Wolfsbane

by Ronie Kendig

  With a huff, Squirt planted his hands on hips. “Grew up in the Top End.”

  “As opposed to the bottom end?”

  Though sincerity bled into the Kid’s question, Squirt looked ready to kill. “Northern Territory, Australia.”

  “How’d you end up here?” Legend asked.

  The guy might as well spill his history. The team wouldn’t let up until they knew.

  “Long story. Gist is my mom divorced my dad right after my kid sister was born.”

  “You have a sister?”

  Cowboy patted the Kid’s shoulder. “Down boy.”

  Dighton glared but went on. “My mom moved us back to her homeland—Australia. When I was sixteen, she died and my sister, Rel, and I came back to the States to live with my dad. I went into the Navy after high school.” He gave another huff and looked around. “Any more questions, or can we get back to this mission and why I’m helping lead?”

  “Wicked,” the Kid said.

  Max smirked. “Go ahead.”

  “Since I spent time on special ops in South America and my specialty was logistics, I offered my services in the planning and implementation. I’m familiar with the countries, their people, and their language.”

  The Kid perked up. “You speak Spanish?”

  “Más que un cabrito como usted sabrían nunca.”

  Running a hand over his mouth, Canyon hid his smile. More than a kid like you would ever know. Would the Kid realize he’d just gotten owned?

  The Kid stared at Squirt for two blinks. “What’d you say?”

  Expression flat, Dighton said, “You’re wise beyond your years.”

  “Awesome.” The Kid nodded. “But …” Then grinned. “La próxima vez, asegúrese de que el niño no sabe español.”

  Shock gaped across the Shack.

  The Kid shifted. “For those who don’t speak Spanish, I said, ‘next time, make sure the Kid doesn’t know Spanish.’”

  Head thrown back, Dighton guffawed. The laughter reverberated off the metal beams crisscrossing the ceiling. He slapped his hand into the Kid’s and pulled him into a man hug, only to end up noogying him.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” The Kid extricated himself. “Give me some respect, will ya?”

  “Let’s focus,” Max said. “We’re headed into Miranda, Venezuela.” He pointed to the maps on the table. “We’ll hop a C-130 down south, then chopper in.” Handing off the conversation to Dighton, Max nodded at his SEAL buddy.

  “Okay, we’ll drop in ten klicks inside the Venezuelan-Colombian border.” His finger trailed over the map, from one X to another. “This is where we’ll pick up vehicles. It’s deemed hostile, but it’s not.”

  “Come again?” Wiping the blade of his SOG against his pants leg, Legend looked over at the map, an apple dangling from his other hand. “Hostile but not?”

  “There’s a military presence, but they should be easy to avoid.”

  “How can we be sure?” Canyon was all for not encountering bullets and blades, but he wasn’t going in blind.

  “I’ve taken a team down there myself. I know the routes, their territory.” Dighton shifted his focus back to the penciled-in plans. “Vehicles here, we drive through the night to reach this.” He drew an imaginary circle around a spot that bordered what looked like water. “This is the reputed location we’re to recon and report.”

  “What do you think?” Legend asked, eating the apple he’d sliced. “Think this information is legit?”

  Palms on the table, Dighton peered up through a tense brow. “If this is right, if what I read in the hearing transcript is accurate …” His pale eyes darted over the map. “It’s brilliant right there on the coastline. Access to land, air, water. In and out, nobody’s the wiser.”

  “If the facility goes deep enough, there’s no sat imaging,” Max added.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Dighton said, his voice deep. “Bruzon is no idiot. If he finds out we’re there, it won’t be pretty.”

  “What’s our timetable?” Cowboy eased against the couch and folded his arms.

  “Ten days,” Max said. “Two weeks at the most. But it’s rugged, brutal terrain—and we’ll probably get hit with rain.”

  “You worried about the girl?”

  Aladdin’s question, though targeted at Max, pulled at Canyon’s heart. Roark was one of the toughest women he knew. But she’d tanked after returning from the mission that went horribly wrong, and then plummeted off the will to live when told she’d have to go back. What was her frame of mind now that they were gearing up to leave?

  “She’s former Army Corps of Engineers, ordnance. They discharged her medically after her return,” Max said.

  “Demolitions is one thing,” the Kid said. “Black ops is another. Besides, wasn’t she wigged out when they pulled her from the water? I mean, that transcript from the hearing was messed up.”

  Head down, Canyon glared at him.

  The Kid shrugged. “Just sayin’. Why are we doing this, anyway? I mean, wasn’t there enough evidence she was brutalized down there? How’d it get whacked and suddenly she’s the bad guy?”

  Max shifted. “The intel on that stick drive was too precise—too perfect. CIA sources checked it out; government sent black ops down there—all came up with one thing: zip. Nothing like what she reports.” Knuckling his lips, he stared at the spread on the table. “And—this goes no further than your ears—Lambert thinks it might be connected to Siberia.”

  Legend grunted. “You mean something might come out of me freezing my assets off?”

  “How’s Siberia connected?” Cowboy asked.

  With a shrug, Max said, “Don’t know. Old Man’s not saying.”

  Roughing a hand over his stubble, Cowboy grunted. “There’s a lot that doesn’t add up or make sense.”

  “Like the Bermuda Triangle of bad ops. Never know what will be what till it’s too late. Know what I’m sayin’?” Legend mumbled.

  Max nodded. “There’s also question about the girl’s loyalties.”

  Canyon’s chest tightened.

  “According to the Old Man, agents checked out her home computer, found all kinds of intel, including vacation photos tethering her to this guy.” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Think about it. Not that I agree with their accusations, but she’s held by this perv for six months, then suddenly escapes with the USB drive—the keys to his kingdom, to a facility that holds weapons of mass destruction?”

  “Tss,” the Kid said. “I can gain remote access of a computer with my eyes closed. Anyone could’ve planted that information. And everyone has seen CougarNews reports about Russia sending missiles to Venezuela.”

  “True. But they’ve also found a bank account with enough money to float her to the moon.”

  “But she’s not complicit,” Canyon nearly growled. “She’s innocent.”

  “Midas is right, I think. The question is, who planted that stuff there? Where’d the dough come from?” The Kid frowned, his gaze thoughtful. “Seems mighty coincidental, don’t you think, that all this stuff is suddenly discovered? I say someone’s trying to get rid of her.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Max glared at the Kid.

  The men wanted to know what they’d have to deal with, what sort of mental and physical shape Roark was in. The questions were standard. Needed to be asked. But still … it rankled him. The question was not whether she could do this—because somehow, he knew Roark had the courage to gut it up and get it done—but whether Nightshade would keep her safe.

  But he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t let them know how things had shifted between him and her. Even though he had shifted it back, would Max or Lambert yank him if they knew?

  Nah, better to keep his mouth shut. Ensure he went on the mission. He dare not look up and show what he felt, what ate at him: One misstep, one mistake, and she could end up in the claws of a man who would not hesitate to rip her apart.

  “Realize what we could be dealing with if Sokolesk
i is involved. He killed his brother, and he won’t talk, but it’s not hard to imagine what Russian physicists would be developing in an underground mountain facility.”

  “Nuclear weapons.”

  “Or something to make it possible.” Max waved his hand over some gear. “We need to get images of Bruzon’s facility, environmental readings. All the supplies are there; we just gotta get it logged. If they are building nuclear capabilities—well, it goes without saying that we need to stop this.”

  Canyon straightened. He grabbed the imaging and stabbed a finger against the name. “Miranda.” He looked at Max. “That’s what Sokoleski said to me as he died.”

  Someone cursed.

  Canyon’s mind raced. Roark was caught up in a nuclear plot. And more than ever he believed her. Not that he hadn’t before, but this added cement to it.

  “Midas?” Aladdin speared him with inquisitive eyes.

  Canyon started at the attention. “Sorry?” He noticed the others watching him.

  “You’ve spent time with her. Do you think she’s up to it?”

  Aladdin had no idea the gem he’d just revealed to the team. And Canyon certainly didn’t want to explain anything. He kept his secrets in a vault with the combination buried.

  As expected, the question caught the attention of their team leader. Max frowned. “You’ve spent time with her?”

  Defensive talons dug into his chest and needled his shoulders. “She’s up to it.”

  Hand on his shoulder, Max forced Canyon to face him. “Do I need to know something?”

  Too many variables. Too much involved.

  “Attention on deck,” Legend’s voice boomed as he nodded toward the main bay.

  Saved by the arrival of a visitor, Canyon slipped to the rear of the room.

  Through the sea of black-clad bodies, he spotted a black Chrysler 300 gliding through the doors. It rolled to a stop at the four-foot bank that boasted stairs with no handrails. The Old Man emerged.

  “He’s my godfather.” Roark’s words the night she cut her arm roared through his head. What kind of godfather would send his goddaughter into the gaping maw of a communist jungle laden with rebels?

  The kind of godfather with an elite team of warriors at his disposal.

  Shadows scampered from one corner to another as Dani climbed the concrete steps into the warehouse. Grimy windows. Dilapidated. Broken windows high up. The building had all the earmarks of disuse. Until she passed through the first door. Night and day difference. Back there, dust and abandonment. In here, clean and remodeled. A consecutive series of walled-off areas defined the cavernous space into distinct rooms. To the left, bags and gear piled high in the middle of the room. Immediately to the right, the wall curved around and opened, revealing a brown leather couch—torn and well used—and a three-legged table with a stack of books serving as the missing fourth leg.

  In the semidarkened room, shadows wavered. A lone, tinkling light dangled over a table around which several men huddled. Seven, in her quick appraisal.

  Dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, the group seemed to tighten as the general guided her into their sanctum. Pockets protruded from the legs, ubiquitous bulges hinted at the weapons they carried, and thick chests bore testament to armored vests—most likely Interceptors. But the vests had nothing on the bulky bodies stretching T-shirts and filling jackets. Grit and determination had been gouged into these men through one method—experience.

  Despite the temptation to relax, to believe she’d be safe with these men, Dani held her ground. She’d had no fear with the last team either.

  “Gentlemen,” the general said. “This is Danielle Roark, your primary objective.”

  Objective. It sounded so sanitized, and she knew the reason behind the term—to make it easier for the men to do their jobs and not get attached to the objective—me.

  The general’s stoic mask remained in place. “You are charged with Danielle’s protection. If anything happens to her, you will answer to me.” For a minute, he seemed to falter but then he looked at her. “I trust these men with my life. You can, too.”

  Dani bounced her attention from man to man. With their proximity to one another, she couldn’t see the two at the back. All the same, the men here bespoke a powerful confidence.

  “For security reasons,” Lambert said, “we’ll use call signs only. In the front, there’s the team leader, Frogman.”

  Dark eyes matched the black clothes of the man who gave a curt nod. “In and out. We’ll have you back before you know it.”

  Though she tried to smile, it fell from her lips. Nice sentiments. She’d heard them before.

  “Don’t let the big guys scare you,” the general continued. “The one on the right is Cowboy.”

  He tipped a black baseball cap. “Ma’am.”

  “Next to him is Legend.”

  A nod.

  “There you have Squirt and the Kid.” Lambert pointed to the side where one from the back eased around the broad shoulders of Legend. “Then there’s—”

  “Aladdin.” A smile made it into her lips this time. “How could I forget?” The playful tone haunted her words with memories of the surf lesson with Canyon.

  Soulful eyes twinkled. “I am never going to live that down.”

  “Maybe it’s the magic you work.”

  Aladdin laughed. “I knew I liked you.”

  “And of course,” Lambert said, “you already know the last team member.”

  Blue eyes blazed, stuffing her heart into her throat as the last man stepped into view. “Canyon?” In the lighting, his sandy blond hair almost looked brown. Was it really him? Her gaze trailed over his body—the tactical gear only emphasized his muscular yet lean build. The look added an aura of intrigue and intensity to his already mysterious persona. Clearly he was a part of this team, but he’d never spoken of it. Business trips. He’d taken one not too long ago. Was it really a mission?

  A curt nod. “Roark.”

  The formality and distance in his greeting shoved her heart back down, past her chest, and into her stomach as she relived the night he’d kissed her, the night he’d murmured his brother’s name, then pealed into the night.

  Legend took her duffel. “I’ll take care of this for you.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as he headed to the other bay and flung it into the pile before returning. “Thank you.”

  “… a problem. What am I missing?”

  The terse question drew her round. Frogman had Canyon pinned in a corner. Toe to toe the two were the same height, same build. But Frogman exuded a ferocity that made Canyon look like a lamb. Beside her, the general talked with a couple of the other men, and although she feigned interest in that conversation, her ears were trained on the one in the corner.

  “I said it’s not a problem.” Canyon scowled at Frogman.

  “What I’m seeing says different.”

  “What you see and what’s real—”

  Frogman leaned in. Said something hissed and angry.

  Fire lit through Canyon’s expression.

  More heated words.

  Two-handed, Canyon shoved him back. “Step off!”

  With speed that frightened her, Frogman grabbed Canyon’s shirt and hauled him up against the wall, his forearm pressing into Canyon’s throat.

  Silence dropped like an anchor on the room.

  Dani started forward, but an arm flashed into view and held her back. She frowned at the general. Disconcerted, she could do nothing but watch. Conversations died. Movement ceased as all eyes pinned on the confrontation.

  “At the first sign …” Frogman’s voice carried low and menacing, his face pushed up against Canyon’s. What he said next got lost in her whooshing pulse and his guttural words.

  Face red and bulging against the air deprivation, Canyon struggled. Planted a hand against Frogman’s elbow, trying to dislodge the pressure.

  “Got it?” Frogman asked through clenched teeth.

  A strained
“yes” carried through the deadly quiet.

  With a grunt, Frogman released Canyon and stood there, shoulders rising and falling under labored breaths. “Don’t make me do that again.” He turned.

  Dani recoiled at the ticked-off expression. His dark eyes tracked over those watching, then he headed through an open doorway. The sound of his boots thudding as he stormed down the hall was soon severed by a slamming door.

  Whatever just happened, it’d brought an icy blanket of dread. She dared not move. The others, gazes locked on the floor, said nothing. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from the man slumped, holding his knees. Canyon. He looked broken, furious … and something else she couldn’t figure out.

  He stretched and rubbed his reddened neck. When he pushed himself upright, his gaze lingered on the floor. For several seconds he stood there without moving or talking. Then he strode toward them, a scowl gouged into his handsome face.

  The men stepped aside, the sea of bodies parting to allow him exit. He stalked down the open corridor toward a steel door with a lone lightbulb flickering overhead.

  Pangs shot through Dani. Why did Frogman do that—and Canyon yield? Was the mission already in jeopardy? “Where’s he going? What does that mean?”

  “Showers.” Legend sauntered out of the room.

  “It means we’re a team and hold each other accountable.” Cowboy soon followed.

  Accountable? Accountable for what? Did this mean Frogman didn’t like her? She glanced to the general.

  He cupped her elbow and gave a light squeeze. “They’ve worked together for more than two years, dozens of missions.” The smile he offered didn’t fool anyone. “It’ll be okay.”

  She should leave. Right now. Being locked up in a federal pen was better than being captured or killed in Venezuela, and if this team was divided, she wasn’t going anywhere with them.

  Then again, there was the death penalty …

  “They are the best, Danielle.” He touched her arm and a sorrowful smile clouded his normally vibrant eyes.

  “How do you know?” she whispered. “After what I just saw—”

  “I can’t tell you more. Just know that these men will put their lives on the line to carry out this mission.” Were there tears in his eyes? “I wouldn’t entrust you to anyone else.”