Forged by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  Shaking my head to dispel that line of thought, I sat in my chair and spun back and forth as I thought about last night. Sleeping with Jordon had been everything I had imagined and more. Both tender and forceful, he had dominated our lovemaking; something I was not used to, but had enjoyed immensely.

  I had slept soundly last night, not plagued by the usual nightmares. Jordon calmed me in a way that was hard to describe.

  I had also told him that I love him, with little hesitation. But he already knew how I felt without being told.

  Nice one, boy-o…

  Chapter 10

  Jackson paced in his cabin, thinking back to the phone call he’d made late last night after an exhausted Beatrice finally fell asleep.

  A terse voice answered on the second ring. “Roberts.”

  “It’s Jackson.”

  “I expected your call hours ago.”

  “Well, I’m calling now. Rozalina managed to give us enough of a description that we got a name. Anton Ivanov. Ring any bells?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes. I’ll be in touch.” The dial tone sounded loud in his ear.

  Roberts could be up to anything, merely getting a file together or assembling their contacts and instructions for a mission. Checking the time, Jackson left the cabin and headed to the mess hall and war room.

  Opening the door, he found everyone gathered around the big table—Jones, with his ever-present cowboy hat pulled low; Rook, looking tired and stressed; Jordon, seated next to Mic, as usual; and Flynn and Pierce looking like twins, arms crossed over their chests, waiting patiently.

  Striding to the head of the table, Jackson leaned down and pressed both palms to the smooth surface. The silver stars on the wall were a silent reminder of what was at stake. The newest addition, Phillips’s star, was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

  The door opened. Every head swiveled toward the noise and Jackson ground his teeth in frustration. A man entered, dressed casually in jeans, cotton t-shirt, and wool pea coat. A lit cigarette dangled from his fingertips.

  “Good morning,” the man said.

  “And who the actual fuck are you?” Mic rose, snapping at him.

  “Sit down, Staff Sergeant.”

  The asshole’s expression indicated that he’d just dismissed her without a second thought. You could have knocked her over with a feather, she was so shocked. Jordon grabbed her by the back of her pants and pulled her down.

  “This is Roberts,” Jackson snarled. “I didn’t know he was coming today. Or ever. Thanks for the notice. To put it simply, he’s my boss.”

  “You better sit as well, Jackson. Everyone needs to listen. Hello, Matthew. I see you’re faring well.” Rook gave him the finger and hunkered further down into his chair. Mic’s head whipped over to Rook and understanding flickered, the bright red of her healing scar stark against her pale face.

  Roberts took another deep drag on his cigarette and propped one ass cheek on the table. “Okay, so I got Jackson’s report last night. And the name you dug up. I’m here to tell you all in no uncertain fucking terms. You are not going to Russia. Now or ever.”

  “What the fuck?” Mic shouted as she stood again. Rage painted her face red and her hands curled into white-knuckled fists.

  “Sit down, right now.” Roberts’s voice was cold and firm. Authority straightened his back into a rigid stance. “Jackson may put up with your attitude and insubordination, but I will not. Sit. Down.” His mask of casual ease was slipping, showing the man beneath. Mic sat in a huff. Jackson was surprised that her glare didn’t set Roberts on fire.

  Rook leaned forward, eyeing the man with distaste. “Explain, Roberts. We have a lot at stake in Russia.”

  “The political climate there is deteriorating rapidly. Relations are as bad as they’ve been since the Cold War. The President and the Joint Chiefs are not willing to set off a war for the sake of some Russian and Ukrainian girls who should have known better than to answer a want ad promising freedom and wealth in the land of milk and honey. Not exactly diplomatic, but there it is.” He finished his cigarette, looking around for an ashtray. When Jackson slid his over, Roberts stubbed the smoke out so hard, the glass clacked against the hardwood table.

  “There are no other options?” Jackson asked. “Even going over in total secrecy? You know we can do it, Roberts.”

  “No. The Russian mob is unique, very different from the Italian or American varieties. It’s completely integrated into the government. They’re co-dependent on each other for their survival. Their laws don’t even allow for a definition of what organized crime is in Russia. To take out the mob is to take out Russia itself.”

  “Who says that would be a bad thing?” Flynn couldn’t resist tossing his two cents in.

  “I assume you’re just being facetious and not serious?” Roberts shot back.

  “Oh, big words,” Flynn countered. “Might be too much for my poor small brain to comprehend.”

  “None of you are idiots; you wouldn’t be here if you were. Give up this mission. It’s not happening. Matthew can tell you what it’s like to operate in Russia.” Roberts stepped back from the table and dipped both hands deep into his pockets, fiddling with change or something and rocking back and forth on his heels.

  “What’s to stop us from going anyway?” Mic asked coldly. She was furious, as mad as Jackson had ever seen her.

  “If you go, you will be arrested and executed as traitors,” Roberts calmly informed them while shrugging.

  “You’ve heard the decision; Russia is a no-go. Get out of here, all of you,” Jackson ordered. He stood silently as they each left the room, Mic tapping Phillips’s star on the way out as was her habit.

  “How do you put up with that bitch?” Roberts scoffed. Jackson lunged for him, wrapping his big hand around the smaller man’s throat.

  “She’s a sight better to deal with than the likes of you. You forget, I know the secrets; I know where the bodies are buried and in which closet the skeletons hang. Don’t test me, Roberts.” Jackson practically spit into his face. Squeezing Roberts’s throat just a little tighter, he enjoyed seeing his face turn red. Then he sighed in disgust, releasing the man to fall to the floor. The stink of stale cigarette smoke and fast food was coming off him in waves, curling Jackson’s lip in disgust. “Get the fuck off my compound before I do something we’ll both regret.” He stepped over the piece of shit and left the room.

  Jackson realized that he may have just committed career suicide and he wasn’t sure that he cared anymore. There were a lot of things that the team didn’t know. Secrets and manipulations that were carried out by Roberts and forced onto Jackson; who, in turn, was given no choice but to perpetuate the lies.

  The time had come for him to decide how to move forward. He had Beatrice to think about now. If he took steps in the right direction, toward the truth, their lives would be irrevocably changed.

  ****

  I strode to my cabin; fury boiled within me. You need to calm down, I thought, even as I kicked the door open.

  And the day had started so good, too... well sort of, if you left out the fire last night.

  I sat heavily on my bed, gripping the mattress hard in my hands, only to jump up a second later. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I sent out a group message… to everyone but Jackson.

  Mic: Report to my cabin at twenty-one hundred hours.

  Responses from the team pinged seconds later.

  Jones: Copy.

  Flynn: ;) oh yeah!

  Jordon: Copy.

  Pierce: Affirmative.

  Rook: Okay.

  My hand was being forced, but this was not something I could order the men to do. It would be on a volunteer basis only, and it needed to be unanimous.

  I flopped backward on my bed, the stress of my decision twisting my stomach. I swallowed it down. We were Steel. It was our job to push boundaries and defy convention.

  A heavy knock on my front door seconds before it opened had me sitting up quickly. I st
rode into the living room to greet him. The only person who would come into my cabin without permission was standing there in front of me.

  “When are you meeting with the men?” Jackson asked, in his usual mind-reading way.

  “Tonight. Twenty-one hundred.” I didn’t bother lying; it was pointless.

  “I have some things to say.” He was even more curt than normal.

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for him to leave.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know. A lot none of you know.”

  “I got that. Sir.” I was as snide as possible.

  “Until tonight then.” He slammed the door on his way out. I wasn’t sure what Jackson expected from me, but a warm and fuzzy reception wasn’t going to fucking happen. Digging into my closet again, I retrieved my duffel and left it on the bed.

  I decided to blow off some steam in the gym. I was sure I would find the team there as well. We were all anxious and on edge. Pummeling each other in the ring would be a perfect way to pass the time.

  ****

  “Beatrice, I need to talk to you,” Jackson said from the doorway of the kitchen where she was prepping for dinner. It had only taken her an afternoon to get it cleaned and as back to normal as possible. The new stove had been delivered and hooked up, though the backsplash and exhaust hood were still stained black.

  “What is it, Fisher? I need to get this finished.” She waved her knife at him and went back to chopping vegetables.

  “It’s important. Dinner can wait. Come into the war room. Please.” He remembered to add the “please” as an afterthought. Pissing her off wouldn’t help his cause.

  “Okay; if it’s important. I’ll be there in a second.” She ignored him and went back to chopping the row of carrots she was working on.

  Settling in the war room, he tried to remain calm as he waited. The weight on his shoulders was immense; he felt like Atlas holding up the world, but it was so much more than that. He knew that once he began talking, the floodgates would open. His words had the potential to destroy Steel Corps at its root. Honor demanded this sacrifice.

  Beatrice came in, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Fisher?” Her concern was evident; he must look terrible. He pulled her down into his lap. He wrapped both arms tightly around her and tucked his face into her chest, letting her softness and sweet smell surround him for a moment.

  “I have something to tell you, something… terrible. I just hope that when my story is finished, you’ll still care about me. Still love me.” He begged her with his eyes to understand, to believe in him.

  “Whatever it is, I’m not going anywhere.” She kissed him softly and he savored her taste. It might be the last time he got the chance.

  Talking quietly, he told her his tale, keeping his head pressed against her chest as he spoke.

  Chapter 11

  I stood at my cabin window staring out into the darkness, watching the snow softly fall onto the compound. Jordon was at my side, silently supporting me. I knew he would go where I did, no matter the consequences. Roberts was delusional if he thought he had the skills and resources to find us if we chose to disappear.

  “Bea, what’s happening?” Jordon held my hand as we waited for the others to arrive.

  “I don’t know, Jordon. But I’m going to find out.” I squeezed his hand and released it as figures approached through the darkness and snow.

  The team came inside, stomping the snow off their boots, and hanging up their coats. The mood was somber and quiet. There was a tension in the air that I could almost grasp. We were standing at a crossroad. The decision we made tonight would affect the rest of our lives.

  “So Mic, what’s with the pow-wow?” Flynn asked, and I sighed heavily.

  Rook took a seat in my recliner. “This is about Roberts and Russia, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. I am not your Staff Sergeant tonight. Right now, I’m an equal in this. Whatever we decide tonight must be unanimous.” I stood with my back to the window, crossing my arms over my chest. My rib was still a bit tight and the bandages on my face itched horribly. The last week had been a marathon of gigantic proportions, both physically and emotionally.

  “Understood,” Pierce said. He fist bumped Flynn, who nodded and exhibited an unusual amount of patience.

  As I was about to continue, the door opened and Jackson strode in. I had known he was coming; but the others showed surprise, then guilt, at being caught meeting without him.

  “Good; you’re all here,” Jackson said, leaning his back against the door. His shoulders nearly spanned the entire width of it.

  Jones eyed him warily. “What’s going on?”

  “Everyone needs to listen to me; hear me out before you say anything. There are some things that you don’t know. That you were never supposed to know. I’m going to tell you and let you make up your own minds about what you do with the information.” Jackson’s voice was strange. I’d never heard him speak with a tone like this. Sad and a little afraid.

  “Steel Corps is not what you think it is.” We stared at him in mute confusion. “You were all recruited on the premise that you’d be operating under the direct orders of the President and the Department of Defense. The truth is, the President and the Joint Chiefs don’t even know you exist. You are all employed by the CIA.” Jaws dropped, curses flew, and anger began to heat up the room.

  “You have not been sent on missions in the interest of the country or our own desires. Most of your missions have been politically motivated only. Case in point—Colombia. Yes, the Fernando Cartel needed taking care of, but it was done as a favor to the Colombia government in exchange for their silence about gold mining operations owned by umbrella corporations within our government. Not only do these mines operate illegally, but the employees work under horrendous conditions. It was all a cover-up.”

  I stepped forward, moving to lunge at Jackson’s throat. A strong hand gripping the back of my shirt stopped my forward progress. Rage clouded my vision.

  Phillips had died for nothing…

  “Calm down, Mic. Let him finish.” Rook released my shirt and stepped back.

  Jackson nodded in thanks before continuing. “I found out soon after you got home. This wasn’t the only mission that was carried out under the premise of helping people. Nearly every mission you’ve been on has had direct political motives. Russia won’t happen because there is nothing to be gained for the U.S. politically or diplomatically.” Jackson finished talking, bracing for the impact that was sure to come.

  “Phillips died for gold mines?” Flynn’s voice was calm, but his face could have been carved from granite. He stepped closer to Jackson, feet shoulder width apart, balanced in a fighter’s stance. Years of military training and respect for officers was the only thing keeping him from attacking Jackson outright.

  “Flynn…” Pierce cautioned.

  “No! This is not happening!” He shouted, screaming his rage at Jackson. “You lied to us? For what? What fucking kickbacks are you getting, Jackson?” Flynn took another step, and then one more, until he was right in Jackson’s space.

  “None. I deserve your anger and even your hatred.” Jackson was stoic and firm, taking the abuse Flynn continued to throw at him.

  “Jackson, why now? Why tell us?” Jones spoke up, pushing his hat higher up on his head, most likely to make sure his view was completely unobstructed.

  “Because… I want you to go to Russia. Even though the missions have been commissioned for other reasons, the spirit in which you executed them is the same. You operate with honor and integrity and I know to ask you to forget about those girls in Mexico goes against everything all of you stand for and believe in.”

  “So, you want us to put not just our lives, but our honor, on the line?” Pierce asked incredulously. “If we go, we’ll be labeled traitors and have to spend the rest of our lives on the run from our own government.”

  I was still unable to speak. I was confused, hurt, and en
raged. I would talk when I could open my mouth and have something coherent come out.

  “Yeah,” Jackson admitted. “You risk your lives on every mission. That is nothing new.”

  Jordon growled, and his voice was as angry as the rest of ours. “You’d have a valid point if dying on the battlefield wasn’t so different from being executed as a traitor.”

  “True enough. I’ll leave you to decide. If you go to Russia, I’ll make available any resources I can, for as long as I can.” Jackson put his hand on the doorknob, turning to leave.

  “Helping us won’t absolve you in our eyes. I know I can speak for the others on this. If we go to Russia, and if we make it out alive, you’re still dead to us. At least, to me, but from the sound of things, I think my men agree with me.” My voice was cold even to my own ears. Jackson’s face fell; I think he’d held out hope that maybe we wouldn’t hate him. “Be good to my aunt or I’ll kill you. Now get the fuck out.”

  Chapter 12

  Pierce was sitting on my couch, his head cradled in his hands. Dread filled the air around us with a nearly physical presence. Flynn leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, and his leg jumping in impatience.

  “What now?” Jones asked. The levelheaded sniper was red-faced and pacing.

  “This needs to be a collective decision. I’m not going to order anyone to do anything.”

  Jordon kept his post behind me, his palm warm on my shoulder. I was grateful for his support, even though I didn’t need it.

  Rook surprised us all by saying, “I can get us into Russia. I just need to make a call.”

  “How?” Flynn’s hands rhythmically squeezed into tight, white-knuckled fists.

  “I spent a fair amount of time there. You know that. I have contacts within Spetsnaz.”

  For the second time that night, a bomb fell into our laps.