They trudged solemnly down an empty hallway, alone together for the first time since their romp back at the hotel. Alone, except for an array of security cameras set around every nook and cranny of the compound.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s a piece of cake.”
“Yeah, for now.”
She nodded and said, “How’s Jasper?”
“He’s back to work. No headaches or anything, or so he says. But I trust the doc.”
“He’s a doctor?”
“Medic. But he’s been through some serious shit, himself and helping others on the team. He knows what he’s doing.”
“How about you?”
His lips were pursed together. Macy held his hand briefly, hoping that the cameras hadn’t caught the gesture. Though it was well worth the risk, to feel him again.
“I’m good,” he said. “I’m more worried about you. After all you’ve been though, how the hell are you still so cool and collected? How can you not have PTSD?”
“Oh, I think I probably do,” Macy said. “It just hasn’t surfaced yet. I bet when I get home . . .” She thought of “home” for moment, not even knowing where that was. And then she imagined that she could never return there, wherever it was. The whole thing sometimes felt so hopeless, that even when she got to some sort of “home” situation in the United States—if she even made it there— that she’d still have that sick feeling inside . . . a sensation of being hunted. It clung to her like a foul odor. Something rotting. Something tainted.
Would she ever shake it?
Would it linger and fester and turn into her own type of cruel and unusual PTSD?
“Hey,” Tucker said, jarring Macy away from her increasingly depressing thoughts. He stopped her, holding his arm around her waist, spinning her around to face him. “Just remember,” he said. “We can do this.”
Macy looked into his fatigue-ridden face and said, “What’s your point?”
He smiled. “Don’t be so glum.”
She didn’t return the smile, but said, “Okay.”
Tucker looked down the hall, and then back at her. “I have this . . . feeling . . .”
Her hand was back onto him, up his arm again. She wanted to talk about anything that didn’t involve their mission, or their history. “What kind of feeling, exactly?”
“Like I want to kiss you.”
Unconsciously, her bottom lip sucked in, her mouth tasting it, wetting it for him. There were parts of her brain that would dwell and deliberate it too much if she let it, but she pushed the thoughts away. Her lips wanted it, wanted him. A simple want. A welcoming. But there were other areas of her brain that were still too aware of the bright lights of the hallway, the security cameras, or the deepening waters of confusion that she and Tucker had already taken steps to enter. They were in the wading pool now, staring off into the deep end, the ledge to the abyss.
“Sorry,” Tucker said, shaking his head as if trying to fling out some naughty impulse.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t be sorry.”
“My head’s been spinning all day, and it wasn’t just from the accident.”
“I’m sorry, then,” Macy said. “I think it was me. I think I was the one to . . . you know . . . start things.”
“No, it was me. They were started with me a long time before last night.”
Macy felt his words in her heart, sharp and warming, and a little scary. “Really?”
He nodded.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe right away.”
“Right away?”
“From the Luandan hotel room.”
“Oh.” For just a moment she’d hoped he would have answered longer, from years ago. From St. Louis. But there was no way he’d had feelings for her back then, or that he’d carried them all the way to Iraq, harboring it there, waiting the whole time, planning, plotting, surviving, and then somehow making it all possible through DARC Ops. The idea was ludicrous.
“This is still a little crazy to me,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t even expecting to see you at all. And now, well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”
“And what do you think this is?”
“I don’t know.” He slipped his hand in hers, squeezing. “This is probably us behaving badly.”
She nodded.
“Very badly,” he said.
“And irresponsibly.”
“We’d be putting the world at risk . . .”
Macy felt a smile creeping along her lips. “I didn’t know we were so important. I went from slumming it in Luanda, to . . . being in charge of the free world.”
“Or at least watching over a shack.”
“A decoy shack.”
“Your decoy shack,” he said. “I should have left it twenty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
His eyes were devouring her now, his gaze almost hot on her skin.
“If you’re going to be late,” she said, “you should at least make it worth your while.”
Tucker smiled, and then pulled her around by her hand, leading Macy into a recess in the wall next to a vending machine. “What are you proposing?”
“Whatever you think is worth the risk.” She looked around for cameras. There were none that she could see.
“You left me high and dry last time,” Tucker said. “And so . . . frustrated.”
“That was your boss doing that.”
“He’s not my boss,” Tucker said, his voice a low growl. “And I’ve been feeling crazy all day.”
“Probably from all your near-death experiences.”
“I’ve almost forgotten them.”
She looked him up and down, starting with that cute smile of his, and then the length of his muscular body. She imagined him with his clothes off, how that body lay in her arms in the darkness of her hotel room. She imagined her mouth, and his tongue, running over bare skin. Macy reached out for his tie and pulled him close into her. Tucker stepped clumsily forward, his hips bouncing into hers as they giggled quietly. “You’re right,” she said. “This is crazy. Probably the craziest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”
“And you’ve been involved in some pretty amazing adventures.”
“Nothing like this,” she said, pulling him closer. “Nothing like you.” His head dipped so close to hers that she could smell his aftershave. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, quietly.
“You’re gonna get me fired,” he said, pulling away with a smile.
“You’re gonna get me killed.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time, looking almost sad when he pulled away. “We’re a bad mix, me and you. Probably not what either of us needs right now.”
“I know what you need right now,” she said.
He chuckled. “It’s definitely what I want. But do I need it?”
She nodded for him, agreeing on his behalf. She knew what she could give him, and she knew that he most certainly needed it. There were other things, too. Macy’s hands felt against his hard chest, and then lower, wrapping around his hip, pulling him in even closer, warmer against her body.
Tucker’s head suddenly jerked back. He looked away, down the hall, then backed up and straightened his shirt, his chest still heaving with deep breaths. It was amusing, watching him trying to look proper as he checked again down the hall. Macy heard it, too: someone’s approaching footsteps. Tucker ran a hand through his hair, his face reddening.
He suddenly turned to her, and in a loud, commanding voice, said, “No, we have to remain mobile. And that means you have to be on time and keep your notes in order. Do you understand me?”
No. She didn’t understand him at all. She didn’t understate what he said or why he was looking the way he was. So just Macy laughed and said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the . . . The T385 . . . Come on, we’ve been over this.”
> She whispered, “Have we?”
Tucker continued, just as loudly: “I don’t even know why I’m trying to talk to you right now. I’ve told you how many times about the T285? Huh? How many times?”
“You mean the T385?” she said, playing along, enjoying how easy it was to toy with him.
“I’ve had it with this. I really have.” He took a deep breath, and then looked behind him.
Macy figured he’d had enough, too. She was done playing nice. Despite whoever was approaching them in the hall, and despite whatever charade Tucker had been trying to maintain about disciplining a coworker, she reached for his belt and began tugging it loose.
“Hey,” Tucker whisper-yelled. There was a look of fear on his face. And then through his teeth:
“Hey, no more of this. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, tugging his belt again and freeing one end from the buckle. “I hear you.”
His hand shot down to stop hers, but he wasn’t trying very hard. Tucker’s hand was almost limp, half allowing her fingers to graze through his pants against his hardening cock.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered through a smile, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to turn around to face the men now. For either of two reasons, his belt half-unfastened, and the raging hard-on she’d just given him. Damn, he was so easily aroused. She loved that.
Tucker’s face looked strained now. More so than during any of their recent encounters with guns and killers. Panicked, Tucker grabbed a phone from his pocket and pretended to be typing onto it, meanwhile holding the device against his belt to keep fastened—and to keep Macy’s hands away from doing any more damage. When the men in the hallway walked by, Tucker stood up straight, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, then, is everything clear? Have we straightened it all out finally?”
“Yes, sir,” Macy said, her hands going back to his crotch after two men walked safely by. “I should say well straightened out.”
“Yeah,” Tucker said, his voice suddenly registering a little higher. He put the phone away and Macy’s fingers caressed the length of him. She was free to roam now, and to slip down to feel him.
But he started coughing, and backing away, his face more red than ever. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Please?”
“Please what?”
“You’re killing me.” Tucker pulled her hand away from him. “And I like it. But can you kill me a little later? We have some work to do.”
“I know. I’ve just been waiting around.”
“You should be used to that.”
“Well, before I didn’t have you to wait around with.”
“Which reminds me,” he said.
“No . . . Don’t go.”
“I have to.” Tucker looked down the hallway again. “Now I’m twenty-five minutes late.”
Macy pouted at him “Alright.”
“Just think,” he said, his hands at her hips, fingers rubbing slow circles against her. “After this, we’ll have all the time in the world. Crossing the Atlantic takes a few days, you know.”
“I’m definitely going to take a few days, too.”
“Of course,” Tucker said, going in for another kiss. “After this, you deserve it.”
20
Tucker
The projection room was already dark when Tucker entered. A single light shone on the screen, displaying a map. Before it, a small crowd of dark shapes clustered around a long boardroom table. It was a smaller group than before. A familiar voice came out of it.
“You’re late,” Jasper said. “Again.”
“So are you.”
“I was in the hospital,” Jasper said, still not moving out of his chair. “Making sure my brain wasn’t bleeding.”
For a second, Tucker thought about saying something witty about his friend’s malfunctioning brain, but then, at the silence of the small crowd, and the stuffy air of seriousness that enveloped them, he took a seat without any dramatic flair or humor. Humor was probably not what they needed right now. They were behind schedule, and the options were getting more desperate by the minute.
He didn’t talk anymore after that, Tucker instead sitting quietly while Jasper went over the rest of the slide presentation. It took only a minute to see that he was right about the desperation. It was palpable in the strained whispers, and the silence in between. The plan now was to ship the uranium through a giant convoy of trucks, all chugging down the highway for six hours to Durban, South Africa’s largest port. For security, they would create a virtual wall of trucks and army transport vehicles on both sides, behind and in front, as a buffer from any unwanted attention—especially the attention of Browning’s government or its affiliated terrorists. The only catch would be that the truck inside would be a decoy. That part was Tucker’s idea, and had no doubt occurred to him based on his borrowed experience with Macy’s successful decoy rooms. He offered it as an example, for perspective. It was hard to believe they’d actually gone for it.
“I understand it’s about smoke and mirrors and misdirection,” one of the dark shapes said with a South-African accent. “But for the actual truck, the actual uranium, what the hell are our defenses?”
“The unknown,” Jasper said. “You just said it yourself. It’s guile, trickery, sleight of hand, that sort of—”
“This isn’t a children’s magic trick, Jasper.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“We’re dealing with nearly 250 tons of enriched uranium.”
“I’m aware of that, too.”
“And so I’ll ask you again, what is the—”
“Hey, Tucker,” Jasper said, cutting the man off. “Do you want to answer this one?”
Finally sick of sitting still and staying quiet, Tucker sprung from his seat and took control of the stage, pacing back and forth to buy him some time to sound at least somewhat knowledgeable. “Gentlemen,” he finally said. “I wasn’t sure if we would go this route; in fact, it’s a recently conceived plan. But it’s the most surefire way.”
“What is the defense?” the South African asked. “Jasper, I’m ready to just consult with our men and go with what we have.”
“And what do you have?” Tucker said. “What’s your idea?”
“Tanks. We’ll have them, with guns trained, on both sides. Not this flimsy decoy business. We’ll make it obvious and with a massive show of force. Straight up the middle. Heavily armed.”
“Then you want a gunfight,” Tucker said.
“We don’t want one, but if we have one—”
“You want a gunfight with enriched uranium in the mix?” Tucker said, ending his pacing so he could stand and stare at the man. “What about not having one at all? I say we go with the decoy, but for the truck actually containing the uranium, we’ll surround it on both sides with armed vans.”
“Vans?”
“Trucks. Armed with EMP cannons.” Tucker waited a minute, watching the man’s head slowly turn to Jasper, cocking to the side in confusion as if he’d just heard a foreign language. Tucker said it again, this time even slower. “EMP. Cannons.”
The guy murmured to Jasper, “Do they even exist?”
“Gentlemen,” Tucker said. “Why do you think we’re here?” Out the corner of his eye, Tucker saw the slide change. Tansy pushed through one on EMP cannons—a weapon that could render any electrical device inoperable. Tucker continued, “Our reputation as the best is well earned.”
“Because of your . . . EMP cannons?”
“Tucker,” Jasper said. “Could you explain to these gentlemen what an EMP cannon is?”
“Well, I’m not the expert on that. I’m sure Tansy can come up and fill us in on the details, but—”
“We know what EMP device is,” said the man. “But are you suggesting that you’ve weaponized it in a way that can be aimed and fired at specific targets? In this case, vehicles traveling on a highway? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.” Tucker winced as he
walked in front of the projector’s light, though he tried keeping his voice flat and measured and utterly professional. “What I’m proposing is that we go ahead with the mass protected decoy, and then a few kilometers behind that, we have the actual shipment in a normal-looking truck. Not followed by any obvious defense vehicles. We can have unmarked trucks armed with these devices.”
“You already have these devices handy?”
“Yes,” Jasper said. “Our team knows how to use them, and can man them if you wish. If any vehicles are looking to pose a threat, we have the means to neutralize them. We can do this all the way to the port.”
“That’s four hundred miles.”
“Four hundred miles of covert protection. And most likely the best kind of protection you’ve ever seen.”
Jasper added, “And it’s the kind of protection that Browning’s men won’t ever see. Unless they try us.” He pressed a remote and the room lights came back on. He stood and waved Tucker back to his seat. “Thanks, Tucker,” he said, rubbing his hands together. And then, facing the crowd: “So, shall we begin?”
There was some grumbling in the crowd, the natives getting restless. And then the sound of confirmation, a solid twenty seconds of silence capped off with the general’s “How soon can we do this?”
Ten minutes later, when Tucker found himself alone in the hallway with Jasper, he had his own question to ask.
“What the hell was that?”
“That’s how we get things done in a hurry,” Jasper said. “Don’t worry, you did well.”
“I did well? It was completely out of my ass.”
“Yeah, and it worked. We’re mobilizing in two hours.” Jasper pressed the open bar for the door and the two of them strolled onto the hot blacktop parking lot in front of the heavily fortified defense building. “Does Macy still want to leave with us?” Jasper asked.
“You think she wants to stick around here?”
“I think she wants to stick around you.”
Tucker tried hard not to let his expression waver. The only way was to pretend he hadn’t heard it.
“That’s a compliment, by the way,” Jasper said.
Dark Lies (DARC Ops Book 6) Page 12
