Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2 (2 page)

“It’s all lies.”

Beck had settled into a stubborn lily-white stance and Roger wanted to knock some sense into him. “Lies, soldier? Yeah, it was a lie to blame
all
of the explosions on the jihadist kidnappers. And, yeah, it was a lie to omit the missile strike I ordered that set them off, but
most
of the damage and deaths were caused by the stockpiled explosives the radicals had hidden in the buildings. So, yeah, the US lied and they’ve benefited, but only in terms of preventing further bloodshed and possibly even a global meltdown into World War III. They weren’t malicious lies told in order to gain control, power and money. If you’ve got more to say about it then we’ll discuss it in my office
after
we see Dekker. Until then you zip it and eat it. He had better not get a whiff of your bitterness. Do we understand each other?”

Beck snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Roger sighed and nearly staggered from the weight of guilt he shouldered. “Damn it. That’s not where I’m coming from, soldier. I’m not stuffing it down your throat, but we have to keep the world from imploding if we can. Why can’t you see that?”

“I see it.” Beck’s voice sounded like ground glass. “Then I see Rico crippled and Pecos blind. Then I see Amanda James paralyzed. Then I don’t see Neil walking through the damn door and shit in my head gets all out of whack.”

“Don’t you think the same thing happens to me every minute of the day? Except in my case, when I shut my eyes, I see those three kids and the women who died. But I still toe the line. Do you know what it does to me inside to know that if I hadn’t ordered the missile—”

“Fuck this,” DT interjected. “I was there, damn it. My ass was blown up and might never be able to go on another mission, so that gives me the right to tell you that you’re both screwing up. Chill on the survivor’s guilt before something really gets FUBARed around here. We make the best decisions possible at any moment on a mission and that’s all we can do. Period.” DT narrowed his gaze. “You get me, Commander? You start second guessing yourself and you can’t lead. Same goes for you, Beck. We go back from the beginning and you know just as well as I do that war fucks everybody without discretion, but it is sometimes a necessary evil. It’s not going to help Rico or Pecos to know the explosions were set off by our own missile, but that’s the commander’s call on whether to tell them or not. Not yours. It’s for damn sure that hiding a few details is keeping worldwide hell from breaking loose. The greater good for the greater number has to rule in this. Now let’s go see Dekker and get bloody.”

Roger blinked as DT plowed out the door. DT was dead on. Roger wasn’t thinking clearly at all and he had to get a grip quick. Beck didn’t say anything more as he followed DT, but somehow Roger got the idea that Beck’s ass wasn’t riding as high on his shoulders as it had been a few minutes ago. The air was in no way cleared, but they all had something to chew on for now.

Chapter Three

Spring Lake, North Carolina

I am not a victim
, Mari Dalton silently whispered then gasped for air as she tightened her grip on the .22-caliber pistol. But she couldn’t see, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think past the fear. In her mind, Frank Dugar still had her hijab
wrapped like a noose around her throat.

Nausea churned and a choking darkness closed in on her and her unborn child.

She had to escape.

Allah, forgive me
. Hands trembling, she lowered the pistol and snatched off her headscarf before she fainted. She gasped again, drowning in the memory of Dugar’s attack, but refused to give in to it.
Dugar is not here
.
He hasn’t been seen in weeks
.
The panic is all in my mind
.
Senior Airman Holly Gear is just a few feet away
.
Roger has men hunting Dugar. My baby is safe.
She knew all of this in her head, but in her heart, she knew she was only safe for the moment.

Cool air reached her face and neck—especially her neck—and she sucked in oxygen. The panic enclosing her like a casket eased. Beneath the black folds of her abaya perspiration drenched her from head to toe and her heart hammered hard. She drew in more air and set her palm against her stomach. This wasn’t good for her baby; she had to do better.

Holly came up, clearly worried. “Are you all right? You’re ghost white.”

Mari steadied herself, inwardly groaning at her weakness. “I’m fine. Just a wave of nausea. The doctor said it is expected.”

“You’re sure it’s just morning sickness?”

“I’m sure.” She forced a smile. She had hoped self-defense lessons would ease her panic attacks and her growing sense of impending doom. Instead, both were worse, burying her deeper and deeper under layers of fear…and memories. It was especially bad at night, when she was all alone in the one place she shouldn’t be—Roger’s bed. Lt. Col. Roger Weston’s bed. Neil’s commanding officer. When Neil was alive.

She loved Neil.

She missed Neil.

And she resented her mind for allowing thoughts of Roger to intrude on her grief, just as much as she hated herself for the thoughts she’d had of Roger when Neil was alive. But she didn’t even dare think about that right now. She focused on the paper target up ahead. She could do this. With Neil gone, she could learn to take care of herself and her child.

“Let me try again,” she told Holly and lifted the pistol. She blinked at the target just thirty feet away, still feeling as if Dugar was at her throat. Her body had healed in the weeks since his attack. The stitches were out, the bruises were gone, the red scars on her hands and knees were fading, and she could move her broken fingers with minimum pain.

It was her mind that suffered and it wasn’t necessarily because Dugar had assigned himself as her executioner, either. It was because he made her realize she couldn’t escape her past. The fate decreed by her father years ago in Afghanistan would find her, no matter where she went. She’d been marked for death and death would follow. Her hope was to bear her child before death caught her, and to keep Roger from sacrificing his life trying to save her. Those were the only two things that mattered.
Keep your eyes on the target. Let everything else go
. Breathing deeply, she re-aimed the .22 and fired, absorbing the slight recoil and aiming again and again until the bullets were gone.

“Excellent.” Holly brought the target forward.

Mari winced with dismay. “How can you say that? One bullet hit the man in the arm. The rest are all in the white space.”

“It only takes one bullet to stop an attacker. You’ve made good progress. You kept your eyes open. You’re consistently hitting the paper and with each practice you tighten the spread of your shots.” She pointed to the clustered bullet holes just above the man’s left shoulder. “You did well, considering. I know how nausea destroys a girl’s aim.”

“You’ve had a child?” Mari had been so focused on learning self-defense over the past few weeks that she knew little about Holly’s personal life. Holly was from Georgia, an expert sniper from the National Guard, and she was at Fort Bragg to teach soldiers how to think like a female sniper.

“Heavens no. Marriage and kids aren’t even a gleam in my eye yet. I got the flu during a sharpshooting competition once and refused to quit. I was up against fifty men and wasn’t about to wimp out.”

“How did you do?”

Holly grinned. “Kicked butt. Came in third.”

“You’re amazing.” Mari envied Holly’s independence and confidence.

“No. Just stubborn. And you’re too pale for my piece of mind. Are you sure you’re all right? Roger would never forgive me if something happened to you on my watch, especially with me taking you off base.”

“It doesn’t help that I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Thinking about Neil?”

Mari lowered her gaze, guilt eating at her. Her tears flowed less and less now. Yes, she thought about Neil. Almost every minute of the day she had to remind herself that her husband, her friend, the man who’d saved her from death in a windowless cell and had loved her despite her shame, was gone. But at night, when she was alone in Roger’s room, when she lay in Roger’s bed, it wasn’t Neil on her mind.

Surely Allah would never forgive her. Two years ago Roger had walked into her and Neil’s house and she’d met him for the first time. His blue gaze had pierced all the way to her soul in one look and no amount of prayer had wiped him from her mind. From that moment on she’d avoided Neil’s commander as much as possible. Only Allah knew how Roger affected her.

She truly had to be as unworthy inside as her father had believed. Otherwise, how could she love and miss Neil, yet be so deeply drawn to Roger? How could her pain-filled heart race when Roger walked into the room? How could her aching-for-Neil self want to lay her head back on Roger’s shoulder and feel his arms around her again?

Roger had carried her to the ambulance and had held her comfortingly close after Dugar’s attack when she’d feared she was losing her baby. He’d eased her pain, reassured her that it was going to be all right, and had left her no doubt he’d protect her with his dying breath. She wanted to feel that enveloping comfort again, but she couldn’t let that happen. With her fate, it would surely sign his death warrant.

Holly touched Mari’s shoulder. “I can’t begin to imagine how hard this is for you. I didn’t know Neil well, but he always made everyone laugh. No one has laughed since Lebanon. What happened to the teams there and the fallout from Menendez’s terrorism has everyone reeling. But you felt the effects of that firsthand when Dugar…crap… There I go bringing up things you need to forget. How about a Sonic cheeseburger and shake?”

“Yes!” Mari latched onto the cheeseburger lifeline. She could think about food and satisfying her cravings all she wanted without guilt or sin. Stifling her thoughts of Roger, she picked up her hijab and slipped the scarf back over her head. Her pulse kicked in protest.

It was stupid, but the fear of having a killer wrap the silken material around her throat again wouldn’t go away. This time she didn’t fold the hijab to cover part of her face. She left the ends hanging loose to her waist, allowing her whole face to show in public. The cool air felt good.

Holly secured the rented weapons into their cases and returned them on the way out. The flat screen in the lobby showed angry protesters carrying “Give Us The Truth” signs. The volume was off, so she didn’t know where the trouble spot was, but she did know what it was about. As Roger put it, “a billionaire’s plot to exact economic and environmental justice by making the world slave to his biofuel had sent the political world into a death spiral.” Menendez had pitted the world’s major powers against each other. Country against country, West against East, Christian against Muslim, and radical against radical. He’d framed Israel and the US for the assassination of an Imam in Iran and had set up Hezbollah for the kidnapping of Ambassador James and Israeli Prime Minister Shalev’s daughters in Lebanon. Neil had died trying to rescue them. Then, with tempers at the boiling point, Menendez had destroyed the oil market. He made it look like Al Qaeda had annihilated the US’s pipelines and hubs, then had crippled Saudi’s refineries and oil fields with evidence pointing at the US and Israel. Roger, Jack and Beck had uncovered Menendez’s plot and put a stop to it, but most of the world didn’t believe the story. Conspiracy rumors were rampant.

Mari exited the gun range into the hot, bright September sun. “How can they believe the American government was involved with what Menendez did?”

Holly rolled her eyes as she took the driver’s seat and buckled. “There are crazies who will turn any event into a government conspiracy. That said, if I hadn’t been there when the Lt. Col., Jack and Beck cracked the plot wide open and heard how Menendez’s mercenaries pulled off terrorist attacks, I’d think there had to be more than one man behind everything that had happened.”

Mari adjusted her seat belt and waited until Holly was on the highway before responding. “Okay, I can understand a person from another country, especially one of my faith believing America guilty, but her own citizens are doing so. Why is the government allowing it? It doesn’t seem right. But on the other hand, in my village if you spoke against authority, severe punishment or death would follow and that is completely wrong. It’s so complicated.”

“I look at it this way, and please don’t take this as an offense against your culture. There’re good, bad, ugly and just pure-evil things in the world. Free speech gives you good and bad things. Total suppression is ugly, but with a death penalty attached, it becomes pure evil.”

“Maybe. I’ll have to think about it when I’m not starving for that cheeseburger.” Mari let the subject drop.

Holly smiled. “Sounds like cheeseburgers will be your thing. My sister’s had two kids. For her it was French fries and pizza.”

“Those sound good too. And chocolate shakes and cupcakes and truffles and—”

“Stop now before you get me started or we’ll never make it back home. I’ll be driving all over North Carolina just to satisfy
my
cravings.”

“Okay. I won’t mention rocky road fudge then.” Mari shut her eyes and relaxed against the seat, smiling at Holly’s groan.

She’d let the good, bad, ugly and evil subject drop not because she was afraid to disagree with Holly, but because in order to make her friend understand, Mari would have to share her shame and she couldn’t do that. Besides her family and the men who’d violated her, only Neil had known.