could escape the military one more time. The sigh from my wolf didn’t fill me with hope.
Once a lone wolf, always a lone wolf.
The ocean was calm enough the helicopter pilot hovered his craft within a foot of the deck, allowing us to board without having to harness up for a lift. I was grateful for the flight suit over my uniform, which helped keep the chill off.
The haze of a distant shore offered me the hope we wouldn’t be in the air for long.
I buckled in and adjusted my helmet, listening to the chatter. I kept quiet, my gaze locked on the land. Once I had my feet back on solid ground, I’d be better equipped to come up with a plan on dealing with the nightmare my life had become.
As always, my sense of duty would sink me, and while I loathed the idea of being sucked back into military operations, I also understood the importance of what I’d been asked to do.
That the op involved civilians made me itch to dive into the action. When I had been recruited, I’d been in love with the idea of making a difference. The government, however, hadn’t wanted me involved with helping people, instead using me for other acquisitions.
More often than not, I had been expected to lay down my life for intel. Sometimes the intel led me to rescue ops, but sometimes the intel led others on my team to neutralize threats to the United States.
The work had, no matter how much I loathed to admit it, given me all the skills I needed for my less-than-legal relocation of art and other goods.
If Haney ever found out how I’d spent the last decade, he’d probably shoot me himself. In the twisted world of warfare, ethics and integrity mattered.
I’d thrown mine away when my team and I had been left for dead and forced to scatter to the four winds. Regretting the mistake of having used my original passport, I stared out over the ocean.
Lane tapped my shoulder and pointed somewhere below us. Leaning towards the window, I glanced down. A massive battle ship flying the Union Jack cut through the waters below.
“You’re bloody kidding me,” I blurted, closing my eyes, swallowing my groan, and wishing throwing myself into the sea was an option. The dress blues made a lot more sense; if the US was calling on the Brits for a favor, we needed to look our best.
I was surprised they hadn’t sent over a box of medals to go with the uniform. I had no idea if I was entitled for any legitimate decorations beyond my starred Purple Heart, which I had never actually picked up; I'd always found an excuse to worm my way out of attending any award ceremonies.
“They’re headed to Devonport and kindly offered to give us a ride. They’ll be making port tonight.” Haney shrugged. “I thought you liked the Brits, Major McGrady. You’ve worked with them before.”
It took every bit of my willpower to rein in my temper and keep my voice calm and even. “I prefer subtlety, and there’s absolutely nothing subtle about this, sir.”
If Haney wanted to announce to everyone everywhere the US was moving on something, he was doing a textbook job of it. Spies were probably having a field day speculating why the US Navy’s Vice Admiral Haney was globe-trotting with a Marine and a SEAL in tow.
In my opinion, the mission was already compromised; if Scallywag and his accomplices had any contacts in Europe, he was probably aware of some major movement. If his goal was to undermine government acquisitions through American businessmen, he likely did.
“You don’t have to like it, Major. You just have to follow orders.”
I should’ve taken my chances with my client, and as soon as I had half a chance, I would. At the rate Haney was going, he’d botch the operation before it got off the ground.
Recovering botched operations was as much of a specialty as lifting priceless pieces of art for the highest bidder. In that, Haney had been right to want me on his team.
Unlike him, I still had my head screwed onto my shoulders. Perhaps the price of command was a lack of vision of what was on the ground, and the longer I stared at the Royal Navy ship below, the more I was certain Haney had lost his touch.
My wolf growled, and tinging his displeasure was his agreement of my assessment.
Before I could act, I needed a plan. To make a plan, I needed information. To get the information, I needed my laptop or cell phone, a chance to check my emails, and the time to make a discreet call to Anthony.
The real work would begin in Devonport.
Chapter Eleven
Compared to Vice Admiral Haney, I was invisible, just another sailor among many. Grateful to avoid the attention, I stuck close to Lane, who likewise seemed happy to avoid bumping shoulders and talking with the Brits.
“Dog shit in the spring,” Lane muttered, shaking his head.
While I had a different metaphor for the situation, his was apt, and I nodded my agreement. “Fish rotting in the sun.”
“Cat farts.”
“Blooming corpse flower.”
There was a trick to directing someone’s attention to something while standing at attention, and Lane was a master of the subtle nod. Two British sailors in dress uniforms saluted Vice Admiral Haney and the captain of the Royal Navy ship, talking in soft enough whispers even my sensitive ears couldn’t pick up what they were saying.
Like us, they were undecorated. While Lane and I were technically sailors, I had my doubts the pair had actually done real time on a ship or as a part of amphibious warfare.
At least I had some experience jumping out of boats and sea-deployed planes in order to reach land.
I shifted my weight, straightened my back, and ignored the ache across my shoulders, watching Haney continue his conversation with the Brits. “Methane.”
A sniff of methane would turn someone into a ghost pretty quick, and if those two Brits weren’t spooks, I’d chew boot leather.
Lane made a soft sound, a mix of a chuckle and a snort. “Thallium.”
I huffed, appreciating the SEAL’s knowledge; thallium was a good way of killing someone and turning them into a ghost, although far slower than inhaling methane. It was also a good comparison to what could happen to spooks caught over enemy lines. “Poison dart frog.”
“Polonium.”
I gave a slight nod in Haney’s direction. “Tuna.”
Lane’s sigh was so soft I barely heard it. “Rotting in the sun.”
“Australia’s supposed to be nice this time of year.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind everything there trying to kill you.”
“How about New Zealand?”
“Maybe.”
With the ship cruising closer than I liked to top speed, the wind whipped and chilled me through my uniform despite the fact I was no longer wet. Standing in the same position cramped my muscles, but I kept still.
Maybe I didn’t want to be on board a Royal Navy ship as a representative of the United States, but I respected the uniform—and the real men and women who wore it—too much to put on a poor showing. If Haney meant for us to stand as sentinels for the inspection of our British counterparts, I could play the role easily enough.
In addition to the two undecorated officers mingling with the ship’s captain and Vice Admiral Haney, one of the women standing at attention kept staring in our direction, her gaze shifting away whenever I was too obvious about scoping her out. Two other men had a more-than-healthy interest in us as well.
“You’d think they’d be more interested in Vice Admiral Haney than a Marine and a SEAL,” Lane observed, clucking his tongue. “That sailor over there’s been giving you the eye ever since we boarded.”
“Probably a spook hoping a spotting will nab her a promotion over in spookville,” I grumbled. “It’s a game. I call it Whack-a-Decky. Person who gets the highest number of positive hits wins.”
“I heard him call you Major McGrady during the introductions. He’s cut off your easy way out.”
Clenching my teeth together, I parted my lips so I could talk without betraying what I was saying in case there was a lipreader in the curious crowd of sailors. “This is a botch.”
It came out mumbled but a lot clearer than I thought it would.
Lane grunted, and mimicking my method, he replied, “He botched it on purpose. Why, though?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I switched gears back to places I’d really like to run away to if a chance provided itself. “If New Zealand doesn’t grab you, how about Antarctica?”
“Bit cold for me. Bermuda’s nice.”
“I know some guys.”
“I figured.” He drew in a deep breath, and without moving his lips, he mumbled, “I didn’t sign up to fuck over one of our own.”
“We’ll figure something out.” I had no idea how, but I’d come up with something. Something fishy was going on, but unfortunately, I didn’t know what or why, and I had a feeling it had everything to do with my client’s involvement in the case of seven missing women and the two men sent to extract them from France.
The minutes dragged into hours, and Vice Admiral Haney seemed determined to stay on deck, leaving Lane and I to rot standing at attention. The ship’s captain sent his sailors back to work while we stood a respectable distance away, too far to overhear what was being discussed.
“It’s a game of ‘our sailors are more disciplined than yours.’” Lane shifted his weight, straightened his shoulders and back, and sighed. “We won at least twenty minutes ago. Why did the uppers even let him leave his post for this? He’s not field ops.”
“He said he sent himself, remember?”
Lane narrowed his eyes. “I had forgotten that. Think they’ll court martial us for following orders?”
“Yep.”
“Fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t.”
“Sounds about right.” I eyed the coastline, which the ship skirted. “There’s no reason that helicopter couldn’t have dropped us on shore.”
“I noticed.”
“If we jumped overboard, how long do you think it would take for them to notice?” I eyed the water; the ship was moving at a fast-enough clip hitting the water would hurt. Then again, it would take such a large vessel time to come to a halt and turn around.
“They’d notice.” Lane tilted his head up a fraction, his gaze darting to one of the ship’s towers. “I think they were warned you’re the field ops version of Houdini.”
“Bermuda is sounding nice right now. We could go diving for shipwrecks. Make a career out of it.”
“The Bermuda Triangle is a myth.” The corners of Lane’s mouth twitched upward. “If they ever let y
ou out, what are you planning on doing?”
I snorted. “I hold little hope of them letting me out. I fully expect to be spending the foreseeable future in detainment, no matter what happy songs the Bard likes croaking.”
“Dead fish rotting in the sun.”
“This entire thing is a fiasco, and for the life of me, I can’t tell who is having the wool pulled over their eyes.” I shifted my gaze to Haney, who was gesturing at the shore with his back facing us. “He has a history of assigning people I’ll like to my teams to keep me in line. Then he sends us on suicide missions to see how many of us he can kill off. Of course, the one time he sends me on a mission I can buy into, he botches it before we can get it off the ground.”
“I’ve heard rumors of that nature, but I thought they were exaggerations. You think this is really a full botch?”
“He has us standing on display so we’re seen. He wants it known we’re around and about. He’s putting himself out there, and when such a high-ranking officer starts strutting across the pond, people notice. The wrong people notice. The instant we head in the direction of the hot zone, they’ll figure things out.” I sighed, curling my toes in my shoes in an attempt to ease the ache in my feet. “Who does he want seeing us? Why? That’s what I want to know.”
“Maybe we’re doing a joint mission with the Brits? We do that from time to time.”
“Hell of a lot of spook types on board for a joint op, don’t you think? I feel like we’re on display in a zoo.”
“If we were in a zoo, we’d at least get set feeding times.”
I cast a longing glance at the shore. “Aren’t SEALs supposed to be masters of the sea? Surely you could swim to shore without breaking a sweat.”
“I don’t feel like dragging your half-drowned ass to the beach, Major.”
“I’m an expert in fine arts, painting identification and authentication, and I’ve dabbled in restoration. I like history, too. I’m also pretty good at getting into and out of places I don’t belong.” Wiggling my toes wasn’t helping my feet, so I shifted my weight and stance to find a little relief from standing still for so long. “If I ever get free and clear, I’d like to curate a gallery.”