Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3]

by Felicia Forella

  He spun, bracing himself on the wall next to the conference room door. “Hey, Ed. What brings you to our little base?” Keep it cool and play dumb. Easier said than done.

  "Some intelligence chatter is picking up. When that's happened in the past, an event of some sort has followed. First, Ramos escaped from jail and came after Aiden. Then, one of his drug dealers went a little batty. Call me suspicious, but I'm just waiting for something to happen.” The look she flashed him was full of suspicion, directed at him.

  "So what brings you here?” He had no intention of baiting the hook for her fishing expedition.

  "A busy training exercise, lots of visitors, an off-base environment perfect for someone wanting to remain inconspicuous. Do you want me to go on?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  "No, ma'am. You answered my question."

  "Great. Now you can return the favor. Have you seen anyone suspicious? Talked with anyone suspicious?"

  "Can't say that I have.” Damn woman. She'd be well suited to the role of a trial attorney. She'd have weaker men spilling their guts during cross examination. Ha! He'd had the weak beat out of him at the Academy. “How's married life treating you?"

  The stern lines on her face softened instantaneously, replaced by a soft glow. Well, shit. He wanted a woman to look like that at the merest of mentions. Not just any woman, either.

  "He's great. JAG work keeps him busy."

  Judge Advocate General corps. Military lawyers. Aiden Greene left behind a lucrative private legal career to be with his wife. Judging by the look on the wife's face, it had been a smart move.

  "What about you? A special woman manage to get her hook in you yet?” His face must have revealed his secret. “She has, hasn't she? Chadwick Monroe, off the market. Well, it's about time."

  If it kept her from probing for his secrets, he'd share some of his personal life with her. He wasn't able to disabuse her of the not-quite-true-yet notion. The conference room door swung open, the pilots who'd pulled morning duty finished with their debrief. The men gathered around the table stood as Erika strolled into the room, mostly out of respect, but it helped them get a better look. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it. He'd put the moves on her more than once. Now, all he could do was compare her to Casey. She chatted with the men as they waited for the rest of the pilots to arrive.

  He loved the challenge of night flying, glad he'd picked up a couple of evening sorties to help Rebel out for a day or two. Tonight, “coalition forces” would infiltrate with the intent to destroy radar and missile sites, a key strategy in any air war. His job, and the that of the rest of the team, was to make that mission all but impossible. The more realistic experience these fighter pilots had during war games, when a “kill” meant they had to hang their head in shame and head back to base, the more likely they were to survive in a situation where a “kill” meant they came home in a flag-draped coffin, provided rescue teams could find a body.

  Erika spent the first fifteen minutes of their pre-flight briefing explaining why she'd come. Intelligence had noticed increased chatter and she knew that meant something was going down. She told them all that the last two times this had happened, Ramos snuck into the United States and tried to kill a former Air Force officer. She neatly sidestepped the fact that officer was now her husband. The second time, they'd brought down a drug dealer working in connection with Ramos’ son, supplying a flow of cash to the organization. He'd been there, pissed as hell at Erika for blowing a prime chance for him to prove his loyalty to Junior.

  Requesting their assistance, she asked them to keep S.A., situational awareness, even on the ground. She needed them to report any suspicious activity or persons. “I promise not to laugh, gentlemen, if your person of interest turns out to be a visiting grandma from Peru."

  That earned her a laugh. Finished with her public service announcement, she left them to the job at hand, killing fellow pilots.

  * * * *

  Wednesday dawned sunny and mild with a slight breeze. The perfect day for a ten-mile run. Chad loved the early morning jogs, with the world quiet, not awake. There was no better time to pound the pavement, no distractions, no interruptions, just time to think.

  He needed that time this morning. He'd come to a conclusion as he tried to fall asleep, horny as hell and missing Casey. He'd gone to bed wanting her in his arms and woke up looking for her.

  One looming task topped his post-run to-do list, something he was finally ready for.

  An hour later, shower and shave completed, he navigated his Corvette down a gravel path, careful not to bottom out in the low-slung car. He hadn't been here since ... well ... he'd only been here once before, on the day of the funerals. Getting directions from the caretaker had made him feel like a total cad even though he didn't know him from any of the numerous other people who came to pay their respects. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to come, it was just that ... he hadn't wanted to come. Who the hell was he kidding? Not himself, not anymore.

  Parking near the tree, as he'd been instructed to do, he grabbed the floral arrangement from the passenger seat and slammed the door shut and prayed no one else came along. With no room to pass on the path that tried to pass itself off as a road, the car would have to drive on the grass. And wasn't that a creepy thought? Counting up and over, he located the patch of ground.

  He dropped to one knee and flipped the vase up. The flowers weren't artfully arranged when he dropped them in, but it was the thought that counted, right? His palms sweaty, his fingers uncurled and reached for the raised lettering. Jonathan Chadwick Monroe. Date of birth and date of death the same. No time span lived between the dash, nothing to show for his brief time on earth but a copper marker and the hole he'd left in his father's heart. Reaching into one of the many pockets, he pulled out the hospital bands he'd been given that awful night. He kept them with him, tucked away in his flight suit. He felt close to his son as he raced through the heavens, as if they were actually together. It was why the urge to visit this place had never tugged at him.

  The one band was so unbearably tiny, wrapped around an even tinier ankle as the doctors worked feverishly to save John's life. But doctors weren't the gods they pretended to be. The trauma from the accident proved stronger. The other band had been his, a matching one for security purposes, one generally given to the mother. Except the mother had died when they took her off life support.

  "I'll always love you, John. But you know that, don't you? You're with me when I'm flying, right there by my side, watching over me.” He dropped back on his heels, and lowered his head for a heartbeat. “I've met a really great woman and she has a son, his name is Jackson. I hope someday, I'll be his father. I'd like to think that you'll be watching over all of us when that happens. No matter what, you'll be my firstborn, nothing can ever change that.” His chin dropped to his chest and he swiped at the tear running down his cheek.

  Brenda Spencer Monroe. His fingers traced the letters. She'd been impossibly young. For all the hell she'd caused him, she hadn't deserved this.

  "God, Bren. I can't believe I'm here after all this time. I was so mad at you for so long and even madder at the drunk bastard who killed you and John. He's out of jail, ya know. He's even had the nerve to send me letters. I shred them. I don't care what he has to say.” He drew a deep shuddering breath. “It took me a helluva long time to trust women again, to want to be around children again. I avoided my own family because I couldn't bear to see my nieces and nephews and listen to them call out for daddy. But I'm finally ready for that closure the shrinks told me about.” He snorted. He'd been forced to see psychiatrists after the accident in order to be determined fit for flying. They'd harped on “closure,” and how he needed it to move on. Damned if the annoying pains in the ass weren't right. “I wish things had turned out differently, Bren. I wish we'd have had the chance to go through a messy divorce, to try to work out visitation because of my screwy schedule. I've met someone and it's time for me to move on. I th
ought I owed you that much, to let you know."

  For the first time in forever, he felt at peace with the past. Now he just had to get his future under control. He tugged a carnation, the only flower he recognized, from the bunch he'd shoved in the vase and placed it across the plaque. With one last swipe at the moisture on his cheek, he headed back to his car.

  * * * *

  Casey's heart thudded to a halt in her chest. The air turned thick, making breathing next to impossible. Not ten yards in front of her, Chad knelt in front of a grave, head bowed. She couldn't bring herself to intrude on his grief. His grief! She refused to have him think she'd stalked him. Which she hadn't.

  She'd come this morning to visit her mother's grave, something she did at least once a week. While she was here, she decided to pay her respects to a former member of her breast cancer support group who'd recently passed away. That's when she'd seen Chad, as she came up the slight incline. She'd been frozen in place by the sight.

  Her feet remained rooted to the ground as he returned to his car. The sound of the revving engine jarred her from her trance and jolted her into action. Finding the grave he'd visited was a piece of cake since he'd left fresh flowers.

  Her hand flew to her chest and her mouth gaped wide open as she looked down on the names. Oh. My. God. A wife. And a son who would have been Jackson's age.

  He'd never told her about them. He'd heard all about Brian, knew all her dirty little secrets and insecurities. Yet he'd never bothered to tell her he was a widower. Guess that told her where she stood.

  Son of a bitch. They'd spent a night and a morning making love, which she thought meant something to him. She'd looked past the jet jockey and thought she'd learned about the man. So much for that assumption. He'd rushed here at the first opportunity, to his wife's grave, to do what? Apologize for spending the night with another woman?

  Every fiber of her being called out to her to follow him, confront him. Where she dredged up the restraint, she had no idea. Oh, they'd have a discussion, all right, but not when he'd be able to use work as an excuse. She'd tell him exactly what she thought of a man who'd spend precious hours in bed with one woman and then run off to visit his dead wife's grave.

  Gathering her wits, she slogged back to her car. She had a support group to run. Women needed her. Thankfully, heavy traffic as she made her way to the base allowed her to compose herself.

  A young Latina woman sat perched on the edge of the chair in the waiting room when Casey walked in. Funny, she didn't think she'd had an appointment before group.

  "May I help you?"

  "Miss Wilkes?"

  "Yes."

  "I believe you will be a big help."

  Casey's heart skipped a beat then roared to life as the woman drew a gun from her purse. Uncontrollable tremors wracked her body. An invisible elephant settled on her chest, making it impossible to breathe.

  "I don't want to hurt you, but I will. Please come with me."

  The woman escorted her back out to the parking lot, the gun carefully concealed in her handbag. No one suspected, no one knew. No one but her. Vaguely, somewhere in the far back reaches of her mind, she remembered an episode of the Oprah show. A safety expert had warned women not to go with their attackers because most vicious crimes occurred at what was known as the second crime scene. She had to do something. She couldn't leave with this woman.

  "Please do not think of drawing attention to yourself. I know where your son is."

  Just that fast, any plan evaporated. She might be willing to risk her life, but not her son's.

  "What do you want with me?” Casey squeaked as she was shoved into the passenger seat of an unremarkable sedan.

  "You are my, how do you say it, insurance plan."

  Casey's world went black as the woman jabbed a needle into her neck.

  Luz stared down at the unconscious woman and smiled. Regardless of what her hermano thought, it didn't hurt to have some leverage with Monroe. He'd cooperate with them now. First things first. She had to get off the base without being spotted and get rid of the stolen car.

  Fifteen minutes later, she'd traded the stolen car for her rental car and dumped Señorita Wilkes in the backseat. She drove half an hour to a remote area outside of Las Vegas in order to put the next phase of her plan into action. She did not have much time. Her family's private jet was due to arrive within the hour to take her and her guest to Cancuen. How wonderful to be going home, to be away from all the lights and noise of this capitalist town.

  Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Monroe's number. He picked up on the second ring. She loved a man who jumped to her command. It was too bad she'd not have a chance to sample him before returning home. “Buenos tardes, Señor."

  "Yes?"

  He was a man of so few words. “We will be leaving today."

  "Today is no good."

  "I am afraid you do not understand. We will be leaving today. It has been decided.” Turning around, she clicked a picture of her sleeping guest and sent it to her reluctant accomplice.

  His voice dropped an octave before he spoke. “You fucking bitch. If you lay so much as a goddamn finger on her, I'll hurt you."

  "There is no reason to be so vulgar. You will get to see your precious amante when you and our jet are safely in Cancuen."

  "I'm not sure if I can make it happen today."

  "You will make it happen or I will be forced to hurt the beautiful lady."

  "Don't hurt her.” The tension in his voice was recognizable even through the phone lines. She'd made a wise decision in securing Señorita Wilkes’ cooperation.

  "What time will you be arriving in Cancuen?” She rattled off the coordinates of their headquarters.

  "As soon as I possibly can."

  "Gracias. I look forward to seeing you this evening.” She clicked her phone shut and dropped it to the passenger seat. She turned south to head back to town and to the North Las Vegas Airport. Soon, the Ramos family would have the power to make the American government pay.

  * * * *

  This was abso-fucking-lutely the worst thing that could have happened. It was so bad it hadn't even been on the radar screen as a worst-case scenario.

  The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd wanted to keep Casey safe. He'd failed. He'd worried about what she'd think of him when he and a multi-million dollar jet disappeared. Not a problem anymore. He'd hoped and prayed that she'd want him if he returned. Now he had to get them both safely out of Cancuen.

  He sat at the table in the conference room, elbows braced on the table, forehead in hands. He sucked in large gulps of air in a futile attempt to still the chaos in his stomach when what he wanted to do was throw up. Right now, he didn't even care if some of it splashed on his boots and he had to polish them again. His hand shook as he reached for the phone.

  "Covington."

  "It's a beautiful day outside, wouldn't you say so, sir?"

  "Indeed. I never tire of the weather here. It's why I'm planning to retire here. In fact, I was thinking of taking a walk in about five minutes or so."

  "Never pass up an opportunity to enjoy the smell of lingering jet fuel in the air, I always say."

  He shoved his cell phone in his pocket and headed out the door. Sure enough, five minutes later, he saw the general heading down the sidewalk. Thank goodness the man was known for his penchant to take a stroll once or twice a day. Wordlessly, he opened up his phone and handed it over.

  The general faltered, almost falling over a crack in the sidewalk. The blood drained from his face as he turned to face Chad, his eyes flashing fury. “You bring her the hell home, do you hear me?"

  "Yes, sir. I plan on it."

  "When?” Chad understood the question to mean when did he leave, not when did he plan to bring Casey back.

  "Today."

  The older officer let loose with a string of vulgarities colorful enough to make a sailor blush. “Are you ready?"

  "Not at this moment, but I will be.” All of the checklists
he'd made up for exactly this moment shuffled to the front of his brain.

  With a curt nod, the general turned but paused before taking a step. “I did this to her."

  "No, sir, you did not."

  "I did. I put her in your path and that made her vulnerable to this ... this—"

  "I should have stayed away from her, sir. I knew the danger every bit as much as you did, sir."

  "It looks like we both made mistakes, Major."

  "Maybe we did, General.” Chad wasn't stupid enough to disagree with the man, whether he considered him to be his CO or a worried father.

  "Just bring her back, son; just bring her back."

  For the first time since he'd known the general, he looked old, defeated. “I will, sir. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman.” Mission be damned, he'd bring the woman he loved home.

  Chapter 14

  The propeller is just a big fan in front of the plane used to keep the pilot cool. When it stops, you can actually watch the pilot start sweating.

  Chad waited, alone, his stomach churning, ready for the games to begin, and for the last fighter pilot to come strap into his flight suit and grab his gear. When he did, Chad would be there. Major Thomas “Fudge” Packer flew the Joint Strike Fighter, the military's newest and best fighter jet, still under development and testing. If the Cancuen-based terrorist organization got its hands on such a weapon, the ramifications scared the shit out of everyone who'd considered the scenario. That's where Chad came in.

  Except this wasn't just about protecting American interests at home and abroad anymore. Faster than it took to kick in afterburners, Ramos and company had made it personal. He'd done nothing to give Antonio or his sister any indication that he'd changed his mind. He'd kept those thoughts to himself, because in the end, he'd have completed the assignment. Too much depended on him to do otherwise.

  He'd been in this up to his neck since then Captain Erika Dalton of the Air Force Security Agency and then Colonel Covington took a routine TDY to Cancuen to check on the status of the country's most infamous prisoner, Miguel “Sonny” Ramos. Over lunch, Erika had made an offhanded comment about a former classmate who'd just lost his wife and daughter to a drunk driver. Covington had noticed the interest in Ramos’ eyes and the blackest black op mission had begun. Wouldn't the ultra-by-the-rules Major Dalton-Greene just shit herself if she knew her role in this whole thing?