by Cat Johnson
Just in case it wasn’t clear he was one of the good guys, he pressed one finger to his lips. Then held up the lanyard holding the name badge he’d almost forgotten Chavez had given him at breakfast. It clearly identified him as a summit attendee.
The small tip of her head as she held eye contact with him was a good sign.
He turned his attention back to the gunman, still facing the other way and loudly repeating something he could only understand parts of.
When the man turned slightly Silas realized what he was doing. He was shouting into a radio.
That explained his panic. He couldn’t get his two partners in the ballroom to respond.
Yeah, buddy. You’re right. You are completely alone here.
They already had taken one attacker alive who could answer their questions.
From what Silas could tell in the ballroom from the location of the wound he’d inflicted and the amount of blood, the injury most likely wasn’t life threatening. The bullet had missed the attacker’s vest and clipped him just beneath it in his side.
If Silas was correct and the guy upstairs lived to tell his tale, that meant he didn’t need to take this gunman alive.
That worked in his favor, but not much else did.
There were at least a dozen civilians down on their knees on the marble floor. Both hotel employees and guests, judging by the looks of them.
The gunman, though obviously not prepared for this attack emotionally, was well equipped for it. He, like his partners upstairs, wore a bulletproof vest.
The lobby was bright as day as the sun glared through the glass front wall. Darkness was a SEAL’s best friend, but Silas was going to have to come out into the light and take out this target.
He would just have to make it work. He tuned out the fire alarm that continued to blare and zeroed in on the lone target.
When one of the hostages dared to speak, the gunman got more agitated. He raised his gun above his head and started shooting the ceiling. That accomplished two things—the hostages flattened lower to the floor and the shooter exposed his side beneath his arm where the vest didn’t cover.
Weapon up, Silas took the shot. Three rounds, quick and in succession. Judging by the way the attacker reeled backward, an expression of shock on his face, at least one bullet had found its mark.
The gunman stumbled back a step and slid down the front desk to slump on the floor.
Now might be the most dangerous part of Silas’s day. He was the only one upright and armed.
With an untold number of local officials outside, hyped up and ready to shoot anyone they could find, he was the only target.
But this third gunman might not be the last one. What if there were more accomplices, lying low, hidden amid the staff and guests?
Silas rolled back behind the shelter of the concierge desk and took a breath. He let seconds tick by, waiting for another bad guy to reveal himself. None did.
When the lobby hostages began to rise from the floor he knew it was decision time and he had only seconds to make his. Those front doors would be breached any second.
His gut told him this was it. It was over. There were only three. It also told him if he stood up with two AKs on him he’d be a dead man.
He put the two weapons down, sliding them far under the desk. He shoved his backpack—military grade and color—underneath too. He needed to look like a businessman, not a fighter, when he stood and revealed himself.
Once the chaos settled and the interviews with the authorities began, he’d tell the officials the location of the weapons and retrieve his backpack, which at this point didn’t have a whole lot in it anyway.
He was grateful now for the suit and name badge and impractical leather shoes, since in the eyes of the men storming the lobby his appearance was that of an innocent man unconnected with the attack.
The officials were running toward the building, yelling for everyone to put their hands in the air in what sounded like the local French-laced Arabic. Silas didn’t need to understand completely to comprehend what they wanted. Neither did any of the others.
Experience told him how this would go. They’d all be marched outside. He’d be one in a long line of people. That would be just the beginning of a long day of questions and containment for all of them while they investigated the scene and every person’s background.
The calm after the storm would be almost unbearable with the rush of adrenaline still surging through him.
They’d eventually find out it was him who took out the attackers. Then they’d drag him into interrogation. He’d answer their many questions, many times, and try to explain how it all went down and how he happened to be able to take out three armed gunmen.
That story should keep him in custody for another eight hours or so since he was a civilian.
His first civilian kill. Two actually. And on foreign soil. Oh yeah. That should go over real well with the local authorities.
He’d be lucky if he didn’t find himself in a cell for a few hours, if not overnight.
Hopefully Chavez, or someone higher at DHS, would vouch for him. Intervene and get him out of interrogation earlier rather than later.
Meanwhile, all he wanted to do was call Maggie. He’d managed to keep his mind on the task while in the heat of battle, but now it was over his hand itched to reach for his cell phone.
He restrained the impulse for now. But damn, when he saw that woman again, he was going to kiss her until they were both breathless.
Then he was going to woo her.
Dates. Flowers. Love notes. Hopefully more sex.
Anything and everything he could do to get her back in his life, because today had been too real of a reminder that he didn’t want to live in a world without her in it.
He wanted her to be his again. Completely. Not for one night. Not as friends or even friends with benefits. He wanted his wife back. He was going to marry that woman—again—if it was the last thing he did.
The authorities were still hovering outside the entrance, as if they were afraid to come inside in case there were more gunmen.
Fuck it. Silas wasn’t going to wait around for them to come get him. He wasn’t in the teams anymore. He could make his own damn rules.
Leaving the weapons where they were, stashed beneath the concierge desk, Silas grabbed his bag and slid backward across the hard floor of the lobby and around the corner.
Once out of sight, he scrambled to his feet and took off for the door to the stairwell. He made it without being seen and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
On the second floor he stopped outside the ballroom door. Through the large crack between the two main doors he saw the summit attendees, some seated, some standing. And he saw the two men he’d left in charge standing on alert. All seemed well.
Pressed against the wall—he had no intention of falling to friendly fire—he pressed his hand against one door and shouted, “It’s Silas Branson. It’s safe. I’m opening the door and coming in.”
When he looked again, he saw the two bodyguards facing the door but not aiming weapons at him. That was a good sign.
He saw something else too as he opened the door fully and took a step into the room—Maggie running toward him.
She hit him like a linebacker. He smiled as she threw her arms around his neck and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around him.
He held her tight, burying his face in her hair as she sobbed against him.
Finally, he got his head on straight and Maggie’s feet back on solid ground.
“You all right?” Silas asked her.
“Yes.” She drew in a shaky breath and looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “Are you?”
“Perfect,” he smiled. He pulled her against him again just as Chavez walked up next to him.
“What happened downstairs?” Chavez asked.
Not wanting to get into specifics with Maggie still so shaken, he said, “Let’s just say there’s one less bad guy in the
world.”
Chavez nodded. “Good job.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Chavez laughed. “You keep this up, you’ll be the boss soon.”
Silas blew out a loud breath. “Don’t worry. I don’t want your job.”
But there were plenty of things he did want. Maggie was at the top of his list.
What he wanted besides her was reliable and adequate security for any American delegations traveling anywhere outside of the US.
What had happened today was unacceptable and he intended to do something about it, now, while he was the hero of the moment and when he had the attention of those up the chain of command.
It was the perfect time to make his demands . . . and he knew right where to start.
CHAPTER 17
Unhappily dressed in a suit once again, Silas stood when he saw the two men he was scheduled to meet walk through the door of the D.C. restaurant.
They were wearing tactical pants and short sleeved collared shirts, making him wish he’d given in to the temptation to dress down this morning. He was meeting with two SEALs who’d left the Navy and become security contractors. He should have known PMCs wouldn’t be in suits.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” he said when they arrived at the table.
“Of course. We’ll always make time to meet with a fellow frogman,” the man he knew as Jon Rudnick grinned.
Jon’s partner in their company, Zane, extended his hand. “It’s good to finally get to sit down and talk to someone at DHS who doesn’t have their head up their ass.”
“No offense,” Jon added, shooting Zane a glance.
Silas laughed. “None taken. A year later I’m still amazed I’m working there myself.”
Zane bobbed his head to the side. “Well, I’m pretty confident when I say it’s good for everyone that you are there.”
Silently, Silas had to agree.
“So, I was surprised to hear you left the teams. I figured you’d be there at least twenty,” Jon said.
“Yeah. Me too. But I blew out my back so I'm now among the civilian ranks. Medically retired."
Jon hissed in a breath between his teeth. "Jeez. I’m sorry. That's tough. Same thing happened to Rick Mann. You probably remember him. But it was his knees. Sucks being forced out if you're not ready for it."
"Yeah, it does." Silas agreed.
"But hey, we could use someone with your experience at our company. We handle mostly private security jobs. Some government contracts. Something to think about if you’re looking for more action than you’re getting riding a desk at DHS." Jon smiled.
Silas laughed. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
A year ago he might have jumped at the chance to work for them.
Now, things had changed. That first night he’d spent with Maggie in Chad, and the nights they’d been together since then, were certainly part of his change in attitude.
The reason for this meeting was another.
He had plans to improve how things were done at his agency to make sure what happened in Chad could never happen again.
Silas knew Jon Rudnick and Zane Alexander both by reputation and from them crossing paths on the occasional mission. And he knew of the reputation of their company, Guardian Angel Protection Services.
These two men were experts in putting military training and tactics into practice in the civilian world. That was exactly what Silas needed.
“So as I said when I called, this is really just a fact finding mission,” Silas began.
Zane nodded. “Understood. We’re ready for your questions.”
“And if it turns out GAPS isn’t a good fit for your needs, we’re happy to help you brainstorm another solution,” Jon said. “Half of our jobs are consultations. Though we’re ready and able to provide you with manpower if that’s what you need.”
“I know what I want and I know what DHS needs. The problem is I’m not sure I can get them to agree. Even if they do, there’s the red tape to get through to make it happen.”
Jon snorted out a laugh. “Preaching to the choir.”
Zane nodded. “It’s why we left. We were tired of seeing what needed to be done but wasn’t. Tired of fighting the system.”
Silas knew these would be the guys to speak to. They’d been there where he’d been. They’d taken their frustration and done something with it.
The waiter arrived to take their orders. After their drinks had been delivered and while they waited for their meals, Silas launched into a shortened account of what had happened in Chad. How the inadequate security at the summit had left them open for attack.
Jon shook his head. “After Libya, why is our government still trusting locals to provide security?”
Zane blew out a breath. “Apparently they’ve learned nothing from past mistakes.”
Silas had thought the same. He nodded. “I agree. So, anyway, they’re happy with me right now. After Chad, I’m on the radar of the DHS Secretary so I think this is a good time to lobby for better security for any department events or travel abroad—security that we at DHS are in control of hiring, provided by people we know, who we choose.”
Zane shook his head. “They were lucky you were there. Things might have worked out completely differently if you hadn’t been.”
“They were damn lucky.” Leaning back in his chair, Jon folded his arms. “You know, I always thought it was a waste. The government spends a fortune grooming every one of us. Making us the best of the best, and then when we leave service, years of real world experience and training goes unused. I mean we started our company, but think of the hundreds of SEALs who are out there doing . . . whatever. Not using their training, most likely.”
It was like a light bulb switched on in Silas's brain.
Jon was right but it didn't have to be like that. Why should all that training and experience go to waste?
Sure, he'd found more than a few silver hairs around his temple, which he'd promptly cussed, plucked and flushed, but Silas wasn't ready to be put out to pasture just yet. What he’d accomplished in Chad with no backup and few tools was proof of that.
And he knew other officers in the same position. Good leaders who Uncle Sam had spent a fortune to train. He'd bet there were plenty who weren't ready to retire yet either. They still had too much left to give.
Jon had gone the private security route, filling his ranks with former operators, taking advantage of their skills. Why couldn't Silas do the same but within DHS?
And why stop at security for traveling DHS delegations?
What if DHS had an internal team to handle anything that came up? He was the one who got the intel about all the possible problems in the world. Instead of just collecting information and then issuing alerts, what if he could send a team to fix the problem—or avoid it in the first place?
As a lieutenant commander he’d proven he could lead a team but also work alone. There were others just like him. Retired SEAL leaders who could jump into any assignment and lead a team or work solo if necessary.
“You okay?”
At that question, Silas came back to the present. He found Jon’s hand on his arm and a concerned expression on his face.
His mind was spinning. Racing so fast he realized he’d dropped the ball on all conversation and his glass was in his hand but he’d forgotten to drink.
“Yeah. I’m good.” In fact, he hadn’t felt this excited about something in a very long time. He smiled, almost giddy. “I’m real good.”
An hour later Silas left the restaurant and the meeting with a clear idea of what he wanted. He went directly to his boss’s office.
After two short knocks on the open door, he said, “Rich. Can I speak with you?”
As the Director of the Office of Operations Coordination, Richard Chavez should be the man who could put this new plan into action. And, as Silas’s boss, he was the one man Silas knew well enough at DHS to present what might possibly be a crazy plan.
“Of course, Si
. I’ve always got time for you. Have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
“How are you?”
“Good—” Silas began to deliver his usual rote answer and stopped. “Actually, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About Chad.”
“Please tell me you’re not leaving us because of what happened.”
Silas glanced up to see Chavez’s concern in his expression. “No, sir. No plans to quit.”
At least not yet. Perhaps he’d have to reevaluate that based on how this meeting went.
Could he sit back and watch the department do the same things it had always done when he knew there was a better way? Although, could he leave knowing that if he stayed he might possibly be able to make a change?
Now was not the time for this internal debate. Now was the time to sell his plan.
“I have an idea,” he said.
“All right.” Chavez steepled his fingers in front of him.
“The Navy invests an enormous amount of dollars in every one of us who serve in the SEALs. The training I received in all fields as a lieutenant commander was top notch.”
Chavez nodded. “Which is exactly why I hired you.”
“Yes. But why stop at me?” Silas asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I can assure you if there is an opening in another department we’ll always consider veterans to fill it, but we only need one deputy director and that’s you.”
“That’s the thing, though. Having me, with my skills and qualifications, coordinating information—” Silas shook his head. “Our office, DHS, the country, would be better served if I was coordinating a team of men instead.”
Chavez frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting. Who would this team be? And what would they be doing?”
Silas leaned forward to explain. “When we access information and see a threat or a problem, what if we didn’t depend on other organizations to handle it? What if we kept it all in house and dealt with situations with a DHS division staffed by former Navy commanders like me.”