by R. J. Blain
“Sure thing. I’m going back to bed now. Take care of yourself and keep out of trouble. You’re as bad as Bob for that shit, and it gives me a headache.” Brandon hung up on me before I had a chance to reply. Laughing, I dialed Bob.
He answered on the second ring. “Who is this?”
“Bob, it’s been a while.”
“Oh, great. I’m going to have to change my number again.”
I arched a brow at the quip. “When did you develop a sense of humor?”
“Eh, a while back.”
“You also seem to have developed an unfortunate case of Canadian.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Grapevine says there’s some interesting things going on with you.”
“That’s an understatement. Are you still up for hire?”
“For you, always. What do you have for me? I’m on an unsecured line, and I have some friends in the room with me.”
My ‘friends’ glared daggers into my back, but I ignored the sense of being watched and scrutinized.
“I know this is outside of your normal work, but how do you feel about a trip to Europe to hunt someone down for me? My hands are tied.”
“I can get to Europe. Where?”
“That I can’t tell you. I don’t know. I lost contact with a friend of mine three days ago. At the time, he was in Switzerland. I need you to find him.”
I grunted to acknowledge him and considered the timing. Three days was promising; if the extraction had worked to plan, Switzerland was a good place to make a run for it. There was a healthy tourism trade in the Swiss Alps, and with the full moon rising in a few days, there were a lot of places for a half dozen or so werewolves to hunt and hide. “Email me the basics. No names, just an overview of the circumstances.”
“It’ll be to you in ten minutes. Can I call you on this number?”
“It’s a disposable, so be aware of that.”
“Understood. How much do you want for the work?”
“We’ll deal with that afterwards. For now, at cost.”
“You’re not going to bleed my wallet dry? I’m shocked. I’m absolutely shocked.”
Laughing, I shook my head. “Not this time, old friend. I still owe you a favor, so let’s call it at cost and consider us even.”
“Deal. I’ll get off the line and send you the info. I’ll send the encryption key as a text.”
“Sounds good. Take care.” I hung up, pocketed my cell, and fetched my mug so I could refill it.
Haney and Lane stared at me, and both of them shifted, their unease reflecting in their expressions. Unable to resist the urge, I smirked at them. Railroading wasn’t my style, usually, but there was something satisfying about toying with them as they had toyed with me.
“That was the vaguest bit of business I’ve heard in a long time,” the Vice Admiral admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you up to?”
“That’s above your pay grade, sir,” I countered, taking a sip of my coffee.
“I’m starting to dislike that steel in your spine, son.”
“How likely is it that there’s a mole?”
Both men winced, which was the only answer I needed.
Nodding my acknowledgement of the admission, I returned to my chair, looking over Richard Murphy’s file. “I have a few ideas, but if there’s a mole, I’m going to need the smallest team I can gather, access to gear, and as much radio silence as you can get me.”
“How small of a team do you need?” Haney demanded, sitting straighter.
“One or two men I can trust not to botch the job. They need to be able to handle unwanted surprises and keep their mouths shut.”
Haney’s smile chilled me. “It’s been far too long since I’ve done any field work. Feel like taking a stroll, Fredrick?”
“You’re the boss,” the SEAL replied.
Declan, 0, SEALs: 3.
Next time, there was no way I was allowing Haney to arrange transport. While operating on less than three hours of sleep, the last place I wanted to be was on the top level of the cruise ship watching a helicopter come in for a landing.
Haney and Lane were already in flight suits, and I wore one of my expensive black suits, complete with gold cufflinks and tie. All of my gadgets, including my new cell phone, were in the single duffle Lane carried over his shoulder. The time of day, fortunately, meant most passengers were either asleep or below decks having breakfast.
The last thing I wanted was someone snapping photographs of me boarding a war bird with a military escort. I was rusty enough I couldn’t identify the type of helicopter, but I doubted it was meant for long-range flights, which filled me with foreboding at the thought of an air-to-ship transfer and another pickup to reach shore.
The Snow Princess had a respectable flight deck, which was the only reason the fiasco wasn’t aborted; with enough space for three helicopters, there was room for error, though not enough to soothe my agitated nerves.
The pilot didn’t need the room, although he took his sweet time hitting his mark. Once he landed, Lane ducked and ran for the opening door, leaving me and Haney to follow in his wake.
Haney tailed me, probably to make sure I went where he wanted me to go. It was probably wise of him; I was tempted to throw myself overboard to avoid the flight. Helicopter crashes and hard landings hurt, and I’d been in several, all of which had involved the ocean in some fashion or another.
When I reached the parked bird, Lane offered me a helmet, which I stuffed over my head. The bird could seat six, and I enjoyed having an empty seat beside me.
I buckled in, grateful I hadn’t forgotten everything over the years, and signaled I was ready once I double checked my helmet and belt. With the efficiency I expected—and on some level, missed—the helicopter was sky-bound and on the way.
Twenty minutes into the flight, I regretted agreeing to anything. The already choppy air churned, and the helicopter bucked like a demented bronco. I kept my mouth shut, although I cast glares in Haney’s direction.
The man shrugged. A moment later, he said, “Wait until you see the drop-off point.”
“Five minutes, sir,” the pilot said. “Nice morning for a swim.”
I leaned over and glanced out the side window. White-capped waves crashed below. It reminded me a lot about the conditions in the hours before the cruise liner had sunk on route to Europe.
Yep, the pilot was a SEAL, no doubt about it. Only a SEAL would be insane enough to view the rough waters as a potential place to go for a swim. Then again, I knew a few operatives who would be up for the challenge.
I wasn’t one of them.
Four minutes later, the helicopter approached a surfaced submarine, and the waves crashing into it sent spray high into the air. Several men in dive equipment waited on deck. Closing my eyes, I counted to twenty. When that didn’t help settle my fraying nerves, I focused on drawing deep breaths.
The submarine was large enough the water wasn’t rolling it as bad as I feared, considering the ocean’s conditions, but the only way we were getting off the bird and on deck was by jumping. If I made a single misstep, I’d end up in the water, requiring the dive team to haul me out before I drowned.
I sighed. If the pilot was good, he’d hover the helicopter like it was some sort of mechanical hummingbird, allowing me to drop down on a harness and line to the waiting crew below. If he was stellar, he’d bring the damned thing within a few feet of landing, allowing for a free fall jump.
Neither option appealed to me at all.
“If you’re ready, I’ll hover the bird over the deck,” the pilot stated.
I truly did have the devil’s luck. I muttered curses and shook my head. Lane and Haney stared at me. While tempted to flip them both off, I went to work unbuckling, keeping an eye on the submarine below as the pilot eased into position.
“Fredrick, you’re first. Follow him, McGrady.”
I nodded. Lane muscled open the door and secured it, taking his position to jump down to the water-slicked
deck below. After taking off his helmet and tossing it to Haney, who stashed it in its proper place, Lane tensed, waited for his moment, and dropped out of the bird to the submarine.
Both his feet slid out from under him on landing, and he hit the metal hard enough I winced in sympathy. Before he was pitched overboard, one of the sailors hauled him to his feet, clearing the way for me to make my jump.
I took off my helmet and hung it up, taking the few extra seconds to brace myself for the transfer, berating myself for becoming entangled in a military mission. The only thing worse than the deck of a submarine was the smothering confines of its insides. My wolf whined in my head, but I ignored his complaints and prepared for the short leap down, ruing my choice of attire, the stormy seas, and the circumstances.
Oxfords were not the ideal shoes for attempting a helicopter-to-submarine transfer. I clenched my teeth and hopped out, ready to drop into a crouch so I wouldn’t tumble and roll overboard. Watching Lane slip and slide prepared me for the slick metal.
The pilot hovered the helicopter close enough to the deck that the landing didn’t jar my aching bones too much, although I still went down to one knee. A diver took hold of my elbow, pulling me upright to make space for Haney.
The Vice Admiral followed moments behind me, and the instant his feet touched the deck, the pilot left. The spray and rain drenched me, plastering my suit to my body. It didn’t take long for the chill to stab at my skin, and I shivered.
I made it inside the submarine without incident, and only one rogue wave washed over the submarine, ensuring I was utterly soaked before descending into the cramped confines of the ship.
As the only one without the benefit of a protective flight suit or wet suit, by the time I got out of the ocean spray and deep into the maze of the submarine, my teeth chattered. It wouldn’t have surprised me if someone told me my lips were turning blue.
On the way across the submarine, I peeled out of my soaked jacket, which Lane took. One of the sailors offered me a dry towel. Until I had a dry change of clothes to go with it, it was pretty pointless, but instead of complaining about it, I went to work on my hair.
While I got curious looks from the working men and women, they ignored me the moment they caught sight of Haney. Salutes were shot off in rapid fire, which the Vice Admiral waved off.
“Hanging in there, McGrady?” Haney gave my shoulder a slap over my healing gunshot wound, hard enough to propel me forward a step.
I hissed. “You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes, you would, Bard, and you know it.” I turned, twisted my towel, and whipped the Vice Admiral with it, cracking him in the arm. “Watch the shoulder. It hurts enough without your help.”
Several of the sailors close enough to watch my breach of etiquette paled, their stares flicking to Haney before they found work to do. I snorted, shaking my head.
A decade ago, I probably never would have had the balls to towel-whip a commanding officer, but times had changed, and until I had a uniform and they forced me into it, I considered myself a civilian with the misfortune of being roped into a mission.
It wouldn’t fly for long, but as long as Haney let me get away with it, I’d toe the line.
“Shit, son. Forgot.”
It was as close to as an apology as I’d get from him, which was startling enough I turned my full attention to the man, who gave a one-shoulder shrug at my silent, questioning stare. I narrowed my eyes before returning to the task of drying my hair so I wouldn’t freeze to death in the time it took me to hunt down some dry clothes, most of which I was certain was still on board the cruise ship destined for the Caribbean.
In a sane world, I wouldn’t have had a reason to be jealous of my luggage.
Haney took the lead, guiding us to the captain’s quarters. “Try to remember your manners, son.”
“I might even remember how to salute, sir.” I draped the towel over my shoulder. It’d been so long since I had been on any military ship I couldn’t remember the protocol for boarding, although I was pretty certain dripping all over the captain’s quarters wasn’t a standard part of operations.
With my luck, Haney meant to make nice with the captain of the submarine he had diverted from its regular mission before hauling me back up top for another flight to shore.
The only thing worse than a stormy-sea drop off was a pick up, and with my luck, instead of holding my own against the waves, I’d end up in the drink. Being fished out of the ocean by a SEAL ranked pretty close to the top of things I wanted to avoid on the trip.
Haney stared at me for a long moment, sighed, and knocked on the captain’s door.
Chapter Ten
I was really getting tired of people jumping out at me. Submarines didn’t offer a whole lot of room to move, and with Haney and Lane blocking my routes of escape, the khaki-clad man had a straight run at me. I recognized the service uniform of an officer, but not in time to stop myself from dropping my shoulder, grabbing him by the front of his uniform, and twisting so I could flip him over me and into Lane.
Both men hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The duffle containing the little we had brought onto the helicopter flew up in the air, and with a dry chuckle, Haney caught it.
“Toad-spotted ratsbane!” I spun, the blood draining from my face as it sank in I had thrown a Navy captain over my shoulder into a SEAL.
“That’s not minding your manners, son,” Haney chided, lowering the bag to the floor before reaching down to offer his hand to the fallen captain. “My apologies, Captain Williams. Are you all right?”
“I have always wanted to get thrown by a Marine. It was one of my aspirations in life,” the captain replied, hopping to his feet without accepting the Vice Admiral’s help. He dusted himself off, straightened, and snapped a salute. “Welcome aboard, Vice Admiral, sir.”
My salute wasn’t as crisp as Lane’s nor did it last as long. I should’ve made a better than half-hearted attempt to mind my manners as Haney had warned, but I was tired—too damned tired to deal with the military, its rigidness, and everything it represented in my life.
“My apologies, Captain, sir.”
Captain Williams turned to me and looked me over head to toe. With no sign of gray in his brown hair and bright blue eyes, the man didn’t seem very old, likely in his late thirties, which made me wonder how he had elevated his rank so early in his career.
His eyebrow arched as he took in my drenched shirt and rumpled suit. I had no doubts he could see the dark bruises showing through the thin material. Breaking the silence with a laugh, he thrust his hand out to me. “Nonsense, Major. When word down the line said I’d have an interesting Marine coming on board, I thought I’d have a look for myself. Looks like Vice Admiral Haney still hasn’t managed to kill you yet.”
The name Williams didn’t ring any bells in my memory, which made me wonder just what the captain had been told about me or what—and who—I had forgotten over the years. His age would have put him in active duty when I had bounced around the various branches of the military. I shook hands with him, and I appreciated the fact he didn’t engage in a strength challenge. “Not yet, sir.”
“Please forgive the cramped quarters. One day they’ll figure out how to make these tin cans more spacious. No incidents?”
“It’s a bit choppy out there,” Haney replied, herding me into the captain’s quarters. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Glad to be of service, sir. Minor detour on route to our next exercise. We’ll rendezvous for your next transfer in four hours. Make yourselves comfortable in the meantime. I’m technically off duty until your departure.” Captain Williams went to his desk and gestured to the two chairs crammed into the room before looking me in the eyes. “Do you want to keep dripping all over my submarine, or would you like a dry uniform?”
“We could all use a dry change, if you’ve got the spares in stock,” Haney admitted.
“I’m
sure we can round something up.” After a brief conversation on the submarine’s com, Williams gestured to the chairs again. “Take a load off.”
“Sit, son.”
“I’ll pass, sir. If I sit, you’re going to need a crowbar to get me up again.” Standing would help keep my aching muscles and joints limber enough to cope with another flight off the submarine, especially if the seas remained stormy.
Haney sat, twisting around to stare at Lane, who shook his head. The SEAL stood with his hands clasped behind his back, at full attention. Old habits die hard, and I assumed the same straight-backed posture before I realized I had moved.
“Close the door, Petty Officer,” Captain Williams ordered, and the seriousness of the man’s tone put me on edge. Lane obeyed before returning to his position beside me. “You’re a very difficult man to track down, Major. Unless I’m way off my mark, they’ll be studying your case to help train our spooks for years to come.”
I kept still, watching the captain. “Thank you, sir.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, Major.”
Haney chuckled, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms. “Williams is competitive in nature, Major, and you’ve dodged every spook interested in making a name for himself over the past decade. He wrote an interesting paper focusing on Marine and SEAL missions with a focus on rogue, burned, and missing operatives. I’m afraid he’ll have to write a revision considering your reappearance—and pay up on a certain friendly bet we made a while back.”
“I’ll write you a check,” the captain grumbled. “I’d love to know how you’ve managed to stay off the radar for a decade. You’re going to have one hell of a debriefing.”
“My orders were clear, sir. If the mission was compromised, we were to disappear. The plug was yanked, so I followed orders.” I paused, glancing at Haney, who gave me a subtle nod. “It’s not difficult to stay hidden if you keep on the move and use a different name, sir.”
