“Oh, yeah, right. That’s just what I want,” Snake growled.
“I’m bored already,” Wild Woman griped. “Don’t wish that on us, Cam!”
“Okay, ladies, may the Sharks come out and hunt your butts, then. See you later! I’ll let you know what happens!” Cam couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice. Closing the door, she turned to her right and hurried across the black lava floor of the cave. All around her, the noise of women’s voices as well as the clang of tools being used on the Apaches in the rear of the cave echoed and reechoed.
Wiping her mouth in a nervous gesture, Cam barely paid attention to the activity on the wide lip of the cave, their landing and takeoff point. At this time of morning the clouds were thick, hiding the cave entrance. The sun hadn’t come up yet so the fog hadn’t burned off. Hurrying across the mammoth cave complex to the two-story headquarters building on the other side, Cam felt her heart racing. Had she gotten the secret mission? Had Jenny Wright, the psychologist who worked for Perseus and who had interviewed her awhile back, chosen her to head this one up? Cam hoped so with all her heart and soul. Trying not to run, she hurried toward the steel grate stairs that wound up to the second floor of H.Q., where Major Maya Stevenson, her boss and commanding officer, had her office.
More than anything in the world, Cam wanted this mission. She had to prove to Maya that she was worthy, that she could be counted on not to run from a situation, as she’d run from the crash, leaving her superior behind to be captured.
Wiping her mouth again, she rapidly climbed the steps two at a time, her heavy black boots shaking the staircase in the process. She entered the door at the top, which led to a long passageway lined with open doors. The army personnel who ran the black ops base—those in charge of communications and planning—were all here. Cam hurried down the hall, nodding to various enlisted women as they came and went from their offices.
Cam headed to the last door on the right, Maya’s office. The C.O. was a woman of incredible ability and leadership. Many times Cam wished she had some of the confidence and wisdom her boss had. To Cam, Maya was a role model, someone she nearly worshipped. Though she’d been born in Brazil, Maya had been adopted by an American colonel and his wife early in her life, and had grown up in the United States. But rumor had it that Maya had a very mysterious background. Even her name suggested the mystery inherent in her birth, and pilots of the Black Jaguar Squadron were always whispering about her almost uncanny powers and abilities.
Maya had single-handedly fashioned this black ops out of nothing. She had been one of the first women to take Apache helicopter training at Fort Rucker, Alabama, getting badly burned by gender prejudice in the process. Afterward, she had contacted her father, a U.S. Army general by that time, and gotten him to help her set up the BJS base—a covert operation dedicated to stopping cocaine shipments from leaving Peru, one of the main producers of the drug. He’d agreed, and the rest was history. Now Maya was C.O. of the all-female Black Jaguar Squadron.
Cam had joined Maya when she’d graduated from the next class at Fort Rucker, volunteering to come down to the all-woman base. She’d never for a second regretted her decision.
Halting at Maya’s door, which was open as usual—part of her open-door policy so that anyone who needed to could see her—Cam nervously smoothed the fabric of her black uniform. Then she knocked briefly. “Major Stevenson? You sent for me?”
Maya lifted her head from her desk, which was covered with paperwork. “Yes, come in, Cam.”
Entering, Cam stood at attention. “Reporting as ordered, ma’am.”
“At ease, Cam. Have a seat.” Maya gestured toward a chair in front of the desk. “Oh…close the door?”
Feeling her heartbeat speed up, Cam gulped, did an about-face and closed it. Only rarely did Maya ask that her door be closed. It meant she was going to say something that she didn’t want to be overheard. Was she going to announce that Cam wasn’t getting the mission? Dying inwardly, Cam kept her expression carefully neutral and sat down gingerly in the chair. Placing her hands on her thighs, she waited, holding her breath as Maya placed a bunch of signed orders into her out basket for Sergeant Prater to distribute.
Smiling warmly, Maya set her pen aside and folded her hands in front of her. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your eyes or ears that Morgan Trayhern flew in this morning?”
Grinning a little and feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Cam said, “No, ma’am, it hadn’t escaped me.”
“You know why he’s here?”
“I think so. The new mission is on the table?”
“Very good,” Maya murmured. “I’ve been in conference with Mr. Trayhern and Major York about it.”
Cam blinked. Maya’s large, emerald-green eyes glimmered with mirth. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You know,” she said, pulling a few files off a teetering stack to her right and placing them in front of her, “that three of you were interviewed by Jenny Wright, the Perseus psychologist, for this mission?”
“Yes, Storm Queen and Pele were interviewed, too.”
“Right.” Maya slowly opened Cam’s file, revealing a color photo of her stapled on the left side. “We’ve reviewed everything, Cam. I know none of you knew what the mission was about, and that was done on purpose. Ms. Wright knew the schematic on it, and conferred with Morgan and myself about the three of you. You were all good, strong candidates for the position.”
Heart sinking, Cam knotted her hands on her thighs. Maya was going to tell her she hadn’t gotten the mission. Straightening her spine, she tried to hide her disappointment. It was so important to her to have Maya look upon her as trustworthy once more. Since that horrific crash landing, Maya had never again flown with Cam. Which was unusual, because she routinely flew missions with all her pilots from time to time.
Lifting her head, she pinned Cam with her gaze and smiled. “We’ve chosen you to head up this mission, Cam. We felt you were the best qualified for it. Congratulations.” Maya rose and extended her hand.
Blinking, Cam stared at her superior. Then she leaped to her feet and thrust out her own hand.
“Thanks, Major! Thanks so much! You have no idea what this means to me,” she whispered, her voice raspy with sudden, unexpected tears. Cam quickly pushed them away by taking several gulping swallows. Pumping Maya’s hand rapidly, she continued, “You won’t regret your decision, ma’am. I promise you you won’t. Thanks for the chance…the opportunity…I won’t fail you this time. I swear I won’t….”
Easing her hand away, Maya stood there looking at Cam. The pilot’s face glowed with relief, with joy. Her green eyes swam with tears she was desperately trying to force back. Maya knew Cam needed to prove herself again.
“Listen to me, Cam,” she murmured gently, “this mission is not about you proving yourself to me or anyone else. If I didn’t think you had what it took in the first place, I’d have chosen someone else, so let’s get over that hurdle, okay?”
Choking back her tears, which she knew were not appropriate, Cam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.” Her heart was soaring. She felt giddy, almost dizzy, and so relieved. She saw respect in Maya’s eyes, sincerity in her expression, and Cam was so surprised and delighted she could barely sit still in the chair. Opening and closing her hands, she whispered, “Thanks for letting me do this. It means so much to me….”
“I know it does,” Maya said gently. Giving her a brief smile, she looked down at a red-and-white-striped folder labeled Top Secret. Picking it up, she handed the folder across the desk to Cam. “Here’s your mission. Everything you’ll need to know.”
Feeling like an exuberant puppy, Cam laid the file in her lap and opened it with trembling hands. Immediately the text blurred before her eyes, and she self-consciously wiped away the tears. She didn’t dare cry in front of Maya. Not now. Cam had to show her C.O. that she was up for this assignment, no matter what it entailed.
“This mission is going to be the hardest one yo
u’ve ever said yes to,” Maya warned in a dark tone. “Let’s go to the briefing room. Morgan Trayhern is waiting to talk to you about it.”
Chapter 2
“Cam, I want you to meet Morgan Trayhern. He owns Perseus, a top secret company that interfaces with the CIA and many other agencies around the world.”
Cam smiled and gripped Morgan’s hand. “Mr. Trayhern, this is an honor,” she said, meeting his warm blue gaze and his smile. Morgan Trayhern was a living legend. He had been a marine captain in the closing days of the Vietnam War. Since then, he had risen to heady heights within the secret, black operations world by his success with his covert agency, which provided much-needed assistance to democratic countries all over the world. He had a knack for employing some of the best men and women from the military as mercenaries to help people in trouble. And now Cam was gripping his firm, powerful hand. She was giddy with excitement.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cam,” Morgan said, releasing her hand. “And congratulations on being chosen for this mission. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a row of chairs that faced a blank white wall.
“Yes, sir.”
Maya sat next to Cam. She handed her a folder that had been sitting on the table in front of them. “You’ll need this, too. Morgan? You ready?”
“Yep.” Moving to one end of the table, he flipped open a laptop computer and pushed a button. The wall became a viewing screen for a slide presentation.
Cam’s heart raced with excitement. She had gotten the mission! She’d been chosen! Joy warred with anxiety within her chest. More than anything, she wanted to prove that she was worthy of her C.O.’s belief and trust in her. Compressing her lips, she listened as Morgan’s low, deep voice filled the small room.
“Major Stevenson has given you two files,” he said. “The first is an overview of the mission. The second has photos, biographies and fitness reports of the three Apache pilots you’re going to be responsible for training in interdiction in northern Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Cam said, looking at Maya.
“Yeah, northern Mexico,” she repeated with a smile. “Right on the border with California. Lucky you. Maybe when things iron out, you can head to San Diego and kick up your heels. Do a little partying in your spare time.” Maya knew that many of the BJS pilots longed to go back to the U.S. from time to time. Living in the humid Peruvian jungle year in and year out, in constant combat mode, took a heavy toll on each of them. Maya started to enforce a thirty-day vacation for her pilots each year so they wouldn’t get too homesick. Three years of duty with no downtime wasn’t good.
Looking at Cam’s face, lit up now with a glow of pleasure, Maya smiled. “And your home state of Oregon isn’t that far from there,” she added, reading her mind.
“I know!” Cam exclaimed happily. She gripped the open folder on her lap. “It’s real close!”
“Well, first things first. Congratulations, you’re going to be the commanding officer of this mission, so who knows? When things are quiet, you might put one of your other pilots—your executive officer probably—in charge, and you can take off for a weekend and visit your family in Oregon. Anything is possible once you get this mission on track.”
Morgan smiled. “Major Stevenson, who is used to commanding, makes this sound easy, Cam. Leading is the hardest work you’ll ever learn how to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Cam said, looking at him. Morgan was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore civilian clothes—charcoal-gray slacks, hiking boots, a red polo shirt. His black hair was cut military short, the silver at his temples lending his handsome face a frame for those lively blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She smiled at him as he cocked his head and gazed at her almost as if he were looking through her. Ordinarily, Cam would have felt invaded, uncomfortable, but she didn’t now. Maya had that same ability, and Cam never felt threatened by it, either. Maybe good leaders had that quality of being able to look into the heart and mind of their people in a nurturing way, to see what they were made of.
“You said ‘commanding officer’?” Cam asked in surprise.
“Yes, that’s you,” Morgan murmured with a smile. He pressed a button on the laptop. “You may recognize this place. It’s Tijuana, Mexico—a huge, sprawling city on the U.S. border, right across from San Diego. This is where you’re going.” He pressed the button again.
“There’s a small Mexican Air Force base just beyond the southern outskirts of Tijuana. Two Apache Longbow helicopters are going to be flown in from the States for your use. Your mission, Cam, is to be C.O. for a small contingent of Mexican helicopter pilots who are just now graduating from flight school at Fort Rucker.”
Her brows rose in surprise, but she tamped down her desire to ask questions.
“Two of the three pilots are Mexican nationals. The third—” Morgan pressed the button “—has dual citizenship, from the USA and Mexico. He’s Chief Warrant Officer Gustavo Phillipe Morales.”
Cam looked up as a color slide flashed across the wall. The man who stared back at her made her heart thump hard. About six feet tall, medium-boned and athletic, he was dressed in a dark green, one-piece army flight uniform. Looking deadly serious, he stood in front of an olive-green Apache helicopter, his helmet dangling loosely from his long, tanned fingers.
Gulping, Cam quickly perused the man’s photo. There was something arresting, beckoning and frightening about him, all at the same time. His face was square, his jaw set and his mouth thinned into a hard, single line. Thick, straight brows sat over his cinnamon-colored eyes. It was his eyes, with their huge black pupils, that drew Cam the most. The eyes of a predator. But then, she reminded herself, all gunship pilots had to have that “look.” If they didn’t, they weren’t going to cut it in combat. Morales’s eyes had that gleam of a hunter looking for its prey.
Her pulse raced momentarily. His black hair was cut short, with a few rebellious straight strands dipping over his broad, unwrinkled brow. With his high cheekbones and hawklike nose, he definitely had the face of an Indian, and he reminded Cam of an Incan god she had seen carved in stone on some ancient frieze somewhere. Gustavo Morales had sharp angles and rough edges, giving Cam the impression that he’d been around the block and taken a lot of beatings, but learned from each experience. She saw confidence and pride radiating from him. Just the way Morales stood, with one hand propped on his narrow hip, his helmet in the other, spoke of his certainty about himself and his abilities.
“Warrant Morales,” Morgan intoned, “is U.S. Army, Cam. Though his mother was Yaqui Indian, from northern Mexico, his father is a colonel in the U.S. Army, currently stationed in Afghanistan with a top secret contingent of Apache pilots working behind the lines to hunt down the Taliban.”
“They’re over there?”
Morgan nodded grimly. “Yes. But that piece of info goes nowhere.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“You should consider Morales as executive officer material, Cam. He’s twenty-five years old, and he’s been in the army for four years. He’s an ace helo pilot—he grew up flying with his dad. He speaks Spanish as fluently as you do. I believe, as does Major Stevenson, that he’ll be a key player in making this mission work, even though you’re in charge.”
“How so, sir?”
“Let’s put it delicately, Cam,” Morgan said, giving her a droll look. “The other two officers, both lieutenants with the Mexican Air Force, are…well, for lack of a better word, somewhat biased about women having a lead role. In the Mexican military, there are no women combat pilots.”
“These two Mexican pilots are supposed to be the cream of the crop,” Maya added. “At least, that’s what their general is telling us.”
Morgan pressed the button and their pictures were projected on the wall.
“Lieutenants Antonio Zaragoza and Luis Dominguez did okay at Fort Rucker and learned to fly the Apache,” Maya assured her.
“But,” Morgan warned, “these men come from a country where most women are still kept
barefoot and pregnant. The only way they relate to females is as mothers and lovers.”
“Yeah,” Maya growled. “So you’ve got your work cut out for you, Cam. These two dudes are not going to want to accept you as C.O. or even listen to your wise counsel, no matter how much more experienced you are as a combat pilot.”
“I see….” Cam murmured. “And Warrant Morales? He’s been raised in a gender-neutral environment, where women are accepted in leadership roles?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “Which is one of the many reasons Chief Morales was chosen for this duty. He isn’t aware of why he was chosen. He’ll find that out from you once you arrive at the base in Tijuana.”
“Yaqui Indians,” Maya told her, “have a matriarchal society, and women are considered equal to men. Morales has been steeped in a tradition where women are accepted as being just as strong, smart and effective as any male.”
“That’s good,” Cam said, relieved.
“You’re going to have your hands full,” Morgan warned her gravely. “These are green students who have just learned the basics of day and night flying techniques. They know nothing of interdiction duties, especially in the dark. That’s where you come in. We want you to build a schooling program around them, starting with day flights, and then working in night operations. We all know night flying is more dangerous, but unfortunately, the president of Mexico does not want Apaches flying around where people can see them. He’s afraid it will scare the populace.”
“So,” Maya said, pointing to the screen as a picture of high-desert terrain was shown, “during the day, you’re going to fly your boys into the hills along the Baja coastline and out over the Pacific. There’re plenty of mountains and hills for you to play hide ‘n seek in, to train them on the finer points of interdiction.”
“And then you’ll train them in on night interdiction, once they’ve got the basics and you’re confident of their skills,” Morgan said.
“So bottom line, I’m running an advanced interdiction flight school.”
An Honorable Woman Page 2
