by Tl Reeve
“Have they eaten?”
“Yeah, and now the women are trying to get the kids to sleep.”
“Roger that. I'm going to take a shower and eat. Bring the good doctor to my quarters in a half hour.” He draped his towel over his shoulder.
“Your quarters, boss? You sure?” Most officers would get their panties in a twist if a subordinate question them, but he didn't. In his experience, in order to lead, both parties had to have a certain level of respect and trust. Without it, teams were doomed to fail.
“I imagine the doctor is good and vexed by now. No need to disturb the kids.”
“I'll stop by the mess tent and have them send over a tray for you.”
“Appreciate it.” They were all bone tired and soul weary after the destruction and carnage they witnessed. Even though their minds said sleep, they still had several more hours of work to complete.
Thirty minutes later—the stench of death and blood removed from his body and his belly full—Schoell returned with the doctor, who indeed appeared pissed off.
Her pretty hazel eyes narrowed at him as she stepped inside his tent. Tension radiated off her. Her movements were stiff and cheeks flushed. Given half the chance, he realized in those brief seconds of seeing her again, she’d read him the riot act.
“Have a seat, Dr. Kenzie.” He gestured to the chair.
“Didn't take you long to find out who I was,” she mumbled as she practically threw herself into the chair.
“Your information was housed at the clinic. My men are thorough. I hope you've found your accommodations adequate.”
“I'm in no mood for small talk or being held against my will.” She amused him. After everything she witnessed, she didn’t fear him nor did she cow down.
“You're not being held against your will, Doctor.”
“Then we can go?” She jerked up from the chair, then crossed her arms. “I need to tell my employer what happened today and arrange for a pick-up so I may move on.”
“Negative.” He stood with her. “You are a witness to a mass murder. I need a witness statement from you and I have questions.”
3
“I'd answer your questions, if you weren't dressed in the same uniform as the men who came into the village. If you don't mind, I'd like a lawyer.” To hell with this commander with full lips, expressive brown eyes, and a broad chest, which made her mouth water.
“Trust me, lady, those men weren't ours.”
“No? So, what? Your team was on a jaunty little walk and happened by our village when all hell broke loose?” She snorted. “You're going to have to try harder, Asher.”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. For a second, she worried she pushed too hard. Then, she shoved aside the fleeting emotion and narrowed her eyes. If she thought he'd give her any indication of what he wanted or why they were being treated like prisoners, he didn't. Instead, he sat and opened a file on his desk, leaving her to stew.
“Says here you completed medical school in record time. Top of your class. Doctors Without Borders recruited you instead of you going through the interview process.”
“What's your point?” She sat in her chair and folded her arms.
“Nothing. You're smart. Hard working and dependable. Tell me about your time in Aleppo.”
“Rather not.” If this were a chess game, she'd have all her pieces surrounding her king.
“How about I tell you about your time in Aleppo.” He slid the file across the table toward her. Pictures of the children who died in the most brutal and inhumane ways stared back at her with unseeing eyes. Some were covered in blood. Others had their mouths open as though they were taking their last gasp of air. “You were there when they were shelled. You saw the aftermath of chemical warfare and bunker bomb detonations. You saved lives and mourned those you couldn't. You left right after the worst of the attacks, when the U.N. forced you out.”
“Again, your point?” She remembered each child. Each wheeze. Each death rattle. The screams of parents losing not one, but sometimes all of their children while fighting to live themselves. Most of them gave up. Some of them lived a torturous life alone after losing everyone in one night.
“Well, you're not one to cut and run, but someone who will stand up for those who can't.” He stared at her for another minute, then gathered up the photos. “So, I'm having a hard time understanding why you're so reluctant to help us figure out what happened today.”
She laughed, the bitter sound harsh to even her ears. “Your men killed everyone in my village. A peaceful place.” Sure, they had their issues with the guerillas and cartel but nothing like this. “Sorry if I don't feel obliged to assist.”
“It wasn't us.”
“Say it with more conviction next time.” She didn't have time for this. She needed to check on Juan, the twins, and Isabella.
“We're not who you think we are. What and who you saw today weren’t us—my team. We'd never shoot up a village for shits and giggles.”
“No. You'd send in a team.” Ha! She caught him. “I'd like to go to the embassy and give my statement with a lawyer present.”
“No can do. Until we can figure out who is friendly and who is foe, you and your patients will be cared for here.” He flipped to a different section in her folder. “Says here you have a brother in the Army and your father was in Vietnam. A sister in college and your younger brother is getting ready to graduate high school.”
“Resorting to threats now? Let me guess, you'll make life hard on them unless I speak?”
“No. Why would you think that?” He glanced up at her with a devious gleam in his eye. Her sexy meter pinged as the corner of his mouth tugged into a gotcha smirk. “Why would I threaten innocent people when I'm here to remedy this awful situation?”
“This is bullshit.” She shoved out of her chair and began to pace while he seemed content to watch her. His features were neutral and his demeanor relaxed, almost like he didn't have a care in the world, save getting her to talk. “I want a lawyer.”
“Your mom was a law professor at Cornel, right?”
She stopped. “What the fuck? Do you have surveillance on my whole family?”
He gave a nonchalant lift of his shoulder. “It's a matter of public record. But it's not the point I'm going for. What would she tell you in a situation like this? You haven't been handcuffed. You've been fed and given a chance to clean up. All our supplies are at your disposal to care for your kids, yet you believe you need a lawyer and you're in trouble.”
She braced her hands on the table and leaned in. The scent of spicy male and aftershave wafted from him, leaving her a bit unsteady. She forced the reaction down. “Let's get one thing straight, I've been in war zones, Asher. I know when I am being questioned for a debrief, and when I am being interrogated. You are trying to interrogate me, and I have rights. Right now, I am invoking my right to be silent.”
“Oh, I wish you wouldn't, though.” He leaned forward and whispered his lips over hers. “I love when women have backbones. Gets the heart pounding and juices flowing. Reminds me I'm alive and so are they.” He nipped her bottom lip.
Rae let out a startled gasp and shoved away from him. “You're a fucking pervert. Great. So here I am, after almost being killed, being treated like a sexual object because you got to play with your boom stick? Go beat your meat somewhere else. I'm done talking to you.” Although the idea of the man in front of her whipping out his cock and stroking it set her body tingling.
“I'd rather sit here and imagine how far your pretty blush goes.” His gaze lowered to her chest, and heat filled her cheeks. “Mmm, I bet all the way to those pretty breasts of yours.”
“You're an asshole. If you think this is reassuring me, you're dead fucking wrong! When I get the hell out of here, I’m writing you up for sexual harassment.” Yet, even as the words tumbled from her mouth, the knot in her stomach lessened.
“I'm not trying to reassure you. I need to figure out how this happened.”
“Fine. I'll tell you.” She curled her lip in disdain. “The guerillas were here. They always come around when they think someone has been in their cocoa fields. I could’ve handled them. But those children you have in the other tent, their parents took control. Then, men like you showed up and all hell broke loose.”
“They're not ours.”
She shook her head. “Look at the uniform of the man who tried to shoot me, then come back and ask questions. He had a U.S. flag on his left shoulder.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Fine. I'll give you this courtesy, but when I return with proof you're wrong, I expect a detailed account of what occurred.”
“Deal.”
* * *
Goddamn infuriating woman got him so fucking worked up, he compromised himself for a minute. He stormed away from his quarters, headed for the make-shift morgue.
Their original engagement stopped with recon and intel collection, not clean up duty. Yet, here they were, clearing the scene. He stepped into the building, and the scent of death and drying blood assailed him. No matter how many times he experienced this part of a mission, he never got used to it.
“Callahan,” he called out, crossing to the small, partitioned office he'd placed away from the bodies—not like it'd help with the stench.
“Yes, Commander?” He glanced up from the report he'd been working on.
“Dr. Rae is adamant a man brought in from the enemy tried to kill her. Have you located said man from the doorway of the clinic?”
He frowned. “Yeah, and you're not going to like it, either.” He waved Asher to follow. “This whole situation makes no sense.” He led him to the bodies marked “military property,” and pointed to one of the bags. “This guy, he's got no tags, no papers, and I'm afraid he's not with our team.”
“Guerilla?”
He shook his head. “No. He's wearing our uniform with an American flag.”
Just like Rae told him. “Print him and send it to Langley. Tell them it's a rush.” Fuck, he didn't need this. Besides a fucking incident of epic proportions, now they had an infiltrator in their midst.
“And, get this, the other team is one of Barclay’s.” Callahan turned the e-pad toward him. “Looks like they were running point on this little recon trip.” Two of Barclay’s lead operators, Anthony James and Paul Tinsman, stared back at him on the eight-by-eight screen along with their personal information.
“What the fuck?” Barclay, owned by Jason Barclay, had been working odd jobs for the U.S. government for the last ten years. They had a reputation for going in hot and heavy, but coming out with the job done. What the hell am I missing here? “Are you serious?”
Callahan nodded. “Hanover is speaking to one of Barclay's men as we speak. I'll fill you in when I have some info.”
“Good. For now, make sure you get everyone's identity straight. My ass is on the line here. I don't need any rookie screw ups.”
“On it.” Callahan double-timed back to his desk and grabbed the tablet he'd been working on.
Confident his teammate had the situation under control, he headed back to his make-shift office. For Rae to tell him what happened, he had to give her a little information, too. Stepping inside, he saw her sitting where he left her, the pictures of the dead strewn out before her. Each one told a story. Each one became a part of her.
He could see it in the way the she touched each one. The way her gaze softened. She’d lived with these people, and became more than a doctor. She was their friend. She would grieve for each and every one of them. How did he know? He did too when a situation went sideways. Civilian life had been precious to all of them and as the commander, he always took it harder than anyone on his team.
“I have news.”
“One of your men tried to kill me?” She arched a brow as she looked up at him.
“Actually, no.” He couldn’t give her the complete facts, but the cover story had to be close to the truth or she’d call him out. “We’re running his prints. He infiltrated our unit. We were only here for observation. No shots were to be fired. Shit went south and the man who tried to kill you isn't one of ours. So, I'll ask you again, what happened, Rae?”
She gathered up all of the photos then folded her hands on top of them. “I don't know. Like I told you, the guerillas, as per their usual, came into town. They were early by a couple days, but I didn't get a chance to ask them anything. One minute, I'm gathering the kids up and the next, it's like World War III out there. The guy who tried to shoot me was shot in the back by someone else and I didn't stick around to see him or thank them.”
Couldn’t have been Hanover. “What happens when they come there?”
“What do you think? Protection money. Lately, since the flood, they've come for medicine and supplies. Most of which I can't give them since I have a limited supply as well. I thought they wanted the same this time, and I'd been prepared to tell them no.”
“You realize you can't stay here in Colombia, right?”
“I can go to Bogotá and hide there. The main outpost for Doctors Without Borders is there. We'll be safe.”
Asher shook his head. He had a feeling none of them would be safe, especially with the way those who hadn’t been detained or killed bugged out after his team came down out of the hills to assist. “You’re not. You witnessed the massacre of at least a hundred people today if not more. You're good as dead unless you, your patients, and your assistant come with us.”
“Where?”
“We have a safe house to lay low in while we continue to investigate this situation. Ma'am, I know this is hard to understand, but your safety and those of the kids and Maria are of utmost importance to us. You're key witnesses to the investigation.”
She frowned. “There's no getting out of this, is there?”
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “No.”
“What does it say about us if we leave? There are still people here who need a doctor. I can't walk away from them after this.” Exasperation filled her tone. He didn't blame her. It was a hell of a lot to take in.
“We're not asking you to leave forever. We're asking you to go until we get answers and the area is deemed safe.”
“If you don't?” She lifted her chin in a defiant stance.
“We will. We always do.”
She snorted. “Well, considering how this went down today, my faith in you finding the culprit is slim to none.”
“At least we recognize our dilemma. If you'd like to sit with your patients, I am sure they will enjoy your company. We are in the process of finding family for them and then we'll relocate them as well, for safety reasons.”
“Thank you.” She stood. “Isabella has no family now. Same for Juan.” She opened the folder and picked out two photos of the dead villagers. “This is Isabella’s mom and Juan’s father. Their families perished in the flood. The twins I'm not sure about.”
Nothing like trying to make his job ten times harder. “We'll see what we can do for them. I will give you an update as soon as I have one.”
Schoell stepped into the tent. “Dr. Rae, if you'll follow me.”
She pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders as she followed his team member out of his quarters. Shit. What a cluster fuck. He pulled up Rae's information on his palm pad and made notes. The kids were her weakness, but only a jackass would use them against her. Her father and brother also might not stand being used against her. She had to know more intel on the guerillas and cartel members who died there. And the mysterious man in the R.O.O.T.s uniform.
The screen flashed with an incoming communication from Langley. About fucking time. He opened the file and was surprised to see a familiar face staring back at him. Carlos Munoz. A special informant they used whenever they went into the unknown. What the hell is he doing here and why doesn’t he look like himself? One shot to the middle of his back had severed his spine, effectively killing him, but his face had been too bulky and his body too bloated.
He sent the information
to Hanover, then read over the additional documents the CIA offered him. He loved his unit and R.O.O.T. Whenever he needed anything, the intelligence community had been there with an assist. Asher frowned and read the section again. Carlos joined Barclay six weeks ago as a mole. The whys had been redacted. Of course. If he wanted access to those, he’d have to call his uncle, and even then, the chances of him getting answers didn’t bode well for him.
“Commander.” O’Malley stepped into his tent. “Barclay’s men are getting restless. We’re going to question them soon.”
“Who else besides Tinsman and James do we have detained?”
“Joseph Franks is the third. Tinsman’s already asked for a lawyer while Franks wants to talk. He said he has information about the events today. The other is repeating rank and file.”
“What do you think?” He pulled up Franks’ stats and frowned. The guy had an exemplary record. High marks and several recommendations from his commanding officers. But two years ago, he moved from active duty to mercenary for hire. Why?
“One is dirty for sure,” O’Malley replied. “Which, I’m not certain. Sometimes an over eager talker can also lead you down the road to being shot. However, lawyering up before anything can be said can make you look guilty.”
“True enough.” If he could get Franks to talk, they could break down James and Tinsman, even if the guy lawyered up. “Did we get anything on surveillance?”
He pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket. “It’s all right here.”
Asher took the thumb drive from O’Malley. “Keep this quiet. We want those who bugged out to think they’re in the clear.” Usually, when people got comfortable, they talked. Someone would spill their guts and when they did, Asher would be there to haul their asses in.
“Hanover said he’d go through the file once we were back stateside. He doesn’t like working in the field when we’re not sure who is friendly and who is foe.”
He didn’t blame his guys for feeling antsy in the field. “As soon as Callahan is done in the morgue, we’ll bug out. Why don’t you give him a hand? This shit will get worse before it gets better.”
