Montana. Zoe was familiar with the pictures, and with the extensive high-tech security the independently wealthy CRO leader, Christopher Vincent, had set up around the place.
If the lab in Arches had had even half the security of the CRO headquarters, this wouldn’t have happened.
“We don’t want to get in by force,” the admiral was saying. “That’s not even an option worth considering at this point.”
Admiral Stonegate spoke up. “Why not simply evacuate the surrounding towns and bomb the hell out of the bastards?”
Admiral Forrest rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Jake,” he said. “That worked so well at Waco.”
“Surround ‘em, then,” Stonegate suggested, unthwarted and possibly even unaware of Mac Forrest’s sarcasm. “Give our soldiers gas masks and let the CRO use the Triple X to wipe themselves out.”
Admiral Robinson turned to Zoe as if he’d sensed her desire to respond.
“There are a number of reasons we wouldn’t want to risk that,” Zoe explained. “For one, if they waited for the right weather conditions—strong winds or even rain—the amount of Trip X they’ve got could take out more than just the immediately surrounding area. And then there’s the matter of runoff. We don’t know what would happen if that much Trip X got into the groundwater. We don’t have enough data to know the dilution point—or, to be perfectly honest, if there even is a dilution point.” The room was silent, and Zoe knew they were all imagining a lethal poison spreading through the groundwater of the country, making its way down to the Colorado River…. She took a deep breath. “I’ll say it again, gentlemen, our sole option in this situation is to retrieve—or destroy—the six canisters of Triple X in its powder form.”
“My plan is to continue surveillance,” Admiral Robinson said. “I’ve already got teams in place, watching the CRO fort, trailing everyone who goes outside of their gates. We’ll continue to do that, but we’ll also be sending someone inside to track down the exact whereabouts of the Triple X. That’s not going to be easy. Only CRO members are allowed in.”
Senior Chief Becker lifted his hand. “Permission to speak, sir?”
“Please. If we’re going to work together as a team, let’s not stand on formality.”
Becker nodded, but when he spoke, it was clear he chose his words carefully. “I think it’s obvious that I’m not likely to be accepted as a member of the CRO any time in the near future. Seaman Taylor, here, either. And as for Crash—Lieutenant Hawken—his face may be the right shade of pale, but it’s only been a year since he was on the national news. He’s got to be too well-known. And while my intent is not to suggest that lieutenants O’Donlon, Jones and Shaw aren’t capable of a mission of this magnitude, sir, it seems to me we might want to have a team leader with more experience. I’m sure either Captain Catalanotto or Lieutenant Commander McCoy of Alpha Squad would appreciate the chance to be included in this op.”
The admiral listened carefully, waiting courteously until the senior chief had finished, despite the fact that Zoe could tell from his body language that everyone he wanted to be part of this operation was already right here in this room.
“I appreciate your thoughts, Senior Chief. And I’m aware of both Joe Cat and Blue McCoy’s well-deserved reputations.” He paused, glancing around the room before he casually dropped his bomb. “But I’ll be leading this team, hands-on, from out in the field. And I’ll be the one gaining entry into the CRO fort.”
CHAPTER TWO
JAKE LIFTED HIS HANDS, halting the words of outrage, doubt and concern. He was too old to go into the field. He was too out of touch. It had been years since he’d last been in the real world. It was too dangerous. What if he were killed? What if, what if, what if?
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “I know Christopher Vincent. I met him about five years ago—he had a book published by the same company who released my wife’s art books. We met at a party in New York, and I talked to him for a very long time. He’s extremely dangerous, a complete megalomaniac. And it just so happens that he liked me. I know with a little help and the right cover story, I can get us inside.”
“Admiral, this is highly irregular and—”
Jake cut Stonegate off. “And six missing canisters of T-X isn’t?” He looked around the room. “I didn’t call you here to ask your permission. I run the Gray Group. I call the shots. And this is a Gray Group mission. The president gave me this assignment with a direct order not to fail. Those of you who haven’t worked for the Gray Group before need to know that I don’t take that order lightly. What I need right now from the SEALs and from Dr. Lange is to know whether or not you want to be part of my team.”
He hadn’t even put the final m on team before Zoe Lange spoke up, her clear alto voice ringing out into the room. “I’m in and I’m behind you one hundred percent, Admiral.”
She was just too cute, standing there in her blue jeans and blue-flowered T-shirt. She looked like a college student, but Jake knew better. She was Pat Sullivan’s top operative. She’d come highly recommended. She was bright, she was beautiful and she was so freshly young it almost hurt to look at her.
Her hair was blond, long and straight. She wore it in classic California-girl style, with no bangs to soften her face. But she had a face that didn’t need softening—it was already soft enough. She had baby-smooth skin, a face that was nearly a perfect oval, and equally perfect, delicately shaped features. From her fair skin and her light coloring, he’d expected her eyes to be blue. But they weren’t. She had brown eyes. Not a light, hazel shade of brown, but deep, dark chocolate brown.
Was it possible for someone with eyes that dark to be a natural blonde? He knew exactly how to find out.
I’m all yours—if you’ll have me.
Don’t go there, pal! She hadn’t meant it that way.
Jake focused his attention on his SEAL team. Harvard Becker. He’d never worked with the African-American senior chief, but when it came to electronic surveillance, he was the best. And right now Jake needed the best.
Seamen First Class Wesley Skelly, short and skinny, and Bobby Taylor, built double-wide, could’ve been any of the enlisted guys he knew back in Nam. Loyal to the bitter end, they drank too much, played too hard and were always right where you needed them, when you needed them. Right now, their loyalty was to Harvard, though, and they waited for their senior chief to nod his acceptance before they, too, agreed to sign on.
Lieutenant Billy Hawken, nicknamed Crash, was Jake’s wife, Daisy’s, cousin. Jake had helped raise him from the time the boy was ten. He thought of him as a son, but there was real reservation in the kid’s eyes as he gazed at Jake across the table. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? He could read the words in Billy’s eyes as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud.
Jake nodded. Yeah. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d thought about it long and hard. This was more than just an excuse to get back into the real world. Although—he couldn’t kid himself—he did want to do it just a little too much. Still, the timing was right and he trusted himself, trusted his instincts.
Billy turned to look at Lieutenant Mitchell Shaw, sitting on his right. Mitch and Billy had both worked for Jake’s
