Warning Order (27 page)

She didn't even realize that she was running toward it until one of the ground crew stepped forward to intercept her.

“Wait till the rotors stop,” he yelled as she fought her way past.

“It's okay,” Parker shouted, “Let her go.”

Mason appeared at the top of the ramp, with Zeus following a step behind. Renee felt a wave of relief as he made his way down wearily. His kit was filthy, and a huge bloodstained bandage covered his shoulder.

She ran to his side, keeping her head low as the engine spooled down.

“I was so worried,” she said. Noticing the tears cutting through the blood and grime caked on his face, she asked, “What the hell happened?”

“Bad day,” he said as she went to hug Zeus.

That's when she noticed the civilians trembling at the top of the ramp. “Who are they?”

“We ran across an execution squad when we were looking for al Qatar,” he began. “I . . .” Too exhausted to continue, his voice trailed off.

“They were slaughtering civilians,” Zeus said, motioning for Sara to come down and join them.

“It was my fault,” Mason said. “We shouldn't have been there in the first place, but when we tried to exfil, we ran into some trouble. That was when Grinch got hit.”

“Mason,” Anderson's voice rang out from the shadows.

Renee turned to see the colonel and Sergeant Major Mitchell standing by.

“Yes sir,” he said, heading toward them.

Renee noticed that he was limping, and it was obvious that he had been hit more than once, but Mason betrayed no signs of pain as he made his way over.

“Good to see you alive,” Anderson said, holding out his hand.

Mason winced as they shook hands.

“You hurt?”

“Just a scratch,” he replied.

“Looks a little more serious than that. Go get your ass checked out. We need to debrief you.”

“Roger that, sir. What about Grinch?”

Colonel Anderson lowered his head, and it was obvious that even though he didn't care for Mason, he still cared about the men under his command.

“We can talk about that later. Once we get him cleaned up, we are going to send him stateside. We'll take care of your guy.”

“He deserved better than me,” Mason said as the Silverado pulled away.

Mitchell, taking over for Colonel Anderson, commanded, “Parker, take his gear, and get these people something to eat and a place to stay. I'll make sure Mason gets cleared by medical.”

“You did a helluva thing out there,” the colonel said sincerely, patting him on his good shoulder before turning to head back to the hangar.

“Don't worry about Anderson. Just get yourself checked out,” Sergeant Major Mitchell said once he was gone. “None of this shit is on you.”

“Shouldn't have been there in the first place,” Kane muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said . . .”

“I heard what the fuck you said.”

“Mason,” he said firmly, “I told you that this wasn't your fault. You need to get that out of your head right now. Boland, T.J., and Grinch were all soldiers, and they knew what was at stake, just like you do. Don't try to make this into another one of your crusades.”

“T.J., Boland, and Grinch are on me, and you know that.”

“Bullshit,” Mitchell said sharply, taking a step closer.

Renee could see that Mason was hurting, and she knew that he would take this to heart. She also knew that Anderson wanted him in the fight, and as long as he could still stand, he would be going back in.

“You saved these civilians, and that means something. Remember that when you want to feel sorry for yourself. Now go get yourself patched up. We have work to do.”

Turning to Renee, Mitchell pointed his finger and said, “You make sure he sees the doc.”

“Roger that, Sergeant Major.”

A woman whom Renee had never seen before moved to Mason's side and asked, “What is going to happen now?”

Renee noticed that unlike the rest of the civilians, she wasn't scared.

“This man will get you something to eat, plus a place to rest,” Renee replied in Arabic.

“I have to go see a doctor,” Mason said. “I will find you when I am finished.”

The woman translated for the rest of the civilians what was happening and then walked over to Parker for further instructions.

“Who is that?” Renee asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“He saved her life,” Zeus said simply.

“We all saved her life,” Mason corrected.

“Come on, you,” Renee said as she reached for his rifle and led him to the medical area inside the hangar.

  •  •  •  

“You're lucky that your collarbone isn't broken,” the Special Operations medic said after he finished suturing Mason's shoulder.

Renee stood in the corner, unwilling to leave her friend until the doc checked him out. The bullet wound to his shoulder looked terrible, and the wound to the back of his arm would have stopped any other man.

The first time they met, she had expected a monster, but the more time they spent together, the more a deep respect had formed between them. She knew that Mason was in a dark place mentally, and she felt for him. “What comes around goes around, though,” she thought. He had been there when her team was wiped out in Pakistan and had been extremely supportive during her grieving period.

“How's the knee?” the medic asked as he placed a gauze pad over the wound.

“It's still fucked up,” Mason replied.

“I'll give you some Percocets to take the edge off,” he replied. “I would tell you to take it easy, but we all know where that would get me.”

“Doc, I need you to clear me,” Mason demanded.

“You can't be serious,” Renee interjected. “You are exhausted, and banged to shit.”

“If either one of you thinks I'm not going on this mission, you're smoking crack,” Mason replied harshly. “Just patch me up and give me the pills—that's all I need from you two.”

The doc raised his hands in mock surrender. As for Renee, she knew she had overstepped her bounds, but she was legitimately concerned for Mason.

“Don't look at me like that,” she said. “Just because I'm worried about you doesn't make me the enemy.”

“I'll go get the pills and leave you two to it,” the doc said, hurrying out of the room.

“Don't try to keep me off this op,” Mason warned, wincing as he pulled on a fresh battle shirt.

“I'm not. I just want you to take care of yourself. When was the last time you slept?”

“I'll sleep when I'm dead.”

“I know what you're going through, and it's not your fault.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, then, you can fucking listen. The mission was fucked up from the beginning, and if you and Zeus hadn't done what you did, I wouldn't be here right now. I don't know what the hell happened out there, but I know you did everything you could. Hell, you saved their lives,” she said, pointing out toward the hangar.

“Damn it, Renee, I don't want to talk about this shit right now.”

“If you want to carry this cross by yourself, then there is nothing I can say to stop you, but I'm not going to sit here holding your hand while you have a pity party.”

Mason grew sullen. He knew she was right.

Renee was smart enough not to push the issue. She was well aware of what happened when you backed Mason into the corner.

“When are they planning to launch?” he asked suddenly.

“The briefing is later tonight,” she said as the doc came back in the room holding a bag of pills.

“You know what to do with these,” he said, tossing them to Mason.

“Yeah, but I'll save them for later.” He struggled to his feet.

“Look at yourself, you can barely stand up. You need to get some sleep. Maybe you should try taking care of yourself for once,” Renee said as he stumbled and then caught himself.

“Do me a favor, both of you,” Mason said, looking from Renee to the doc. “Don't get in my way on this one. I am taking down the guy who killed Boland, and that's final.”

He roughly stuffed the pills in his pocket and headed for the door. She shook her head, knowing that he was operating from a place of pure hate.

“How bad is he?” she asked the doc once the door had closed behind her friend.

“His knee is swollen, his arm is messed up, and he's fractured his clavicle. Other than that he's in tiptop shape.”

“Are you going to clear him?” Renee asked, concerned.

The medic looked at her glumly, and Renee knew the answer before he even said anything.

“Look, you've been around long enough to know how this thing goes. He's not going to sit on the sideline, no matter what I say.”

“I realize that, but his head's not right.”

“Is yours?”

“What?”

“How many guys out in that bay
aren't
fucked up? They go through Ambien like they are fucking Skittles. If we had a psych doc on hand, none of them would be mission ready.”

“But your job is to make them sit on their asses, not to patch them up and send them out to the grinder again,” she replied, feeling a wave of heat crawl up her face.

“Let me ask you something: If you were in his shoes, would you take a seat on the bench?”

Renee knew he had her.

“Your silence speaks for itself,” he said before turning away to clean up the bloody gauze pads.

There was a chance that Anderson or Mitchell might not let Mason go out, but she knew it was a small one. If they said he was too bad off to go on a mission, they would all have to admit to themselves that they were human, and that was something that none of them was comfortable doing.

Being the only woman on the task force gave Renee a unique view of the male psyche, but what the doc had said about her own head being fucked up had hit home. She knew she wasn't over what had happened to her team in Pakistan, and Mason had always stood by her. Renee was faced with a terrible decision, and without David around, she knew she had to make it for herself.

S
immons grabbed the pistol from the desk drawer and slid it into his jacket pocket before heading to the door. He rushed past his secretary, and his shoes echoed on the floor as he ran down the hall to the garage. He didn't care what the cameras saw as he burst through the glass door and yanked the keys out of his pockets.

He started the black Chevy Suburban SUV and dialed his home phone as the tires screeched across the black asphalt. The phone rang five or six times before the answering machine picked up, and the prerecorded message his daughter, Daisy, had made came through the phone.

“Shit,” he yelled, barely waiting for the wooden security arm to raise as he hit the gas and sped into traffic.

Simmons knew better than to call the police. He felt his stomach churn as he blew through a red light, knowing no one could help him now. The national security advisor had no idea who was holding his family hostage, but he knew without a doubt that if he called anyone, they were dead.

He raced home in less than twenty minutes, and only by God's grace did he avoid being in an accident or pulled over. He slammed on the brakes as he skidded into his driveway. He slammed the SUV into park without waiting for it to come to a halt. Jacob ran to the back door, which lay open before him.

“Megan. Daisy,” he yelled, yanking the Sig Sauer P229 from his pocket and barging into the den, heading for the dining room.

“Stop where you are and place the pistol on the ground, or I will blow your daughter's head off,” a voice commanded.

Simmons froze as he came around the corner. The only thing he could see was the black suppressor pushed against his daughter's head.

“I am not a savage man, Mr. Simmons, and it would pain me to kill her, but I need you to know that I will not hesitate if you don't follow my directions.”

His daughter screamed from behind her gag as the man pressed the suppressor into the side of her head. Shaken by the muffled cry of terror, Jacob tossed the pistol to the ground.

“If you hurt them, I will kill you,” he warned.

“Unlike you, I do not kill innocent people. Now put these on,” the man replied, tossing a pair of flex cuffs at Simmons's feet.

Jacob placed the black plastic cuffs over his left hand and pulled it tight with his right. “It's going to be okay,” he said to his daughter before using his teeth to pull the other loop tight around his right hand.

“Get on your knees,” the man ordered.

As soon as he complied, David Castleman stepped into view. “Mr. Simmons, do you know who I am?”

“Yes, I met you last year at the White House. Why are you doing this?”

“Then you know what I do?” David asked, ignoring his question.

“Yes, I know who you are, I know what you do. Please, just let them go, and I will tell you whatever you want to know.”

“I'm sure you will do exactly that, but before we go there, I want you to know that last night I was at General Vann's house. We had a very interesting and, unfortunately, very violent conversation. He told me many things after I burned the skin off his chest, but none of that needs to concern you.” David spoke in a measured tone, letting the menace speak for itself.

“What I need you to focus on is this: if you lie to me, I will not hurt you, I will hurt her.”

“Daisy, look at Daddy, it's going to be okay.”

“I need you to know, Mr. Simmons, that for you to keep that promise requires that you tell me the truth.”

“I'm going to fucking kill you,” he said, spitting at David.

“Mr. Simmons, I want you to stand up and come into the dining room.”

Jacob got to his feet, walked past his daughter, and took a seat across from his wife.