Trinity: Military War Dog (8 page)

Jibril broke the silence after a jet roared into the sky from another runway. “It makes sense, Ghost. This is the first mission for the organization. I was coming anyway, and it’s logical to bring Timbrel and Aspen. We all need to feel this out. Their dogs aren’t coming though.”

Pulse whooshing through his ears, Heath reared up. “This. Isn’t. About. The. Dogs.” If only it were. It wouldn’t feel like such a colossal ambush. He took long, deep breaths, trying to calm himself, head off the thumping that warned of a migraine. “It’s about me.” He poked a finger against his own chest. “You don’t think I can handle this. I’m not a cripple.”

Calm and ever serene, Jibril said, “No.”

Swallowing hard, Heath felt like a heel. The man before him was missing a limb. Before his prosthesis, he’d been a “cripple.”

“But you are diagnosed with TBI. And I have a responsibility— especially with regard to insurance and protecting the organization—to make sure you arrive alive and return in the same condition.”

“This is bunk.” Heath wanted to spit. “Would you be sending all of us if it was Hogan?”

Hesitation provided the answer.

“I don’t believe this.” He spun around.

“Please, Ghost—”

“Whatever. Forget it.” Heath raked a hand through his short crop. Despite the affront, despite the intense feeling of failure, of not having his friend believe in him, Heath held his anger in check. Anger would only ignite the TBI. It’d inflame an already tense situation. And what if he got so upset he blacked out? Yeah, that would help.

A car rolled to a stop near the private jet waiting.

“Heath, please. Understand my situation—”

“I do.” Man, he hated to admit that. Because admitting it tanked the frustration. Tanked the anger. And right now he wanted to be angry. As much as he didn’t want to face it, as much as it angered him to almost be called a liability … Heath understood the position this put his friend in.

Time to suck it up. To look at the flip side of this coin. “Thanks.”

Mouth agape, Jibril blinked. “For what?”

“For believing in me. I know you wouldn’t let me go, you wouldn’t put ABA at risk if you didn’t believe in me.” Swallowing his pride, Heath sighed. “Thank you.”

Two thuds stamped through the air.

Heath glanced at the car where Hogan and Courtland waited. Aspen wore guilt like a neon
chador
. Hogan on the other hand held her ground. She must’ve had the world handed to her and didn’t care who she ran over getting to the top. Spoiled brat.

“I’ll meet you on board,” he said to Jibril, then headed up the ramp into the plane. He made his way past the cargo hold stacked with equipment. Techs anchored the pallets with straps.

Getting out of the Army, he thought he’d escaped the looks of pity and actions that bespoke hesitation and concern about his ability to perform his duties. So much for that idea. The truth was spelled out on the three faces of the other ABA members: They didn’t trust him to do his job. They expected him to fail.

Heath entered the small cabin area and stuffed himself into one of the seats. After fastening his belt, he pressed the back of his skull into the headrest with his eyes closed. God just wouldn’t give him a break. Strip the beret from him. Strip the chaplaincy from his hands. Strip the respect for him from his own team. Anything was better than facing the team he had already failed. Failed with a capital F.

Because that’s what it boiled down to, wasn’t it? If they already felt they had to protect him, then they’d hover over him on the trip. Nobody would be productive. Everyone would be stressed. Especially him.

Why had he agreed to this again?

Oh yeah. Because he thought he could bury the past. Be of help to others.

Hard to do when failure is your middle name
.

“Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed
.“

Heath groaned. “I tried that. It didn’t work!” He’d made plans. God shut them down. Where was the verse for that?

“
We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps
.“

Frustration tangled his retort. Heath pinched the bridge of his nose, letting the agitation and—yes, he had to admit—hurt leech out. He groaned again.
Enough with the verse tug-of-war, God
.

Cool air swirled around him as a light floral perfume intermingled with the treated air. “It was concern that pushed us to talk to Jibril.”

Heath shifted but said nothing to Aspen. At least she sounded contrite.

“Heath, look at me.”

Jaw clenched, he rolled his head to the right and met clear blue eyes.

Dull lights from the cabin ceiling bathed Aspen’s porcelain features in a somber glow, adding to the look already in her gaze. “I lost a brother over there.” White-blond curls tumbled around her face as a gust of wind carried into the small seating area. “Please understand that I didn’t want to lose anyone else. That’s the only reason I went along with Timbrel.”

Heath leaned forward, anger roiling through his body like an undammed river. “You don’t control who is lost and who isn’t.”

Unfazed, she remained stoic. “Perhaps, but there’s safety in numbers.” “

Bigger numbers also mean easier targets. Easier to find.”

Aspen sighed. “We care. Is that a crime?”

“No, it’s not.” He adjusted in the seat so he faced her. “But I need you guys to trust me. I wouldn’t go over there if I thought I’d put anyone in danger.” The words tugged at his conscience. He hadn’t even considered anyone else when Jibril mentioned the speaking gig. He’d been so anxious to have a purpose for existing, to bail on boredom and leap headfirst into the action. “Don’t say your going is about concern for me. Tell me you wouldn’t like to take a look around and maybe find out what happened to your brother.”

Her face flushed.

“So, don’t put this off on me, okay? I’m healing.”

Then why was his vision graying? What was the hollow roar in his ears? Heath dropped against the seat as the world went black.

            Five              

Bagram AFB, Afghanistan

L
ook him in the face. Tell him the truth. It would hurt for the first few seconds
.

Darci nodded to the MP guarding the door, and he turned the knob to General Lance Burnett’s office. The door swung open to reveal the stuffy interior. Salt-and-pepper hair highlighted by the overhead lamp, the general looked up from his desk. She snapped a salute.

He acknowledged with one of his own. “Kintz! Why do you look like someone killed your cat?”

“I hate cats, sir.”

He let out a booming laugh and motioned to the steel chair in front of his metal desk as she heard a click from behind and knew they were alone. “What do you have?”

Seated, Darci let out a long breath. “Nothing, sir.” The words were bitter and sour at the same time. She hated bringing back nothing. Hated the very taste of failure.

The wheels on his chair squeaked as he leaned back. “Not what I’d hoped to hear.”

She wasn’t sure what was more painful—her father who would never let her into his heart because she was a reminder of the wife he’d lost, or the general she would never be able to please after a near failure on one of the biggest missions of her career.

Darci put on her confident facade. “I know, sir. I’ll have more for you after our next run. We’ve only been out there a few days, and that netted me about six hours to reconnoiter alone.”

General Burnett stared at her for several long minutes, then narrowed his blue eyes as he dropped forward in his chair. He moved to the small portable fridge that sat beneath a table and pulled out a Dr Pepper. Imported straight from the factory in Waco by his wife, Marilyn. The tiny carbonation combustion hissed through the room. He took a slurp as he turned—his eyes hitting hers. “I’d share, but these are pure gold.”

“Of course, sir.”

Can cradled in his hands, he sat on the chair beside her. Took another sip, then set the burgundy can on his desk. Clasping his hands together, he took a breath and let it out. “Darci, I need to ask a question.”

Oh boy. Here it comes
.

“And I want the truth.” His blue eyes probed hers. He’d always seen to the truth of things. Which worried her. Especially now. “Is this mission, this location, too … close?”

Her nerves fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Sir?”

“Darci,” he said, his warning clear: Don’t play dumb.

Darci swallowed and darted a glance to his soda. She sure had a lot in common with that sweating can. “No, sir. It’s fine.”

He roughed a hand over his jaw. Youth clung to his chiseled features—angled jaw, slightly hooked nose that was masculine and strong. Gray streaks in his hair hinted at his midfifties age.

With a growl, he plucked his soda from the desk and returned to his chair. “Look, fine. I won’t bring up the past—”

“Thank you, sir.”

He hesitated, then plowed on. “But if you don’t get me something, I’ve got to yank you and send you home. Bring in someone who can find what we’re looking for.”

She wet her lips. “I—”

“Lieutenant.”

Pulled up straight by his use of her rank and his “general” voice, Darci stilled.

“This area has seen unprecedented violence in the last few months, and yet we can’t figure out where they’re coming from. The Chinese are here setting up that mine, and while I’m ticked so much I can’t see straight that US research efforts regarding the ores in those mountains on behalf of the Afghans are lost and sold to the Chinese, I need this wave of violence over. Stabilization is the key. We can’t do that if we can’t find these terrorists.” His battle-worn face hardened. “Am I clear?”

Defeat clung to her like the sand out here that seeped into every pore. But she’d brought this on herself. Now she had to fix it. “Sir, yes, sir.” She wouldn’t look down. She’d withstood much worse interrogations. She’d been beaten within an inch of her life by a man she thought she’d fallen in love with.

But General Burnett … he’d plucked her from the mind-numbing boredom of analyzing reports back at DIA. Chosen her for her ability to see what others missed, for her ability to speak Mandarin as fluently as she spoke English. He’d believed in her and recruited her into the covert field she now worked. He’d mentored her, invested his best in her training.