No Woman Left Behind: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Six

by Julie Moffett

  I couldn’t believe I’d actually come up with something positive about all this.

  “Because...?” Gray asked.

  “Because it means he didn’t do it himself. From a technical point of view, working remotely with amateurs leaves me a lot more hopeful about finding a weakness in his set-up. Broodryk will be limited to what he can manage and what they’re able to provide for him. That’s a plus for me.”

  Hands turned his attention to me. “So, what do you see in this game room, Keys? What’s the set-up?”

  I closed my eyes, imagined myself as Broodryk. What would I need? What would I want?

  After a few seconds of reflection, I mused, “That’s real conjecture right now as we don’t know what end game looks like to him other than all of us dead and the virus released. That would be easily achieved by having the shack blow up upon entry and hordes of al-Shabaab coming over the hills to take care of the rest. But I don’t think that will happen, at least not immediately, because there is no satisfaction for him in that.”

  “Agreed,” Gray said.

  “So, I think that means he has to let us in, or at least me. I have to communicate with him and see Elvis alive. Hopefully he’s there. If so, he’ll almost certainly be restrained.”

  “It would heighten the dramatic effect,” Gray added.

  I continued to visualize the set up. “A shack that size can’t have more than one or two rooms or maybe even one big room, partitioned with sheets like at the elder’s house. To talk with me he will need a camera, or cameras, and a laptop or TV. He’d use the speakers on either one of those to talk to me and hear my response. I’m actually leaning toward thinking he’d use a television screen or monitor, probably hung from the wall and connected to a laptop. It’s big, grandiose. He’d have to have the laptop networked to at least two cameras, one for the room and one for outside so that he could watch all the fun. Without a doubt everything we say in that room will be heard, seen and recorded by Broodryk.”

  Hands bent over, rested his palms on the table. “Will he be able to pick up our comms?”

  “He may hear noise if things are quiet, but he shouldn’t be able to discern what’s going over the comms in our helmets. So, we’ll have a small edge there. It does mean there may have to be a lot of one-way conversation going on in terms of what’s happening in that room. I’ll have to choose every word I say very carefully.”

  “What’s he going to want you to do?” Wills asked.

  I shrugged. “Anything that he can think of to first humiliate me and then assert his dominance intellectually. After having proved I am not worthy, he’ll dispose of me. Pretty simple. Truthfully, I have no idea. I believe Elvis will have to be there since that’s been part of his plan from the start and he’ll want me to have a visible reminder of my failure to save my friend. He wants me shaken, upset and at his mercy. I’m certain that wherever, or however, Broodryk positions Elvis, he’ll be in some kind of precarious situation. Like Gray said, it will make for good drama and television.”

  I heard a growl and looked down the table see Hulk frowning. “Psychopath,” he muttered.

  I nodded. “That’s who we’re dealing with.”

  “So, what do we need to get you ready, Keys?” Hands asked.

  “I don’t know exactly what yet. Something is bugging me about the compound in Gabon, but I can’t put my finger on it. I need to talk to Slash. I have a thought, but I need his input.”

  Bischoff nodded. “No problem. I’ll see it happens pronto.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  To my relief, Slash had the same concerns about the coordinates of the compound in Gabon as I did. Luckily for me, he was already one step ahead and had already started down the road I was about to propose. I was so thankful we were on the same page I had to take a moment to compose myself. Then we got to work, hammering out technical details and bouncing ideas off one another until we had a solid plan in play.

  It was damn risky, but it could work.

  When all was said and done, I wished we had another three weeks to test and retest our theory. Unfortunately we didn’t have near enough time to perfect our strategy, but the more we worked it, the more I liked it. So did Slash.

  We ran our alternate plan by Woodward, Gray and the SEALs, filling in as many details as we had come up with, expecting them to flesh out the rest. I expected a lot more push back, but it didn’t take us as long as I expected to get everyone onboard. The reality was, as we had discovered, that even if they had truly understood what we were talking about, no one had any better options. They simply had to trust us. Not knowing as much as we did in terms of the structure of Pruxrat, they couldn’t fully comprehend the cyber intricacies of the plan we had created.

  I had a heady moment when I realized Slash and I were on the forefront of a new style of warfare that combined cyber, special operations and traditional military forces. Code Man would have been proud.

  We barely had time for an updated intelligence briefing, a look at the just-received satellite imagery, and another attempt by the best military fashionistas to fit me into the latest military version of body armor topped by the always popular Kevlar combat headgear. As always, trying on new clothes wore me out, so I was able to get a decent night’s sleep, minus spiders or foxes, before my initial part of the plan’s execution. I had to be rested and at my best if I had any chance of pulling this off.

  I wasn’t crazy about flying in a helicopter, but it seemed safer than jumping out of an airplane, so I sucked it up. Rotors on the helicopter were thumping as Hands, Wills, Hulk and I climbed on with the members of Bravo Team. I couldn’t hear anything over the noise. I found the rapid beat of the rotors matched the stress-induced palpitations from my heart. I scrunched as far in the back of the helicopter as I could. For some unfathomable reason, Even though there were doors on the helicopter, the SEALs left them wide open. I kept waiting for someone to close them, but like dogs out a car window, the SEALs kept leaning out to see whatever was hundreds of feet below us. The fact that they could fall out at any time didn’t seem to bother them.

  The helicopter pitched forward alarmingly as we transitioned from vertical to forward flight, and the Bravo SEAL in front of me almost caught my breakfast down the back of his neck. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. Soon, the tight quarters, the rhythmic thumping of the rotors and keeping my eyes shut shortened the trip considerably as I unexpectedly dozed off.

  As we approached the carrier, Hands nudged me awake.

  “Get up, Keys. You know, you’ve got the makings of a real SEAL, sleeping soundly while riding into battle and crammed body-to-body with a bunch of oversized men.”

  “I actually think it’s a defensive mechanism. If I’m asleep or unconscious, I have no idea what’s going on around me.”

  He laughed. “Well, keep your eyes open. We’re about to land.”

  I did keep my eyes open as we landed on the aircraft carrier. I figured—well, I sincerely hoped—it would be the last time I ever had to do something like this, so curiosity won out over queasiness.

  The seas were a little rough as we approached, and the carrier’s deck was slowly pitching up and down several feet as we landed. The reverse pitching motion began again, slowing our forward movement in order to go vertical. It reminded me how much I preferred the simple pleasures of riding in my Miata over some of the other modes of transportation I had experienced lately. Still, I was proud of being able to restrain myself from screaming, “We are going to crash,” at the last moment.

  As the crew cut the engines I reminded myself grimly I was one step closer to Elvis. I could do this. All I had to do was keep my head in the game.

  The SEALs hopped out of the helicopter. Hands reached out to help me. I half jumped, half fell into his arms. He pulled me underneath the slowing rotors toward a couple of men who were standing by an
open door. I staggered a bit on the rolling deck, not used to the sway of the ship, and trying not to remember what happened the last time I was on the water, which involved a sudden re-acquaintance with parts of my lunch that were better left forgotten.

  We followed one of the men. He held the door open as I entered a conference room filled with odd items like large bells, wooden plaques of unit patches, and a large model of an older carrier behind the seat at the end of the table. A map was spread out across the table. The three men already sitting there leaped to attention when we entered.

  “At ease,” the man behind me said.

  I pulled off my helmet and turned around. The man had short, graying hair and twinkling brown eyes. He held out a hand.

  “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Admiral Grimble and this is Captain Quick.” The captain stepped out from behind the admiral. I shook both of their hands.

  The admiral motioned me to a seat and took the one next to me. The captain took the seat on my other side and the rest of the SEALs crowded in and leaned against the wall.

  My stomach lurched with a rolling motion that seemed to have gone undetected by everyone else in the room. I eyed the gray Navy trashcan in the corner. I might be getting up close and personal with it soon.

  “Welcome aboard, men and ma’am,” the Admiral said. “The captain and I have been briefed on the mission and the support we have been asked to provide. While we are refueling your chopper for the next leg, I have heard the latest intelligence. It isn’t much, but we do have a Predator drone on station providing video. From the initial Predator video, there appears to be no activity at the site or along your planned route of travel. That being said, intelligence analysts still recommend you avoid the roads as much as possible. We’ll have air rescue units available for extraction, if necessary, and are repositioning another Predator. That way we can have one unit providing real-time awareness and limited air support, and the other to monitor other avenues of approach. Captain Quick was just in contact with the Kenyan military and they confirmed two fully fueled Land Rovers are in position and awaiting your arrival. Who’s the team leader?”

  Hands stepped forward. “Here, sir.”

  Pointing at a sailor just outside the door, the Admiral said “Chief Petty Officer Watson will take you to where you can take a load off your feet and check your equipment. If you need anything, just ask him and he has my orders to provide you with anything you want.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I wished Chief Petty Officer Watson would ask me what I wanted. Because right now what I wanted was to be at home snuggled on my couch with my comfy bathrobe and slippers on and all of my friends and family safe and sound. Although if I were really keeping it real, I also wanted to be about two steps closer to that wastebasket.

  The Admiral smiled at me. “Good luck, Ms. Carmichael. I understand a lot is riding on your shoulders.”

  I swallowed hard. “Sure. No pressure.”

  He chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. “Well I can assure you that if you had to risk your life with anyone, this group of professional scoundrels is just who I’d pick. The reports I’ve heard of you are most impressive. It seems you fit right in with the team. I’m confident we are in good hands.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  After the SEALs and the Admiral left, I swung around the table to sit next to my new best friend, Mr. Wastebasket. I stared at the map, wondering what Elvis was doing...if he were still alive. Did he know I was coming? If the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t have wanted him to come for me. He would have anyway. Still, I worried that despite all the hoops I had jumped through, I wouldn’t be able to save him.

  After a few minutes, I had time to go the bathroom, where I kept a close eye on Mr. Wastebasket’s identical twin. But as I am a woman of only one formal relationship at a time, I left him unrequited. I couldn’t believe it, but I was actually looking forward to getting on the helicopter and off the ship.

  Before I knew it, we loaded back into the helicopter and headed straight into my worst nightmare. My stomach churned as we lifted off, but I think I was getting a little bit used to it. Either that or my stomach was planning to defect to someone else and was too busy typing me an email of resignation to notice we were flying again. It helped to imagine I was sitting in front of my computer eating cornflakes and playing an online fantasy game. But then I remembered Elvis and Xavier wouldn’t be there to play with me and suddenly it didn’t seem so attractive as an alternative.

  I opened my eyes and Hands flashed me a thumbs-up. I couldn’t see how he was so cheerful going into a situation where the odds of him coming out alive were significantly less than even. It occurred to me at that instant that despite the danger, he loved his job, the danger, the feeling of a mission and all of that. No, he thrived on it. I thought it similar to the feeling I got when I started a hack. He probably got the same rush. To each their own, I guess.

  It took us about thirty minutes from the ship until someone in their best ancient mariner accent called, “Land Ho,” over the radio. Despite the very cramped quarters, one by one, each of the SEALs carefully pulled out their gear, inspected everything very carefully, and then returned it to its place. The process was the same for each of them and not a word was spoken. They were very deliberate and thorough—leaving nothing to chance. I wondered if I should pull out my laptop, cell phone, flashlight and ballpoint pen so that they knew I was ready, too.

  Once we crossed the coast, we angled to the south, heading inland toward the rendezvous point. The ground underneath us contained a few scattered trees, patches of open rocks, thickets of a yellow-greenish bush and a lot of low scrub. It reminded me of Texas without the cacti and a lot more brush. The pilot circled the spot where the vehicles awaited and then landed us in the middle of a low scrub clearing.

  The guys were moving even before the helicopter touched down, flowing effortlessly from the aircraft. I was the last one out. This time Hulk helped me down. As we gathered our stuff and Hands headed off to talk with our contacts, I watched the helicopter lift off amidst a cloud of sand and dust.

  How had I so rapidly evolved from a girl who liked crossword puzzles and gaming to one dressed in battle armor and accompanied Navy SEALs on a mission in Kenya? Jeez, I hadn’t even had to show anyone my passport.

  Sighing, I followed Hulk and the other guys to the Land Rovers that were parked about fifty yards from where we had touched down. A couple of Kenyans were already there and handed Hands and a guy from Bravo the keys. As Hulk waved at me to hustle, members of each team were giving the vehicles a thorough once over. They were inspecting the vehicles with the same interest and intensity as they did with their gear in air. Clearly, when the mission and their lives rested on it, the SEALs left nothing to chance.

  As I reached them, Hands pointed to the black Land Rover. “Back seat, passenger’s side.”

  “What about my pack?” I noticed none of the SEALs had put their gear in the spacious rear cargo area.

  “Hold it in front of you.”

  I did as he requested and the other guys finished the vehicle inspection. Wills drove with Hands in the front seat while Hulk and I squeezed in the back. It was uncomfortable, especially as Hands had run the seat all the way back to give him room to hold and operate his weapon. Hulk was so squished his knees went up to his chest and his head pressed against the ceiling. Forty miles like this would seem like an eternity.

  Will had smashed his pack and gear on his lap. How he was going to drive like that was beyond me.

  Hands turned around in the front seat, eyeing me seriously. “So, you ready, Keys? Mission on.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I raised my chin, my resolve firm. “I’m ready.”

  Hands raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m impressed. You’ve got a lot of guts for a civilian
. But now that the mission is officially underway, you’re going to have to go in under our terms.”

  “I already told you I’ll do my very best to follow directions this time.”

  “Not those terms.”

  “I don’t understand. What terms?”

  “The terms that state you’re no longer just the asset.” He gave me a salute. “We’re making you an honorary SEAL.”

  Confused, I leaned forward, resting my hand on the back of Wills’s headrest. “Wait—what? I’m a SEAL?”

  “Yep. It was Hulk’s idea, but everyone seconded it. You’re an official part of the team now. A full member.”

  He tossed me a gold pin of an eagle clutching a pistol, anchor and trident. “Pin it on, Keys. Congratulations.”

  I was so touched that it took me several seconds to collect myself in order to respond.

  “Really? You want me even though I didn’t want to jump out of a plane, I’m a major klutz and I don’t like spiders? Are you sure those are acceptable characteristics for an honorary SEAL?”

  Hands nodded. “Of course, because you’re also willing to face your greatest fears and take a sniper’s shot for the team.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Well, in that case, thank you so much, guys. I’m honored. I don’t know what to say, other than I will try and hold the screaming down to a minimum as I now have the SEAL reputation to protect.”

  They all laughed. As I pinned the eagle to the collar of my jacket, it occurred to me that these men were willing to die in order to help me complete the mission, and this time, I might not be able to keep that from happening.

  “How long will it take us to get to the shack?” Hands asked Wills.

  “About an hour assuming no interference or detours,” replied Wills. “We’re going to loop in, avoiding the roads, and enter from the south, as far off road as we can. I’m guessing the hostiles have instructions not to be overly active until Lexi is safely in the house. But we have to assume if they can limit it so only Lexi gets in, they will. It means they’ll take a shot at anyone who tries to accompany her, meaning yours truly. This will be a tightly controlled operation on many levels, mostly because it could quickly become messy if too many locals get word they’ve got Americans on the ground nearby. Broodryk likely paid a lot of money to keep the group small and tight.”