Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (27 page)

Lips tight, she moved rigidly to stand beside him. “What do you want to know?”

Her clipped question left no doubt that she wasn’t happy about this, so that made two of them. “Offices, layout, hot spots—anything that will give us a tactical edge, including where we’re most likely to find her. Where you expect trouble. And if she will be trouble.”

“Since I don’t know the mission details, it’s a bit hard to say where she will be, but—”

“Night.”

Her round blue eyes popped to Dean, but he gave her no more information. Less for her to spill to her sources or whatever. “Okay, night. Well, Kiew and Daniel Jin—that’s his Americanized name—have the penthouse as their living quarters. It would be my guess that she’d be there.”

“What about the offices?” Hawk asked.

“They’re on the fifth floor, immediately opposite the elevator. There’s a reception area walling off the rest of the business space. I can’t say what’s beyond it because they didn’t allow me back there. Just inside the foyer, there’s a side door that leads to a stairwell.”

Dean glanced at Titanis, who had joined them for the briefing. The Aussie nodded. So far, Walker had provided accurate intel.

“What about Tang herself?” Harrier asked. “Is she going to give us trouble?”

Arms folded, Dean held a hand over his mouth and watched Walker, who seemed to stiffen at the question. “Go on.”

“I—I don’t know for sure.”

Hawk snorted. “Make that a yes, then.”

“You don’t know that,” Walker countered.

“Murphy’s Rules of Combat state: The enemy only attacks on one of two occasions: When you’re ready for them, and when you’re not ready for them.” Hawk grinned, his chest out. “I aim to be ready so I don’t eat any more bullets.”

“Hooah,” Sal mumbled.

“I just… Kiew might best be viewed as an asset, not a target.”

“You want me to believe she’s an asset,” Hawk said. “But I’d have to be what you get when you leave off the last two letters of that word.”

The SEALS erupted in laughter, high-fiving Hawk. Sal didn’t move, but a smile quirked his lips then faded as he looked down at the table. Not at Walker, whose face had probably gone ashen.

“All right,” Dean said, roping in the craziness at Walker’s expense. “Titanis has schematics of the building. I want each of you to take one and study them tonight. Memorize them. If things go ape down there, you might be the one leading us out of a burning building.”

Y
ou think he’s… what? Defected?”

Having secretly slipped out of Takkar Towers to avoid another encounter with Nianzu, Eamon hunched his shoulders as he sat across from Brie in a small briefing room. “I don’t know. It didn’t make sense. Him confronting me. If he really had traded sides, he’d have beat me bloody. The guy has the brawn to do it.”

“So, he was warning you?”

Eamon rubbed his jaw. “What do you know about Takkar? Who is he loyal to?”

“Sajjan Takkar is loyal to himself and to Afghanistan. He works heavily and closely with the Aga Khan Foundation. In fact, he’s become good friends, according to intel, with the Aga Khan himself.”

“Could he have bought Candyman?”

Brie laughed. “Candyman can’t be bought. His own moniker speaks to his character—giving candy to children while on patrol. He’s a gorilla of a guy, but he’s got a soft heart. And after losing his leg to an attack”—she shook her head, brown hair swinging—“I can’t see him siding with anyone close to those responsible for terrorism here.”

“Then what’s he doing being Takkar’s heavy lifter?”

“Warning us? That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I’d recommend pulling him off the team. Cancel his contract,” Eamon said.

“Sorry.” She lifted a bottle of water and took a sip. “That’s out of my hands. Besides, I think you’re just mad he got a leg up on you.”

“He slammed my face into the wall and nearly choked me to death.”

Brie’s eyes danced with laughter.

“What?”

“You’re going to tell me, with those biceps, you couldn’t have taken Candyman?” Her laugh turned nervous. “Anyway, I think you held back because you know and respect him.” Her gaze traced something on her laptop. A flash of confusion rippled through her eyebrows. She leaned in.

“What?”

Her face shifted into a full scowl. Her eyes darted over the information.

Eamon slid to the seat beside her. “What’d you find?”

She lifted her head and angled it toward him, but never met his gaze. “This… according to the feed, Meng-Li’s heading back to China. If he leaves, our ability to gather information leaves.”

“What about Kiew Tang?”

“She’s to follow a day later.”

“Didn’t Walker say she was a soft target?”

“Yes, but I’m not convinced.” She chewed her bottom lip. “She’s pretty cold and heartless for someone who’s supposed to be Cassie’s former BFF.”

“The same could be said of Candyman.”

“Ah, but see, I have an entire military career and experience to back up my belief. Candyman has a plan we don’t know about. Didn’t you say he warned you there were things you didn’t know?”

“I don’t see how that’s different from Tang.”

“Well, you need to see with my eyes.” She smiled at him, batting those eyelashes in a taunting fashion.

Did she have any idea how pretty she was? With her shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes, a nice complement to her tanned complexion. But her personality! It took an effort to push his mind to the topic and away from the way she sat there, amused and coy. “What does that mean?”

“I am an officer with the Defense Intelligence Agency. I’m trained to know the differences like this.” She threw him another saucy smile.

“And I’m not? An elite Australian commando with—”

“—two Victoria Crosses and”—she flashed wide, fake-innocent eyes at him—“has the queen given you your knighthood yet, Sir Puffsalot?”

Eamon arched his eyebrow. “You’re mocking me.”

“No.” She stifled her laugh, but it pushed out. “Yes, I am. I so am.”

“You mentioned your credentials. I thought I should mention mine. But you call me puff—
what
did you call me?”

“Seriously?” Her mouth hung open. “You went there—I showed you mine, so you showed me yours?”

Heat scaled his neck. Shock riddled him. “That is
not
what I meant.”

Now she looked mortified. Brie came to her feet. “Titanis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way either. I—”

His phone buzzed. He tried to haul his brain out of the muck she’d submerged it in. He glanced at the caller ID and stilled. “Excuse me.” Phone in hand, he left and slipped into a darkened office. Closed the door. “This is Eamon.”

“Please hold for the prime minister,” came the distinctly Australian voice.

His eyes closed as the line went void of sound.

“Eamon!” boomed a firm, gravelly voice. “How are you?”

Annoyance pinched his muscles. “Fine.” He wouldn’t be rude. “Your trip going well?”

“Made a diversion. Come see me.”

“You know I can’t just leave the Army—”

“But I’m here.”

Eamon lifted his head. “Here? What do you mean—?”

“Afghanistan. I’m visiting the Aga Khan Foundation and Sajjan Takkar—brilliant fellow that one. Come see me. His penthouse. Ten a.m. tomorrow work for you?”

Bloody—

“Eamon, it’s been a while. Do this. For me.”

“Fine.” He let out a thick breath. “Okay, Dad.”

“Brilliant! Tomorrow then.”

The line went dead—and so did Eamon’s hope for anonymity. If his father was here, that meant Takkar knew Eamon was here. If that was true, then Candyman had ratted him out. All those combined told him they were seriously buggered.

CHAPTER 22

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
4 April—0750 Hours

P
ain sluiced through his arm. Sal hissed and dropped the knife, cursing himself for pressing too hard. As he scrambled to stem the flow, he focused on the pain. The release of the pain. Like opening a dam and letting the water flow, cutting gave him relief.

Nobody would understand. It was backward to them. They’d string him up on charges. But finding out about Mila. Learning Cassie was lying to them again. The whole freakin’ world felt messed up beyond belief.

Fisting the handle of the knife, Sal laid the blade against his arm again, this time just below the crook of his elbow, and drew a line down the tattoo of the Special Forces emblem. He stopped, the sight of the blood-slickened blade glaring against the darkened pigment of the tattoo.

Arm cut, pain gone, he let out a breath. Swiped his thumb over the mark, though the blood rushed free.

It was wrong. Wrong to cut. Wrong to deal with problems like this. In the back of his head, nagging buzzed in his brain that he was breaking his oath as a Special Forces soldier.

Sal lifted the knife, coiling three fingers around the blade and pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Cassie.

He wanted her back. Wished to God that things hadn’t gone the way they had four years ago. Wished…

He didn’t know what. He’d made a commitment to Vida. To marry her. To give her everything she wanted. They’d grown up in a rough neighborhood. He’d protected her since their junior high days in New York. Being her boyfriend was comfortable. Easy. She was beautiful and everyone liked her, including him.

He pushed the blade against his flesh, watching the skin surrender to the sting of the steel. Wincing, he drew another line down his arm—for Vida.

No. Not for her. For himself. For the grave he’d dug. Two graves, in fact. Hers. And…
mine
. He drew it farther down.

“Falcon!” Hawk’s voice bounced through the shower and latrines.

He flinched. The blade flicked into his arm. Sal hissed. Dropped the blade and clapped a hand over his arm. “Can’t a guy have some peace?” he called from the stall.

Hawk laughed. “Not in this country. Captain wants you on deck.”

Pressing toilet paper to his arm, he wrangled the other to see his watch. “We’ve got twenty mikes still.”

“Yeah?” He heard and saw Hawk’s dusty boots beneath the partial door. “Well, he said now.” Two raps on the wall. “Let’s go, soldier!”

“D’you forget I outrank you?”

“You out-stink me, too, and I didn’t think that was possible.” Hawk hooted then started walking. “See you there, Sewer Rat!”

Rolling his eyes—since he wasn’t actually using the restroom, he knew Hawk was just yanking his chain—Sal wiped away the blood from his arm, wishing it was as easy to wipe away the reasons he did this, then tugged the quick bandage cream from his pant pocket and applied it to the fresh marks. That’s when he noticed the cut he made when Hawk startled him had gone a little deeper. Probably could use stitches. But yeah—that’d go over well. He’d have to watch it. He applied the cream and then covered it with tissue before tugging down his sleeve. He’d need to leave it covered for a while.

He exited, glanced around as he made his way to the sink. He scrubbed his hand and blade then stowed it. When he looked up, he didn’t like what he saw. Haggard. Dark circles under his eyes.
Guess that’s what happens when life screws with you
. Shame deepened like dark shadows in the night, hiding his sins and heartache.

Cleaned up, he gave himself a nod. Warrior on. That’s what was expected of him. That’s what he’d do.

When he made it to the JSOC building, he found Dean there waiting. Hawk sat in a chair at the table, looking over a handful of documents.

“Hey,” Dean said, turning to nod at him. “Sorry to haul you out of the john, but I wanted to go over things with you.”

Sal shrugged off the moments of guilty release and focused. “Sure.”

“Hastings and Titanis are back. They’ve given us some actionable intel, so we’re doing this.” Dean pulled in a breath then nodded. “I want you to lead the team. I’m going to be here, keeping an eye on some things.”

“
Things
sound a lot more specific than you’re saying.”

“That’s why you’re my first.” Dean nodded to the paper. “Takkar is out of town for the next couple of days so we might be able to pull this off if we hit first thing in the morning.”