The operative word being dead.
“That’s the one,” Rawls said in an equally flat voice.
Giving himself time to batten down his immediate, explosive burst of disbelief, Mac picked up his tumbler and drained it, concentrating on the furious burn traveling down his throat. He wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but it sure as hell hadn’t been this.
While the tunnels had brought to light the fact that Rawls was convinced he was seeing ghosts, who’d have guessed he intended to interrogate the damn things?
“I assume this information was collected after Pachico died?” Cosky asked dryly.
“How much of the intel from yesterday are we talking about?” Zane asked, sharp intelligence glittering in his eyes.
“All of it,” Rawls said.
“Where the scientists are being held? Who’s holding them? Who’s behind this whole damn operation?” Mac asked, shooting the questions out like rapid gunfire.
Rawls lifted his shoulders into an exaggerated shrug. “Yes, yes, and yes.”
More silence.
Eventually Mac stirred. “You’re telling me these morons are gearing up for a major operation off intel provided by a ghost?”
“That they are,” Rawls said quietly. “They know exactly where the information came from.”
“And they believe it? They’re acting on it?” Mac didn’t bother hiding his disbelief.
Intel from a ghost, for Christ’s sake. What the hell are they thinking?
“Look,” Rawls said, staring them one by one in the eye. “I know y’all don’t believe me. That’s plenty fine. I just thought y’all should know before signin’ on board.”
Another long, awkward pause and then Zane lifted his glass in a toast. “Appreciate it.” He brought the glass to his lips, tilted back his head, and poured the shot down his throat before turning the tumbler upside down and placing it with deliberation on the table. “So let’s say Pachico did supply this information . . . can you trust it? Hell, the guy was less than cooperative when alive. You telling us death has opened his mouth?”
Rawls barked out a laugh. “Hardly. But he didn’t have a choice.” He paused for a moment and frowned, as though not sure how much to admit. “Wolf and his people are much more attuned to this shit than we are. They have a ceremony that forces ghosts to tell the truth.”
“Really.” The very neutrality in Cosky’s voice shouted his skepticism. “They use a ceremony to force truth from ghosts?”
“Yep. As well as to exorcise them,” Rawls said, his voice getting progressively tighter.
Mac couldn’t help it. A snort escaped. “So you performed an exorcism too?”
For the first time, an honest-to-god emotion flickered across Rawls’s face. Pure irritation.
“I don’t give a shit if y’all believe me. Just thought you should know.” He pivoted and took a step toward the door.
“Are you headed down with them?” Zane asked, his voice flat, but concern tightening the skin around his eyes.
Rawls stopped walking. “Yeah, they got Faith convinced they’ll die without her help.” Frustrated anger sharpened his vowels. “I’m goin’ to keep an eye on her.”
“Then I’m in,” Zane said simply.
“Me too,” Cosky agreed.
“What the hell. Can’t let you bastards have all the fun.” Mac shrugged. “I’m on board.”
“Appreciate it,” Rawls said after a moment.
Throats cleared. Mac broke the moment by picking up the half-empty bottle of JD and filling the glasses again. He kicked an empty chair toward Rawls. “How about you get the fuck over here and sit down? We’ve got other shit to talk about besides ghosts.”
Once Rawls had taken a seat, Mac sat down himself. The whole damn ghost thing was a useless distraction.
“Wolf claimed he’d have visuals on the building by tomorrow. Schematics. Head counts, blueprints,” Mac reminded everyone absently. “So we’ll know soon enough whether they’re targeting the right place and people.” He didn’t question how Wolf would acquire the information. Shadow Mountain obviously had some pretty kick-ass contacts.
“So this Eric Manheim and James Link, those names come through your ghost too?” Mac asked abruptly.
“Yeah.” Rawls reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured half a finger into the fourth tumbler on the table.
When he sat back, he jabbed Zane in the side with his elbow. With a grunt, Zane pushed his chair, loosening up some room. The table was so small the four of them were packed around it like sardines in a round tin.
“But Wolf and his boys recognized the names. Apparently they’ve run into this New Ruling Order before. Wolf didn’t say much, but I get the impression the NRO is a major threat,” Rawls added quietly.
Zane nodded absently, staring thoughtfully into the amber liquid in his glass. “I did some checking last night. If your ghost isn’t fucking with you, we’ve got a serious problem. Eric Manheim heads up the Manheim-Clifton financial coalition. They own hundreds of banks and financial institutions throughout the world. Hell, as the only child of the Manheim family dynasty and husband to the only child of the Clifton family dynasty, Eric Manheim controls the national banks of virtually every country in existence—including the Bank of England, the United States Federal Reserve, the Bank of Japan, the Central Bank of Jordan, the Bank of France, and the Central Bank of Austria. He’s arguably the most powerful man in existence—untouchable.”
Mac frowned. “Nobody’s untouchable.”
Although it would be much, much harder to level accusations at someone with such an elite stature. And that was assuming Rawls’s damn ghost, or more likely their corpsman’s fertile imagination, produced anything substantial linking Eric Manheim to anything.
But Manheim wasn’t the person he wanted to focus on.
“James Link is the name that interests me,” Mac said, leaning far enough back in his chair to bring the front two legs off the ground. “Ghost interrogation aside, with Embray out of commission, Link heads up Dynamic Solutions’ experimental department. That shit swimming in Brendan’s and Benji’s cells is as experimental as fuck, right up Dynamic Solutions’ alley. James Link has to know what the hell was injected into Amy’s kids. That’s where we start looking.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
Mac turned to Rawls. “You hear if Wolf’s people had any luck neutralizing the isotope?”
Rawls had spent every spare moment in the clinic overseeing Faith Ansell’s tests, so maybe he’d run into Amy recently. The last update Mac had gotten had been within hours of arriving at Shadow Mountain. While they’d identified the synthetic compound in the boys’ blood cells that was powering the signal, nobody had known how to deactivate the element. But maybe progress had been made in the past twenty-four hours.
“Far as I know, they don’t have a clue what to do about it.” Rawls’s voice was grim.
Cosky leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Have they tried a healing?” He glanced around the table and shrugged. “Kait says there’re other healers in this place. She’s all gung ho to try herself, but hell”—he broke off to scowl—“she needs to do some resting and recharging before she burns herself out.”
“If doing a healin’ is an option, I’m guessin’ they would have already tried that,” Rawls said, glancing up. “Cos is right. Doc Kerry rattled off a couple of other healers while talkin’ to Wolf—” He glanced at Cosky. “He also said she was stronger than the others. In fact, I believe he called her remarkable . . .” He paused, shrugged. “By the by, did you know those two are siblin’s? Or half sibs anyway?”
“Who?” Mac’s question hit the air at the same time Zane’s did. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in the dark when it came to the Shadow Mountain’s gossip mill.
“Wolf and Kait,” Rawls said. “Kerry said she’s Wolf’s sister.”
Mac turned to stare at Cosky, who didn’t look at all surprised.
Zane picked up on that as
well. “You knew?”
Cosky shrugged. “Wolf was worried for her and Aiden’s safety. Wanted to keep the connection private.”
“Well that explains why he’s been so damn invested in her,” Zane said.
“Can’t say I envy you having that stony bastard as a brother-in-law,” Mac said on a grimace.
With a snort, Cosky settled back against his chair’s backrest. “You forgetting all the toys he comes with?”
Mac grinned slightly at that. He’d sure as hell like to get his hands on that little beauty that had ferried them up to Alaska in five hours—give or take a couple of minutes. The trip had taken half as long as it would have taken in a stripped down Black Hawk. Which reminded him. “You realize this damn compound is in motherfucking Mount McKinley?”
Shadow Mountain’s brass hadn’t been nearly as closemouthed as good old Wolf.
“It makes sense. The mountain’s sacred to the native population,” Cosky said. “What’s incredible is the amount of work that must have gone into hollowing it out and constructing the base.” He paused to scowl. “Yet nobody noticed? Fuck, fifteen hundred people climb to the summit every year, and nobody noticed what was going on under their feet, or that huge flat tarmac up there where helicopters and planes land and disappear? There’s something pretty fucking weird about this place.”
Uneasy silence ringed the table.
“Makes you wonder,” Zane agreed, his green eyes thoughtful.
Cosky took a generous swallow of whiskey and set the glass back on the table, absently rotating it. “Wolf’s got the same handy-dandy trick Zane has.” He glanced toward Zane and raised his tumbler in a salute. “Although not quite the same. Wolf doesn’t have to touch anyone to get the vision. They just come. It’s how he knew our condo was about to blow back in Coronado.” He paused to shake his head, a frown darkening the turbulent gray gaze that met Mac’s. “He knew the compound was going to be attacked yesterday morning. He sent Jude over to warn us. We knew what was happening before your nine-one-one came over the wire. Hell, I had the radio in hand, was about to warn the three of you, when your call came through.”
“Okay . . .” Mac said and waited for the rest of it—because there was a huge “but” in Cosky’s tone.
Cosky reached for the bottle of Jack. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s just . . . there’s something fucking strange about this place and the people holed up in here.”
Rawls laughed.
Cosky turned to him with a glare. “You find that funny?”
“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled, irony clear on his face. “How about we take an inventory? So we have Zane, who’s psychic—able to predict a person’s death with one touch. We have Cos and Kait—together they can heal life-threatenin’ illnesses or injuries—hell, even drag people back from the grave. And then there’s moi. I see dead people. Or at least I used to. With the exception of Mac”—he lifted his glass of whiskey in a theatrical toast—“we fit right into this place.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty
* * *
AFTER THIRTEEN YEARS and hundreds of insertions, Rawls had identified certain similarities no matter the mission. There was the edgy pressure that knotted the belly and shoulders. Not fear so much as a low-grade tension where preparation gave way to anticipation. After all of the planning, monitoring, and assessing, the green light was finally given and all that groundwork was about to be put to the test. There was the cramped, silent flight where legs and feet fell numb, where bodies were buffered by bone-rattling vibrations, where equipment checks were rampant and the smell of jet fuel overpowered everything. There was the deploying into darkness and unfamiliar territory. Sure, the satellite images often provided reference points, but the insertions themselves took place in unfamiliar, often alien landscapes.
Until today . . .
Rawls silently shook his head, his arm tightening around Faith’s frail body. Oh, the tension was there, only this time that edgy pressure butted against fear. Not fear for his safety, or any of the other experienced warriors silently stretched out in the helicopter, but fear for Faith.
Although everyone’s vulnerability had gone up exponentially when Wolf and Cosky had flatly refused Kait’s appeal to join the mission. They’d vehemently opposed Kait’s inclusion, insisting that William and One Bird were fully capable of handling any injuries, and that her inclusion was unnecessary and a potential distraction. Cosky and Wolf’s intense reaction had reinforced just how dangerous this mission was.
But Faith didn’t belong in this dark, dangerous world either. She was as ill-equipped for this operation as Kait was. She had no business being on this helicopter, awaiting the one-minute prep call for insertion.
A couple minutes earlier, Wolf had appeared in the cockpit doorway and held up his right hand, all five fingers splayed. The universal five-minute warning. The interior of the bird was murky, the only light piercing the darkness was the rosy-red digital displays in the cockpit. The ruddy burn had burnished the big Arapaho’s hand until his fingers looked rimmed in fire.
Faith had stiffened in his arms even more. With a deep breath he’d pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head. Rather than the smothering stench of jet fuel, the scent of strawberries and raspberries washed over him.
The scent was coming from her hair. He recognized it from the past two nights he’d spent in her bed. And like any good hound dog, his dick had imprinted on that particular combination of berries as something to celebrate, which it was currently doing with an enthusiastic salute.
Another first—the first time in his military career he’d dropped into hostile territory with an erection. A wry smile curved his mouth even as the tension cinched another notch tighter.
But the big first currently topping his list of Holy Shits—although it wasn’t a first so much as a second—was their insertion point. He was about to drop his boots on United States soil for the second time in his career. Sure, he’d practiced warfare on home ground—plenty of training missions took place within US borders. But a true insertion—an actual close-quarters battle—he shook his head in disbelief.
Operating within US borders was a violation of the Posse Comitatus Act—for him, Zane, Cosky, and Mac at least. Wolf and his crew? Hell, they didn’t appear to be operating under the umbrella of any branch of the United States military. Which meant that while this operation broke at least a dozen laws, the Shadow Mountain teams didn’t need to worry about the Posse Comitatus. Not like he and the rest of his teammates did.
Few soldiers would ever violate the Posse Comitatus during their careers. Yet here he was about to disregard it for a second time. The last time they’d stuck their necks out on US soil, they’d had them all but chopped off. You’d think they would have learned something from that lesson.
But hands down the strangest aspect of this operation was how familiar he was with the territory. He’d recognized the terrain the instant Wolf had put the first satellite image up on the big screen.
Mount Hamilton.
At just over forty-two hundred feet, Mount Hamilton looked out over Silicon Valley. He’d recognized the Lick Observatory on the satellite images. The giant white dome, which perched at the top of the mountain and was surrounded by clusters of smaller white domes and white buildings, was instantly recognizable.
The Lick Observatory—an astronomical observatory operated by the University of California—was twenty miles up State Route 130. Until this morning, he’d only seen the observatory from the ground, up close and personal. Mount Hamilton Road was a popular trek for bikers. The twenty-mile course to the top of the mountain was a gradual and scenic ascent. Once bicyclists reached the observatory, it was customary to break for lunch and a breather before heading back down to their vehicles. He’d pedaled the route half a dozen times, so he was familiar with the overall layout of their insertion point.
Not that their target was the Lick Observatory, or even at the top of the mountain. It was tucked into one of the canyons fiv
e miles up.
The satellite image had zeroed in close enough to pick up the security cameras ringing the building’s flat roof. The angle and quantity of cameras would give the bastards inside a 360-degree view of the grounds below.
Wolf stepped into the cockpit doorway again. This time he held up his index finger. Translation, one minute until touchdown.
Men stirred, checked weapons, stretched the kinks and numbness out of stiff muscles. Faith slowly sat up.
“One minute to touchdown,” Rawls told her, pitching his voice loud enough to reach her over the scream of the engine and whine of the rotor.
She nodded her understanding. He quickly checked his equipment and then hers—although all she’d been given were an NVD and the standard radio. Well, plus the vest and armor plates, which all but swallowed her, even though they’d found her the smallest size possible.
The chopper banked and dropped. The shriek of the motors eased as the bird slowed. One of Wolf’s men rose to his feet and muscled back the door, and the roar of the wind merged with the scream of the engine and the shrill whop-whop of the rotor. They’d approached from the west, out of the target’s line of sight, and were inserting into a meadow two klicks away. The rest of the distance would be covered by foot.
The bird rocked slightly as it settled on the ground—no fast roping this time around. The roar of the wind vanished, and the engine’s whine dropped to a hum. Crouching, Wolf’s men dropped from the chopper and melted into the darkness. Rawls’s teammates followed.
Rawls turned on Faith’s NVD and then his, wrapped an arm around her waist, thereby anchoring her to his side, and eased them both from the bird. Head bent, flinching from the pelting of pebbles, grass, and dirt kicked up by the rotor’s wash, Faith stumbled along beside him. Once clear of the blades, he stopped long enough to show her how to adjust the scope on her goggles.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was so thin he could barely hear it. Apparently she’d taken all the warning to maintain silence seriously.
Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3) Page 30
