One Minute to Midnight (Black Ops: Automatik) (13 page)

Ben poked his elbow into her arm, then pointed at a section of crates across the main aisle down the middle. She recognized the silhouettes. Wood, metal and hard plastic boxes. Military issue.

She and Ben skipped across the center aisle and crept behind the stacks of containers that reeked of gun oil. Some of the boxes still had their original shipping labels, along with their requisition numbers and destination base. Florida. Kit Daily’s old unit.

Ben hissed, “These fuckers are barely trying to hide.”

She carefully undid the latches on a long plastic container and opened the lid to reveal a long row of 9mm handguns wrapped in plastic and accompanied by two extra magazines each. “This is trouble when it hits the streets.”

“Or if someone’s trying to start a war.” He tipped his head toward another crate. She knew the contents from its familiar shape. M249 SAWs. Someone would pay a lot for a fully automatic light machine gun like that. And they could do a lot of damage with it.

“Tracker.” She unwrapped a pistol from the container before her and used a multi-tool to unscrew one of the grip plates. Ben placed a black tracker just a little larger than a grain of rice on the underside of the grip plate. It had a light coating of adhesive and stayed in place while she secured the plate back to the gun. They repeated the process for three more pistols, then closed the case. These were the same type of trackers he’d distributed in the bracelets, and as long as they were within range of a cell phone tower, they could be found.

Cracking open the wooden crates would’ve made too much noise. And it would’ve been nearly impossible to hide the signs of tampering with the tools she had at hand. She focused instead on an aluminum container that bore the dents of years of use. Inside were six U.S. military-issue M4 assault rifles, complete with optics on the top and flashlights and laser sights on the front rails. Ben lifted one out and slipped a tracker into the hollow grip. She had the next one out as he put it away, and they tagged all the weapons.

He closed the aluminum container and pointed at the crate of M249s. “I want those SAWs.” Anger edged his whisper. “Tracking them isn’t enough. I can foul the gas regulator. Two shots, and it’ll blow.”

“Do it,” she agreed and helped him undo the metal latches on the plywood crate. They set the lid aside, and he pulled one of three machine guns out of their foam cocoons. It wasn’t the quietest operation, even though he moved deliberately. Metal clanked against metal, and the sounds crept out into the warehouse.

He set the butt of the weapon on the ground and snapped open a blade from a multi-tool. The blade wedged into the gas regulator below the barrel and released it from its seat. He pulled a small tube of what looked like clay from one of his vest pockets, pinched off a small amount and kneaded it between his fingers.

She placed her mouth next to his ear. “I didn’t know SEALs were that crafty.”

He winked at her and continued to work the two-part epoxy for another few seconds. “Delta ain’t the only tricky group out there.”

“But we don’t exist.” She took hold of the SAW while Ben pressed a bit of the epoxy deep into the gas regulator with the tip of his knife. “If you look at my Army file, the only extracurricular you’ll see is the women’s golf team.”

He chuckled and reached forward to replace the regulator on the weapon.

The far doors clanged open. The light turned on at the front and invaded their shadows. The lid of the crate was open. Ben held the regulator, and she had the SAW in her hands. She gripped it close to suppress its rattling parts and moved as far from the light as possible without echoing her footsteps into the warehouse. Ben disappeared next to her. He crouched low, poised. His body wasn’t tense, but it was clear he was ready to leap into a fight if he had to.

The frustrated voice of Len the foreman barked out. “I thought we went over all this. Come on, Rob, it’s not that fucking complicated.” He walked down the center aisle, forty feet away from their position. Len spoke as if explaining to a child. “Green paint means it goes on a truck. Red goes on the choo choo train. So you don’t mix and match them in the staging areas. If they’re all the same color, then they’re easier to load. Get it?”

Another man defended himself. “Yeah, I got it. It’s just that your system doesn’t account for final destinations. Look...” He strode farther up the warehouse. If he spotted the lid off the crate, the battle would begin.

Adrenaline readied her. She knew how not to lock up with panic, but all of her muscles were taut in preparation to move. Ben silently slid his pistol from the holster on his vest. She balanced the SAW in one arm and did the same. For the first time in Morris Flats, her finger was on the trigger.

The man continued, “Red, red, red. But if we put them all on the same train car and they’re set for different destinations, we’re fucked.”

Len sighed out loudly. “That’s why they’re all grouped in the staging area. Batch by batch. But if you throw truck shit on a train, it messes the whole thing up.”

“So you’re saying that from here...” The man kept walking up the aisle. She watched Ben aim his pistol in the direction of the voices. The man had no idea of the danger and was nearly yelling. “All the way to here is one load for a train.”

“That’s right.” Len patronized him. “Nice and organized until you guys find odd cargo to throw in here and fuck it up.” The two of them were ten feet from the open crate. She scanned for multiple escape routes. If she fired a shot, she would have to run. “All I need from you is to ask before you start slinging that shit around and screwing the whole system.”

Silence. How far would they go? If the argument continued, it could carry them right next to Ben and Mary.

“Fine,” the man spat. “But that means you can’t bitch at me or the guys when we’re coming and asking where things go.”

Ben maintained his steady aim.

Len grumbled, “Then it’s a fucking deal.” His brisk footsteps receded up the aisle.

The other man remained motionless. Had he spotted the crate?

“Get some coffee.” Len shouted from the other side of the warehouse and swung the door open.

“Yeah.” The man called back, then muttered, “Fucking asshole.” He finally shuffled away from Mary and Ben’s position. After a few moments, the light in the warehouse turned out and the door slammed.

Ben let out a long breath. She released the tension that had strung between her shoulders. But neither of them completely relaxed. She waited until all the currents of air the men had stirred settled, then holstered her pistol. Ben did the same, and the two of them quickly reassembled the machine gun.

She carried it back to the crate and replaced the weapon. Ben pulled the next one, and they sabotaged the gas regulator on it and placed a tracker in the hollow grip. They took care of the last machine gun in the crate then replaced the lid and latched it. No signs of tampering. Whoever bought the weapons wouldn’t have any idea something was wrong until the barrel exploded and the bolt deformed.

The two of them ventured into another section of the warehouse, scanning over the boxes and cases in order to catalogue the illegal guns. Mixed in with the military weapons were other foreign-made models. AKs, pistols, submachine guns, as well as thousands of rounds of ammunition of all calibers.

“Oh, no.” She stopped at one long, hard plastic case, designed to carry only one weapon.

“Damn...” Ben patted her shoulder with sympathy. “They got your family.”

She opened the case and revealed a Barrett .50 sniper rifle, disassembled for transport. It was complete with two magazines, three boxes of match grade ammunition and a telescopic sight. She’d used this weapon to save a lot of lives, as recently as the Automatik operation against the Russian mob in the Mexican desert. “Tag it.”

Ben pulled out one of his trackers. “Best spot?”

“Underside of the upper receiver.” She lifted the part so he could get at a hidden area within. Thankfully, he was quick. She replaced the upper receiver in its spot and closed the case so she didn’t have to look at such a trusted tool bastardized for profit.

“Let’s bounce.” Ben pointed his thumb toward the window where they’d entered. “We got what we needed tonight.”

He was right. They’d identified the guns, tied them directly to Kit Daily and tagged them for tracking. Every second in the warehouse and near the rail yard increased their chances of being discovered. And without the rest of their strike team, it would be a nightmare for the two of them to go against the massing security forces.

They backtracked through the warehouse, away from the guns and back to the older pallets that weren’t going anywhere soon. Ben set up under the window. She pulled the chain to release the latch, and it swung wide with a creak. Once the sound died, she climbed Ben’s body and reached the open window. He ran up the wall to her hand, and the two of them balanced on the edge. She pulled the window down until there was just a small gap. Ben jumped to the ground while she used her knife to retrieve her magnet from the alarm switch. All traces of their ingress were removed. She closed the window, sheathed her knife and joined Ben at the base of the warehouse wall.

She put together her night vision rig and scanned the area ahead, including their path back to the cinderblock wall at the far edge of the yard. Everything was clear. She led them through the gap in the motion sensors and farther among the train tracks.

They continued their methodical process during egress. The activity in the yard continued, but the warehouse remained dark. She and Ben reached the wall and moved in perfect sync. She climbed his body then helped him over. Once back on the ground, they slithered into the shadows of the ditch and followed it back toward the hotel.

The immediate danger was over. The bigger war was coming.

Chapter Thirteen

Often, after a successful mission, Ben and his team would celebrate with beers and cigars. But there was no victory now, even though he and Mary had made it back to his hotel room without being detected. She sat on the small couch, and he took the floor, leaning against the wall next to the window. Long, slow breaths helped release the buzzing tension. The operation, though, continued. The rest of the strike team needed to assemble in town, the plan needed to be set, then the gunrunners needed to be neutralized before they moved their goods. That was the thorn. Could Automatik show up in time?

“Wish I could crack open a beer with you.” He unlaced his boots but left them on for now.

She stretched her legs out onto the coffee table. “At Art and Hayley’s place. With those dumplings.”

“And those bomb-ass nachos.” And a quiet table, just him and her. Safe, with all the time in the world. He allowed himself to revel in the plan. Nothing big. A dinner. Something to hope for on the other side of the operation.

He kicked off his boots and hauled himself to standing at the edge of the window. The curtains were closed, but he could see through the edge that Morris Flats slept below them. Only the highway through the middle of town had any cars and trucks moving on it. The roads were clear. His vantage didn’t see far enough to the east to cover the rail yard.

“Fuck this town.” He hated seeing all those guns piled up, waiting for eager hands. And he hated the constant danger he and Mary were in. All they needed was a little protected moment. A couple of beers, and they might be able to figure out what they’d be after all this. His neck cracked as he tipped his head back and forth to stretch out the tightness from tonight’s mission. “That could’ve gone to hell in a second.”

She stood and walked to the opposite side of the window and peered down. “We both know hell.”

Streetlights below carved her features in gold. A weary warrior who’d seen and done all the things he carried with him as well.

“Maybe that’s why we were able to lift each other out of it.” He moved away from the window.

She followed him into the middle of the room, her face still, eyes revealing depth. Finally, she spoke. “You’re too good at this.”

“You didn’t say that when we were infiltrating the yard.” He knew what she meant but couldn’t meet her head-on.

“I trust you as an operator.” She didn’t look at him. “As a teammate.”

“But not as a...” He waited for her to finish the sentence. She didn’t, so he added, “Friend?”

“I have friends, but we don’t spend time in the backseats of cars.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not my friends, either.” The distance between them seemed harder to cross than miles of razor wire and claymore mines. “But we might be that. Might be more.”

“Don’t give me that ‘friends with benefits’ bullshit.” Her hands dropped to her sides, like she was ready to fight. “That’s just a convenient way of leaving an escape route.”

“I don’t need an escape route because I don’t feel trapped.” He stepped toward her. She stood her ground. He approached cautiously. He didn’t know how to get around her defenses and frustration edged into him. “We can be friends, and we can be whatever else feels right.”

“Like I said, you’re too good at this.” Her voice was flat.

He absorbed the jab and continued. “Because it feels right, doesn’t it?” Any second, one of those mines could go off, but he couldn’t stop now that he’d ventured so far.

She ventured into the danger with him. “It does.”

His heart beat faster in a tight chest. “I can’t be good at this,” he told her, “because I’ve never done it before.”

“I can’t be temporary.” She was still poised, ready for a fight.

“How could I get enough of you?” He wasn’t interested in a fight. No games. No hustle. He told the truth, and from there, couldn’t change the trajectory.

“But you are good.” She slid forward noiselessly. “Too damn slick, Ben Jackson.”

“For you.” He met her in the middle of the room. “Only you.”

Her warm hand slid over his chest and curled into a fist, gripping his shirt. His frustration and trepidation burned away. He held her waist, pulled her closer. She smelled of the cool night and hot skin. He leaned down and kissed her. They met like a sigh, a release. Relief in the midst of the conflict.

She breathed deep and rested her head on his shoulder. “Why don’t you brief the team? I’m going to get ready for bed.”

The memory of the cold sheets edged into his calm. “You spending the night?”

“Can’t stay away anymore.” She smiled, and a broad heat opened up inside him.

With her fist still balled in his shirt, she shook him, then released him and walked to the bathroom. He sat on the couch and updated Automatik on everything they’d found during the night’s recon. Mary reemerged after a few minutes and helped recount details like the requisition numbers on the crates and the final base destinations. The timeline for the strike team’s assembly was sped up, but there was only so much they could do. A quick influx of strangers would take a simmering situation to a boil.

Mary perched on the arm of the couch and rested her forearm on his back so she could read over his shoulder as he typed on the phone. It was as easy as when she’d climbed him to get to the warehouse window. They didn’t need words all the time.

They finished the debrief, and he placed his phone on the coffee table. Going over the list of weapons found had wound the muscles of his neck tight. It was difficult to speak through his clenched jaw. “Those guns can’t hit the street.”

She rested her palm between his shoulder blades, reminding him to breathe. “We’re going to stop them.”

“The SAWs, the Barrett...” He turned to her. “Those are for psychos with big agendas.”

Her eyes were grave. “No one’s going to get their hands on them.”

He had to share her conviction. Doubt wouldn’t accomplish their mission. “Kit Daily’s going to fight.”

“He’s a dinosaur.” Her lip curled. “And his security is lazy and confident.”

“And we’re neither.” Weariness ringed his joints and tugged them down. He stood and ambled toward the bathroom. “We’re ghosts.”

Her words floated like smoke behind him. “The bullet they’ll never see.”

The day officially ended with the brushing of his teeth. He completed his other nighttime needs and returned to the room to find Mary standing next to the bed with her tactical vest in her hand.

Her shape was barely visible, but her husky voice shot a flash of heat through him. “I’m slipping into something more comfortable.” She released her pistol from its holster and placed it on the nightstand, then laid her vest out on the floor within reach.

The mission didn’t let up. Even with the two of them alone in his room and the bed welcoming them. He arranged his own gun on his night table and knew the backup was close in his luggage. A folding knife and a flashlight joined his sidearm, all within reach.

Clothing rustled on the other side of the bed. Mary unbuckled her belt and slid out of her pants. Her lithe shape crawled over the white sheets, then disappeared into them. He took off his fatigues and pursued her. The bed was cold and crisp until he met the intensity of her skin. The lean strength of her muscles. The smell of her hair and the silhouette of her mouth.

He leaned up over her and dipped down for a kiss. She rose to meet him. Their limbs wound together. He ran his fingers through her hair. She stroked across his shoulders and back. His erection grew. She pressed her belly against it, but their bodies knew it wasn’t the time. Not without complete safety. Their rhythm remained calm like a quiet sea.

All the cold was chased from the bed. The kiss ended, and they held each other. He listened to her heartbeat with his head on her chest and found peace in her steady thrum. She scratched lightly over his hair and rubbed his earlobe between her fingers.

They slowly untangled until they lay shoulder to shoulder. She draped her leg over his. He traced the bottom edge of her panties and stroked up and down her thigh.

It only took a whisper to reach her. “I don’t know where you live. You got an abandoned warehouse loft where you oil your weapons and lift cinderblocks for exercise?”

“And you’re in a glass brick condo with neon wall art and a circular bed covered in black satin sheets.”

“You’ve been spying on me.” It was hard to blame her for conjuring that, based on his reputation.

“I’ve got a place in San Francisco,” she said. “In a tall building on a hill.”

“Of course.” He imagined her watching the city, the whole west coast, from her window. “High vantage.”

Her voice darkened a bit. “And multiple escape routes.”

“I get you.” He rested his hand on her thigh. Even home didn’t always feel safe.

“You do.” She wedged her hand under his ass.

“Automatik has some financial perks, but do they cover San Francisco rent?” He tried to see her in a city without her tactical gear on. “I pick up outside work consulting, and my apartment’s not that prime.”

“I’m mostly covered.” She paused, and he wondered if that was all she’d disclose. “But I still get out in the daylight. I teach self-defense for women at a few gyms around town.”

“Sweet. That’s the good work.” He could see how her calm and attention to detail would make her a great instructor. “I wish they didn’t need it.”

“Me, too.” Her voice heated for a moment. “But until then...”

He leaned toward her. “If you ever want a demonstration dummy, call me.”

She chuckled and pinched his butt. “I don’t think my students would want to see what I do with you once I get you on the ground.”

“Yeah, that’s like tenth-degree black belt level, top secret, no-holds-barred hand to hand.”

She grew more pensive. “But really, it might be good for them to have you there for some of the training. As the bad guy and the good guy.”

“San Francisco to San Diego, is that long distance enough for you, sniper?” Risky, making plans and commitments like that. Even the suggestion sent a tremor of possibility up his back.

She turned and looked at him, light gathering in her eyes. “I can make that shot.”

No promises. It was how they operated. If she said it, she meant it. And he’d do anything to find a way.

They drifted into comfortable silence. Her breathing slowed next to him. A dream took her skimming along sleep, her arm twitching. He remained awake and allowed his body to sink into the mattress. Aches and tension in his joints and muscles dissolved. She woke with a sigh and sat up slightly on her pillows. With Mary on watch, he allowed himself to drift away. Tonight’s mission was over. The operation would resume tomorrow, after they’d taken their shifts resting. For now, he was safe with the most dangerous woman he knew.

* * *

Sunrise sliced through the gaps in the curtains. Ben was already awake. Mary had been breathing steady next to him, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. They’d traded off sleeping and watching most of the early morning. About a half hour before daybreak, he’d made eye contact with her, confirming they were both awake. But they remained motionless, resting before the next stage of the mission. An uneasy twist churned in his gut. The next stage was undefined.

He sat up and stretched his arms, neck and back. “Do we wait? Collect more intel?”

She eased out of the bed, then disappeared behind it for a second. With a quick breath, she popped back up again. Then down. After ten burpees, she performed a brief yoga routine that revealed the long strength of her arms and legs.

He was watching the swivel of her waist above her panties when she answered, “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” The shake of her head revealed she struggled with the uncertainty as much as he did. “Security forces are in town. Cops are blocking roads. If we keep probing, they’ll know something’s up. Or they’ll at least work really hard at getting us out of town.”

“Ben Louis and Mary Long would probably just lie low. She still has work to do here, right?”

She calculated in her head. “Probably a little more scouting on the west side.”

He stood and charged his blood by shadowboxing for a moment. “Ben Louis did everything he could here, but he’d stay because Mary Long’s sticking around.”

“Ben Louis is a dog.” She smirked and took a little extra time pulling her pants on while he watched.

“Ben Louis is sprung.” Something he’d never been. Maybe in high school, before he’d figured out the easier ways to fit together with a woman and not have either of them tangled up. But that wasn’t going to work with Mary. They were knotted. And he wanted it that way.

It was her turn to watch as he dressed. Desire heated her eyes. “Mary’s got it bad, too.”

Seeing her like that and hearing her admit it made him burn, too. “I’m going to need more time with you.” He crossed in front of the bed to her. “Slow time.”

Sadness crossed her face. He knew why. Planning ahead could be dangerous. Determination was necessary for the mission, but he’d been trained not to expect too much from the future.

She fought through the doubt and gazed at him with open need and resolve. “We’ll find that time.”

He believed her. He’d battle to the end to make that happen.

The clock spun on their mission, but he stole a moment and held his hand out to her, palm up. She placed hers on it, and he lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Guaranteed,” he said and let her hand go.

She didn’t say anything, but he watched her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest with a long breath. Then the steel returned to her eyes, the hard mask of the warrior. But not cold with him. The woman was ready for today’s mission. “So what would Mary Long and Ben Louis do this morning, after their night together?”

He considered. “They’ve been hanging out for, what, three days?”

“You do have more experience with this kind of thing than I do.” She grinned, wry.

But it stabbed a little too deep. “We’ve all got history.”

Her face grew serious. “I’m sorry. I won’t make that a thing again.”

He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks.” Then he continued mulling her question. “They’re both on the road for work... They’re both climbing the ladder...” He looked at Mary and just wanted to wrap himself around her, take her to the bed and make love until sunset, eat a hot dinner, then keep going. “This place doesn’t have room service, so they’re not shacking up.”