Killing Time

31

During the next few days, they fell into a routine. Up at dawn, off to what Eva had started to think of as the coal mines, back to the cabin by seven p.m., quick text to Gabe, then midnight recon missions that had so far turned up nothing of value.

Tonight, however, the routine was off-kilter—and it worried her. It was almost ten p.m. and Mike wasn’t back yet. There wasn’t a lot of time for socializing or fraternizing and when there was, it consisted of a command performance by Lawson, where the entire camp was expected to show up and listen to one of his speeches that denigrated the government and sang the praises of the UWD movement. Last night was one of those nights.

“Soon, brothers and sisters. Soon we will be in power. Until then, patience and diligence and devotion are required of every man, woman, and child.”

Eva couldn’t believe that people bought this crap. But the mob mentality kicked in, and that’s all she wrote.

She willed herself not to look out the window again, and thought instead of what they’d accomplished. She’d started to gain a measure of trust from a few of the women, but for the most part they remained guarded, more out of subservience than from a sense of self-preservation. It was sad.

Mike had more freedom around the camp and had been assigned as a team leader to a small group of men. A test, they suspected, to see how he handled a leadership role.

Their guns and phones hadn’t yet been returned and Mike hadn’t been assigned a weapon like the rest of the troops but, again, that was to be expected during what Lawson now referred to as a probationary period.

The daily texts to Gabe let him know they were fine and to stand by. Mike hoped to be inviting Gabe and Joe to the fold soon. Maybe with four pairs of eyes, they could hunt down Lawson’s secrets.

Her thoughts returned to Mike. Where was he? He should have been here hours ago.

“I liked what I saw on the shooting range today.”

Mike acknowledged Lawson’s compliment with a nod, and smiled across the desk, not surprised the lights-out-at-sunset rule didn’t apply to the big dog. The office was well lit. Too well lit. He’d seen too much of Lawson’s ugly face today. “The AR-15’s a sweet weapon, sir.”

He was dead beat, hot, and two hours late getting back to Eva. He’d rather dive into a snake pit—and he fucking hated snakes—than spend one more second in Lawson’s company, or call the bastard “sir,” but the UWD leader had extended a special invitation. No way could Mike pass up the chance to suck up and get his foot a little further in the door.

So here he was. In Lawson’s office, buddying up across the ancient gray desk, an uncapped bottle of scotch calling to him like original sin.

“Sure you don’t want one?” Lawson lifted his shot glass.

Hell yes, he wanted one. “Thanks, but no. Never acquired a taste for it.” As long as he was lying, go big.

“If it’s not too presumptuous, sir, I have some ideas that might improve the men’s overall shooting accuracy.”

Lawson leaned back in his chair. “By all means.”

Because the range and the equipment disbursement was so slipshod, it didn’t take much for Mike to lay out a good case for making changes. Since Lawson didn’t know that he was aware of the contents of the armory, Mike ran a laundry list of all the things he thought it would make sense to stock—all of which Lawson already had on hand, of course.

“Impressive.”

Mike said nothing. A humble man, wanting to help the cause.

“You ever see any action?” Lawson asked after refilling his glass.

“Some.”

“Where?”

Mike took a chance. “Afghanistan.”

Lawson nodded. “Navy played a bigger part over there than most civilians realize. When?”

Mike shot out a date a couple years after he’d left Operation Slam Dunk, hoping it would trigger some conversation. It did.

“I spent some time in that rat hole. Whole fucking country should be blown to hell.” Lawson shot-gunned the scotch, slammed the empty glass on the desk. “Lot of money to be made there, though, if a man knows how to get it.” He smiled, showing disgusting, pointy little yellow teeth. “I could tell you stories.”

Mike got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was about to do just that as he poured another two fingers. He was getting sloppy. The sonofabitch couldn’t hold his liquor. Must be the total lack of body fat. Or his ice-cold snake blood.

Lawson was quiet for a while, lost in the good old days, Mike thought sourly. Then he started telling war stories, bragging about his kills. He was slurring his words now.

Mike fought the urge to vomit and forced himself to bait him. “Country’s crawling with opium, right? Lot of profit there for a tight operation.”

“Hell. There was money to be made everywhere in that part of the world. I ran guns to Chechnya rebels, then turned around and supplied the Taliban. It was all a big fucking game.”

He leaned in, grinning confidentially. “There was this sting I ran once… a favor, let’s call it, for someone high up on the food chain. Someone who had a vested interest in the U.S. not getting a toehold in Helmand Province.”

This was it. OSD had gone down in Helmand Province. The “someone high up on the food chain” had to be Lawson’s big boss.

“Because of the opium trade?” Mike asked, hoping to lead him into more details.

“No shit. This certain Spec Ops unit was mucking things up for my—let’s call him a business partner.”

Business partner? Oh hell, let’s call a spade a spade. He was a ruthless motherfucking murderer.

“How so?” Mike asked in a strangled voice. Lawson was too wasted to notice Mike’s tension.

“They were putting the screws to the local warlords who were the main supply source for our lucrative little opium trade. We needed them gone—but it had to look like someone screwed up.”

Mike swallowed back bile. “That had to be a neat trick.”

“Just called for a little creativity. Ended up a real bloodbath. Wasted a bunch of locals to lure the team in, then took most of them out. Made it look like a goatfuck.”

When Lawson chuckled, it was all Mike could do to keep from killing him with his bare hands.

“See, I worked it so the whole deal got pinned on some schmuck—a hotshot chopper pilot.”

“Nice.” Mike felt his eyes glazing over.

“Killed two birds with one big stone. Got the unit out of the area by killing most of them off, and put a lid on anyone who lived to talk about it.”

“So you actually took out a Spec Ops unit?” Apparently he sounded impressed because Lawson puffed out his chest.

“Damn straight. Showed that bunch of gung-ho, rah-rah, take-one-for-the-team patriots. Jerk-offs called themselves the One-Eyed Jacks.”

Mike saw red, then black, and literally had to force himself to breathe.

“And you know the really funny part? One of their own was on my payroll.”

The blind rage consuming him took a backseat to shock.

“Latino guy. Arrogant prick. Fancied himself a real lady-killer.”

Ramon had been working with Lawson?

“Joke was on him, though,” Lawson went on, seeming so lost in his fond memories, he’d forgotten Mike was even there. “Greased him on the spot. He burned up with the rest of his asshole buddies. Fitting end for a sellout, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. A fitting end,” Mike said grimly.

Eva was beside herself. It was almost midnight, and Mike still wasn’t back. To pass the time, she’d showered, braided her hair, and rebraided it. Paced. Paced some more. There was nothing else to do, and she was way too upset to sleep.

Had something happened to him? Had they found him out? Was he being held captive? Was he hurt?

Footsteps out front had her rushing to the door. Finally! Light-headed with relief, she swung the door open wide.

Mike barreled inside, almost knocking her over in the dark.

“Where have you been?”

He scowled down at her. “Shrew much?”

Worry shifted to anger in a heartbeat. “Uncalled for. I was worried. I thought something happened to you.”

He let out a long breath. “You’re right. I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”

She followed his lead and settled herself down. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to pounce on you.”

He hugged her against him, then let her go and walked over to the bed. He sank down on the edge and began unlacing his boots, his movements sharp and jerky. “It’s just… hell. I couldn’t get away. When the general decides he wants your company, you don’t decline because the little woman’s waiting.”

The hard edge in his voice undercut his attempted joke. A hard, dangerous edge. She took a good look at him, and saw more than fatigue and tension lining his face. He was beyond angry and trying to hold it in.

She sat down beside him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

For a long time he didn’t say anything, just kept working the laces. When he finally got them loose, he toed off the boots, picked them up as though to put them away, then slammed them back down.

Then he sat forward, shoulders hunched, elbows on his thighs, and stared at a spot on the floor.

Eva waited, understanding that whatever was working on him was taking much bigger bites out of his peace of mind than the issue that had been eating at her all day.

“Mike? Talk to me.”

Stocking feet still flat on the floor, he lay back on the bed and stacked his hands behind his head. “The asshole bragged about it, Eva,” he said finally. “He bragged about slaughtering my team.”

A sick feeling rolled through her stomach as he started talking and didn’t stop until he’d purged himself.

“He was so fucking proud of himself. It wasn’t about human lives. It was about the game. And the money. ‘Lot of money to be made over there back then,’ he said with this good-old-days look in his eyes. Opium trade. Gunrunning. Always someone on the take, right? Always someone who needed someone to do the dirty work for them. He was glad to be that man. Loves the irony of sticking it to Uncle.”

He stopped again, a sick look on his face. “He’s one brutal, sadistic bastard. Completely without a conscience. And I had to sit there and look awestruck, and encourage him to tell me more.”

His voice broke then and he dragged a hand over his face. And grew deadly silent. Silent and brooding, his big body literally vibrating with a rage that was tearing him apart.

“Arrogant, immoral, egotistical, murdering bastard,” he swore in a voice that was so softly menacing, it would have frightened her if she hadn’t known him so well.

And she did know him, she realized as she encouraged him to lie lengthwise on the bed, then wrapped herself around his big, tense body. What she knew was that he had wanted to kill Lawson tonight. But he hadn’t. He’d sat there and taken it. Sat and listened as Lawson bragged to him about how he’d annihilated women and children as though they were lab rats, killed honorable men who had been as close to Mike as brothers.

One of those men had been her husband.

“His only regret,” Mike’s voice was weary as he lifted his arm and made a place for her next to him, “is that it’s harder to keep in the game these days.

“ ‘A smart man like you,’ I told him, pimping for more information, ‘I figure you can still find a way to keep on sticking it to ’em.’ ”

He was so smart, she thought. “I don’t imagine he was able to resist the opportunity to impress you even more.”

“Yeah—that would have been my bet, but he got quiet then. Maybe I pushed a little too hard, because all he said was, ‘You’re right. I am smarter than them. They’ll find out soon enough, too.’ Then his phone rang. Whatever it was, he stood abruptly and told me he was calling it a day. That was my cue to leave.

“I came this close to killing him,” he said after a long, heavy moment. “I’ve never felt that way in my life. I signed up for the service to protect and defend. But tonight I wanted blood. Wanted it as much as I’ve ever wanted a drink. It would have been easy. I outweigh him by fifty, sixty pounds. A blow to the head. A kick to the throat. He’d be gone.”

“I want him dead, too,” she said. “Ramon is dead because of him. Your life was ruined because of him. But you were right to hold off.”

“There’s only one reason he’s not dead right now.”

“Lawson’s partner?”

He nodded. “When we find out who he was or is working with, we find out who put the hit out on you.”

“And we clear your name,” she pointed out, not wanting him to lose sight of that goal. “We have to get him. He can’t get by with what he did. What he’s still doing.”

“I’ve got to get into his office again. There’s got to be something there. Mr. Big’s name on a computer file, a scrap of paper. His picture. Lawson has to have an insurance file—something he can hold over this guy in case they ever have a falling-out. And if it’s not there, it’ll be where Lawson sleeps. I just know he’ll keep it close.

“And it’s going to get easier starting tomorrow,” he added, drawing her nearer. “He asked me to call my friends.”

She lifted her head. “Seriously? That was fast.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“You talked to Gabe?”

He nodded. “On Lawson’s private line.”

She hadn’t realized how much relief that news would give her. It would still be four against over one hundred if things took a bad turn, but knowing that their numbers were increasing with two of the most revered operatives in the black ops community made her breathe easier. For all of two seconds.

“Lawson’s put a lot of trust in you. Seems a little too easy, doesn’t it?”

“I told you I could bullshit with the best of ’em. Earlier in the day when Lawson admitted that most of the yahoos he calls soldiers are weak-minded, undisciplined, all-talk-and-no-action losers, I told him I could help him with that and do it in triple time if I could call in my buddies. He liked the idea of new blood. So he gave me the green light. Not only that, he said he’d cut me in on a little action if I could cut that time down to less than a week.”

She lifted up on an elbow. “What’s his hurry?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it had something to do with that phone call. But I get the sense that something important is about to happen. Bucky’s been making noises about a big deal going down soon. A really big deal. I’ll get it out of him tomorrow. In the meantime, I got a bead on Lawson’s private quarters.”

“You saw them?”

“No. But I hung back in the shadows after I left his office and spotted him heading south.”

“I didn’t see any buildings on the aerial maps in that area.”

“Maybe it doesn’t show on the map. Maybe the blood-sucking vampire lives in a cave like a bat.”

“I don’t remember anything about caves on the topography map, either.”

“We’ve got to figure it out fast. I’ve got a bad feeling we’re running out of time.”

He tensed suddenly. “You hear that?”

Yeah. She heard it. The distant, then not so distant grinding gears, air brakes, and roaring diesel engines.

They jumped out of bed and raced to the window.

Then they stared in stunned silence as a line of vehicles slowly rolled by.

A pickup led the way for three semi tractors, each one pulling a long box trailer. Another pickup flanked the procession.

Dumbfounded, Eva turned to Mike. “What’s a convoy of semis doing in the middle of nowhere?”

“Only one way to find out. Get your sleuthing shoes on, chica.”