The Hunted e-2
Page 29
A chill woke across the Snow Maiden’s shoulders. Dennison’s tone was unsettling, and the Snow Maiden wondered if Patti and Fedorovich were already controlling her and that everything she’d done this far was part of their master plan and that she’d never had free will. She’d been their instrument from the beginning. No, that couldn’t be true…. Could it?
“All right, let’s talk now about Dubai’s oil reserves,” Patti began.
The Liberator Sports Bar and Grill
Near Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Two Weeks Later
It was about five P.M., and Brent sat alone in his usual corner booth. He’d been released from the hospital the day before. They’d kept him a bit longer than Lakota to perform a second surgery and had finally removed a piece of shrapnel that had been lodged in his back. He was scheduled to meet with Colonel Grey tomorrow morning, but the meeting was a formality. He was being reassigned to the JFK School, and his days in Ghost Recon were over. That news had come through the grapevine and was no surprise. He told himself he was all right with it.
Thomas Voeckler had been nursing a beer at the bar and finally came over to sit across from Brent. “Didn’t see you here.”
“And you call yourself a spy?”
Voeckler grinned. “Half-assed. My brother would tell you.”
“No, you’re top notch. What you did for me was harder than anything your brother ever did.”
“I doubt it.”
“Did your brother ever finish a mission, knowing that he’d just lost you?”
Voeckler thought about that and shook his head.
“Point made.”
Voeckler sighed, sipped his beer, then said, “It’s okay that you lied about Haussler being in Dubai. I know why you did it, but you didn’t have to worry. Haussler got his anyway, huh?”
“Yeah, and I’m sorry about that.”
“Like I said, it’s all right. The bastard’s dead.”
Schleck arrived in the doorway and caught Brent’s gaze. The lanky sniper steered himself over and took a seat. “Who do I kill to get a beer?”
Brent shook Schleck’s hand. “Hey, man, thanks for coming.”
“Are you kidding?” Schleck drew his head back, dumbfounded, then wiggled his brows at the waitress and ordered his beer.
“Where’s Lakota?” asked Voeckler.
“On her way,” said Brent. “Oh, there she is now.” He rose and rushed to the front door, holding it open for her as she hobbled into the bar, favoring her right leg. She’d refused to use crutches, but Brent gave her no choice when he grabbed her arm and helped her over to the table.
“Hey, guys,” she said with a grin. “You clean up nice.”
Once they’d dispensed with the pleasantries and each had a beer, Brent got down to the business at hand: lifting their glasses to fallen comrades. His voice cracked. But that was okay. The beer was cold, the sentiments honest. Nothing else mattered.
After an hour, Schleck and Voeckler bid their good-byes and good lucks.
“You still want to hang out with a broken old warhorse?” Brent asked Lakota.
“If you think you’re getting off cheap with just beer, think again, mister. I want dinner and a movie.”
“At my pay grade?”
“Yeah. And Brent, you’re not an old warhorse.”
He snorted, glanced away in thought. “You know, I never meant to do any of this.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Truth is, I joined the Army because I thought I could take another guy’s place. I thought I could live his life and make things right. So everything I’ve done was to try to say I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter. No one really cares. And I have to convince myself that my life wasn’t his but mine. I’m the soldier, not him. I didn’t live his life. I lived my own.”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah, I can talk the talk, but the walk is…”
“Maybe it’s easier if I take your hand.” She reached across the table.
He grinned. “Doesn’t feel any different. Maybe if you take off your clothes.”
She frowned. “Pig!”
He busted out laughing. “Come on, let’s go see that movie. We’ll get a late dinner. You mind driving? My car’s still at the impound.”
As Brent rose, his cell phone rang. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”
“Brent? This is Scott Mitchell.”
He looked at Lakota and mouthed the name. Her eyes widened and she shifted close to him, putting her ear near the phone.
Brent took a deep breath and answered, “General, what can I do for you?”
“I just got off a call with Sheikh Hussein. He’s in the process of having some of his oil reserves moved, but there’s an unidentified force, company size right now, moving toward Dubai. He’s concerned.”
“I understand, sir.”
“The sheikh has asked me to appoint you as a special liaison officer for the JSF, acting in that capacity and as a consultant to the sheikh’s security forces. In addition, you’d work with his cousin’s militia, rebuilding and training that force. Interested?”
Brent took a deep breath. He hadn’t asked Hussein for a favor yet, and the kid had already come through. Sure, Hussein had probably been influenced by Juma — you could almost hear that influence in the general’s report — but that didn’t matter.
“Sir, I’m interested, and I’d like the opportunity to handpick my own staff, with your endorsement, of course.”
“You want Schleck, Voeckler, and Lakota to start…”
“Well, sir, that would enable me to—”
“You got ’em. Just get me a list before the end of the day. We’ll have you in Dubai by the weekend.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“We’ll be in touch, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” He thumbed off the phone.
Brent’s life was about to change again, only this time the change would not be marked by swelling clouds of smoke and fire.
It would be marked by something very different.
He leaned over and took Lakota into his arms. Without hesitation, he gave her the longest, hottest kiss he could muster. As she hugged him even tighter, he ignored the cheers and applause from his colleagues, surrendering himself to her grasp.
When they finally came up for air, she looked at him and whispered, “To hell with the movie. Take me home.”
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