“And you didn’t question why the DoD compound wasn’t good enough?”
“It’s in use by an SQT class. A retired sailor by the name of McGintry owns the Palomar H Ranch. We lease some of his land so the training doesn’t bleed over when they occur simultaneously.” When his father turned to leave, Paulson said, “If you infiltrate the exercise, Northcott will call foul. Sloane and the other couples’ participation will be invalidated. I know you hate Northcott. Don’t give him the chance to blame you for the failure of the exercise.”
His father and all of his six-foot-four ferocity flared into the warrior he’d once been. Adam nearly stepped back from shock, it was so palatable.
“I’ll tell you this, Nate. I’ll not only hold Northcott responsible if he’s stepped over the line, but I’ll come back for you. I don’t give a shit how many missions we ran together, brother. Does he know she’s my daughter?”
Paulson’s hazel gaze flicked to a group of golfers waiting for their turn on the green. “Yes, I told him, and maybe that was a mistake.”
Ghost removed the two feet between him and the officer who forgot what it meant to keep physically fit after active duty in the theatre. “Enjoy the rest of your game.” His voice carried a deathly tone, unmistakable in its meaning. “If you warn Northcott I’m coming, today will be the last time you hold a club with anything but your teeth.”
Chapter Twenty-five
A soldier shoved the blunt end of a muzzle into Damon’s back, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Sloane. The man who’d whipped her released the chains from her wrists and she staggered backward. Damon’s guilt played dominoes in his heart, and the words he should say toppled into a chaotic heap of regret. A woman in Navy camo appeared and slung an arm around Sloane’s waist, helping her walk.
He watched as the women were taken to a large tent erected on the south side of the camp.
“Get moving,” the soldier said from behind him. “I’ve done worse to my girlfriend at the kink club. The nurse will bandage her up and she’ll be fine in an hour.”
Damon and the other men were herded in another direction, two hundred yards away from their partners. Provided with water, fresh fatigues and a hot meal, they ate in silence. Were they supposed to be thankful? Huddled around a picnic table, he and his team couldn’t plan with the soldiers listening to every word they said.
“What do you think the final challenge will be?” Gibbons asked.
Winston thumbed the wood in the table, digging a gouge parallel to a crack between the boards. “I’m guessing physically impossible, to tie up the General’s loose ends.”
“We’re used to impossible odds.” Randeen attempted to keep them buoyed as the SEALs had done countless times on hard missions.
Damon was the ranking officer, he should be keeping them on course, but his mind kept throwing up images of Sloane as they’d dragged her away without letting him go to her.
“You have four hours to rest. I suggest you use it for sleep. You’re going to need it,” one of the soldiers said, approaching their table. “There are cots in those tents over there.” He jerked his head toward two ten-man tents. The soldier lowered his weapon to his side and for a second, his gaze dropped to the ground, then he quickly scanned the other soldiers guarding them. “Men.” He kept his voice low. “Get some rest. You won’t be able to save them, unless you do.”
If the guy was talking, Damon wanted more information. “How many of us have a shot at living through this?”
The soldier, an older man, his short cropped hair graying around the ears, cleared his throat. “Probably not all of you or all of the women. The ones who do won’t ever be able to speak about it. I wish you luck,” he said, and turned away.
The table was silent. Deathly silent. Which one of them wouldn’t make it through this exercise? Which one of their partners would die? The odds didn’t sound good.
Damon stood up. “Grab a rack men, we have the impossible to conquer in a few hours.”
Not another word was spoken as the team left the table.
Laying on the hard cot, he probably wasn’t the only man staring up at the canvas of the tent. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind, Sloane the closest. Had her father really received her call for help? The General had them in a corner. They needed backup. If the Admiral was on his way, Damon hoped he wouldn’t be alone.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself into a REM sleep.
The next thing he knew, someone shouted at the entrance to the tent. “Muster outside!”
An hour or so of light remained in the sky as Damon and his team climbed into the back of a canopied transport truck. Sitting on the metal benches, the men stared at each other as the rough road jostled them in their seats. The ride smoothed out when they reached the highway.
The truck veered from the main road within ten minutes and the engine geared down, climbing a steep, rocky grade for fifteen minutes before stopping. A squad of soldiers surrounded the back end of the truck as Damon’s men dropped to the ground.
What lay before them chilled him to the bone.
They stood at the edge of a ravine. On the other side of the deep crevasse was a small headland. Eight long poles, situated ten feet apart, rose from the dry ground. Each of their partners lashed to a pole. The gap between them and the women had to be at least twenty feet.
What kind of fuckery was this?
The General stood waiting with two armed guards on either side of him. Lucky for him, or the asshole would have had a nice trip over the edge into the ravine.
“Gentlemen,” the General began. “The ultimate sacrifice of any soldier is death. All of you, the women included, are enlisted personnel. For the good of this country, you have promised to protect the United States against threat and war. You were asked to choose a woman to join you on this exercise. A woman, like you, who agreed to protect what this country stands for. The question is what lengths will you go to protect her life? Your prime mandate as United States Special Warfare operators is country first. Our country is under attack from its own weakness. Twenty years ago, politics bent to equality and a minority of voices changed the course of military action.
I want to reverse the lift on banning women from the front lines. I am not against them assisting us, nor the important roles they already play within the forces, but only from combat. You have a choice. Support my cause by standing down now or prove me right by trying to save them, and I will still have the results I need to reverse the lift.” Northcott chewed on the end of his cigar for a moment. “Take the easy way, gentlemen. Fall out of the exercise. My intention is not to watch you die.”
“The women have the words to stop this exercise, not us,” Damon called out, seeing the narrow corridor they’d been herded down.
“You’re correct, they have that option. They will be asked once. If they refuse, they will be injected with this.” He nodded and a soldier appeared with eight syringes lined up in a plastic box.
“What the hell is that?” Fear mounted in Damon’s guts so high, he could barely see over it.
The General carefully pulled one syringe from its Styrofoam cradle and lifted it in the air. “They won’t feel any pain, they’ll simply fall asleep.”
Glancing at the position between himself and the General, he considered the distance. Could he vault and take them both over the edge of the ravine?
Unlikely.
Wait. Stall.
“Sleep or death?” Damon asked.
“The latter.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“There is an antidote,” the General said calmly.
“Where?”
“I’ll give it to you, but first you have to reach the women.”
“Reach them,” Winston said, taking a threatening step toward Northcott. “How the hell? A man can’t jump that far.”
Damon and his men surveyed their surroundings, trying to come up with a way to achieve their task. Not even a tree lay close enough to
topple.
A helicopter appeared and hovered at the edge of the ravine, stirring sand into the air. The box of syringes was passed to someone inside. With blades churning, the helo shifted position to hover over the plateau. Within seconds, a soldier slid down a rope and walked toward the women.
The men rushed to the edge of the ravine and lined up shoulder to shoulder. “Sloane,” Damon called. “Sloane, this operation is over. Give me the word, now!”
Sloane lifted her head. Though the distance between them was far, he knew when her eyes locked on his.
“No, Lieutenant. My father showed hundreds of SEALs the difference between victory and defeat in combat, but the bravest warrior he’d ever known was my mother. Before he loved her, she walked through hell. I am their daughter. Women who want to fight will serve this country. You have lost General, you sorry-ass piece of shit.”
Where the hell were all his persuasive skills now? “Sloane, don’t do this. Don’t leave me with only a memory of you. I’m begging, woman. I’ll get on my hands and knees if I have to. Give me that fucking word. We’re going home.”
A sharp blast of wind gusted across the ravine, taking his hope with it as she slowly shook her head. “I have faith in you, Damon Stone.”
* * * *
Adam followed his father up the stairs to the front door of the Palomar H ranch house. Dad had split the team up when they came to a dusty stop in front of the log home. He ordered Fox and Uncle Greg to search the grounds, while Stitch, Mace and Tinman followed them to the veranda.
Opening the front door, his dad’s formidable hulk stopped before entering and blocked his view. After a moment’s pause, Dad carried on into the room, allowing the rest of them to view what he’d first seen. Adam took the room in, but when his gaze settled on a toppled chair and blood stains on the beige carpet, his stomach clenched. Another blood stain—a large one—saturated the suede couch.
His dad, geared up like they all were with a weapon strung over one shoulder, stepped to the fireplace and knelt.
Adam remained by the door. “What is it?”
“Phone,” came his father’s short answer. “Smashed.”
They all wore comm sets and Fox’s report came through loud and clear. “Four shallow graves fifty feet behind the house.”
“Identify,” Ghost growled.
Bad as it was, Adam prayed it wasn’t Sloane carelessly left in an unmarked grave under sand and dirt.
Stitch surveyed the scene. “A fight.” He jerked his head at the chair. “Torture?”
Ghost nodded in agreement. “Tinman, Mace, check the rest of the house.”
Mace headed for the stairs leading to the second floor. “Yes, sir.”
Stitch stepped toward a dark hallway probably leading to a kitchen, keeping his back to the wall. Adam watched Lt. Stone’s uncle. He may have been a doctor for the last ten years, but his years in Special Warfare were ingrained in his precise movements.
Whoever was responsible for the graves was probably long gone. Training and missions taught every SEAL never to assume, and Stitch proceeded with caution. Weapon lowered, he disappeared from view.
Adam’s father assessed the room until his uncles returned from upstairs.
“All clear,” Mace advised.
Fox and Greg entered from the back of the house and joined them in the living room. From Fox’s tight expression, the news wasn’t good. Adam prepared himself for the worst.
“Who?” His father asked.
Fox adjusted his weapon and slung the belt over his shoulder. “An older man with a fatal shot to the chest and a woman with her brains blown out. By the looks of those chunks,” he pointed at the floor behind the couch, “I’d say that’s the rest of her grey matter, there. Probably the owners of this place. And two soldiers in camo. One of them is a captain. Someone drove a blade through his throat.”
“Thoughts,” Ghost said sharply to everyone in the room.
Uncle Greg ventured to the toppled chair. “Has to be Lt. Stone or one of the other men on the exercise. Can’t imagine he’d kill the owners. Soldiers probably offed the couple.”
“Sloane was here,” his Dad said, flicking a piece of the broken phone from his fingers. “Lt. Stone returned for her and took out the captain and the other soldier.” He strode to the toppled chair and stared down at the rusty-colored stain on the rug. Two pieces of lamp cord used to restrain the hostage, smeared with dried blood, lay discarded by the leg.
“Dad, I know what you’re thinking, but you can't be sure that’s Sloane’s blood.”
The rigid angles of his jaw clenched tight enough to cut metal. “If Northcott isn’t dead already, he can start counting the breaths he has left.”
Uncle Mace took up a position beside his father, who glared at the rug. “Ghost, if you lose your head, you’ll lose Sloane. She’s going to need her father to talk through this experience. If you’re on the wrong side of a jail cell, you’ll tear your family apart. Kayla and the kids paid their dues. Marked too many milestones without you because you put country before them. Don’t put them through that again, even if revenge is the only voice you hear.”
His dad turned to look at his old teammate, the harsh glint in his aqua eyes softening. He responded by reaching up and gripping Uncle Mace’s shoulder.
Although Adam’s career in the SEALs wobbled on infant's feet, he could comprehend the depth of commitment that existed between his uncles and his father. Their years of service, the missions and the losses, created an indestructible bond between brothers in arms.
Adam’s sixth sense prodded him. “Paulson said the exercise is taking place on the East side of the mountain. We need to find their base camp.”
His father, who had morphed into the infamous warrior named Ghost, stepped away from the chair and put his attention on the picture window looking out over the treed landscape. “Jesus, I wish we had Ditz here.”
Fox motioned with his hand for the team to follow him out the front door. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned to address Ghost. “Sir, think I can help with that.”
Dialing a number on the cell, Fox rubbed his finger over the speaker button, so they could all overhear the conversation.
Ditz, a.k.a Clay Sacks, had left his camo pants in the closet five years ago and started his own business in San Diego. With his experience using the highest tech equipment the Navy had to offer, he’d branched out and offered services and equipment to civilian contractors now.
“Charlie Sierra Tech.” A voice they all recognized, said from the cell.
“Ditz, it’s Fox.”
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“I’m standing at the peak of Palomar Mountain with the old team. Need your eyes in the sky,” Fox said. “We’re helping out the Admiral. Long and short of it is, Sloane was drafted into a CIA exercise and we think she’s in trouble. Base camp is somewhere on the east face. You got any tech magic to find them?”
The harsh stare of the team focused on the phone in Fox’s hand.
“Standby. It’s gonna take a few seconds.” He chuckled.
Adam saw his dad’s expression tighten. “What the hell’s so funny?”
Ditz laughed again. “Always knew this would come in handy one day.”
“What?” Ghost asked.
“Snow White gave me a few pointers on crackin’ satellites back in the day. I can’t be on there for long or Base Command will figure out who hacked them.”
Ghost grunted. “As much as I want my daughter back, don’t want you in front of JAG committee, either.”
Through the phone, the SEALs heard a door closing and a chair rolling across a hard surfaced floor.
“Never gonna happen, Ghost. Retirement just doesn’t have the same high as being active, ya know. I don’t mind helping out.”
Dad’s team nodded their heads. They waited, listening to Ditz’s fingers flying across a keyboard.
“I’m in. Standby. Repositioning the satellite to the POR Pacific Ocean Region.”<
br />
Another minute passed. Adam placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder, and received a glance with a tightly seamed mouth. He was worried about Sloane too, but he knew his father’s love for his daughter topped the charts.
Ditz came back on the line. “All right, think I see the base camp. You’re right, it’s on the east face, halfway down the mountain. From your location take the main road for a mile, then branch off to your left. You’ll—”
Everyone held their breath except for Ghost. “What? What is it?”
“Not sure, Admiral. There’s a canyon on the north side of the mountain. You can only access from the highway.”
“What’s there?”
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but I can see what looks like a line of poles on a plateau. Unidentified targets tied to each one and there’s a group of people on the other side of the ravine. What kind of fucking exercise is this?”
“Ditz, where’s the access from the highway?” Uncle Mace asked.
There was a pause before Ditz said, “Five miles.”
Fox’s thumb hovered over the disconnect button. “Thanks, man.”
“Can I do anything else?”
“You’ve done enough,” Ghost said.
Adam put it into double-time to keep up with his father who headed for the vehicles, the rest of the men following close behind.
Taking the corners at high speed back to the main highway, Adam’s father didn’t look at him as he said, “I’m dropping you off on the highway. You’ll wait for us there.”
He shook his head. “Not happening unless you plan on pushing me out of a moving truck.”
The vehicle bucked as the tires dropped into a large pothole in the gravel road. “Your career as a SEAL will be over. You’re out of this.”
“Dad, I’m not abandoning my sister.”
Silence reigned supreme until they reached the highway where his father hammered on the breaks and the truck came to a sliding stop on the edge of the road. When his dad turned in his seat, Adam’s blood chilled to freezing.
“Out.” Ghost ordered.
Code Name_War 0f Stones Page 27
