Catalyst: Flashpoint #2

by Grant, Rachel

  Special Forces training really didn’t cover this.

  After she bathed, he scouted the area where he intended to write his note to SOCOM. He needed a big field to present a readable message. He didn’t have bright orange signal panels—they’d been in the second pack in the back of the truck—so he had to work with materials at hand, which meant he’d have to come up with his own symbol or words. Something that could be seen by satellite and that would signal who had written it. He debated what would be the most effective, and in the end decided to use the same code that had rescued Morgan a month ago.

  It was simple Morse code and would be easy to press into the flooded grasslands: three dots, three dashes, three dots. Better known as S-O-S.

  He’d stack the symbols. Dots above dashes above dots. The whole message would be contained in one neat square.

  Morse code would be easier to see via satellite than the curve of the letters, and his role in Morgan’s rescue would be remembered by SOCOM. They’d know it was him.

  He did the math to determine the area required to be visible, how large the dots had to be versus the dashes. Now he just needed to wait for the rain to abate. Satellites couldn’t see through the thick cloud cover, and he didn’t want to mark the field before the food drop flyover.

  It went against his nature, but caution was the rule here. So he was stuck with Brie for a few more days at least, stranded in a remote village. Time stood still, and sex felt more inevitable with every moment, but it wouldn’t happen here. Not while he was on duty.

  He had honor to maintain, but more than that, he wasn’t a dumbass to drop his guard.

  He took his turn in the bathing hut, and if Brie watched, that was her own problem, because he was all business. Rinse, soap, scrub, rinse.

  He emerged from the hut to find Brie with her back to the doorway, his M4 in her hands like he’d showed her. She took her guard duty seriously, but then, she knew what failing meant. Bastian would be killed, but Brie would be taken and sold again.

  “I was thinking of heading out into the grasslands and seeing if I can shoot up some dinner. We’re probably going to be here for several days if the rain keeps up.”

  “You can hunt?”

  He nodded. “I’m Special Forces. Living off the land is part of our training. If I get something big, we can set up a smoker in one of the huts.”

  She nodded. “I can help with that. Locals showed me how to process game.”

  He smiled. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. She was so not the princess he once thought she was. He took his M4. “Let’s go.”

  She nodded and followed him, using the cane to help her walk. “What about the noise of the bullet?” she asked. “Someone might hear.”

  “I’ve got a suppressor.”

  They settled in the damp grass and waited in silence. Eventually, a stork took flight, and he dropped it with one shot. Tomorrow, he would set up snares to catch game, but that took more time with less guarantee of success, and he was hungry after days on low rations.

  The bird was large with enough meat to last two days. He plucked the feathers while Brie built a fire and spit. They cooked in one of the decaying huts, so the flames wouldn’t be seen in the dark.

  While the bird roasted, Brie flipped through the playlists on his iPhone, which she’d found when she dug through his pack for matches. “You are such a Seattle boy. Nirvana. Pearl Jam. Soundgarden. Heart. Seriously, Heart?”

  “Heart is kickass women singing kickass songs. I love Heart. Who doesn’t love Heart? I think the problem here is you.” He crossed his arms. “They were my first concert.”

  “How old were you?” she asked.

  “Nine.” He smiled at the memory. His mom had been a fan and had taken him to Seattle for the show. When he was sixteen, he’d gone to see them again with friends. “‘Magic Man’ is hot. And their version of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ is a fucking religious experience.”

  She laughed. “I’m more of a ‘Barracuda’ person myself.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “I bet you are.”

  Goddamn, but he wanted her. Here. Now. With the phone playing Heart’s greatest hits. Instead, he turned the spit and listened to the sizzle as fat from the skin dropped onto the coals.

  She glanced down at his phone. “Nothing you have here fits South Sudan.”

  “What’s the problem? Were you planning a dance party?”

  “You, me, and the ibex.”

  “I’m not sure ibex dance.”

  “Not to Pearl Jam, anyway. They prefer a different beat. Where is the Hamilton soundtrack? Or Adele.”

  “You can’t dance to Adele. But there are some danceable tunes on there.” In a flash, he imagined putting on headphones and engaging in a different sort of dance.

  Just like that, he had a new bucket list item. He wouldn’t feel like he’d lived until he’d had sex with her to music.

  After they finished their dinner of stork breast and iodine-flavored water, Brie dug out a cracked glass bowl in the garbage that littered the village. She washed it and dropped Bastian’s iPhone in it to magnify the sound, then set it in the middle of the open area between the huts. “Let the dance party begin,” she said as she queued up a mixed playlist and sat on the chair he’d repaired for her shower.

  Even with the bowl, the music wasn’t very loud and was drowned out just a few feet away by the sound of crickets and frogs chirping the night away. South Sudan had its own soundtrack.

  “You really want to dance?”

  “I’m not dancing. You are.” She pointed to her leg. “Ankle.”

  “So basically, you expect me to perform for you.”

  She rested her chin on her fist in anticipation. “If only I had popcorn.”

  He laughed and pulled her to her feet. “No way. You can at least sway.”

  “I’ll fall.”

  “I’ll hold you.”

  The first song was hip hop she was unfamiliar with, and Bastian planted a hand on her hip as he began to move, but as he got into the rhythm, he released her and grinned as he did a solid impersonation of Channing Tatum in Magic Mike. It was more performance than dance. A show just for her.

  He had moves and rhythm and a sexy-as-hell body. She just wished he’d strip like Tatum did in the movie. His moves were uninhibited and unabashedly erotic in the sultry South Sudan darkness. If she blocked out everything beyond their tiny moonlit village, she could enjoy the buzz in her belly, the attraction that went both ways.

  She’d always been a firm believer in chemistry, and she was convinced that she and Bastian would be a combustible combination.

  The beat changed, and Bastian returned to her side, slipped a hand around her waist, and pulled her into some dance moves that didn’t put stress on her ankle. She laughed and leaned into him, enjoying the humid night, and the firm body that held hers as they danced to “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons.

  The song ended and she started to pull away, but the next song was “Kissing a Fool” by George Michael, and Bastian pulled her tight against him.

  Her body rocked with his, and he sang the words into her ear as they danced. His voice was smooth and sexy, just like George.

  Jesus, was there anything this guy wasn’t good at?

  How had she missed the perfection of the song in the thirty-three years she’d lived on this earth? It was big band, jazzy smooth, and utterly mesmerizing on the muggy, starlit night.

  She could be wearing an evening gown and four-inch heels and he could be in a tux, instead of her in an old tobe and him in the stained and dirty T-shirt and jeans he’d worn in the market.

  It was probably the most romantic moment of her life, dancing with Bastian in the moonlight as George Michael sang to them in haunting, sexy tones.

  The notes of the song wound down, and her lips found his, and she wasn’t entirely sure which one of them was the fool, but they were definitely kissing, and she never wanted the stroke of his tongue against hers to end.

/>   But eventually, it did, and he lifted his head to stare down at her, his eyes hot with desire, his breathing heavy. She’d made him breathless, and she could feel exactly how aroused he was against her belly.

  After a long moment he said, “You’ll take the first sleeping shift tonight.”

  She held his gaze, then nodded. He was right, and there was nothing else to say, really.

  16

  The rain put Bastian’s resolve to the test. Day three in the abandoned village, and the deluge didn’t let up, giving him no opportunity to create a message in grass already flattened by the storm. If the rain kept up like this, they could be here for weeks. And there was no way he’d last that long without screwing her.

  On one level, he could trace the logic to conclude they were utterly safe, and passing the time with wild, intense sex was just plain common sense.

  But he had a brain above his shoulders too, and that one reminded him anyone who might’ve survived the market could also know this abandoned village was the smartest hiding place and find them. And the rain wouldn’t put off anyone desperate to find Brie.

  Sex would have to wait until after they were rescued. Which meant it would never happen, because once she was safe, he’d never see her again.

  But damn, this rain was a problem. The satellites wouldn’t see his message. Hell, he couldn’t write the message as long as the rain was beating down the grass. He really needed those orange signal panels that had been lost with the SUV.

  But the rain couldn’t stop him from his preparations, and he spent the day taking apart a collapsing hut. He’d use the posts and poles to press down the grass and form the dots and dashes. They’d be darker lines on the green grass and might be visible even if the grass was flat from the rain.

  The unrelenting rain soaked him, which was good for his libido. It wasn’t cold rain, but being soaked to the bone was never fun.

  Brie was stretched out in their dry hut, napping or playing with his phone, he didn’t know, because he was determined to avoid her today. Not easy when they were the only two people in the world, and he was guarding her.

  He had the hut dismantled and the poles he needed stacked and ready. There was nothing left for him to do but return to their hut and dry off.

  He pushed aside the tarp door and stepped inside, coming to a halt when he heard the song. “Kissing a Fool.”

  Shit. Dancing with her had been a major mistake.

  She jolted and scrambled to turn off the music. “Sorry,” she said. “It just came up on the playlist. I wasn’t—”

  He shook his head. “It’s okay.” But damn, it wasn’t. He was hard again. It was rainy and miserable outside, and cozy in here.

  This was a recipe for disaster.

  “We can’t, Brie. It’s just not safe.”

  “I know.”

  He sighed and set his M4 down and grabbed a water bottle. He took a long slow drink, then sat as far from her as he could get and still be inside the hut. “We need to take a few steps back. We could be here several more days. Probably will be here several more days. No more playing quarters. No dancing. No flirting. We just need to work together.”

  She nodded. “Agreed.”

  “If there’s a break in the rain tomorrow, I’ll set up the message. I’ll also hunt again, because the snares are empty thanks to the rain. In the meantime, we need to find a way to pass the time that doesn’t invite…problems.”

  “There are some books on your phone. We can read to each other. But the batteries might die.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve got chargers that run off batteries. We carry so much electronics, we need to carry universal battery-powered chargers.”

  He divvied up their meal of leftover stork breast, and she began to read Sherman Alexie’s Reservation Blues.

  It was interesting hearing a Northwest Native American’s words delivered in her white cadence, but she didn’t do a bad job, reminding him that she’d studied cultural anthropology in Portland. Something that both irritated and impressed him.

  Some anthropologists were condescending bastards. But he had to admit, Brie seemed to be one of the good ones. And she’d shown no sign of being a wannabe.

  Wannabes were the worst.

  After he finished eating, she handed him the phone and he read to her while she dined. Darkness fell, ending yet another day as castaways.

  They took turns reading late into the night, finishing the short book and starting in on a suspense by Karen Rose. Finally, Brie’s yawns grew pronounced, and he insisted she take the first sleep shift. After she drifted off, he set himself up outside the hut. He sat under a plastic sheet and watched the rain, one hand on his rifle as he kept guard.

  Stranded, day four. How was it that the days had already begun to merge together? The drone of an aircraft engine had Bastian diving for cover in the middle of the muddy grasslands and calling out to Brie to do the same. The airdrop must’ve been delayed due to the rain. All he could do was hope the first row of dots he’d created in the swampy grass would go unnoticed by the pilots.

  The plane buzzed past to the east, not straight overhead, but the pilots would have an oblique line of sight on the field. Would it pass this way after the cargo was dropped?

  Could he afford to wait for another break in the rain?

  The satellites could get a good image now. Today. Who knew how long until they had another window like this?

  He had no choice and resumed laying out poles in the grass to form the dashes to make the O in S-O-S.

  Brie stayed off her foot at the edge of the field, overseeing his work, making sure the dots and dashes were evenly placed. Watching his back.

  He glanced up at the sky. It looked like another storm was coming. SOCOM might not see this today.

  When they did see it, he wondered who would swoop in to the rescue. He hoped it would be his team, because the SEALs would have a grand time flipping him shit over the need to rescue a Special Forces operator.

  Of course, Cal and Pax would probably razz him as well. He was basically screwed no matter who they sent. But damn, he couldn’t wait to see his teammates’ ugly mugs. He needed to know if anyone had been injured in the market fight. In the back of his mind, that fear was there.

  It was always there.

  He’d planned the extraction. If any of his brothers had been hurt, it would be his fault.

  Savvy stared at the screen and cursed. After a short window, clouds once again covered frigging half of South Sudan.

  Her cell phone buzzed. It better be Cal. Or even better, Bastian. She got her first wish. “Give me some good news, Cal.”

  “Um…the kids have escaped to the Sudd and White Nile?”

  “I knew that already. Where is Bastian?”

  “We don’t know. There’s no trace of them. The storm wiped away everything.”

  “Sonofabitch.”

  “No sign of them in the satellite images?”

  “It’s too cloudy.”

  “Keep looking.”

  “I am. Everyone is.” It was what she’d been doing all day. On the computer in front of her, she had a slide show of the last images they’d been able to acquire, from yesterday evening, when the cloud cover had thinned. They weren’t great shots, but they were at least recent.

  Up on the big screen were the baseline images, ones that had been taken three days ago, as soon as they realized Chief Ford and Gabriella Prime were MIA.

  “You’re sure they went south?” she asked.

  “No. But that’s what her coworkers said they believe she’d do. She knows the area, the people. Bastian would listen to her if she said south is their best option.”

  “Is the team in Akobo?” she asked Cal.

  “Yeah. The roads are too messed up for recon. We’ll use the helo once we get a solid lead.”

  Savvy pulled up images of the closest village to the south. No changes in the images taken two days apart. She continued farther south, along the main road. Bastian would be sear
ching for a radio. A truck. Fuel. Those were found along the main corridor.

  But what would Brie do?

  She’d been traumatized. For all they knew, she could be injured.

  Brie would want to hide.

  Savvy returned to the village image and caught a faint line that led west through the grasslands. Another village?

  She found it and zoomed in. The image was hard to read. She pulled up the baseline from the clear day on the big screen, and could see what looked like circles—eight huts?

  She sent yesterday’s image to the big screen. Yes, eight huts. But one circle…looked different. The color had changed. That could be due to the rain.

  “There’s a village to the southwest that might be promising.” She gave Cal the name as near as she could tell. “If it clears tomorrow, we’ll focus the cameras there. Find out what you can about the place on your end.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Sav.” Cal hung up.

  That was one of the most civil conversations she’d ever had with the Green Beret, but then, in this they had the same goal. Of course, they always had the same goal, but sometimes the military guys didn’t believe it. They didn’t trust her because they knew she lied without compunction or remorse. She twisted and manipulated.

  They were on the same team, but Savvy was willing to sacrifice eggs to make the omelet. She didn’t have the luxury of being vegan.

  She stared at the screen. Her gut told her that the change in color of the circle wasn’t a trick of the light. It meant something. The question was, would it lead to Bastian and Brie?

  Bastian had removed his shirt in the heat, and Brie enjoyed the view as he used a compass to lay out his message in straight, even lines.

  His waist was as impossibly narrow as his biceps were impossibly wide. He was like a sculpture, but instead of marble, he was flesh-and-blood perfection. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lusted after a man this much, but then, this was the first time she’d ever been stranded quite like this, and she’d been celibate for a year.