by Cat Johnson
“Yes, sir.”
The commander’s brows rose. “You act like a member of the US military, but you sure as fuck don’t look like one.”
“No, sir.”
“And tell me why that is?”
“I needed to keep up the appearance that I was an ISIS recruit.”
“All while you were secretly working for some US entity that you refuse to identify.”
“Yes, sir.”
That answer brought about another colorful tirade of cursing.
“I should toss you in the brig and throw away the key.” The man paced across the room and back again before saying, “No. You know what? I should give you back to your Daesh friends. Would you like that?”
“No, sir.”
The man drew in a breath. He seemed out of things to say, though Jon wasn’t going to count on that as the commander stood staring at the piece of paper on his desk and shaking his head.
“A fucking SEAL. And SEAL Team Six to boot. Of course. You guys all think you don’t have to play by our rules. That you’re too good. That you’re special.” He’d said that last word in a mocking tone of voice that showed exactly what he thought.
It seemed this man felt about SEALs pretty much the same as he felt about private military contractors. Jon remained silent and let him get it all off his chest.
He had yet to resort to using the emergency phone number Hasaan had provided. He would if he had to but for now, Jon had chosen to only give them his real name and social security number. They’d looked him up—obviously since the commander was currently sneering at a printout of Jon’s service record.
Jon wished the commander would concentrate more on the ISIS fighters waiting for dawn to break through the checkpoint and a little less about his credentials.
He could yell at Jon all he wanted to later—after they sent in air support.
He’d given them all the details about the attack. Weapons. Numbers. The attack force’s location as best as he could determine it. What he didn’t have was the answer to what they’d done with that information.
There was only one way to find that out. “Sir?”
“What!” The colonel barked out the single word.
“Have you been able to confirm my information about the impending attack—”
“Oh, we’re looking into that, boy. And you’d better hope we find your little attack force or you’re going to be in even deeper shit than you are now.”
Jon wouldn’t have called the ISIS force he’d seen little but he didn’t correct the commander. He was simply content they had taken his warning seriously enough to investigate further. When they did, they’d confirm the number of vehicles and fighters for themselves.
A knock on the door didn’t end the commander’s rant. It only refocused it for a moment as he yelled in the direction of the entry, “Come in!”
A lower ranking soldier opened the door and hovered there, as if deciding if it was safe to enter and more importantly, if the commander’s wrath was going to be directed full force at him for interrupting.
“Well? What?” the commander barked when the soldier took too long to explain his presence.
“We’ve got visual confirmation of a force of men and vehicles two clicks from the check point, sir.”
Good thing Jon had been well schooled in maintaining a straight face and was able to keep his extreme satisfaction from showing.
Judging by the commander’s scowl, an I told you so, even communicated by just a facial expression and not in actual words, wouldn’t have gone over too well right now.
The commander let out a huff and tipped his head toward Jon. “Cut him loose.”
The subordinate did as told and Jon was finally able to move his numb arms after hours of confinement.
He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his wrists, but his mind had already moved on to the next step. “What can I do to help, sir?”
“Help? You want to help?” The commander sneered.
“Yes, sir. I was with those men for weeks. I know their strengths and their weaknesses, their leadership structure, their equipment. I’ve seen how they think. How they act. How they train. I can help.”
The commander bit out a foul curse and then drew in a deep breath. “Fine. You can come to the operations center, but dammit you’ll speak only when spoken to. And after this clusterfuck is over, you’re right back in hot water for being here in the first place. You understand?”
That was good enough for him. All he’d wanted to do was help in this fight. Thanks to the past few weeks, he was uniquely equipped to do so.
“Yes, sir.” Jon nodded and followed the commander as he stalked out the door.
He’d win this man over yet or end up in the brig trying.
CHAPTER 16
Defeating the group of fighters amassed on the edge of the ISIS held territory proved to be ridiculously easy, thanks to the information and prior warning the coalition forces had to work with.
Drones, satellite images, air support and a little inside knowledge from Jon had meant certain victory for the coalition.
Jon was sure Abu Salah must be most unhappy back in Mosul after hearing about the defeat, not to mention the losses of both men and machines. What equipment hadn’t been destroyed in the attack was back in coalition hands, where it belonged.
The Kurdish forces were especially happy to take the risk and raid the battlefield after the fact for anything they could salvage. They came back to camp driving slightly battered Humvees filled with scavenged weapons, while sporting the biggest smiles Jon had seen since he’d arrived there.
Even the commander was in a good mood, in spite of Jon’s presence. Such a good mood, Jon took a chance and asked, “Sir, would I be able to contact my business partner in the states?”
Jon might need Zane’s Washington D.C. contacts to get him out of this mess if the commander made good on his threats of disciplinary action.
“Your business partner. And what is he going to be able to do for you? Hmm?”
Time for some name dropping. “I thought maybe he and our majority investor, Senator Greenwood, might want to know where I am.”
That spurned another round of cursing from the commander, which didn’t surprise Jon a bit. What did surprise him was when, shaking his head, the commander laughed. “You know what, Rudnick? I really want to hate your guts. You and your senator friends and your private company make it real easy. And then you go and aid us in running the smoothest operation against Daesh I’ve seen since stepping foot in this God forsaken place. So now I have to respect you. And that pisses me the fuck off.”
Jon allowed himself a small smile. “Yes, sir. I know.”
The commander waved an arm in the direction of the door. “Go ahead. Make your phone call. Call whoever the hell you want. Your partner. Your mom. Your girlfriend.”
At the word girlfriend Jon let out an involuntary sigh. The commander was right. Jon had to call Ali.
Not just had to, he wanted to call her. Wanted to hear her voice after all he’d been through, but he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. She’d been in the dark for weeks, and she wasn’t going to be happy about it.
No doubt she’d let him know that.
Fighting ISIS had probably been easier than facing Ali would be after this. He hoped he proved as capable in that upcoming battle as he had been in this last one.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, I guess I owe you one.”
While he was asking for favors, Jon figured it wouldn’t hurt to tack on one more. “I wouldn’t mind a shower and to shave too. If it’s possible.”
The commander cocked a brow. “Tell the aide outside to drive you over to the other side of camp. There’s a communications center and a shower building.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
With the flick of a wrist, the commander dismissed both Jon and his thanks.
That was fine. Jon had calls to make. As he walked he decided he�
��d call Zane first and save Ali for last. Kind of work his way up in degree of difficulty.
Zane would be pissed too that Jon had kept this job secret from him, but he’d get over it quick enough. Ali, on the other hand . . .
He stopped at the aide’s desk. “The commander said to ask you to drive me over to the communications center and the showers.”
Slack mouthed, the kid raised his gaze from the computer. “He told me I need to get this done and on his desk in the next fifteen minutes or else.”
“Just point me in the direction and I’ll get there myself.” Jon had made it from Virginia, to Turkey, to Mosul, to Camp Swift. He figured he could make it across camp on his own.
The man gave him quick directions and Jon was off. He was happy to be on his way. Less happy to be walking across an American camp looking too much like an ISIS fighter thanks to the beard, hair and black clothes. But he figured without a weapon he shouldn’t be too much of a target for any trigger happy soldiers. At least that’s what he hoped.
Jon had just made it out the door when he heard, “Hey, American!”
Turning, he saw a Peshmerga soldier across the yard, holding a weapon high in the air and grinning. Jon had a feeling the rifle was one of the pieces they’d recovered after the attack.
Smiling, he waved in return. He’d done the right thing by coming here. He would have to keep that in mind, because the hard part was yet to come.
A vehicle skidded to a stop next to him, kicking up dust and rocks into the air. “Need a ride?”
Jon turned at the familiar voice, shocked to see an old friend. “Gordo?”
Hanging out the open side of a small truck with the doors removed was a guy Jon had gone through BUD/S with.
His friend was a little older and a lot bulkier, as if he’d been pumping a whole lot of iron in his downtime. But there was no doubt it was him.
Gordo grinned. “In the flesh. I barely recognized you with that long ass beard you’re sporting. What the fuck is Jon Rudnick doing in this hellhole? I heard you got out.”
Jon laughed. “I did get out of the Navy but not out of the business. I’m here probably for the same reason you are.”
The man tipped his head. “Well, there are only two things to do here in lovely Makhmour. Fight ISIS and try to keep the Iraqis and the Peshmerga from turning on each other, so it must be one of those.”
Grinning, Jon said, “I’d put my money on the Kurds in that fight.”
“Smart man. So you’re working private military now.” Gordo let out a loud belly laugh. “I bet the commander just loves you.”
Jon nodded. “So you know him.”
“Oh, yeah. And he makes no secret of how he feels about PMCs. So how long you here for?” Gordo asked.
“If the commander doesn’t decide to throw me in the brig, I’m hoping they’ll arrange transport as soon as possible.”
Gordo laughed. “If he does lock you up we’ll break you out. I got a team of frogmen with me who’ve got your six. No worries.”
“Good to hear. Thanks. Is there anybody else I know here with you? Brody Cassidy and his team been through?”
“Nope. Just my unit from Team Three. That’s it. POTUS is trying to keep this party small. So where you headed? Need a ride?”
“I need a shower and a shave and to call home.”
“I think I can hook you up with all of that plus some. Hop in.”
“Thanks.” Jon circled the truck and slid into the open passenger side.
An old friend. A shower—hot or cold, he didn’t care which at this point. A long overdue shave. Things were certainly looking up.
That things were going so good should have made Jon nervous. The surest way to tempt fate was to be happy. Jon reminded himself of that as he bounced in the passenger seat while Gordo sped through camp way too fast.
He barely slowed in front of a cluster of buildings before skidding to a hard stop, apparently not a fan of going light on the brakes.
“My humble abode is at your disposal—” An explosion that rocked the very air surrounding them cut off Gordo.
“What the fuck?” Jon leaned out the open doorway to try and see what was happening.
“RPG!” The shout came from a man running toward them. From the way he was dressed, Jon figured he was one of Gordo’s team.
“Shit.” Gordo turned to Jon, mouth open to say something that he never had a chance to as the concussion of another rocket-propelled grenade explosion hit close, shattering the windshield.
It lifted the light truck Jon and Gordo still sat in. Jon felt the force of the concussion from the blast throwing him backward in the seat as the vehicle upended.
Upside down, covered in glass, with dirt in his eyes blinding him and his hearing gone from the explosion, all Jon could think was he’d been so close to getting home.
So close . . .
CHAPTER 17
In what had become her usual place and position of late, Ali sat on the sofa with the television playing softly as she tried not to get so stressed she needed to vomit.
There was one difference though . . . unlike the other night when Darci couldn’t get in touch with her with news of Jon, Ali had her cell phone in view, fully charged and with the volume turned all the way up.
She shouldn’t care if she did miss a call. Jon obviously didn’t care about her. She’d had to get the message he was alive fourth-hand. Some military or government guy had apparently called Zane to confirm the identity of a man claiming to be Jon Rudnick. Zane had contacted Chris, who’d told Darci to call Ali.
That might be fifth-hand information, now that she thought about it.
Her anger returned, like it so often did—when she wasn’t crying, that was.
Damn hormones.
Yet here she sat, waiting. Waiting and worrying. Upset, angry . . . helpless.
She waited so hard that the sound of the cell phone ringing startled her into a jump that knocked the remote control off her lap.
It was probably just Darci checking on her again.
Leaning over, Ali grabbed the cell off the coffee table and saw an unfamiliar number on the readout.
Would the military call her cell about Jon if something happened to him? They weren’t married so would she be notified at all?
Feeling sick, she answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me.” Jon’s voice cut through some static. He sounded distant but clear enough she recognized that it was him without doubt.
Yup, she heard every word.
Hi, it’s me.
That’s all he had to say to her after disappearing for weeks without a single word? And after her having to hear through what amounted to a telephone chain that he was alive somewhere. And her having to wonder all this time since then where, with whom and in what condition he was in.
“Hi.” She somehow managed that single word. Her heart pounded with a mix of emotions that raged through her. Determined to get answers to at least some of her many questions, she asked, “Where are you?”
“Um . . .” As he paused, likely trying to decide which lie or half truth to tell her, Ali realized how stupid she’d been to ask.
Jon had never in all the years she’d known him, dated him, loved him, told her precisely where he was when he was working. When he had given her a location, she always suspected it was a lie. No man went on that many “trainings” in the middle of the desert where there was no internet or cell service, she didn’t care if he had been an elite SEAL at the time.
Back peddling, she switched gears. “Can you at least tell me if you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” There was no hesitation before that answer.
It was Jon’s favored response but Ali had long ago learned that the word fine was a relative term.
Rick had a bullet pass through his chest and said he was fine. Thom had gotten such a severe concussion he had temporary memory loss, but he went right back to his team because he too was fine.
Knowing th
at fine was the best she was going to get from him, Ali chose to accept the answer. He was good enough to speak to her. That would have to do to ease her mind.
“Can you tell me when you might be home?”
Although sometimes she’d forget, Ali had also learned to phrase her questions differently after being with Jon. To no longer ask things like when or where, but rather could he tell her?
“Not long, I hope.”
Not long. Another non-answer. What exactly did that mean?
“So a couple of days? Weeks? Months?” Her voice cracked on the last word. Frustrated, she felt the hot tears prickling behind her eyes.
In a couple of months she’d be showing. At least that would solve the problem of how to tell him. Then she could just flash him her big rounded belly and say surprise.
“Probably days but—”
“I know. Don’t hold you to that.” Ali had already heard all the excuses for his delays. Weather. Transportation issues. Paperwork problems. She didn’t need to hear them again.
“How are you doing?” Jon’s question got her full attention.
Ali hadn’t confided in anyone about the baby yet. Not even Darci. So far only she and the doctor knew. But Ali had told Darci she was late. And she also was there when Ali had fainted.
Had Darci told Chris that Ali could be pregnant? Chris could have easily told Jon. She hadn’t wanted him to find out like that. Heck, she was torn if she wanted to tell him at all.
Of course, she would have to, but she really wasn’t looking forward to seeing the look in his eyes. He’d feel responsible and trapped and do the one thing he hadn’t been willing to do before the baby.
He’d marry her.
If she couldn’t have him as her husband because he felt that she was the one person he couldn’t live without, the one woman he wanted to grow old with, she didn’t want him at all.
“Why? What did you hear?” Her suspicions sounded loudly in her own ears.
“I haven’t heard anything. I haven’t spoken to anyone there. You’re my first call.”
God, how she wanted to believe him. For so many reasons.
