worth the lives of seven people?
Squatting, he flipped up the bed skirt, and shined his flashlight into the darkness. Nothing. Not even dust. He straightened, then started to leave the cabin when his attention caught the alarm clock. It was still running.
“Didn’t you cut the power?”
Brewer kept inventorying the cabin. “Medina did, yes.”
“You’re sure?” Max said the cabins’ electrical ran on batteries, but…Logan grabbed the end table, pulling at it, but it was bolted to the floor. Then he lightly grasped the cord, following it to the wall. He pushed a chair aside.
It wasn’t plugged in.
He let go and stepped back. “Oh, Christ. We gotta bail.” Brewer frowned over his shoulder, but Logan grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled. “Bomb!”
The two men rushed to the upper deck, shouting as Logan ran for the bow. He didn’t stop and dove, arching his body to get far away from the ship.
The blast erupted, sending him head over ass twice before he hit the water. The impact stunned him, pain screaming through his skin as he sank deep, the pressure pushing on his skull, his ears, and the underwater vibration shaking his brain. He swam away from the explosion, arms digging into the water. A shudder echoed in the depths, the sea warming quickly, the force of the blast pushing him along. He prayed the team had gotten clear.
His lungs strained, pinpoints of light fracturing in his eyes, and he dove deeper, debris raining like missiles. Shrapnel clipped his shoulder, and he flinched, losing precious air, but the debris kept falling, dropping like stones and kicking up silt. His body wanted air, now, and he struggled for the surface in wide, hard sweeps, releasing increments of air until he didn’t have any more. He shot out of the water, then bobbed, sucking in a lungful. He whipped around, searching for the Scarab boats. The pair were circling the arena around the yacht ablaze like a Viking ship sent to Valhalla. That was too close.
Without fuel in her tanks, the explosion wasn’t as bad as it could be, but the bomb leveled the first two decks including the pilothouse. The Sea Empress looked as if it had been attacked by a can opener, thick metal peeled back and tattered. There goes any chance of getting paid.
He waved and a Scarab headed toward him. One was damaged, the tear in the hull just barely above the waterline so they had to take it slow. Max leaned and reached out for him, and Logan grasped his forearm, then rolled into the boat.
But not before he glimpsed the white wedding gown floating nearby, the lacy arms torn and outstretched before it sank under the sea.
Inside the Pentagon
Months later
General Joseph McGill didn’t earn his three stars without hearing a lot of carefully worded bullshit. This time the pile was getting deep, and considering his company, it was almost natural for them to color information. Just not this brightly.
He’d been acting Deputy Director of the CIA Special Operations for less than a month, something he’d lobbied against till the Secretary of Defense ordered him into the position. McGill thought the SOD wanted to shake things up, scare some people. A recent intelligence leak to the press had him clamping on his people so hard their necks hurt. But that would have been an easy job. McGill wasn’t certain the President was aware of this meeting, or who was covering their ass and what for. But his number one target was less than ten feet from him.
On the other side of the long conference table, Elizabeth Jacobs sat erect, her spine stiff, eyebrows high with indignation. At forty-eight, the sharp red suit and carefully applied makeup was just a smoke screen. She was a cobra who was off the map when it came to understanding how special operations worked. To her, they were all expendable. Oh, she’d bemoan the loss of a service member, but that didn’t stop her from pushing to send more into a dangerous situation. She was the tactical director on a mission that had failed miserably. Even stripped of her clearance and control, she couldn’t stop behaving like an operative in the field. Everyone was an asset and expendable. Including her.
It turned his stomach to look at her.
“Are you suggesting I leave this to the good ol’ boys, General?”
There’s a reason I wear three stars, cupcake.
With a light shove, he pushed the folder to the center of the table. “Your strategy was deeply flawed. You should have aborted at the first shot fired. You went forward with bad Intel, people are dead. Now you want to leave him there?”
“He understood the consequences and, while regrettable, he knew the dice before he rolled them. You’ve read the data, the psych reports. He was more than willing to take this assignment.”
“At your behest.”
“I’m paid to get the job done, General, and my career speaks for itself.”
He scoffed. “I’ve read it. It’s pretty shaky in some spots, even before this.” He flicked a hand at the two-inch-thick file between them.
Her expression turned as snotty as a rebellious teenager cornered by a parent as she said, “Operations always have kinks that must be dealt with in a matter of seconds. I did what needed to be done. And frankly, I wasn’t aware that you had full authority over the matter.”
Seated around the room, men sat back collectively and attention shifted to the Secretary of Defense.
“Liz.”
She looked at the Secretary, her skin reddening as if she just remembered his presence.
“While this was initially your operation…”
Her shoulders tensed, too smart not to know she was being stiffed out.
“It’s not anymore,” he added. “Ensuring that our man is brought home is our only consideration now.”
“Then a clean sweep is wiser.”
The SOD tilted his head. “You’re not being asked to participate, you’re being ordered to turn all remaining documentation over to the general.” He stood and she rose slowly. “Today.”
She didn’t look anywhere but at the Secretary. “Sir, I must argue your decision. I’m prepared to return and rectify this problem myself.”
“That’s not an option.” He nodded to somewhere behind her and a young man moved to her side.
He didn’t touch her; they’d allow her the dignity of that. She showed nothing. Not a flicker in her expression nor twitch in her body.
She’s a cool customer, McGill thought.
“We’ll discuss your future after the holiday.”
She only nodded and with her escort, left the room.
The Secretary looked at McGill. “End this, tie it off. Go outside if you have to. The U.S. can never be implicated. Never. With the present state of unfriendly attitudes from this country’s leader, we have to come away clean or the consequences will be insurmountable.”
McGill saw the stress on his friend’s face, how he’d aged in the last four years. It wasn’t
