Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (22 page)

But he’d lost the right to serve with his brothers because he didn’t obey orders. Didn’t keep the Code.

So he did…he actually kept the code, played nice the way they told him to, and—BAM! A young, beautiful specialist—

“Bledsoe!”

Brian snapped his gaze to the left.

Major Slusarski stood at the Command building, arms folded over his chest, a scowl gouged into his face. With a nod to the side, Slusarski headed inside.

Obeying orders hadn’t done him much good today. He seriously considered just heading into his bunk and pretending he hadn’t understood the silent signal. He sure didn’t feel like getting chewed out. The greater fear for Brian was that he’d unload on the major. Give him a piece of his mind. Or his fist.

Nah, he’d better not go to the major. He still had too much pent-up anger. At his bunk, Brian dropped his gear. Shed the Kevlar vest. Rubbed his forehead as guilt nagged him. Doing the wrong thing here wasn’t justified because someone made a royal screwup on the call.

He pivoted. Stalked through the dusk and bitter wind to the Command building. Inside, he stood on the small mat to wipe boots and waited for the door to close. And his temper to settle.

Right. Good luck with that
.

“Bledsoe.” Slusarski eased over the threshold of Captain Mason’s office.

Head down, Brian drew up his courage. And gave himself a mental flogging not to mess this up. He entered the office and gave a nod to his superiors.

Mason, poised in her chair as if she sat on a throne, met his gaze with reinforced steel behind her eyes. “How are you, Sergeant?”

“Good, ma’am.”
So not in the mood for this
. “Ready to get out there and kill some bad guys.” In other words, let’s get it done.

Her lips flattened, his unspoken message had apparently come through loud and clear. “I’d say quite a mess hit the fan out there yesterday.”

Brian said nothing. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t ask for information. He kept his peace. Slusarski sat at the end of the captain’s desk in a folding chair. Elbows on his knees, he had his head down. Impossible to read the major.

Mason sat forward and slid on silver-rimmed reading glasses as she lifted her chin to peer down at the paper she held. “You were given an order to stand down.”

This was it. They’d hand him his orders and ship him back home. And ya know what? He didn’t care anymore as long as his DD214 read “honorable.” But with his track record, that was a long shot.

She tugged the glasses off so fast, sprigs of her dyed-auburn hair came loose from its bun. The glasses landed and clattered against a nondescript white coffee mug. “You disagreed with the order.”

Brian held her gaze, unbending. He would
not
open his trap and get in trouble. He might be direct and unafraid of sharing the truth, but he wasn’t stupid. No way he would fill out the discharge papers for them.

“Is that right?”

Not answering a direct question would get him slapped with insubordination. “Yes, ma’am.”

“In fact”—she plucked the glasses from her desk again but didn’t put them on—instead she read through the glass—“you even argued with the officer in charge.”

“No, ma’am. I did not argue.”

In her nasally voice, Captain Mason read from the transcript:

She brought her dull brown eyes to him again. “I’d call that arguing.”

Brian resisted the urge to correct her. He wasn’t arguing but offering a solution that had not yet been considered.

After an intense but brief glare, she continued. “And then you go on and give a situation report to OIC, as if he had no idea what was happening.”

Armchair generals were always the worst. Couldn’t see what’s happening and yet they felt they had better insight into whatever the boots on ground were seeing and doing. Did it matter to them that nobody could see what he saw? That he had a bead on the guy, could’ve stopped this madness? That if he’d taken that shot, this conversation wouldn’t be happening?

The squawk of Mason’s chair snagged his silent aside as the captain sat back. “Well, Sergeant? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Dare he come clean, call it like he saw it? What would happen? This wasn’t like Raptor where his opinion mattered. Or was even considered. He’d been stuffed here to fill a “warm body” slot for a supply run.

But he’d never been the kind to go down without a fight. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

She considered him, no doubt aware of the way he wielded his tongue. “Go on.” She held up a finger like an old schoolmarm. “But tread lightly, Sergeant. I warn you that you are on thin ice here.”

Thin ice
. Brian wanted to curse. “Ma’am, I meant no disrespect to anyone on oversight with the supply run, but I had eyes on ground that Command did not have. Considering my unusual insertion with your team and previous experience with my Special Forces team, I felt it prudent to be sure the officer in charge knew I was capable of neutralizing the threat posed against the soldiers. That I could”—
easy, easy
, Brian warned himself as his pulse amped up—“that I could prevent any loss of life.”

“You think you’re that good?” Slusarski’s head came up only after he asked the question.

“I know I am, sir.”

“Mighty arrogant, aren’t you?” On his feet, Slusarski’s lip curled. “After a lower-ranked soldier dies?”

“She died, sir, because my hands were tied. I had eyes on the terrorist. I saw him take aim at her and Parker. That’s why I stepped into the conversation about withdrawing.”

“Conversation?” Mason scoffed. “That was an order, Sergeant.”

“I understand, ma’am. But—”

“No. No more buts.”

Brian’s heart kick-started. “You’re blaming me for this?”

Mason and Slusarski glanced at each other, faces full of meaning. Intent.

Son of a biscuit!
Brian worked to constrain the swell of rage.

“No,” Slusarski finally said. He slid his hands onto his belt. “It’s worse than that.”

Un-freakin’-believable! I obey the order, breaking my own moral code
—
but I do it because I was told to, then two soldiers die, and now they blame me!

“Major—”

“He should know,” Slusarski said quietly as he faced Brian. “The order to stand down never came from us.”

T
he days were dark and only growing darker. A bleak thought, but Brian couldn’t shake it. Skies laden with thick clouds and the cruel wind digging its icy fingers through the tents and portable buildings left him with a chill deep in his bones. Something was off. Something was brewing.

Or maybe he just wanted to get back with the team.

That much was true without the weather or sense of doom plaguing him. But he felt it, the nudge that said…

He wasn’t sure what. Just felt it. The way some athletes feel an approaching storm in their joints. For some, the indication was painful, for others it showed up in the form of an annoying ache that created little more than a “hurry up and pass” wish. That’s where Brian was right now. Whatever it was, whatever was coming, he just wanted it to be over. Life was dishing him a whole lot of junk right now. He was so over it. So ready to get on with his life. Get back to normal.

A chuckle rattled the air to his left. Though Brian didn’t look, he could tell one of the Airmen had a device of some kind. By the sound of it, the guy was streaming back home because that voice was a woman’s voice. And it wasn’t a friendly or sisterly voice. That was an “I want you home” voice.

The woman’s voice and the baby’s giggle whispered through the void in Brian’s life, stirring an ache in his chest he hadn’t known was there. Dad was too entrenched in his work at the university to help at home, and Mom liked her pity parties too much to indulge in a bigger family.

Worked better for Brian. At least another kid didn’t have to endure what he did. Imagine the fun when Dad’s scandal blew wide open.

The baby’s belly-gut laugh burst through the connection.

Brian dropped his gaze and reached for his HK416. He removed the bolt carrier group, which consisted of the firing pin inside the bolt carrier and the charging handle, and laid them on the wool blanket.

A girl and a baby back home. What would that be like?

Awesome.

No. Awful. Nobody would hang around six, twelve, or eighteen months while he secured freedom in some other country. Even if he was home.

He snorted. No chick was stupid enough to put up with his crap. She wouldn’t stick around. That’s why he flirted but kept his distance. He didn’t need more humiliation in his life.

“You’re worthless! What’s wrong with you? Use that brain of yours!”

The problem was, he
had
used his head. Not good enough for Dad. Sucked to be a borderline genius when your father was a Mensa.

A really
stupid
Mensa at that.

Got hung up on that brain of his. Thought he was above everyone, even the law. Especially Mom. The scorn, scandal, and shame of his father’s idiocy underscored to Brian that it didn’t pay to have head-smarts. While his father served his life prison sentence, Brian played the dumb jock and bought himself a pass out of geekdom. He cleaned the cam and pin with a small patch, a brush, and lightweight oil.

Getting into the Army and discovering he could be physical and mental at the same time settled any question about what he’d do with his life. He’d found his niche. Being in the Army took care of his body, and being a communications specialist kept his mind engaged. And being Special Forces did all of that in one blink. And his skills served the team.

Well it would have served the team. If he’d been authorized to take the shot.

Or…if the terrorist hadn’t interrupted communications.

It would’ve taken
one shot
. And Davis would still be alive. He’d sit here without her blood on his conscience. He was sick of this. Sick of the bad guy having a leg up on them. Baiting them. Ambushing them.
Killing us
.

The jerk had thought he was so much smarter.

Just like Dad.

What was the terrorist’s point? What did he want? If he had a point, he needed to make it. Because if they encountered him, Brian wouldn’t wait for kill authorization. He’d do it.

With each piece carefully cleaned and replaced, he reassembled the weapon. Racked the slide. Now that he’d taken care of his weapon, time to take care of his body. He went outside, a brittle wind nipping at his ears as he ran a couple of circuits, beating off the boredom and sense of isolation. As he jogged toward the gate, the swirl of snowflakes caught his attention.

Great. Freeze his assets off while they played hide-and-seek with a terrorist who had more
seek
capabilities than should be plausible. Maybe it was time for Brian to reverse the poles, swing some favor in their direction. Put the brains his father belittled to some use.

And just like then, it was time for him to do something. His boots crunched on the dirt and gravel as he headed to the Command building. At this time of night, most personnel would be either at dinner or bedding down for the night. Perfect time for Brian’s nimble fingers and brain.

Bathed in a swath of dimness, the building sat like an ominous challenge to his goal. A few cubicles cradled grunts, battened down. Some groaned when the wintry mix swarmed in with Brian before the door clattered against the frame. He took a moment to orient himself. Which monitor…? One in a dark corner. But where he could keep an eye on anyone coming. Not near a camera.

A familiar face peeked up from a monitor.
Crap
.

Slusarski’s eyes widened. “Hawk.”

Play it cool
. Brian moved that way. “Hey.” He shrugged off his jacket and met the guy halfway across the room.

“You lost?”

More than anyone could ever know. “Is there a terminal I can use?”

Confusion skittered across the major’s face. “They have terminals at the—”

“No.” Brian leaned in and lowered his voice. “My specialty is communications.” He hadn’t admitted to this in a decade. “I thought I could dig around, maybe find a trail. Maybe back-trace.”

Lifting his chin a little, Slusarski seemed like he was about to turn Brian away. “This about Davis? The village?”

Brian said nothing. It was about Davis, but it wasn’t. The scope on this terrorist’s head had widened. Brian had yet to figure out if the guy was targeting him—it was starting to feel a little personal—or if he was just screwing with the entire military coms system. That was the more logical, less-paranoid answer.

“You know they have guys working round the clock to find—”

“Nobody will know I was here.”

“
I’ll
know.”

“Didn’t mean that. Just meant I wouldn’t screw things up.”

Slusarski sighed and looked around the communications room. “You really think you can find something nobody else has?”