Always Been Mine (30 page)

“Fine,” he said shortly. Then a lop-sided smile softened his serious face. “Hated wearing suits.”

She laughed. “Most of the guys do. Limits their movement. Although,” she angled her eyes at Gabe, “didn’t you wear suits all the time when you were the
other
guy?”

Gabe chuckled. “Yes, but it was a bitch to keep my weight down.”

“Muscles, you mean?” Beatrice looked appreciatively over her man’s delicious body.
 

“Yes, muscles,” Gabe muttered. “Muscle weight is heavy. It slows you down, and wearing a suit doesn’t help. I’ve been experimenting in some training methods. The thing is, my body needs a lot of calories and I’ll be damned before I starve myself.”

“How much cardio do you do?” Sam asked

“I normally run six miles every day and then lift weights,” Gabe said. “I need a sparring partner for mixed-martial arts.”

“We use the gym on the first floor of the building where BSI is located,” Sam said.
 

“I have privileges there because I’m affiliated with BSI and can get you in,” Beatrice said. “Well, once this whole mess is over,” she added in a grumble.

Sam’s phone buzzed. He looked up at Beatrice and Gabe. “Travis says he and Caitlin are coming over. They’ve got something.”

Beatrice sat up straighter. This could be it.

Twenty minutes later, Caitlin breezed through the door with Travis. She already had her laptop open.
 

Without much greeting, she said, “Redrook sent me a message. Tomorrow night is the meet.”

“What? That doesn’t give much time for preparation. What if his buyers are not in the country?” Beatrice asked.

Caitlin shrugged. “I know. It’s take it or leave it. It’s as if this meet is not the major event but a precursor to something.”

“Where’s the drop?” Gabe asked.

“Coordinates are pointing to an area in Culpeper,” Travis said.

“Let’s go into the control room and pull up satellite images,” Gabe said. The group marched down the hallway into the communication and control room as he took out his phone to call Porter.

The admiral answered on the second ring.

“Porter.”

“Admiral, Caitlin made contact. Meet is tomorrow night.”

There was a long stretch of silence. “I’ve a strong suspicion that the meet is a distraction.”

“What?”

“I have reliable sources that say Redrook has already made a deal with the Russians.”

“What is this meet for then?”

“Not sure, but I don’t think Redrook is going to show up. He’s our priority.”

“Shouldn’t stopping this virus from getting into the hands of the bidders be our priority?”

“Look, Commander, I’m in the middle of something—”

“Goddammit, Ben. Stop keeping us in the dark,” Gabe growled. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Trust me,” Porter responded. “Plausible deniability, Gabe. What I’m doing is unsanctioned and entirely clandestine. I don’t want to bring you down with me if shit hits the fan. Give me the time and coordinates.”

Seething, Gabe punched in the information in his phone and sent it.

“Okay, got it,” Porter said. “Have you guys figured out where it is?”

“Culpeper.”

“Okay, we’ll do this. I’ll pick you up two hours before the meeting. I suggest you recon the area via satellite if you can.”

“Already on it.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was 8:10 p.m. the following night. No sign of Porter. Gabe tried to call him earlier today. It just rang and rang. He had tried again a few minutes before the hour. No answer.

“Fuck. What do we do now?” Gabe asked Travis, who had returned to the safe house with Caitlin. The plan was Caitlin would work the communication systems and process whatever surveillance photos Gabe was going to transmit from the meet. Satellite imagery and timings were not sufficient to observe remotely. “If I don’t leave now, I run the risk of encountering the people involved in the rendezvous.”

“You’re not going by yourself,” Beatrice said. “You don’t even have the contact information of the covert group; they might make a mistake and shoot you.”

“If Porter hasn’t shown up, they might not be there and may be assisting him somewhere else.”

“I’ll go with him,” Travis announced.

“What?” Caitlin exclaimed. “I think the best idea is to forget this.” She turned to Beatrice. “I’m sorry, Bee, but your dad is a big pain in the ass. He tells us to do something and we do it and then he turns around and changes his plans without telling us.”

“What if something happened to him?” It was obvious it took an effort for Beatrice to vocalize her fears. Her face was pinched with worry. That thought had occurred to Gabe, but he hadn’t wanted to add to the anxiety of the group. Caitlin suddenly looked remorseful, and Travis looked stony-faced. Sam was standing quietly against the wall.

“You know the admiral better than that, Bee,” Travis said. “He’s too smart to let something happen to him.”

“If they have him, the more we need to get to the meet,” Gabe stated resolutely. “He told us to do recon on the area. We did so thoroughly yesterday, Travis.” The meet was at an old barn on a farm. Because it was winter, cover was scarce. There were no leaves on trees and only skeletal bushes dotted the area. At least, there was no snow on the ground because there was no white camouflage gear available.

Gabe was already suited up. Black cargo pants, military boots, black tee and jacket. The rest of his equipment and ammunition was in a backpack. He had a carbine to tote, a pistol in a thigh holster, and another in the back. He looked at Travis. “We’ve got an armory downstairs. Go gear up.”

“Just recon, okay?” Caitlin linked her hands with Travis. “Don’t get too close and don’t engage.”

“Just recon, babe,” Travis agreed. “Sam, can you call Nate and have him come over. Two men should be covering the safe house while we’re away.” Sam nodded and left to make the call.

“That goes for you, too,” Beatrice looked pointedly at Gabe. “Even if you recognize Redrook, let my dad deal with it. Right now, you guys are vigilantes and acting outside government sanction.”

Standing down with a target in sight, knowing he played a role in torturing Beatrice, was going to be difficult, but he would give Beatrice the reassurance she needed.

“You got it, poppy,” Gabe said, drawing her close and kissing her forehead.

*****

“I got the barn in sight,” Gabe murmured through comms. The farm was set amid rolling hills and he had hunkered down along the crest of one, training his binoculars at the structure in question.

He and Travis parked their SUV a mile from the location and hoofed it the rest of the way. The short hike was beneficial in keeping them sharp. Oxygenated blood kept them warm and aided their focus. They had agreed to split their area of coverage. Travis covered the back of the barn, while Gabe was in charge of the front. There were guards stationed at the beginning of the long driveway leading to the barn, probably to check the buyers before they were allowed through. Caitlin was issued a QR-code for identification. Gabe and Travis knew what areas to avoid.

“Two guards,” Gabe added. “They don’t look like Fuego. I’d say they’re ex-military.”

“Mercenaries?”

Gabe adjusted his optics closer. “Yeah.” His reply was noncommittal. “But not too sure.”

“Copy that, buddy.”

Buddy
. Gabe allowed the word to sink in. It might have been a slip on Travis’s part, but the man’s willingness to be his wingman in this op reminded him of their brotherhood in the SEALs.

“I see a car approaching the back of the barn.” Travis’s voice crackled through comms. After a few minutes, he said, “Fuck, it’s Zach Jamison.”

“Alone?”

“He has some underling carrying a couple of briefcases.”

The ST-Vyl virus.

“I don’t think Redrook is in that vehicle,” Travis added.

Unless Zach was Redrook, which was highly unlikely given his background. He checked the time. It was 9:45 p.m., the meet was set at 10:00 p.m. Usually in transactions like this, timing was very precise. Too early was not good and increased the risk of getting caught. A minute past meet time was a no-no as well because it increased the tension in the waiting party.

The buyers should be arriving in the next fifteen minutes.

There was a muffled curse from Travis, followed by a grunt.

“Travis?” Caitlin’s panicked voice crackled over their communication system. “Gabe, what’s going on?”

“Fuck,” Gabe muttered as he levered himself up from his prone position. A twig snapped behind him, and he heard a muttered expletive. The sounds were on top of him, so without looking back, Gabe fell to his side and swept his leg in an arc. His fishing expedition caught someone’s leg and sent the person crashing to his back. Gabe pushed to his knees and grabbed the pistol from his thigh holster, but a swift kick from his assailant, who was still on the ground, knocked the gun from his hand.

Stunned at the lightning reflexes of his opponent, Gabe withdrew his knife and pounced . . . and found himself flying in the air, somersaulting actually, and landing on his back.
 

What.

The.

Fuck?

Thankfully, he had the knife flush to his forearm and didn’t end up stabbing himself. Realizing the unknown figure was highly trained and not the random goon, Gabe scrambled to his feet to assess the man warily. By now, his assailant had risen to his feet. From the light of the full moon streaming through the bare branches, he discerned he was around his own height of six-four and probably around two-twenty pounds. The man was suited up in all black with a skull cap on his head and dark paint camouflaging his face.
 

They squared off.

“Who the fuck are you?” Gabe growled.

“Funny. I should be asking you that question,” came the gravelly response.

“Look, man, we could be on the same side.”

“I know who’s on my team,” Gabe could hear the sneer in Face Paint’s voice, “and you’re not. Come on, motherfucker, show me what you’ve got.”

Face Paint held out his arms in a challenging gesture. This was nuts, Gabe thought, but he’d be damned before he threw the first punch. They circled each other. Finally, his opponent got tired of waiting and spun, his leg went flying. Anticipating every move, Gabe caught the foot and twisted it. The man’s body pivoted with the leg and his other foot headed straight for Gabe’s head. He managed to duck, but he had to let Face Paint go.
 

Staggering backward, Gabe made a mental note to engage Sam in sparring exercises because he was barely keeping up with this guy.

They went at it, the man’s elbow jarring Gabe’s jaw, but he managed to sink a fist into Face Paint’s solar plexus in retaliation. More jabs and punches were exchanged, and although they seemed evenly matched, Gabe was breathing heavily while the other man was barely panting. He needed to end this now because the meet was starting in a few minutes and this son of a bitch was going to outlast him. With a suppressed roar, Gabe blocked the oncoming blow, and with a leap in the air for added momentum, came crashing down with his elbow into the side of the man’s head.

“Fuck!” the other man grunted and fell to one knee. Seeing his opportunity in finishing this off, Gabe followed up with a kick, and for the second time this night, found himself flat on his back.
 

He was really, really, getting pissed at this guy.

Face Paint straddled him; Gabe tipped him over. They rolled and punched. Over and over. Gabe was starting to get dizzy, and he was praying so was the other guy.

“I don’t know; they seem to be having fun,” a female voice spoke beside them.

“Damn it, Maia, we don’t have much time!”
 

Travis.

Gabe and Face Paint stopped fighting.

“Travis, what the fuck is going on?” Gabe growled, angry that at the end of the fight, the other guy was on top of him.

“Figured out who Porter’s covert group is,” Travis said conversationally. “Gabe, meet Viktor Baran of AGS.” His friend motioned to Face Paint.
 

“This, here, is Maia.” The woman with Travis was also similarly dressed as Viktor.
 

Viktor pushed away from him, got to his feet, and held out his hand. “Good fight, Sullivan.”

Gabe had heard of Artemis Guardian Services (AGS) and their inimitable leader. This fucker knew who he was, and they wasted time fighting senselessly. Gabe ignored the proffered hand and stood to his full-height to go eye-to-eye with Viktor. “I don’t know what the hell your game is, Baran, but we’re wasting precious time.”

“Agreed,” Viktor answered curtly. “Maia, what’s the bead on the buyers?”

“They’re arriving at the moment.” Maia pushed down on an ear piece, listening to updates. “Our team has the barn surrounded and is waiting for word to go in.”

Gabe resumed his position on the hill, surveying the activity in the barn.

Just then, a crackling of leaves and footsteps got everyone on alert. A big guy, even taller than Gabe and almost twice as wide, emerged from the trees. He had a skinny guy following in front of the business-end of his assault rifle. Big Guy was obviously one of Viktor’s men because he was dressed similarly. Skinny was dressed in dark military fatigues.

“Who’s this?” Maia asked, referring to Skinny.

“Found him skulking on the third quadrant. He was with another guy,” Big Guy reported. “His buddy got away. They were doing recon.” He ripped off the velcro holding the cover on the arm of Skinny’s uniform revealing the insignia. “Green Beret.”

“What the fuck?” Viktor muttered. “Why is Army Special Forces operating within the homeland?”

Skinny remained stonily silent.

“Listen, we’re under CIA directive to handle this situation,” Viktor said. “Our order trumps yours.”

“We’re under CIA directive as well,” Skinny finally spoke up. There was a hint of confusion on his face.

“Redrook,” Maia whispered. “He’s running their show.”

Gabe was slowly losing patience listening to the hushed conversation behind him.
 
His mission was surveillance, damn it. He promised Beatrice he wasn’t going to get involved in this CIA bullshit, but he was biting on his tongue not to comment on the clusterfuck.