Scarecrow

by Zoe Dawson

  Deadly beauty. Grace and elegance. The black and white made him think of white sheets and long, black nights. She passed him without noticing him, something that Kat wouldn’t have ever done if she wasn’t in deep thought and feeling safe.

  “Harrington,” he said, low and deep.

  Her head came up and she whirled, staring at him, her startled expression accentuating her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Wicked had the sudden urge to grab the back of her neck and pull her closer.

  He knew the instant she recognized him. She froze, a whole host of expressions crossing her face, but when he saw her close her eyes and drag in a deep breath, he saw nothing but exhaustion. Even assassins needed sleep. Her blank expression matched his own, but her green eyes snapped, giving away her hatred of him. That part was something he never forgot.

  He held her gaze. “Recruiting, are we?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He desperately needed sleep, too.

  Her smile was icy. She gave him a sharp, censoring look as she braced herself, her thighs flexing, those firm calves tightening, his body responding. He folded his arms and stared down at the toes of his scuffed boots, contemplating life. A hell of a thing, abstinence. Keeping his thoughts in check, he looked up at her.

  “If I was, it wouldn’t be your business.”

  Some emotion in her face registered with a cold twist to his gut, and he took the few steps to her, and said, “I’m making it my business.” There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, her hair was a complete mess, and by rights she should have looked like a bag lady after the kind of mission they’d just returned from. But not Kat Harrington. She looked like she had just walked out of some fashion magazine.

  He had resigned himself to the fact that she was never going to forgive him, and he never prodded that package of emotions he’d bundled up and locked away. He was too afraid of what he would find if he opened that Pandora’s box.

  “Scarecrow just lost his dad. He’s hurting, Kat. Leave him alone.”

  “Are you his keeper?”

  “I’m his in the brotherhood. The CIA can do without him.”

  She shrugged, showing him that his opinion didn’t matter to her. “I haven’t said a word to him. How do you—”

  “I know. You’re wasting your time. Crow is a Navy SEAL for life.”

  “I’m sure he is, but you can’t fault a girl for trying.”

  He widened his stance. Convincing her was going to take more precious time in her presence, and he resented that. Resented her. She was a reminder of what he had lost. He wasn’t in any mood to acquiesce to her formidable determination. There had been a time when he more than admired her, a time when he respected her, a time when he… Dammit, he wasn’t going to think that ever again. Guilt, a true and constant companion, twisted him up inside. But now there was only icy politeness and disagreements. He settled in to make his case. Arguments with Kat were nothing new.

  Scarecrow slowly changed into his street clothes, his locker door open. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the blood on the snow out of his mind. But they had gotten what they needed and made sure that Blue and Charlie would be safe against any more Kirikhanistan retribution. The rebels would be jockeying for position now that there was a vacancy. More evil men doing what they did best. Whoever rose to power in that small hellhole better not cross the SEALs. If they did, Scarecrow would fight the good fight.

  “The wayward traveler.” Ruckus’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  He straightened at the knowing look on his commander’s face. Of course, he knew. He always knew when his boys went off the reservation.

  “You finally going to take that leave?”

  Scarecrow met his deep blue eyes. “Not if we’re headed to Scotland,” Scarecrow said matter-of-fact. “I’m sure Kat has already filled you in and there’s going to be a deployment.” He laced up the rest of his work boot. “We’re all in this together and have been from the beginning. We’ve lost a lot chasing those damn warheads, and I’m going to follow through until the end.”

  Ruckus smiled and nodded. “I had no doubt. You’re going to get a text. Muster at 0600. Get some rest. One more warhead out of terrorists’ hands is the mission. See you on the tarmac.”

  “Hoo-yah, sir.”

  Even though he knew his course of action was solid and unwavering, the shot of guilt mixed in with the anger that wound through him in moments when he wasn’t focused on something twisted him up inside. His mom had pleaded with him to come home to bury his dad. Scarecrow had been prepared, had his airline ticket, the leave already approved. But when Kat had come to them about the chatter she’d read in a report out of Kirikhanistan, there was nothing that was going to stop him from neutralizing the threat to his teammate. His dad was dead, and Scarecrow was sure he would understand. Eventually, his mom would understand, too. Blue and Charlie had already been through enough, and Scarecrow became part of the small force that ensured Blue wouldn’t have to be looking over his shoulder or constantly worrying about Charlie being in danger.

  The violence was banked inside him, but he knew it was there, ready and waiting for the next time he gave it free rein. He shrugged off the image that formed in his mind again and walked to the parking lot to get into his car.

  He heard raised voices, and his attention centered on Wicked and Kat. At it again was all he could think, wondering for the millionth time what had gone on between the two of them. But getting anything out of Wicked was as easy as capturing lightning in a jar.

  She stalked away from Wicked, and he looked like he wasn’t ready for their conversation to be over. Soon Kat Harrington was unlocking her car. She looked tired, her hair raked off her face into a messy bun. It was the first time he’d seen her not one hundred percent.

  “You coming to Scotland?” Scarecrow asked her, glancing back at Wicked who was heading to his own car, his big shoulders tight, digging in his pocket for his keys.

  “You bet your ass. My boss is keen on us getting the rest of the warheads off the market and out of enemy hands. With this information, we could have a national security issue in our own country. It’s up to us to fix this as best we can.”

  “Copy that,” he said softly, nodding. “Good night.”

  The smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Thank you for what you did. It was effective and gave us the information we needed.” She glanced over her shoulder to a stoic and completely pissed off Wicked who stared at them over the roof of his car. “You have what it takes to be CIA. If you’re ever interested in a career change, give me a heads up.”

  Scarecrow gave her a noncommittal look, and she smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. See you tomorrow.”

  He settled into the driver’s seat and watched Wicked pull out of the parking lot. Whatever had gone on between the two of them was bad, life-changing bad. Her door slammed shut with finality.

  He thought about his actions tonight and sighed. Turning the engine over, he knew what he had done was necessary. The world was filled with evil, evil people. It took someone like him who had that violence inside him to handle those people. Sacrifice everything so that the borders of the US would be protected and the people safe. They always did what was necessary without faltering, no matter the cost.

  2

  Secret Intelligence Service

  Vauxhall Cross

  London, United Kingdom

  Scarecrow watched Sir Rodney Kitteridge’s face as he sat behind his desk eyeing Ruckus, SEAL team commanding officer, as if he were a weapon of mass destruction—respect for all that power, but not to be released without a lot of thought. The team was waiting for SIS’s response after Ruckus had outlined their intel. The air around the two was heavy and thick with tension. It didn’t help to have eight guys standing around who looked like they were on a hair-trigger. But that was the situation. It couldn’t be helped. Scarecrow, along with everyone else in the room, was locked and loaded, ready to remove another warhead threat. It was a US problem, but now also a
UK issue.

  Sir Rodney’s eyes narrowed, the determination in his eyes clear to Scarecrow. “We do appreciate you bringing this to our attention. But—”

  “Sir, with all due respect,” Scarecrow said, stepping forward. He could see the determination in Sir Rodney’s eyes. He was going to dismiss them as nameless, faceless American military elites who were here to take over. The Brits wanted to handle this on their own. “We are very aware that you and your fighting force can handle this hands-down. We’re not interested in taking over, calling the shots. We”—Scarecrow gestured to every man in the room, making direct eye contact with them all, each of his teammates showing their commitment, mirroring his own—“are interested in neutralizing a threat against your country because of an incident in our own that allowed these weapons to be pilfered and unleashed against innocent people.”

  Scarecrow walked up to Tank and Blue. “These two men… Our team has suffered great loss and personal hardship chasing down these warheads. This is Ocean Beckett. He was captured and tortured. We took down Boris and Natasha Golovkin to get him back. We secured the warhead they had, but again, we were too late. More of the weapons had been sold, and we’re dedicated to tracking them down. This is Thorn Hunt. He and his working military dog, Echo, were seriously wounded. We went to Sri Lanka to stop the Tigers from using another one of the weapons.”

  Scarecrow faced the sympathy on the director’s face, not at all offended by his offer of condolences. “I’m not telling you these facts to gain any kind of an upper hand. I’m telling you what happened, so you understand why we’re here and what we are prepared to do.”

  “The people of the United Kingdom appreciate your sacrifice. We understand what it takes to battle terrorism. We all know the cost.”

  “Yes, we do, sir. All we ask, all we really care about is getting these weapons out of the wrong hands. Would you allow us to accompany you to Scotland?”

  Sir Rodney blinked a couple of times, then he looked—really looked—at their faces until his eyes rested back on Scarecrow.

  “What is your name, young man?”

  “Arlo Porter, sir.”

  “Well, Mister Porter. What are we waiting for lads? Let’s get cracking.”

  “Hoo-yah,” rumbled around the room and Sir Rodney smiled.

  “That’s the spirit.” He stood and came around the desk. “We have a chopper waiting to take us to RAF Lakenheath. Shall we, gentlemen?”

  Wicked squeezed Scarecrow’s shoulder and whispered, “You silver-tongued devil.”

  Kid nudged Wicked and grinned. “It came from the heart. Even though it’s ten sizes too small.” Kid gestured with his fingers over his chest and pulled a sad face. But his eyes were full of admiration.

  “And if you got yourself a white picket fence that needs whitewashin’, here’s your man,” Cowboy drawled, then clapped Scarecrow on the back and followed Kid out the door.

  Hollywood chuckled, and they moved out. But when Scarecrow got to the door, he met Blue’s eyes and felt the turmoil in his soul. Unspoken or not, Scarecrow knew what this meant to Blue. He nodded and Blue nodded back.

  “You sure do know how to navigate a cave, Mr. Porter. That said, don’t forget who’s in charge here,” LT said.

  They traveled to an airfield, loaded onto a military transport, and then, once in the air, powered their way east to Suffolk. They were heading to a co-base installation run by the Americans under British regulations and laws. During the seventy-mile flight, Sir Rodney said, “We had a top-notch analyst who had already targeted this nasty group—Militant Briton Freedom Fighters or the MBFF. She is…unavailable at this time. We have a team we can assemble PDQ.”

  Once they were on the ground at the air base, they assembled in a briefing room with four Special Boat Service members, the special forces unit of the United Kingdom’s Royal Navy. With a cup of coffee in his hands, Scarecrow looked at the map of the Scottish Highlands wilderness, Caithness and Sutherland.

  The area located on Scotland’s northwest coast was only accessible by ferry or on foot. They would fly in aboard a UH-80 Ghost Hawk stealth helicopter with a water insertion ten miles from the target, a rundown castle further inland. It would afford their team the best chance to surprise the MBFF as the remoteness of the area made any type of activity suspect. After they looked at the floorplans to get familiar with the target and drilled for four days acting and reenacting every possible scenario, they boarded the chopper to RAF Lossiemouth on the western coast as their base of operations.

  The whole team bunked down for the rest of the day in preparation for the mission that would begin at midnight. They’d learned early on to sleep when they could.

  As Scarecrow tried to relax, he heard the snores of his team settle into a rhythm. Then Blue’s whisper reached him. “You doing all right, Crow?”

  Scarecrow said softly, “Yeah, locked and loaded.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Blue was asking how he felt about not going home to be with his mom. “Nothing to worry about. One last mission before I take leave. It’s all good.”

  “Take some time for yourself, Arlo. There’s no shame in that. If you need anything, you just have to ask.”

  “Copy that,” Scarecrow said as he turned over and closed his eyes. Time for himself… Hell, did SEALs permit themselves that luxury? With all that he had to deal with at home, could he allow himself any indulgence?

  Hours later, they were two Ghosts strong, Scarecrow’s team in one helo and the British commandos in the other, both choppers sling loaded with assault boats. They were going to be dropped in the Atlantic, a few miles from the shore, the almost silent rotors of the Hawk bringing them low over the water to escape any detection by radar.

  The pilot dropped the Zodiac, a rigid-hull inflatable boat or RIB, into Loch Nevis. With fins already on their feet, Scarecrow and the team prepared to insert from the go-anywhere, do-anything, extreme-conditions craft. Ruckus jumped out first and then each man went into the water one after the other in short intervals. As soon as Scarecrow hit the forty-eight-degree ocean, he began to swim toward the bobbing black rubber boat. The Ghost’s rotor wash churned up the water and sent spray into their masks, but this was a cakewalk for trained operators. Like clockwork, the SEALs reached the RIB.

  After a quick look, Scarecrow confirmed the four British commandos were assembled. Together, they wave busted toward shore and the mouth of the Inverie River. Mountains crowded the horizon, great, dark monoliths. It was a quick five-mile trip to Loch an Dubh-Lochain where they ditched the boats and moved out. The trek to the ruined castle was over rough land and through a mountain pass. The only village, Inverie, with a population of one hundred, was supplied by a passenger ferry from Mallaig, but it was far to the south of where they hiked. After five minutes in, it started to rain, but SEALs handled water like they did anything else…in stride.

  The initial path was simple to follow but quickly became narrow and rough with the first two miles relatively easy-going. After some single file and careful foot placement, the path twisted inland and uphill. Finally, they traversed into a narrow valley where they took a quick breather, drinking their fill of water.

  In the distance was Loch Chno Bàn, and on the shore was the forgotten and crumbling Reid Castle complete with drawbridge and moat. Through his night vision binoculars, Kid surveyed the landscape, the twin-towered gatehouse, imposing battlements and the approach.

  “I count eight sentries. Two on each wall and two at the entrance. A guard in each of the four towers. The intel was spot on there, LT. The tower shots are tricky, but I can make them. There are several places where I can go to ground, sir.”

  “Get on it, Kid. I trust your judgment.”

  “Copy,” Kid said. He adjusted his weapon on his back and started off.

  Ruckus crouched down and said, “We’ll give Kid time to get set up and take out the sentries, then after that we’ll need to move fast. There are another twenty targets ins
ide the castle. Most of them are centered in the barracks where they’re sleeping and several in the great room. That’s where we believe they have the war room. Since we don’t have a confirmation as to where the warhead is, we’ll neutralize the threat, then search the grounds. Any questions?”

  There was only silence. Scarecrow rose with the rest of them and started down a heather-strewn path that gave way to tall bracken and trees. They waited for Kid’s okay.

  Scarecrow put his binoculars to his eyes. Watching as each man dropped from Kid’s expert skill, Scarecrow said, “All clear?” into the mic.

  “All clear,” came Kid’s reply. “Moving.”

  “Copy,” Scarecrow said as they moved as one across the drawbridge and into the interior of the castle. Cowboy and Hollywood split off right, and two commandos went left to check the guard rooms and secure the front towers.

  The rest of them entered the courtyard as Kid joined them bringing up the rear.

  “All clear,” Cowboy said, closely followed by a British-accented voice.

  Now twelve strong, they separated left and right, four on each side to secure any more resistance, the banquet hall dead ahead. Scarecrow, Wicked, and two of the British commandos headed for the room. Entering the large area, several targets looked up, a single light illuminating a large table with a map of London tacked to the stone.

  The MBFF rebels opened fire, and Scarecrow and his team members engaged. As the rebels fell, someone came down the staircase from the battlements at a run. The rebel’s hand was raised, something clutched. Scarecrow saw a piece of debris fly from the rebel’s hand, then Scarecrow dropped him, but not before whatever he was holding hit the hard stone with a metallic tinking as it bounced toward them.