The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (74 page)

Rebecca clutched the edge of the blanket, trying to make sense of it all. She was on some kind of cargo plane. The thing was crammed with shipping boxes and oversized freight packages.

Then Brandt was there. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” Lopez said. “I think the doc’s brain is still trying to reboot from its cold storage.”

“Rebecca,” Brandt asked as he rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she sobbed. Not because she couldn’t remember but because she did. That damned gold band on his finger. He was married to another woman. And they had in fact been launched out of a torpedo.

Brandt tried to put his arms around her, but Rebecca shied away, drawing the blanket even more tightly to her form.

“I’ll be fine. I just need a few moments,” she pleaded. His eyes searched hers. Worry clear in his expression. Then that wall came down over his features. The military man’s best friend. His game face.

He backed away. “Good. We’ll be landing in a few minutes.” Brandt glanced to Lopez. “Get a shirt on.”

Rebecca waited until Brandt headed back to the cockpit before turning on Lopez. “And clothes. Do I have clothes?”

The corporal scrambled to get the shirt over his head. “Well, not exactly your clothes, but we got you something.”

At this point she couldn’t care less if it were a burlap sack with a string belt. She needed something on beyond her bra and panties. Horrified didn’t even begin to describe how she felt as Lopez tossed her some clothes and then held up a blanket for what limited privacy one could have on a cargo plane.

As she tugged on the khaki pants, Rebecca hissed, “We will never speak of this.
Ever
.”

“Right there, sister, right there,” Lopez answered.

Taking in a breath, Rebecca more slowly tugged on the dark green T-shirt. “And please tell me you are wearing your firearm.”

“Like you said,” Lopez said, “never
ever
speak of this again.”

Oh God. If that wasn’t a gun…

* * *

Brandt glanced over his shoulder, trying to pay attention to what Talli was talking about
and
trying to make sure Rebecca was recovering. Something had spooked her. Something more than her brain misfiring.

“Sarge?”

Brandt tore his gaze away from Rebecca and refocused on Talli. “Yes?”

“I was just saying that I’m worried that I don’t have a perch.”

It took a second for Brandt to realize what Talli was talking about. He glanced to the tablet in Talli’s hand. It showed Osip’s apartment. Or at least his apartment building. The apartment blocks were straight out of the Communist housing book. Tall, unadorned, and utilitarian buildings stacked tightly next to each other. Which might not have been a bad thing since they could set up a position in the next in the adjacent apartment complex. However, Osip’s building was the last in the complex, and his apartment overlooked a large meadow that ended at a very thick forest. To the side was no better as the river ran right by his complex.

Which made it very picturesque and all, but hell for a sniper.

Davidson pointed to a stand of leafless trees on the other side of the meadow. “You should be able to set up in one of those.”

“Right?” Talli said. “Even if I could make that shot, those pine tree branches could never hold—”

“They are spruces,” Davidson corrected. “And this picture was taken in winter. Spruces are deciduous. At this time of year they will be fully leafed, providing great cover, and their top third branches can support up to a couple hundred pounds, but even if they couldn’t you could spread your weight by stabilizing against two branches.”

Talli’s cheeks flared red. The guy clearly thought Davidson was after his job. Which maybe the kid was, however he also wasn’t wrong. The question became, though, could Talli get the job done if needed? If a sniper didn’t have the confidence he could take the shot, the man couldn’t
hit
the shot.

“Talli, you’ll set up in this office building across the street,” Brandt said as he pointed out the structure. “You’ll cover the main entrance and exits.”

“But—” Davidson tried to inject.

“And that is my final word.”

Davidson obviously wanted to say more. Way more, however the kid buttoned it up. Which was the smartest move for him. Just because Brandt let him take a few shots from the car to an active sniper did
not
mean Davidson was a part of the team. To give a traitor a sniper gun and perch him up in a tree where he could take every one of them out? No way. No how.

Lopez walked up, putting on his jacket. “What did I miss?”

“No, the question is,” Harvish teased, “what did
we
miss? Huh? Under those blankets?”

Brandt saw red. Literally. He could see the veins at the back of his retina pulse. The words “that is my fiancée you are talking about” nearly slipped from his lips. She wasn’t though, was she? Harvish was just being the dawg they all knew he was, not knowing the incredibly delicate ground he tread. But still…

“Dude,” Lopez exclaimed. “You are talking about a renowned researcher and friend. Stow it.”

Harvish mumbled some kind of weak apology that Brandt barely heard.

Blood still boiling, Brandt needed to get away from his point man before he said something he, well more Harvish, would regret.

“Lopez, firm up the transportation logistics,” Brandt said before turning away.

“You got it, Sarge.”

Given that they were on such a crowded cargo plane, there was really only one place he could go to get away from his men. Rarely did duty and desire line up so conveniently.

* * *

“Rebecca?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Brandt pushed the lid of her laptop down an inch. So much for burying herself in research. She’d thought she would have five hours of time to devote to knowing everything Osip. If they were landing soon, that meant she would have only about an hour. Her and her stupid hypothermia.

“Is everything alright?” Brandt asked.

“I’m just behind,” she said, pushing the laptop lid back up.

Even though he didn’t say anything, the sergeant just kept standing there. His tactical “wait them out” maneuver. Sighing, Rebecca lowered the laptop lid until it closed.

“I’m fine,” she explained, hoping it was true. “Lopez checked all my reflexes. There’s no residual damage from the submersion.”

“Then what is it?” he asked. “Did something happen between Lopez and you?”

“No,” Rebecca protested, probably a bit too much. More calmly she answered, “He was fine. Great really. My core temp is already back up to ninety-eight point four degrees. Two more tenths and I’m all set.”

That sounded super logical, didn’t it? That would satisfy Brandt, right?

“I…” Brandt stumbled a bit, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “I know how you hate…you know feeling…not being fully dressed.”

Oh God. He was not really going there. Not now. Not with her cheeks ready to turn magenta.

“I wanted to be the only one…” Brandt said, his voice low. “But you were unconscious for so long, and I had to—”

“Damn it,” Rebecca insisted. “Let it go.”

Brandt bristled in front of her. “It’s my job to make sure your head is in the game. Which means I need to know what the hell is wrong.”

Rebecca glanced down at his wedding ring. “We can’t fix what’s wrong, Brandt.”

His hand made a fist before it disappeared into his pocket.

“So just let it
go
.”

He looked like he might argue, but blissfully the speakers sparked to life.

“Prepare for landing,” the pilot announced. “Since we don’t have jump seats, we’d suggest hanging onto one of the secured crates to stabilize yourself.”

Rebecca tucked her laptop into her bag. She tried to get out of possibly one of the most awkward conversations which, of course, was occurring directly after
the
most awkward conversation with the corporal.

“I’m surprised Lopez isn’t flying the plane.”

Brandt didn’t exactly chuckle, however his frown did ease. “Trust me. He would be if he could, but what he did to the CIA’s boat? Not very likely.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say it’s going to be in dry dock for a while getting outfitted with a new motor.”

Yep. That was Lopez at his best.

“So you’re sure you’re ready?” Brandt asked.

“Hey,” she said, trying her best to reassure him. “I’m so on Team: Just Say No to Rinderpest it’s not even funny.”

“Ha!” Lopez laughed as he joined them. “We’ve got to get T-shirts made up.” He handed them some Velcro straps. “But on a more serious note, you’d better lash yourself to something. I don’t think these pilots could land shit in a can.”

* * *

Aunush dug her toes into the thick, plush carpet of the private jet. A little luxury in a life usually lived in dingy safe houses and abandoned barns. Many would call her a mercenary, only mercenaries had no allegiances. She had a singular purpose. Killing for hire was simply a perk of her job.

Around her, others stirred as the rest of the men prepared for landing. Her sniper had no need to prepare. He was always ready for action. The only way you could discern the man was not a machine was the way his eyes stood at half-mast as his head tilted back a few degrees to rest upon his seat.

How long had they fought together? Those years had felt rich and full. What else could they expect? The Disciples’ secret had been secured for centuries. The chance to defend their linage a distant memory. Generations of Disciples had gone into mercenary work. Always being prepared for the day one such as Monroe became too intrigued by the Torah.

A tiny thrill coursed through her body, feeling almost as satisfying as the sniper’s hands upon her body.

“May I inquire as to why we are landing at Kaluga rather than Tula, Aunush?”

Aunush slid her eyes over to inspect the man, Nannan, who stood in front of her. He was not one of her men, clearly, or he would not have asked such a question. However, Nannan
was
a Watcher of the Word. Yet spending so many years down in the secret chambers had not done much for his sense of tactical strategies.

“Tula would be the obvious choice,” she answered as she donned her socks.

Aunush stroked her hand over the arch of her foot, straightening her sock but also remembering her time with the master. Nannan felt himself above her. This she knew. Why would he not? He was of the Word and she nothing more than a lowly soldier. Her kind had been disdained for so many years as nothing more than swords with no cause.

Now though? Now that Nannan’s precious Word was in harm’s way? Now he needed one such as her.

When she didn’t continue, Nannan seemed confused. “It being the obvious choice is exactly my point.”

“As it is mine as well,” Aunush stated as she laced up her boots, relishing Nannan’s frustration.

“But it is over an hour farther from Pushchino than Tula.”

Aunush looked up to Nannan. “Do you know exactly how many satellites track each and every aircraft around the globe since nine-eleven?” Clearly he did not. “And do you know how many CIA computers are dedicated to determining probabilities of terrorist attacks based on their flight pattern?”

Nannan shook his head, having the good sense to not meet her eye.

“I guarantee you that after our attack in London, one small sliver of that intelligence pool is now solely focused on Pushchino. Calculating if any force is converging on the town. They are monitoring Tula like a hawk awaiting for any mouse to lift its head.”

“In addition,” her second in command Abraham stated, “Grabtsevo Airport is privately held. We have flown in under Volkswagen’s company credentials. The flight apparently arises from their South African plant with a refueling stop in Portugal.”

Aunush nodded to her man as she buckled herself in for the landing. “Exactly. They will not suspect our approach until we are upon them.”

She smiled as Nannan’s face drained of color.

CHAPTER 7

══════════════════

Domodevedovo Airport, South of Moscow

1:04 p.m. GMT

Rebecca sat cramped amongst tractor parts. It was absolute black within the crate. The sound though? Ugh. The forklift moving the crate from the plane’s cargo bay to the tarmac rumbled loudly. Only adding to the nearly earsplitting sound was about three tons of metal parts rattling around her.

Lopez crouched right next to her, but she couldn’t even make out his form.

“You can stroke my cheek or something if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Ricky!” Rebecca protested, smacking at what she hoped was his shoulder.

Chuckling filled the dark space. “I’m just offering.”

“What happened to never
ever
?” she demanded.

“Come on, you have to admit it was funny.”

Yes, it was kind of humorous and did take some of the shame and embarrassment out of the incident, but that did not mean she had to admit it. Not at all.

She was about to ask where they’d landed when the forklift sputtered to a stop. Shouts in Russian carried through the thick wood into the crate. Rebecca strained to make out the men’s discussion, however her Russian was a bit rusty. Just about everything she understood were phrases like
otebis
,
piz’duk
, and
hui
. While considered “colorful” language, they were not exactly illuminating.

“What’s going on?” Rebecca whispered to Lopez.

“They’re just arranging to transport these crates to a railcar. From there we head straight to Pushchino.”

“Aren’t there any kind of customs?”

“It’s all electronic now. The CIA has made sure the freight company is on the Russians’ ‘trusted’ carrier status. Then the crates are just scanned by an automated fluoroscope.”

Rebecca frowned. “Wouldn’t that reveal us?”

“Why do you think we’re surrounded by all this metal?”

Ah. Of course. The metal of the tractor parts would seriously scatter any X-rays, masking their presence. After a few more moments of fairly lengthy Russian cursing, their crate lurched as another, much larger forklift picked them up.