19 Headed for Trouble (30 page)

But Sam was already standing and rinsing his face from the questionable water coming out of the faucet of the sink.

Robin pushed the door all the way open. “Don’t drink any of that,” he warned, and Sam shot him a baleful look.

“I’m not an idiot, Boy Wonder.”

“For all I know, you’re delirious.”

“Will you stop with the delirious.” Sam wiped his face with a towel, then braced himself on the edge of the sink as he glared into the mirror, as if willing himself to be well enough to run their errands in a strange city in a foreign country in the middle of the very dark and potentially dangerous night.

“I can do this,” Robin said.

“What if someone recognizes you?” Sam asked, and the fact that he was no longer flatly saying
no
was a testament to how awful he was feeling.

“Then … I’ll sign an autograph for them …?”

Sam didn’t laugh. “I’ll go, and just fucking get this over with.”

Robin countered with his own worst-case scenario. “What if you go out, and you stop to puke, and someone thinks you’re vulnerable—which you will be, because, hello, you’re puking—and they mug you?”

“That’ll be their mistake,” Sam said.

“Not if they catch you off-guard and knock you unconscious.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Your eyes are closed right now,” Robin pointed out.

Sam opened them and looked at him. “Because I’m pretty sure
you’re
not going to jump me.”

Somewhere, in some far corner of the city, a siren started to wail.

“What is
that
?” Robin asked, but Sam shook his head. Fortunately it wasn’t close enough to wake Gina, Emma, or the boys.

“Maybe a fire alarm?” Robin suggested.

“Could be,” Sam agreed, but he didn’t look or sound convinced. “Grab my phone, will you? It should be done charging by now.”

Robin went out to where Sam’s phone was plugged
into an adapter that was plugged into the outlet in the wall. It was only slightly charged, but he brought it in to Sam anyway.

“Fucking brownout slows everything down,” Sam muttered as he straightened up and took it, flipping over to his messages—of which there were apparently none. “Shit, I got no bars, to boot.” He tried making a call anyway, but gave up to again grip the sink when it didn’t go through. The distant sirens had stopped, which was good. Wasn’t it?

“Fahhhk,” Sam breathed as Robin returned from plugging the phone back into the charger. “How could there be anything left in my stomach?”

It was a rhetorical question, not meant to be answered. Still … “Don’t fight it,” Robin advised.

Sam shook his head. “See if
your
phone has service,” he ordered from between clenched teeth.

“While I do that,” Robin said, “you see if it helps to just let go.”

To his credit, Sam nodded and growled, “Close the fucking door.”

Robin did as he took out his phone and simultaneously checked on the babies, who were no doubt dreaming they were back in the womb—it was that hot and humid in the hotel room.

His phone was useless, no service, no Internet. He tried making a call anyway—to Jules—but it beeped three times and went dark. Of course, that could’ve been Jules’s inability to get a connection wherever he was, so Robin called what he thought of as the Troubleshooters Incorporated hotline. Day or night, it would connect him to whoever was on call at the office where Sam and Alyssa worked. But it, too, beeped and denied.

Robin tried texting Jules.
Now Sam’s got the flu, too. Is there anyone local to provide assist? Maybe upgrade
us to guest quarters in a private residence? Wishful thinking on my part? Be safe. We’re ok. Love you
.

He pushed
send
, and the message vanished, but his phone didn’t make that satisfying swooshing sound that meant the text had gone through.

In the bathroom, the dying ogre sounds finally stopped and the toilet flushed.

Then Sam was back to running the water in the sink. Still, Robin knocked softly as he opened the bathroom door.

Sam glanced up. He looked like crap, and now his hands were shaking as he toweled off his face, but he said, “That helped.”

Robin bit back the
bullshit
, and instead said, “I wish we could go back in time, and stop ourselves from getting on that flight. We’d already be in London.”

Where the concierge knew him by name, thanks to his fame.

What else can I get for you, Mr. Chadwick Cassidy? How else can I help you, Mr. Chadwick Cassidy? Is there anything else you need, Mr. Chadwick Cassidy?

Most of the time, the endless fawning and relentless toadying completely wore Robin out. Right about now, though, he’d welcome it with open arms.

“We’ve been in far more uncomfortable spots,” Sam pointed out.

Just a few weeks ago, Jules, Robin, Sam, Alyssa, and Ash had all been together in New York City, where a notorious serial killer nicknamed “the Dentist” had come dangerously close to killing both Jules and Alyssa.

Jules had survived by luck and his own quick thinking, while Sam had saved Alyssa’s life by blasting a hole in the wall of a creepy old town house, and then caving in the killer’s head with a pickax.

Which no doubt still gave him nightmares.

Or … maybe not.

Still, Sam was right. That entire experience had been far more
uncomfortable
than this one.

“Continuing to look on the bright side,” Robin said now, “we haven’t exactly had time to worry about Jules and Alyssa, have we?”

Sam made a vaguely laughter-like sound. “Good point.”

Robin returned to troubleshooting their current problem. “We could wake up Gina, have her watch Ash and Mikey,” he said. “Fetch her the aforementioned bucket. That way you and I could go on this supply mission together.”

“Because you’re so big and mean?” Sam asked.

Robin ignored the snark. It was obviously illness-induced. “I’m big enough. And I’ve played a Navy SEAL,” he reminded Sam.

“In a movie.”

“But being safe on the street is all about the illusion. The attitude,” Robin argued. “If I walk the way you walk, stand the way you stand … No one will come close to us. We won’t be a target, even when you’re ralphing into the ornamental shrubbery.”

“If,” Sam countered. He had his eyes closed again, his knuckles white as he gripped the sink. “
If
I’m ralphing.

Which I won’t be.”

“When,” Robin said. “Here in my reality-based world, which, by the way, is a world where you usually reside, it’s
when
.”

“I don’t want to leave Gina here alone,” Sam said.

“So then we’re back to my going downstairs and asking one of the ladies of the night to fetch a bucket for you before I go out and …” Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. The solution, suddenly, was right there. “Eureka!” It was so obvious. “All we need to do is hire a coupla hookers,” Robin said triumphantly.

Sam didn’t just open his eyes at that. He full-on turned his head.

The WTF look he gave Robin would’ve been funny if … Not if. It was definitely funny.

“To get us food and water,” Robin explained, laughing. “Obviously they’re for hire, right? We just hire them to do what we need instead of the creepy stuff. Of course I’d love it if we could use your credit card instead of mine. Because you know if I use mine, it’ll be all over TMZ before you can say
paying for sex
. And Jules’s career is …”

He didn’t finish the sentence, because Sam had made it clear in the past, many times over, that he believed Jules’s marriage to Robin had permanently trashed Jules’s once gleaming career with the FBI. Of course, Sam had also acknowledged that some things were more important than a man—or a woman’s—career.

In the distance, the sirens started up again.

“What
is
that?” Robin asked.

“Try to find an English-speaker,” Sam ordered. “And make sure that whoever you hire is well over age eighteen. No twelve-year-olds, as tempting as it’ll be to try to save them, or at least give them a respite from their ongoing abuse. Because no one’s going to believe us when we say we paid ’em to grocery shop. It’s important.”

“Understood,” Robin said.

“Try to get more than one bucket or pail or even some plastic bags while you’re down there,” Sam continued, “so we can go mobile when it’s time. And make arrangements for a car to pick us up to take us to the airport no later than noon. We
are
gonna be on that plane, I don’t give a shit what you think. And find out what the fuck those sirens are about. If we’ve got bad weather coming, or some kind of, I don’t know, tsunami or what have you, I want to know about it.”

“Good thinking,” Robin said.

“Be back up here within five minutes,” Sam continued. “Even if only to check in before going back down again. I don’t want you gone for longer than that, at any given time. And, whatever you do, do
not
leave this building. I’m trusting you, Robin. Man to man. Do this right. Don’t let me down.”

Of all the things Sam might’ve said … “I won’t,” Robin promised.

He checked the babies one last time—all was still quiet—before he went out the door.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

Afghanistan

The meeting was productive.

Alyssa had taken advantage of the advisory team’s being locked in with a squad of soldiers by starting a discussion as to how
they
would set up security for a high-ranking visitor.

The ideas from officers and enlisted alike were flying fast and furious, and Jules was helping Alyssa take notes the good old-fashioned way, with paper and a pen by lantern light, since their cell phone and iPad batteries were nearly depleted, and the FOB’s generator was reserved for essential things like keeping the coffee hot.

Max was sitting nearby, observing, listening, trying to appear patient when, in fact, Jules knew he was mentally pacing.

The last message that had come in from Sam was that not only had their flight been delayed, but that Gina had come down with some kind of food poisoning or stomach virus.

Jules knew that
Max
knew that his being over here
was hard for Gina. This entire “vacation” was little more than an endurance test for her. For Robin, too. And even for Sam.

As a former SEAL and a man of action, it was possible that the role of sitting and waiting was hardest on Sam.

But it was Sam who had suggested the trip, generously offering to babysit not just Ash, Mikey, and Emma, but Robin and Gina, too. His plan was to distract everyone—no doubt himself included—while Alyssa, Max, and Jules were working in a war zone.

But Gina’s getting sick was a little
too
distracting. For all of them. Especially Max, who was looking a little green himself.

“Let’s take a break for now.”

Jules glanced up as Alyssa continued, “We’ll have an opportunity later to continue the discussion, so keep those ideas percolating.”

Percolating
. Good word. He stood up, stretching his legs, and headed for the coffeepot, going only slightly out of his way to pass Max, who had a half-filled mug, surely cold by now, on the table in front of him.

“You want a refill?” Jules asked.

“Yeah, because not sleeping tonight from a caffeine overdose sounds like it’ll be so much fun,” Max said dryly. But he held the mug, handle out, so that Jules could take it.

“We all know no one’s sleeping,” Jules countered. “Not until we get the word that their plane’s wheels up out of Tarafashir.” He took the mug and got in the growing line for coffee.

“Out of Tarafashir?” It was Alec MacInnough who was in front of him, and the SEAL officer turned around to tell Jules, “Who wants to leave Tarafashir? Man, what I wouldn’t give to be going
in
, with Commander Jacquette and the rest of Team Sixteen.”

Jules looked at him through the blear of too many days without any real sleep, and those words didn’t make any sense. Until they made too much sense. “Wait a minute. What happened in Tarafashir?”

Alec was a little taken aback by Jules’s intensity. “Oh, wow, sorry, man, I thought you knew. I mean, you brought it up, right?” He looked over Jules’s shoulder, and Jules turned to see that Alyssa was standing right behind him.

“Why is a SEAL team going to Tarafashir, Lieutenant?” she asked, her voice even, her demeanor calm. Jules knew her well enough to know that her blood pressure was spiking.

“Ma’am, there’s a hostage situation at the airport in the capital,” Alec reported, looking from Jules to Alyssa and back. “Some kind of terrorist sleeper cell was activated and, well, they attacked. I didn’t see the report, I just …” He raised his voice. “Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?” With his freckles and boyish height, Petty Officer Mark Jenkins was older and way more capable than he looked. He appeared at Alec’s elbow as if he’d been conjured there, and Alec jumped.

“God damn it,” Alec said, “how do you do that?”

“I was standing right here, sir, you just didn’t see me.”

“What happened in Tarafashir?” Jules spoke over Jenk, even as Alyssa raised her own voice, calling, “Max! Sir, I think you need to hear this!”

And Max joined them as Jenkins, normally upbeat and cheerful, realized that this was personal. “Who’s in Tarafashir?” he asked, his face suddenly that of a man with a dozen years of SpecOps experience.

“Sam and Ash,” Jules told him. “And—”

“Robin and Gina,” Alyssa said.

“My kids, Emma and Mikey, too,” Max whispered.

Jenk glanced at Alec. “Sir, maybe there’s been more information.”

“Yeah.” The SEAL officer nodded. “Excuse me, I’ll go talk to Lew and request computer access. In the meantime, Jenkins, at least tell them what you know.”

“Yes, sir, but it’s not much,” Jenkins said as Alec went out into the snowstorm, not bothering to grab his coat or a hat. “From what I understand—and you need to know that the report I saw was not verified, but … Earlier this evening, a dozen gunmen entered the airport in the capital city of Tarafashir and, without any warning, opened fire. Casualties are believed to be high, but we don’t have details, because the tangos are still in possession of the terminal. We
do
know that two planes—both commercial airliners—took off shortly after the attack. F16s have scrambled with the intention of shooting them down if they don’t follow radioed instructions and land immediately.” He glanced at his dive watch. “It’s hard to imagine we haven’t already achieved that objective.”