Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3) (30 page)

Heads nodded in agreement.

Mac turned to Rawls. “You hear if Wolf’s people had any luck neutralizing the isotope?”

Rawls had spent every spare moment in the clinic overseeing Faith Ansell’s tests, so maybe he’d run into Amy recently. The last update Mac had gotten had been within hours of arriving at Shadow Mountain. While they’d identified the synthetic compound in the boys’ blood cells that was powering the signal, nobody had known how to deactivate the element. But maybe progress had been made in the past twenty-four hours.

“Far as I know, they don’t have a clue what to do about it.” Rawls’s voice was grim.

Cosky leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Have they tried a healing?” He glanced around the table and shrugged. “Kait says there’re other healers in this place. She’s all gung ho to try herself, but hell”—he broke off to scowl—“she needs to do some resting and recharging before she burns herself out.”

“If doing a healin’ is an option, I’m guessin’ they would have already tried that,” Rawls said, glancing up. “Cos is right. Doc Kerry rattled off a couple of other healers while talkin’ to Wolf—” He glanced at Cosky. “He also said she was stronger than the others. In fact, I believe he called her remarkable
. . .
” He paused, shrugged. “By the by, did you know those two are siblin’s? Or half sibs anyway?”

“Who?” Mac’s question hit the air at the same time Zane’s did. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in the dark when it came to the Shadow Mountain’s gossip mill.

“Wolf and Kait,” Rawls said. “Kerry said she’s Wolf’s sister.”

Mac turned to stare at Cosky, who didn’t look at all surprised.

Zane picked up on that as well. “You knew?”

Cosky shrugged. “Wolf was worried for her and Aiden’s safety. Wanted to keep the connection private.”

“Well that explains why he’s been so damn invested in her,” Zane said.

“Can’t say I envy you having that stony bastard as a brother-in-law,” Mac said on a grimace.

With a snort, Cosky settled back against his chair’s backrest. “You forgetting all the toys he comes with?”

Mac grinned slightly at that. He’d sure as hell like to get his hands on that little beauty that had ferried them up to Alaska in five hours—give or take a couple of minutes. The trip had taken half as long as it would have taken in a stripped down Black Hawk. Which reminded him. “You realize this damn compound is
in
motherfucking Mount McKinley?”

Shadow Mountain’s brass hadn’t been nearly as closemouthed as good old Wolf.

“It makes sense. The mountain’s sacred to the native population,” Cosky said. “What’s incredible is the amount of work that must have gone into hollowing it out and constructing the base.” He paused to scowl. “Yet nobody noticed? Fuck, fifteen hundred people climb to the summit every year, and nobody noticed what was going on under their feet, or that huge flat tarmac up there where helicopters and planes land and disappear? There’s something pretty fucking weird about this place.”

Uneasy silence ringed the table.

“Makes you wonder,” Zane agreed, his green eyes thoughtful.

Cosky took a generous swallow of whiskey and set the glass back on the table, absently rotating it. “Wolf’s got the same handy-dandy trick Zane has.” He glanced toward Zane and raised his tumbler in a salute. “Although not quite the same. Wolf doesn’t have to touch anyone to get the vision. They just come. It’s how he knew our condo was about to blow back in Coronado.” He paused to shake his head, a frown darkening the turbulent gray gaze that met Mac’s. “He knew the compound was going to be attacked yesterday morning. He sent Jude over to warn us. We knew what was happening before your nine-one-one came over the wire. Hell, I had the radio in hand, was about to warn the three of you, when your call came through.”

“Okay
. . .
” Mac said and waited for the rest of it—because there was a huge “but” in Cosky’s tone.

Cosky reached for the bottle of Jack. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s just
. . .
there’s something fucking strange about this place and the people holed up in here.”

Rawls laughed.

Cosky turned to him with a glare. “You find that funny?”

“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled, irony clear on his face. “How about we take an inventory? So we have Zane, who’s psychic—able to predict a person’s death with one touch. We have Cos and Kait—together they can heal life-threatenin’ illnesses or injuries—hell, even drag people back from the grave. And then there’s
moi
. I see dead people. Or at least I used to. With the exception of Mac”—he lifted his glass of whiskey in a theatrical toast—“we fit right into this place.”

Chapter Twenty

A
FTER THIRTEEN YEARS
and hundreds of insertions, Rawls had identified certain similarities no matter the mission. There was the edgy pressure that knotted the belly and shoulders. Not fear so much as a low-grade tension where preparation gave way to anticipation. After all of the planning, monitoring, and assessing, the green light was finally given and all that groundwork was about to be put to the test. There was the cramped, silent flight where legs and feet fell numb, where bodies were buffered by bone-rattling vibrations, where equipment checks were rampant and the smell of jet fuel overpowered everything. There was the deploying into darkness and unfamiliar territory. Sure, the satellite images often provided reference points, but the insertions themselves took place in unfamiliar, often alien landscapes.

Until today
. . .

Rawls silently shook his head, his arm tightening around Faith’s frail body. Oh, the tension was there, only this time that edgy pressure butted against fear. Not fear for his safety, or any of the other experienced warriors silently stretched out in the helicopter, but fear for Faith.

Although everyone’s vulnerability had gone up exponentially when Wolf and Cosky had flatly refused Kait’s appeal to join the mission. They’d vehemently opposed Kait’s inclusion, insisting that William and One Bird were fully capable of handling any injuries, and that her inclusion was unnecessary and a potential distraction. Cosky and Wolf’s intense reaction had reinforced just how dangerous this mission was.

But Faith didn’t belong in this dark, dangerous world either. She was as ill-equipped for this operation as Kait was. She had no business being on this helicopter, awaiting the one-minute prep call for insertion.

A couple minutes earlier, Wolf had appeared in the cockpit doorway and held up his right hand, all five fingers splayed. The universal five-minute warning. The interior of the bird was murky, the only light piercing the darkness was the rosy-red digital displays in the cockpit. The ruddy burn had burnished the big Arapaho’s hand until his fingers looked rimmed in fire.

Faith had stiffened in his arms even more. With a deep breath he’d pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head. Rather than the smothering stench of jet fuel, the scent of strawberries and raspberries washed over him.

The scent was coming from her hair. He recognized it from the past two nights he’d spent in her bed. And like any good hound dog, his dick had imprinted on that particular combination of berries as something to celebrate, which it was currently doing with an enthusiastic salute.

Another first—the first time in his military career he’d dropped into hostile territory with an erection. A wry smile curved his mouth even as the tension cinched another notch tighter.

But the big
first
currently topping his list of
Holy Shits
—although it wasn’t a first so much as a second—was their insertion point. He was about to drop his boots on United States soil for the second time in his career. Sure, he’d
practiced
warfare on home ground—plenty of training missions took place within US borders. But a true insertion—an actual close-quarters battle—he shook his head in disbelief.

Operating within US borders was a violation of the Posse Comitatus Act—for him, Zane, Cosky, and Mac at least. Wolf and his crew? Hell, they didn’t appear to be operating under the umbrella of any branch of the United States military. Which meant that while this operation broke at least a dozen laws, the Shadow Mountain teams didn’t need to worry about the Posse Comitatus. Not like he and the rest of his teammates did.

Few soldiers would ever violate the Posse Comitatus during their careers. Yet here he was about to disregard it for a second time. The last time they’d stuck their necks out on US soil, they’d had them all but chopped off. You’d think they would have learned something from that lesson.

But hands down the strangest aspect of this operation was how familiar he was with the territory. He’d recognized the terrain the instant Wolf had put the first satellite image up on the big screen.

Mount Hamilton.

At just over forty-two hundred feet, Mount Hamilton looked out over Silicon Valley. He’d recognized the Lick Observatory on the satellite images. The giant white dome, which perched at the top of the mountain and was surrounded by clusters of smaller white domes and white buildings, was instantly recognizable.

The Lick Observatory—an astronomical observatory operated by the University of California—was twenty miles up State Route 130. Until this morning, he’d only seen the observatory from the ground, up close and personal. Mount Hamilton Road was a popular trek for bikers. The twenty-mile course to the top of the mountain was a gradual and scenic ascent. Once bicyclists reached the observatory, it was customary to break for lunch and a breather before heading back down to their vehicles. He’d pedaled the route half a dozen times, so he was familiar with the overall layout of their insertion point.

Not that their target was the Lick Observatory, or even at the top of the mountain. It was tucked into one of the canyons five miles up.

The satellite image had zeroed in close enough to pick up the security cameras ringing the building’s flat roof. The angle and quantity of cameras would give the bastards inside a 360-degree view of the grounds below.

Wolf stepped into the cockpit doorway again. This time he held up his index finger. Translation, one minute until touchdown.

Men stirred, checked weapons, stretched the kinks and numbness out of stiff muscles. Faith slowly sat up.

“One minute to touchdown,” Rawls told her, pitching his voice loud enough to reach her over the scream of the engine and whine of the rotor.

She nodded her understanding. He quickly checked his equipment and then hers—although all she’d been given were an NVD and the standard radio. Well, plus the vest and armor plates, which all but swallowed her, even though they’d found her the smallest size possible.

The chopper banked and dropped. The shriek of the motors eased as the bird slowed. One of Wolf’s men rose to his feet and muscled back the door, and the roar of the wind merged with the scream of the engine and the shrill
whop-whop
of the rotor. They’d approached from the west, out of the target’s line of sight, and were inserting into a meadow two klicks away. The rest of the distance would be covered by foot.

The bird rocked slightly as it settled on the ground—no fast roping this time around. The roar of the wind vanished, and the engine’s whine dropped to a hum. Crouching, Wolf’s men dropped from the chopper and melted into the darkness. Rawls’s teammates followed.

Rawls turned on Faith’s NVD and then his, wrapped an arm around her waist, thereby anchoring her to his side, and eased them both from the bird. Head bent, flinching from the pelting of pebbles, grass, and dirt kicked up by the rotor’s wash, Faith stumbled along beside him. Once clear of the blades, he stopped long enough to show her how to adjust the scope on her goggles.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was so thin he could barely hear it. Apparently she’d taken all the warning to maintain silence seriously.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” he said in an equally quiet voice. Sound carried, even buffered by trees, and they had no clue whether those bastards had ears out here.

“I’m holding everyone up.”

Even as thin and shaky as her voice was, he could clearly hear the self-reproach in her tone.

He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. It was true, she was holding everyone back. But then, nobody had expected anything less.

“Nobody expects you to turn into Rambo, darlin’. You’re doin’ fine.”

A soft snort came from behind them. Mac undoubtedly, since he was bringing up the rear. Zane’s and Cosky’s crisp, fluorescent-green figures were waiting ahead, about midmeadow.

“Let’s head up,” Rawls said, giving a final one-armed hug before letting her go and grabbing his rifle, which was hanging—safety engaged—from his shoulder.

Thank Christ he didn’t have to worry about Pachico getting all frisky on him. According to Wolf and his Arapaho elders, Pachico had passed—or been shoved—over to the other side. Since his trollish hitchhiker hadn’t put in an appearance since the binding ceremony, he was inclined to believe them. But to err on the side of caution, the
hiixoyooniiheiht
still burned lightly against his chest. From the volume of leather cords circling the Shadow Mountain warriors’ necks as they’d climbed on board the chopper, he wasn’t the only one siding with caution.

Faith kept up with him easily as they crossed the meadow, and with each step, he could feel her nerves settle.

“What are these called again?” Faith whispered, briefly touching the goggles covering most of her face.

“Night vision devices,” Rawls whispered back.

“Why is everything such a sharp shade of green?” she asked, curiosity rather than nerves in her voice.

A fist suddenly slammed into his shoulder from behind, shoving him forward a step. Mac, giving him the one-second warning to shut the fuck up.

Rawls half turned to glare at his commander. If the bastard hit Faith, there’d be more than one fist flying.

“Never mind, I’ll google it,” Faith said. She turned slightly to frown behind her. “No need to get physical, Commander Mackenzie. A verbal warning would have sufficed.”

Rawls fought a grin at the censure in her voice. She was certainly getting her nerve back fast.

The trip to the target took less time than he’d expected, and well before he was ready for it, they joined Zane and Cosky and the bulk of Wolf’s team at the edge of the forest.

The building jutting into the night sky before them was three stories, square, with a flat roof. Cameras ringed the roofline, and the glowing, barred windows were few and far between. An acre of lawn surrounded the place. To their right, a rutted dirt road emerged from the forest and dead-ended to the right of the building in a large square of gravel and dead grass. He counted eight cars parked there. Which could indicate anywhere from eight to thirty Tangos inside waiting for them—depending on number of employees per vehicle.

Zane leaned in so close his mouth was next to Rawls’s ear.

“They scrambled the cameras. And Wolf sent his scouts out.” The words were so low they’d be nonexistent a foot away.

Rawls glanced at Wolf. They were right on schedule. The Shadow Mountain strategy had called for scrambling cameras and cell phones prior to scouting for secondary entrances. Once the entrances were secure, they’d bring in the second bird, which carried team two.

A minute passed, then two
. . .
five
. . .

Wolf’s men stirred uneasily and then everyone froze, faces tense, heads slightly cocked as though they were listening to something.

Seconds later, a short, vicious-sounding foreign word broke from Wolf—an Arapaho swear word. Rawls had no doubt. The word was repeated by several of Wolf’s normally taciturn men. Something had sure shoved a poker up their new allies’ asses.

Wolf wheeled on Jude and a spat of urgent Arapaho words crackled between them. Pivoting, Wolf closed on Mac. “Team two’s down.”

Rawls winced. Christ, of all the bad luck. The bird must have been way behind them. If it had gone down in the vicinity, they would have heard the impact and been able to backtrack to offer support.

Mac swore, sympathy in his eyes. “Casualties?”

“We’re assessing,” Wolf said, his voice grimmer than Rawls had ever heard it.

Zane and Cosky glanced at each other, and Rawls knew exactly what they were thinking.

How had they known the chopper had gone down? Nothing had come over the comm.

Although Mac didn’t react or question Wolf—it was hardly the time for demands and questions—Rawls knew he was silently asking the same questions.

Hell, maybe the Shadow Mountain team monitored two channels.

“For this operation to continue, your team will need to step up,” Wolf said, back to wearing his flat, expressionless mask.

Mac nodded, the gesture both an agreement and an acceptance. “What do you need from us?”

Their original instructions via Shadow Mountain Command had been to remain with Faith. Protect her. They’d been assigned guard duty, not a breachers’ position. While the order had sat fine with Rawls—he had no intention of abandoning Faith—it had rankled something fierce with Mac. As experienced operators with hundreds of successful missions beneath their boots, he’d felt command should have made better use of their talents.

Wolf glanced at Rawls. “You remain with Dr. Ansell.” His gaze shifted, landing on Mac’s face. “You, Cosky, and Zane take the ground. My team will take the roof. Give us time to scale the wall.” Without another word, Wolf turned and launched himself forward in a crouching run.

Simultaneously his teammates erupted from the tree line, joining him, and together they swarmed the left side of the building. Through his NVDs, Rawls watched a large luminous green bag disgorge a pneumatic grappling gun. The hook went flying, the attached rope unraveling behind it. As soon as the hook caught and secured the line, Wolf’s first man started climbing.

The double breach was under way. Wolf’s team would access the roof and insert from above. Mac, Zane, and Cosky would breach the building from below. The Tangos inside would be cut off and pinched between the two flanks of attack.

While the insertion hadn’t gone quite as planned, and Wolf’s team would be clearly visible to anyone who bothered to look out one of the left windows, so far nobody inside seemed aware of, or at least reactive to, the imminent attack. Still, the alert should have been given as soon as Wolf’s team took out the cameras and the inside monitors went dark.

Which meant any second now things could go to hell in a hand basket because operations
never
went so smoothly. At least not for long. Some overlooked or unknown detail always stepped in to fuck things up.