by Laura Acton
Bransworth continued to get a slimy vibe off Plouffe and didn’t take the bait as he answered, “If me taking my time to bring him coffee allows the colonel stay on task, I’m doing my part and having an impact on terrorism around the world.”
Plouffe elected to push Bransworth further, pulling out the authority card. “Private, I need to know the whereabouts of Lieutenant Blain’s unit. Retrieve their mission file for me, now.”
“Sir, I do not have access to that information.”
Pointing to a file cabinet behind the private, Plouffe said, “Their file should be in that cabinet.”
Bransworth glanced behind him and back to Plouffe. “Sir, I don’t possess a key. As I said, I have nothing to do with reports of that nature. And even if I did, I would need authorization from Colonel Sutton to disclose any details,” Bransworth responded formally.
Plouffe’s smile dropped, realizing he faced an idealist, rule-abiding yokel. He would approach Bransworth again in a few months when he tired of being the colonel’s coffee boy. Bransworth might be more pliable by then, or he may have dug up some dirt on the annoying private to use as blackmail. Plouffe pivoted and strode out without another word.
Happy the major stalked away in a minor huff, Bransworth assumed his words hit their mark, driving the self-important jerk out of his hair for at least a little while. Plouffe will soon learn a lesson in frustration if he thinks he will break me, or I will circumvent protocol and provide him with classified data.
Not that he knew where Blain’s unit went. Officially they were classified as on vacation, but Bransworth was smart enough to realize something top secret occurred, especially when Sutton met with a gorgeous blonde in his office two nights ago, after a meeting with General Broderick. Whatever the unit was doing, both the general and the colonel must’ve sanctioned the op. And if they authorized it, it must be right and vital because both those men epitomized honor and duty to country.
Bransworth switched on the monitor, quickly finalized his notes, and printed them out. He stood, turned, unlocked the metal cabinet Plouffe pointed at retrieving the intel file he required. After relocking it, he added his research notes to the folder and smiled because he would have the report on Sutton’s desk by zero six hundred as requested.
From the thermos he brought with him, Bransworth poured coffee into Sutton’s mug, adding two creams and five sugars just the way his CO liked. He took the file and cup to the colonel’s office while wearing a huge smile.
Colonel Sutton’s Office – 0600 Hours
I love my job, Bransworth thought as he placed both the analysis report and the hot coffee on the desk then set his watch alarm for one hour to remind him to bring the colonel a refill. He came to attention as Sutton entered.
“At ease, Bransworth.” He picked up his mug and noted the manila folder. Taking a sip, Tom sat, and a smile grew as he tasted the black gold. He wasn’t as addicted to the stuff as William but starting his day with a piping hot cup of java was always pleasant. “Perfect. Thanks.” Sutton scanned the top paper and glanced up at the private. “Young man, you are going places with research like this.”
Bransworth grinned. “Thank you, sir. If you have any questions, I’ll be at my desk, unless there is something else you need.”
“Nothing for now,” Sutton said as he began to delve into the details. He needed to understand all the particulars before speaking with Suhail Yusuf. Obtaining a foothold in this area would be tricky. He expected it to take many months for Yusuf to gain the trust of the elders in the region. Things here worked so slowly at times.
Tribal allegiances and agreements blew in and out as violent and oppressive as the summer haboobs. However, this operation if done right, might net the biggest fish and forge stronger alliances with the tribal leaders in Y6. The best man for this risky mission had initially lived in Afghanistan before emigrating to Canada. Yusuf understood the culture and was a great asset to covert ops having provided significant intel on previous missions.
Bransworth hesitated to leave, all he possessed was his gut reaction, no proof. What he must say might result in dismissal, but Plouffe’s mannerisms and request this morning didn’t sit well with him, so he lied. He came to attention and said, “Sir.”
Tom stopped reading at Bransworth’s tone. “Yes?”
“I must inform you that Major Plouffe came in before you and he demanded Lieutenant Blain’s unit location. I lied to a superior officer and told him I didn’t have access to the mission files, sir.”
“Why?” Sutton studied Bransworth.
“Honestly, sir, he came off … well … off to me. I had to misdirect the major based on the fact you want the others to believe I only get coffee.”
Breaking into a grin, Sutton said, “Excellent instincts.” Without pausing, as he wanted to protect his aide, he issued a command, “You are now under my direct orders to withhold details regarding unit locations to all ranks below mine, unless I give my consent for you to disclose. If anyone hassles you, refer them to me. Do you understand this order?”
“Yes, sir.” Bransworth acknowledged, breathing easier as he strode out.
Tom leaned back in his chair once the private exited. His mind pondered why Plouffe would come asking about Blaze’s unit. More of the same pain-in-the-ass shit and complaining Plouffe had been doing for months. Grabbing his coffee, he returned to studying the intel. He needed to focus on the prepared communique before his briefing with Yusuf in two hours. Later, if he had the time, he would deal with Plouffe’s annoying request.
After securely shutting the door behind him, Bransworth resumed his seat and pulled several after action reports from his desk drawer. As part of his training, Sutton tasked him with probing old files for anomalies and difference between reported events by various unit members.
One file, in particular, troubled him, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. He examined Mission 547826 a half-dozen times. The unit suffered a fatality and an injury when they searched a possible location for Master Corporal Broderick when he was held captive.
Something didn’t sit right with how Sergeant Gleason died, but Bransworth was damned if he could put his finger on why. He opened another of Gleason’s unit reports, deciding if he gained a better perspective of the men in that unit, perhaps he would be able to discern what bothered him about the other mission.
Sleepless in Makhachkala
21
May 28
Anzhi-Qala Resort – Luxury Suite – Bedroom – 0800 Hours
Run … Danny glanced over his shoulder and shuddered with fear, searching for the tawny gray wolf with amber eyes. Panicked he rushed headlong into the forest oblivious to where he was, only that he must run away or be devoured by the terrifying wolf. “Brock! Help me, Brock.”
Tripping over a fallen log, Danny sprawled out on a layer of pine and spruce needles. Sharp pain spiked in his left ankle, and he bit his lower lip to keep from screaming out. He whimpered as tears welled in his eyes. Crawling, he concealed himself in the bushes as he trembled. “Daddy, come for me. Please, Daddy, don’t let the wolf hurt me again.”
His stomach ached with hunger as he curled up into a tight ball hoping to disappear. His hand moved to his inner right thigh and rubbed where the vicious wolf bit him. Soft whimpers filled the brisk air around him as salty liquid ran in rivulets down his cheeks.
Blinking, his position changed. No longer under bushes but tucked into the corner of one room of a ruin. Parts of the roof still overhead kept the rain off him, but he shivered, cold to the core. He would not make it another night. No more food, the last of the strawberries he foraged consumed days ago. And he lost the tiny makeshift vessel to capture water. Thirsty, hungry, cold, scared, alone, and hope fading his father or Brock would rescue him.
A soft noise brought his weary head up, and he froze as his eyes locked on to the approaching wolf. A strangled whimper emitted and he pulled himself into the smallest ball he could as the white wolf moved toward him. “Daddy
, I’m sorry. I tried to survive until you came for me.” He shut his eyes not wanting to see the fangs of his death. Eyes shot wide open when something warm and furry covered him. He came face to face with an amber-eyed wolf.
Dan shot up in bed, sweat soaking his t-shirt. Images of his nightmare fresh in his mind but unable to place them in reality. He blew out a breath and glanced at Anastasia, luckily his dream didn’t rouse her. Checking the time, he noted he only slept for about three hours.
Lying back down, he strove to calm his racing heart using sniper breathing. He needed sleep, but thoughts of wolves kept rolling in unwanted, keeping him awake. After an hour, he began to drift off again as he determined he would be the Huntsman and save two Little Red Riding Hoods from the Big Bad Wolf.
Cherry Club – Office – 0930 Hours
Busy reviewing his financial data, Panin glanced up at a knock. He motioned to Grigori who stood inside his office to answer and determine who dared bother him before noon. Panin hated to be interrupted when he was working on his spreadsheets.
His foul mood radiated around him this morning. Bread and butter business took a hit due to competition moving into his mainstream prostitution market. The damned Jackals began horning into his territory in addition to the drugs and arms they peddled. He would put a contract out on Radoslav Yegorovich soon, perhaps his twin sister too, since she appeared to be the driving force behind the expansion of their enterprise.
To recoup some of his loss, he must not settle for anything less than top dollar for the Savoy girls. He required a buyer with deep pockets who was willing to pay for virgins. Panin lined up several clients for tonight’s auction. Prince Fakhir Al Sattar would be the likely buyer. The others didn’t possess as much wealth as him. Though the prince typically went for young men between sixteen and twenty-four, he responded to the invitation to attend and gave the impression of being quite interested in acquiring the virgins.
Grigori opened the door slightly and spoke briefly. He turned and reported Boris Antonovich wished a moment to talk with him, having information in which Panin might be interested.
Panin closed the file on his computer and indicated to allow his scout entry. Antonovich worked the clubs and serviced him exceptionally well by spotting lucrative customers for all aspects of his business. He identified Prince Sattar several years ago. Stopping to speak with him could be useful.
Boris entered warily. Panin paid well for services, but he was one crazy bastard and killed if the whim overtook him. Passing information to him was profitable and potentially deadly at the same time. The two he spied on last night had potential to garner him a huge payday.
Conducting business in English to ensure Grigori remained unaware, Panin said, “What is so pressing you must come before afternoon?”
Shifting uncomfortably under the direct glare, Boris shared, “I observed two men who may be of interest to you. I did my research, and both are loaded. One on the surface goes for women, but he made it clear he wanted something younger … much, much younger.”
“Names?” Panin prompted.
“Magic Mike whose real name is Michael Charles Brown Galloway, the heir apparent to the Wildingham barony. And Maksim Gennadiyevich Ivanov, son of Gennadiy Dmitriyevich Ivanov, the oil, banking, and telecom billionaire,” Boris said with a grin which showed two gold-capped teeth.
Panin showed no external response, but internally he became excited, incredibly excited. Galloway, he never forgot. A fortuitous night when his scouts brought the drunken ne’er-do-well to his newly established club. Selling him into slavery had solidified his finances during a rocky period and allowed him to drive out the competition.
He received a premium for the handsome young man. The discriminating couple who purchased him had been two of his best clients. Most generous in their bidding when they desired someone, and they undeniably wanted Baron Wildingham’s only son.
Sometimes he wondered what happened to Magic Mike. The man dropped off the face of the earth after his keepers met with an unfortunate accident and died. Curious as to why he resurfaced so many years later, Panin supposed he had two options. Mike may be a new client, and if not, he could always sell him again. Either way, he would increase his bottom line.
The second reason was Maks. Party boy extraordinaire. He came from filthy rich parents and was said to have hidden deviant tastes. Maks paid well to keep his predilection out of the public eye. Panin believed Maks might be the buyer he was looking for. The man had deep enough pockets to afford them.
Pulling a wad of cash and a fancy card from his desk drawer he motioned for Boris to come closer and handed him the money. “That is for the information.” Then he held the card out. “Give this to one or the other, and if either shows up here tonight, I will pay you double for your efforts.”
Boris took the invitation to the Cherry Club as he smiled. “Yes, sir. I located where Maks is staying while in Makhachkala. I’ll deliver this and ensure he is made aware of what an honor it is to receive such an invitation. I’m sure at least he will show up.” He left the office holding the gilded and embossed card reverently.
Panin sat back in his chair and grinned. He could envision his bottom-line increasing substantially tonight. He rose, deciding it was time to check on his little investment and arrange for the girls to be cleaned up and made ready for presentation to bidders.
Outside Cherry Club – 1000 Hours
Makar nudged Kazimir, and speaking their native Russian, he said. “Wake up. Boris Antonovich is leaving the bordello. He put one of those invitations in his pocket. Let’s follow him and see who Panin invited. We might be able to use this to our advantage somehow and retaliate for cutting us out of the deal. Maybe sell the info to Yegorovich. The Jackals are trying to push Savelievich out of business. He might pay well for the names of people who go to the club.”
“Make the crazy bastard pay for shooting me too,” Kazimir said as he shifted his stinging arm.
“Yeah, that too.” Makar shifted the car into gear to follow Boris.
Anzhi-Qala Resort – Luxury Suite – Balcony – 1000 Hours
Unable to sleep, nightmares featuring things Dan would rather forget, intruded yet again and he decided he didn’t want to wake Anastasia, so he exited the bedroom closing the door behind him. He found Brody sleeping on the couch. The smile on Brody’s face and the location of his hand indicated his brother was enjoying an erotic dream.
He chuckled softly. At least one of us had an excellent dream. Stealthily Dan moved to the mini-fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Starving, he scanned for something to eat. The only thing available was a basket of fruit with an apple. That will have to do for now.
He grabbed the apple and headed for the balcony on aching feet. Part of the nightmare included the bastards whacking the soles of his feet with a two by four as he hung upside down by his ankles. Quietly he opened the sliding door, sat on one of the two chairs on the tiny balcony, and propped his bare feet up on the other. Though he disliked open water, the cool breeze from the Caspian Sea helped to relax him.
As he munched on the juicy fruit, Dan let his mind wander trying to ignore his painful, throbbing feet. He pondered what his life might be like if he had never joined Special Forces. It was Brody’s dream, not his. He would’ve been happy to stay a military police officer.
He chose to be an MP after his stint with the Toronto Police didn’t turn out as planned. If I stuck it out in the Fourteenth Division or moved to another city, would life be different? Would I be married and have kids? Dan snorted. Would I even be alive?
He naively believed all cops were principled. He never understood why everyone turned on him. He did right. Brogan Snow and the other three were the dirty cops, not him. Regardless of the facts, the rest of the officers treated him like the criminal, so he quit, and met Brody in basic training.
Dan smiled. Brody became his first true friend other than Charlie. His relationship with her was short and sweet. She loved Jett, and those two b
elonged together, so he let Charlie go. Sadly, he lost contact with them after high school.
Brody’s a godsend. I can’t imagine my life without him now. There is no one quite like my brother on this earth. No matter how my path might’ve changed by not joining, I would not have wanted to take the journey without Brody.
Though, I wish I could change some of the shit I’ve gone through. Thanks to the bastards who tortured me, my feet ache so much I never want to walk again. One goddamned night wearing shoes without my insoles, and I’m an outright mess. Pathetic! I need to suck it up.
Pissed off his body failed to meet his exacting standards, Dan did his best to hide his pain, but Patch and Brody usually saw right through his shields. He stared at nothing, dwelling on all the damage inflicted on him by barbaric monsters who treated him as less than human.
Cataloging every injury and scar … and all they took from him, Dan knew he would never be a real man again. Sure, things worked below, but that was sex and sex was only part of being a man. Immersed in his pity party, he almost jumped out of his skin when Brody stumbled out, rubbing his eyes.
Brody asked, “What are you doing up so early?”
Glancing at his watch, he wondered where an hour went. He must’ve been deep inside his head for the time to move so quickly. “Not early, it’s eleven.” Dan moved his legs from the extra chair making it available to Brody.
“It is when you’re a playboy and your days begin at eight p.m. and go until four or five in the morning,” Brody groused as he sat. Studying Dan once he removed the sleep out of his eyes, he became concerned. “What’s up?”
Dan sighed, turning his gaze to the waves. He could never hide much from Brody. Sensing Brody’s eyes boring into him, he chose to deflect from disturbing thoughts best hidden. “I’m FINE, okay! My damned feet are aching. My insoles don’t fit in the stupid shoes. Who the hell pays thousands of dollars for shoes that suck? I’m afraid I can’t do another night out at the clubs.”
