by J. B. Havens
“Get Doc Hamilton,” Rook said as he bent and began administering first aid.
“I’d rather let this bastard bleed out.” I spat near his twitching feet, contempt sharpening my tone. Wesley was screaming unintelligible curses at us, fury and pain making his words impossible to understand.
Rook was crouched over Wesley’s leg, applying steady pressure to the struggling man. “I agree; but that’s not who we are. Get the doctor.”
Pulling out my phone, I sent Doc Hamilton a text, telling him to get his ass to the hangar ASAP.
Wesley was screaming pitifully, clutching his leg and fighting Rook, slapping at his hands and twisting around.
“Knock it the fuck off; he’s trying to help you.” I smacked his hands to the side and put pressure on the wound so Rook could get the first aid kit. His blood, warm and sticky, seeped between my fingers.
“Fuck you; get off me!” He thrashed about, making his wound worse. My fist connected with his chin, causing his teeth to audibly slam together. His eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
“Thanks, that was helpful. Makes my job easier,” Rook muttered from where he was cutting most of the leg off Wesley’s pants.
I stepped away, shaking my aching hand as shock hit my own system. The raw meat smell of blood and tissue was stuck in my nose and Wesley’s blood was getting tacky on my hands. I seemed to always have someone else’s blood on my hands. It was getting tiresome—I was getting sick of cleaning it off my skin. And no matter how much I scrubbed, a little bit remained behind. Each drop of blood was taking a heavier toll on me, staining me with its weight.
The sound of the hangar door slamming open drew my attention. Jones and Pierce ran inside, their sidearms un-holstered and held forward as they scanned the room for targets.
“Put them up, guys. The threat’s been taken care of.”
Jordon came in mere seconds behind them and Flynn stormed from the jet.
“So I see,” Pierce griped.
“Hey, it wasn’t me this time. Rook is the one who shot him.”
Once again the hangar door flew open and a very irate Jackson burst into the room.
“What the fuck! Dammit, can’t you go a week without killing or maiming someone?” Jackson roared as he marched closer to me with determined strides.
“Nah, I like the smell of blood too much. And no one died this time.” I couldn’t help but smart off.
“Rook, you want to explain what happened here?” Jackson asked as Doc Hamilton ran into the room, a heavy medical bag slung over his shoulder.
Not caring that Jackson was ignoring me, I walked over to where the others were gathered, go-bags resting near their feet.
“So Mic, what’s the plan now?” Pierce asked.
“No change, just a delay. That fucker over there is Wesley McIntosh. He’s a guard here. Apparently, he was best buddies with none other than Andrew Riley. He’s pissed Riley is dead and wanted to kill me. Can you secure the vest before Hamilton starts working on him?”
Pierce added himself to the group surrounding the injured man. Pulling out his knife, he cut the strap off the vest and carefully slid it off of Wesley’s body.
“You’ve got a way with people, Mic. You keep attracting fans wherever you go,” Jones added.
“Gee, thanks. It must be my charming personality,” I sneered. “Once the doc gets that meat bag out of here, load up on the jet. We’re going forward as planned, unless there is an objection?”
“No problem here. Do you think Jackson is just going to let you leave right now, though?” Pierce asked.
“He won’t stop me. I’m confident of that.” I returned to where Doc Hamilton was huddled over Wesley. “Is he going to make it, Doc?”
“Most likely. I just need to stabilize him, then we can transport him to the hospital. I don’t have the equipment to care for him here. What did he do to piss you off, Mic?”
“He tried to kill me,” I answered, rolling my eyes. Wasn’t it fucking obvious?
“Besides that, smart ass,” Jackson barked at me.
“He was close with Riley. He blames me for his friend’s death. Tried to take his vengeance out on my hide,” I explained.
“Making friends all over the place, huh?” Doc Hamilton asked. I didn’t bother answering; it wasn’t really a question anyway. Doc finished wrapping a long swath of gauze around Wesley’s leg, tying it firmly. “Okay; he should be good to go. We need to hurry; he’s lost a lot of blood.” He waved us over, needing assistance with getting Wesley into a truck. I raised my hands and stepped back, refusing to help. Jones and Jordon came forward and picked the psychotic jackass up. “Load him in gently. Don’t aggravate the wound.”
I left them to it, wanting no part in aiding that man’s recovery.
Chapter 14
Two hours later, I stood in the narrow doorway of Wesley’s room in the barracks. Unlike most of the guards, he had little to no personal effects scattered about. No posters of swimsuit models or mementos from home. Just a small framed photograph of himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Riley, arms slung around each other, hamming it up for the camera.
I wondered briefly who took the picture, but my thoughts were interrupted by Pierce’s surprised shout.
“Mic, look at this.” He lifted up the mattress and box springs, propping them against the wall. Under the bed was a framed out plywood box, full to the brim of weapons and explosives.
“How the fuck did he get this much and we didn’t notice?” I was furious; this shouldn’t have been possible.
“He didn’t get it here. I don’t stock these kinds of explosives. What I do have, I keep a careful count of. He didn’t steal this stuff from us.” Pierce was lifting rifles out and passing them to me. First came an AK-47; while it was a reliable weapon, we didn’t use it. Next came two M-4’s and a selection of handguns.
“What the fuck was he planning to do with all this?”
“Kill us all by the looks of it.” Pierce was holding up heavy-duty body armor. It was black and fitted with ammo pouches and knee and elbow pads, along with a matching helmet. “This is riot gear.” Reaching in to get the ceramic plate, he instead found a steel plate—heavy but effective.
“Why wouldn’t he just use his own armor?” All guards were issued body armor, just like we wore. I kept going, thinking aloud. “This gear is much different than ours; we wouldn’t recognize him in this get-up. Then after it was all over, he could strip it off and blend right back in. Viola! Disappear in plain fucking sight.” I kicked the helmet across the room and out into the hallway.
“It gets better.” Pierce handed me a stack of photographs. Most were of my aunt and me, but there were a few of the men. He’d been watching us for a long time, tracking our movements. Many of the photos were taken before we’d gone to Mexico.
“Fuck. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” I dropped the pictures on the floor, where they spread out in a splash of color, then left the barracks, my mind a riot of thoughts.
I didn’t want to go just yet; I needed to make sure that Wesley was locked up for good. I couldn’t disappear and leave this mess behind. I wasn’t worried too much for Jackson, but I didn’t want Aunt Beatrice in danger.
I hurried back to the hangar where I hoped Jackson was still waiting. I tucked my hands deep into my pockets as I made the long walk. My leg ached with every step—I felt the cold acutely on my sensitive healing skin. Such an odd sensation.
Reaching the hangar, I opened the door, my eyes landing on Jackson. He was sitting on the benches, hands folded in his lap, looking very much like he was prepared to sit there for as long as it took.
“Jackson.”
“What now?” He didn’t move, his stillness unnerving me.
“Wesley had a cache of weapons in his room. Not ours. He got them somewhere else. There might be another player in this.”
“I doubt that very much. The other guards that I’ve spoken to said he kept to himself. Didn’t make an
y other friends here. They reported that after Riley’s death, he became even more withdrawn.”
“You need to be aware. I don’t want my aunt in danger.”
Jackson surged to his feet and got in my face.
“What?” I snapped. The little patience I had was wearing dangerously thin.
“You don’t think I can protect your aunt?” His eyes were close to my own, full of too many emotions to even guess at. However, his eyes didn’t reveal anything; his face was a stony mask.
“Alone? Against someone capable of supplying Wesley with weapons and explosives? No, I don’t.”
“I’ll have his phone records in a few hours. If—and I stress if—there is a threat, I will handle it. By all accounts, he acted alone. After he’s stabilized, he’ll be transferred to Leavenworth where he’ll spend the rest of his life. If he’s lucky.” He paused, running his hands down his face. “Still leaving for Russia?” He asked. I didn’t bother to deny it. He may have betrayed us and dug Phillips’s grave, but Jackson was not stupid.
“Yes.” My one-word answer did not appear to faze him in the least.
He crossed his hands over his chest. “When?”
“As soon as the team gets back from taking that dip-shit to the hospital.” I considered telling him to fuck off, but it was his jet…for the moment.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. Or more accurately, fuck no.” I cut off his next words with a slash of my hand. Whatever he was selling, I wasn’t buying. “Whatever words are about to fall out of your pie-hole, eat them. You can keep your reasoning, your apologies, and your justifications. They are wasted on me.” I turned my back and strode to the jet, determined to leave him behind. His big hand gripped my arm, jerking me to a stop.
“That’s enough, Staff Sergeant! Phillips’s death is not my fault! It’s that fucker Riley’s fault or Diego’s, but not mine. I have my share of sins to carry, but that is not one I’m going to haul around. If you’re going, I am too. That’s all there is to it. I can open doors that you won’t even see.”
I knocked his hand off my arm and kept walking. I froze, a sudden thought hitting me. “Why aren’t you stopping us?”
“Because you need to go. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I can’t be around you. Take care of my aunt. That’s all I have to say. I’m done.” I climbed the steps to the jet and sat down to wait for the others. I was more than furious with Jackson; I was hurt. I had trusted him more than anyone else I knew; and his betrayal cut deep.
I heard Jackson curse loudly and slam the door of the hangar behind him. There was a finality to the sound that was hard to explain. I would never see Jackson again. I knew that my anger was fueling me; but when it faded, sorrow and regret would be left in its wake. This mission was propelling me forward into new territory, unsupported by Jackson or my government. I could admit my fear, but my course would not be changed. There was no going back—for me, or for any of us.
****
I gathered the men around the table in the jet. We were tense, and the air felt different. We were cut off and on our own. We’d taken off with no issues and were now on our way to Russia, for better or worse; our course was set.
Rook finished his call and disconnected before pulling the battery and breaking the phone into pieces.
“Okay guys, time to make a plan. Rook, what have you got for us?” I asked.
“We’re going to land at Bykovo Airport,” he explained. “It’s no longer a passenger airport. There’s a factory there now that uses the runway for cargo plane deliveries. I would normally suggest ditching the jet and getting in on a cargo plane, but this airport is located very close to the town of Zhukovsky, which is an aviation hub for Russia. Lots of research goes on there.”
“So a private jet coming in won’t garner much interest?” Pierce asked.
“Exactly right. We’ll land, and my contact will meet us there and get us to a safe house,” Rook said. “Jones, pull it up on a satellite.”
With a few quick clicks, Jones had a map side-by-side with the most recent satellite photographs of the area.
“How close are we to Moscow?” I asked, assuming we’d need to go there to find Anton.
“Only about twenty-five miles away. Zhukovsky is what we’d think of as a suburb of Moscow,” Rook continued. “It’s got a pretty decent sized population and several large residential areas. I’m sure one of the homes is our safe house.”
“Anything on Anton?” Jordon asked.
“Nickoli wouldn’t say on the phone. He hasn’t gotten to where he is within Spetsnaz by taking unnecessary risks or being stupid.”
I nodded. “Okay guys, we’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Everyone get some rest. We’ll also have to stop and refuel before crossing into Russia. Jones, can you fake us a flight plan?”
“Already on it. The Russians are particular about who crosses their borders and airspace,” Jones replied, not looking away from the monitor.
“We’ve got a plan; let’s not fuck this up, guys,” I said.
Pierce brought up what everyone had to be thinking. “Mic, what about after? What are we going to do?”
“I have some thoughts about that. We can’t go back to the states. We need to find and transfer as much money as we can into several off-shore accounts. Jones, can you do that?”
“Sure. As soon as I’m done here. Do you want me to rob someone or just use Steel’s bank account?” he asked.
“Steel has a bank account?” Jordon’s surprised face was comical.
“Of course. Where the hell do you think the money for our toys and guns comes from? It doesn’t just appear, you know. When we took down Diego, we seized most of the cartel’s monetary assets; same for Vega’s. Though with Vega, we did split it with the Mexican government. No paper trails.” I shook my head at Jordon and turned my attention back to Jones. “Don’t rob anyone unless we have to.”
“Copy that,” Jones muttered, completely engrossed in what he was doing.
“Rest, recoup, et cetera.” I waved a hand at the men and went back to my seat. Pulling out my iPod, I slipped in my ear buds and turned the volume to a comfortable level. Sail by AWOLNATION filled my ears.
A warm hand slipped into mine. Looking over at Jordon, I saw that he had his head back and his own ear buds in. His eyes were closed and I followed the path of his tongue as it wet his lips.
I hadn’t given myself time to process what had happened between us; that we had finally taken that step. I knew I could never go back to ignoring him and resisting at every turn. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. The team didn’t seem to care; in fact, they supported us. That was enough for me. We could all die in Russia; I was going to grab every ounce of happiness I could while it was available. I tried to relax and push the stress of the previous day out of my head. It had only been a little over twenty-four hours, but it felt so much longer.
I released Jordon’s hand and pulled his arm over my shoulder and laid my head on his chest. He gathered me in closer, and I let my eyes slide shut. His warmth and scent filled my head as I drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
****
Anton slid smoothly into a booth at the nightclub. Flashing lights and ear-splitting techno music filled the air. Bodies packed tightly together flung themselves into the music with abandon. Pills slid across tongues and powder got snorted, keeping the high energy bouncing through their blood. Sweat beaded on foreheads, glowing in fluorescent colors under the pulsing light which bounced from body to body in time with the beat.
“Any word from Mexico?” Anton asked the woman next to him in their homeland’s language. Lauren was something of a madam, helping to funnel girls from Russia and Ukraine into Prague, then to the rest of the world.
“No. I had order ready to ship, but Mexico is silent,” Lauren replied as she lit a cigarette, the blue smoke hovering above her head.
Anton offered a special service to high-profile clients, those looking to
buy something unique. It could be anything from art, to jewelry, weapons, or women. He acquired the goods and delivered the product…for a price. In this business, reputation was everything, his as well as his clients. He didn’t work with people he didn’t know, although the chance of prosecution for his crimes was low. Here in Russia, the government turned a blind eye to his business in favor of bribes. Bribes that were used for public works in many cases.
“What did you do with order?” Anton waved the waitress over and ordered a glass of fine American whiskey.
“I need to unload. That’s why I called this meeting. It was special order, just for my client. Should be able to be sold easily enough to right buyer. I need it to happen soon. Every day of food and water increases expense and shrinks profit.” She tapped her cigarette, carelessly scattering ashes onto the floor. Her appearance belied her occupation. Somewhat overweight with blonde hair tinged with gray, she had been beautiful once. A lifetime of hard living had taken its toll. She was easily ten years younger than she appeared. Nicotine stained fingers ground her cigarette out before reaching for her own drink.
“I may have client, but he’s… not of caliber you are used to,” Anton replied, repressing the shudder this woman caused him. He flicked a non-existent speck of ash off his sleeve. He’d have to send this suit directly to the cleaners. He couldn’t abide the smell of smoke in his clothing.
“Here’s price,” she said, sliding a slip of paper across the table with one yellowed fingernail.
The number was fair, considering the nature of the sale. Transactions of this sort usually were made in U.S. dollars, not the ruble. Fifty thousand for two blonde virgins; not bad, considering it came with a certified clean bill of health from a private doctor, as well as complete discretion. Lauren would not know the name of the buyer; only Anton would. Lauren used a numerical system for repeat clients, but no such number would be applied to this transaction.
“This price along with your fee will make you sizable profit. As always, I guarantee complete satisfaction for clients,” Lauren added.
