SEALed With A Kiss: Heroes With Heart

by Low, Gennita

  A success, sure. But still, these women sure brought along a whole handful of other problems. For himself, he liked the KISS principle—keep it simple, stupid. As if reading his mind, Vivi V-Z looked in his direction, straight at him, a smile forming on her face.

  “You must have taken a page from my tactical book, Cucumber. I had goats. Now I hear you attacked with chickens.”

  “Correction, madam, the stooges were wearing the chickens,” Turner chimed in.

  There were more chuckles.

  “Lieutenant Commander Zeringue once told me, you do what you have to do,” Vivi said. Her eyebrows came up. “Sometimes, simple things get the job done.”

  Lucas frowned. Damn if these GEM operatives couldn’t read minds. Hawk had warned them they were trained in some kind of behavioral testing and manipulation or some such mumbo jumbo. It even had a name—NOPAIN—but he hadn’t really paid much attention to remember what it was all about. He shuffled his feet and shrugged. Let’s see whether he could read minds too and guess Mrs. V-Z’s mission.

  “I hope saving the girl who ran off would be just as simple for you, ma’am,” he said.

  Vivi shook her head. “Unfortunately, my job is a little bit more complicated since it involves women in a patriarchal-ruled region of the world.” She sighed. “But you and the SEAL team gave me a good running start and for that, I thank you.”

  Bingo. He’s got mind-reading skills too.

  “Joint missions require clear communication,” Admiral Madison said. His blue eyes flashed some emotion as he continued, “Remember our fallen brothers. They died because every damn agency wasn’t sharing. Meanwhile, the rats stole our weaponry and secrets and sold them around the world. I’m here in DC still trying to untangle this damn mess. One thing is clear. I do not want a repeat of our men coming back in body bags because of greedy traitors. You have questions, go to your leader. They’ll communicate your concerns to me. We’ll try to double check all Intel through our joint missions. Are we clear?”

  “Hooyah!”

  Heard, understood, acknowledged. Everyone in the room was solemn as they remembered their fallen comrades. It had recently surfaced that traitor rats and sleeper agents had, for the last ten years, been infesting the CIA and FBI. It was going to take years to undo all the damage. The admiral had told them they were in the crossfire and all must be prepared at all times.

  Lucas was up to the challenge. He had chosen to be a SEAL because, like his father, he wanted to serve and protect. All these joint missions might be confusing, but the admiral always laid out the big picture. He appreciated that most of all. What was important, what was the honorable thing to do, what was the stuff that made a warrior a warrior.

  Hooyah! As always, he silently hummed the Admiral Madison song in his head.

  *

  Shahrukh liked this group of men and women. A bit too rowdy, compared to his smaller group of commandos, and yet, strangely, a bit too disciplined, what with their rules and standard operation procedures. But then, a military should be rigid, with obedient warriors who would act with courage, or everything would be chaos. If everyone started to question every order, there would be no action at all.

  These SEALs in the war room were definitely warriors in his book. He’d seen them in action and admired the precision they had in executing their raid and capture of Yakob. Everything went smoothly, down to the last minute decision to have himself captured too, so that he would have a way out of there without drawing suspicion. They’d done so without asking questions and like good warriors, made a difficult mission seem easy.

  On the other hand, these men would never fit in with his own covert group of commandos, better known as Viruses. A specially hand-picked nine, his unit had been trained to subvert and invade insidiously. After all, that was what COS Command stood for—Covert Subversive Command Center.

  Shahrukh had no illusions about what his unit was. Their kind were silent killers. None of this “Hooyah” and “Yes, sir, yes!” stuff yelled out in unison. They were the shadows, the scary ones who could be monsters. Center had created them, experimenting more with some or, like with him, picking him for his vast knowledge of weaponry and poison. He was a relatively new addition to the Virus Project, brought in as a replacement for one of the few who had been murdered in a series of planned explosions. At first, he was “borrowed” from his former organization, but he’d chosen to stay on. He was intrigued by his new friends—this silent group of warriors who didn’t quite own their own souls.

  Of course he’d been intrigued. He had met his own kind.

  Again, he studied those around him in silence. Their world was, by necessity, black and white. They functioned in direct action, looking for direct results. It wasn’t a bad way to live, really. He imagined most civilized people liked to think the world moved that way. And young people, when they joined to be part of an army, should have this outlook—black was black, white was white. Simple.

  If only.

  With the meeting over, he should take his leave. He had much to do. He thought about the bag of opium seeds hidden away. He smiled, a small self-mocking lift of the lips. He didn’t think these young warriors would like his next—very gray—move.

  “Cumber, stay for a few minutes,” he heard Hawk say.

  The big guy from the back nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his attention to Vivi Verreau. Now, her kind, he was familiar with. GEM operatives were devious and worked in the shadows too, although Vivi Verreau, now married to that SEAL with the Cajun accent, were a lot less devious and secretive than her other sister GEM operatives.

  “T wanted to make sure you have all you needed before you depart. What can I do to help?”

  Shahrukh lifted his brows. “T must be worried. Or needing another favor.”

  Vivi smiled in acknowledgement. “You know T, always multi-tasking.”

  “Tell her this trader needs a good horse.”

  “I can arrange that. She also told me you might want to head to Karakoram and if you do, she’ll need you to trade there for information.”

  Karakoram, the Silk Road. Everyone traded there, legally and illegally. Shahrukh had an idea what he’d be trading.

  “All trade roads lead to Karakoram,” he acknowledges. “It’s very beautiful there. You should go sometime,” he said. “You’ll find certain vehicles full of girls who are sold as wives for desperate Indian families.”

  He understood the information Vivi was looking for. She had the biggest heart when it came to young women.

  “I see.” She handed him a card. “Call this number.”

  He took and pocketed it without reading it first. “I know T’s busy running so many operations. I report back to Jed but from talking with the others, his head isn’t one hundred percent in the game at the moment. Since I haven’t seen him, I’d like T to tell me directly. She’s better at analyzing the situation at Center than anyone else.”

  He wasn’t really concerned about Number Nine yet, but it was always helpful to listen to outside opinion, especially from an expert people manipulator like T. If there was anything wrong with Jed, T would be the first to take charge of his current mission. He smiled slightly, thinking of another one of his Virus teammates, Number One, who had recently returned to the fold because of T. That had caused some friction. Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption on who would be in charge.

  Nothing black and white. Nothing rigid. No standard operation procedure in his world of shadows.

  “How many do you want me to purchase, Vivi?” Shahrukh asked. “You can’t save all of them, you know.”

  “My husband once told me, we do what we can to save the world.”

  “Interesting. An old soul.” Shahrukh gazed in Jazz Zeringue’s direction.

  As if he knew he was talked about, Jazz joined them. “Everything all right, chou-chou?”

  “Yes. Can we get a horse for Shahrukh?” she asked.

  “This late at n
ight?” Jazz asked, amused. “What is this, a farm? Chickens, horses, goats. This is a war room.”

  “We have horses here. Our mountain guides are sleeping, though,” Hawk, walking by with Cucumber, said. “I’ll have Lucas get you one after I’ve signed some papers. It’ll take about half-an-hour, Mr. Kingsley.”

  “Call me Shahrukh. Thank you.” Shahrukh turned to the big man who had been the brunt of most of the jokes. “That cut from the knife. Does it burn?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Negative. I’m fine.”

  “Take care you let a medic take a look. We sometimes dip our blades in poison around here. I don’t think you’re in trouble but the knife might still have traces of poison to cause some infection.”

  Shahrukh studied the other men’s reaction. Jazz and Hawk were looking at their man closely. Lucas Branson, after stiffening at the information, had released a breath and looked back at him calmly. Good man. Panic just made the poison, if there were any, work faster.

  “I’ll go get the horse. You go let Mink take a look ASAP, Cumber,” Hawk ordered.

  “I’m feeling fine,” Lucas said.

  “Better safe than sorry. ASAP, sailor.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Shahrukh didn’t back down from the eye-to-eye challenge Lucas gave him. For a SEAL, he was a big guy. They were about the same height and Shahrukh was six feet three. He didn’t think the other man had actually been poisoned but he wanted to test these SEALs, with their tough-guy reputation.

  “You could have mentioned it after the Cob was marched off,” Lucas challenged.

  “It slipped my mind,” Shahrukh said mildly. “I couldn’t think properly with my ears ringing from all the gunfire.”

  It had been very noisy. They sure had used up a lot of ammo to capture one man. Such a strategy wasn’t Shahrukh’s style but he didn’t run an army of men who had plenty of toys that went boom.

  “Do you dip your blades in poison?” Lucas asked, looking him up and down.

  “Sometimes,” Shahrukh replied. “Nevertheless, there might be traces left on unclean blades. I assumed you’ve had your tetanus shots through the military.”

  Lucas nodded curtly. “Tetanus and other various shots.”

  “That’s good. But like your commander says, better safe than sorry. If you feel anything unusual during the next forty-eight hours, report to your medic and get to a hospital.”

  “Right, in the middle of the mountains or jungles,” Lucas replied dryly. “Just dial 9-1-1.”

  Shahrukh dipped his head in acknowledgement. “There is the possibility of your inability to get help while on a mission. Better stay on base.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Branson,” Hawk cut in, his tone quiet.

  “I apologize,” Lucas said curtly. “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.”

  Shahrukh nodded again. “Apology accepted. It was just conjecture. Probably nothing.”

  Deliberately, he caught Vivi’s gaze long enough that she nodded imperceptibly. He was the foreign-looking entity in this room and probably not fully trusted. He didn’t blame them. His file, if they had any dossier on him, probably wouldn’t vouch for him being one hundred percent the good guy. But Vivi would make sure her husband kept an eye on the big SEAL.

  Worrying about other people was the least of his concerns. He had his own duties to take care of and a few family obligations. He’d thought perhaps life would be easier if he put revenge out of his mind, that the past few years in his new environment with the COS commandos with their intensive experiments and mind subversive tactics, he would easily put away his former life. He had been wrong. Drugs and mind control experiments only worked in limited fashion. Unfortunately, his lifelong acquaintance with herbal drugs and poison had given him a certain level of immunity.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Hawk said. “You can pick out the best available horse. Cumber, go to see the Medic. Mink! Go with Cucumber. I want a report of his status by morning, if not earlier.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mink said, walking over, his gaze on Shahrukh. “What’s the matter, dude? Feeling sick?”

  “Nope,” Lucas replied.

  Shahrukh gave a slight smile. “Cucumber?” he repeated softly. Was that Lucas Branson’s nickname? These guys were funny. “Is that what you’re called?”

  “To my friends, yes,” Lucas replied tersely, his eyes narrowing. “Do they give out nicknames in your culture?”

  “I have several, actually. Mostly, they’re exaggerated promises, like Magnificent Bearer of Good News, a name I’ve yet to live up to.”

  “Huh. Well, there’s nothing exaggerated about Lucas’ nickname,” the SEAL Hawk had called over, Mink, said. “Just a big promise.”

  Shahrukh noted the easy demeanor—intelligent eyes, friendly smile, alert stance. He suspected this one was the charmer of the group.

  “That’s good then,” he said smoothly. “Cucurbitacin C, found in cucumber, can both be a toxin and an antidote to some poisons. I would say your nickname might be a lucky one.”

  Mink frowned, then shook his head bewilderedly. “Ohhhhkay. Let’s go and let us check out that wound, bro. If we stand around here all night, I’ll have to cucurbitacin somebody.”

  As the two men turned away, Shahrukh handed Lucas his card. “Here. My number. If you ever need any advice about poisons and weapons, feel free to call me.”

  “Uh. Thanks,” the other man said, a puzzled look in his eyes.

  He watched them walk off. It was an impulsive gesture but something told him this man and he would cross paths again in the future. After all, how could he ignore an old woman’s prophesy which had sounded so crazy a decade ago but suddenly now came to mind, triggered, of all things, by a stupid American nickname?

  To find your diamond, my child, three guides. In your dealings, be aware of toxins. In times of danger, move like the spider. In your search, you must make sure the cucumber flourishes.

  His crazy grandmother, “seer” of his tribe, was long gone, along with much of the tribal fortune. But her words, seared in his memory, had surfaced with that silly nickname.

  “Ready?” Hawk asked, interrupting his reverie. He too had a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  “Of course,” Shahrukh answered. Enough playing the strange foreigner talking about poisons and potions. He’d probably spooked half the people in this room. Back at Center, he was known to be the quiet but mostly sane one. Sully would probably have had a good laugh at seeing how his attempt at small talk had devolved into too much interest in another man’s little flesh wound.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  “Change of plans, Kit.”

  Kit looked up from the dictionary and translation she was trying to decipher. “Why?” She adjusted the mic in her ear. “What’s wrong?”

  They were in separate vehicles, getting ready equipment and notes before meeting with the girl. Sound checks, video feed, battery, foreign phrases, things like that. Then she and the female interpreter would put their head scarves on and make their way to the women’s side of the camp to meet with the worker from Save The Children and the camp comptroller. Meanwhile, Sean and his photographer would walk around and take some photographs and interview those who ran the camp. Then once they’d gotten permission, they would meet at a public place to get few pictures of the girl.

  The refugee camp was one of the poorest in the area, so they had prepared bags of clothing, food and toys as a gesture of goodwill. Kit was looking forward to finding out more about the displaced people here. Her research had shown Afghan refugees in Pakistan, especially around the borders, were the highest in the world. Yet, most media had only concentrated on the war and the politics, not on the plight of the homeless inhabitants here. Kit wanted to know more, first-hand.

  “Minah is being sought by her relatives and she’s in hiding. We can’t interview her in the open,” Sean told her.

  “I thought she was getting help from a few of her relatives,” Kit sa
id.

  “Yes, I thought so too, but according to the camp comptroller, things didn’t go according to plan. A runaway from one camp to another was one thing, but a runaway from a swara while the ceremony was taking place is humiliation to her family. Everyone’s out looking for her.”

  “Where is she?”

  There was a pause. “Alone?”

  Kit checked. “Yes.”

  “Take Joanna with you to the back of the camp,” Sean instructed. “The comptroller sent someone to lead you to Minah. I’m on the other side of the camp and will come behind you with another guide. We have to take it slow and easy, as if nothing is wrong.”

  Kit pulled up her backpack from under the seat and began stuffing things she thought she might need. “We’ll bring some of the gift bags to distribute. That way, it would look as if we were just moving among the women.”

  “Good idea.” Sean said. Then, he added in a quiet voice. “Be careful, Kit. The comptroller warned that the relatives looking for her are armed.”

  A shiver of alarm went through her. “They aren’t…going to hurt her, right?”

  Another pause. “I don’t know. You have to get that information about the groom before anything happens. Do you follow?”

  Kit frowned. A young girl’s life was hanging in the balance and all the man cared about was information about the groom? The guy the girl hated so much she was actually running away from him and his family?

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. There was no time for debate right now. She had no idea what she was going to do but was determined to save Minah, wherever she was.

  Joanna was also a seasoned photo-journalist, snapping pictures and making her way through the small crowd of women as Kit handed out the little bags. The ladies, some of whom spoke English, were gracious, thanking them for the packages. In spite of the need to hurry, Kit felt good at the small sparkle of delight she caught in the women’s eyes when they looked inside their bags. There were even some squeals from the accompanying children when they saw the toys. Joanna recorded some of those moments with her digital camera.