Chapter 68
Abby had made a simple decision at Brize Norton—to keep her mouth shut.
The colonels and Miss Watson decided it was urgent that they fly into the heart of London and land at a heliport along the Thames that was barely bigger than her Chinook? Fine, she flew them there.
Colonel Beale wanted her along for some reason? She went.
The PM decided on a public…well, internationally shared with a select few Americans, evisceration of their Foreign Secretary? She stood witness.
Time to fly back to RAF Brize Norton and fly home? She could do that too.
Charlie Two and Four were already half broken down to repack in the C-5 Galaxy by the time she landed by the Base Hangar.
As far as the other teams knew, they’d been brought here on a perplexing mission to fly around RAF Brize Norton for a few hours and take down a bunch of suits as a demonstration.
They’d be shaking their heads at this one for years.
They’d met Dilya and Zackie aboard the C-5 during the trip over from the States but didn’t know anything about them.
Not one of them had so much as seen Miss Watson.
Her own crew knew about teaming up with a civilian and her dog as they rescued an old woman—but nothing of who or why.
Inside the black-in-black core of the operation, only the colonels, Dilya, Derek, Miss Watson, and herself knew all of what had happened.
Derek’s team didn’t know the who, the why, or Dilya’s role in it all.
She jolted when the tower mentioned the time.
It wasn’t even noon yet. Everything had happened in the last six hours, including the dismissal and arrest of one of the most powerful cabinet members of the UK government, based on actions she’d taken.
There was no way to comprehend that. Though a part of her mind kept attempting to, it failed miserably.
Once they had the bird shut down, Abby shed her helmet, closed her eyes, and lay her head against the pilot seat’s back.
Midday. Midnight her time. Except Fort Campbell was six hours earlier.
She should only be going to sleep now. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d taken Captain Derek Kylie to her bed.
It was impossible, but the math worked out… which made no sense whatsoever.
She opened one eye at a sound. Ethan had gone out his side door—and Beale was climbing in. Beale, rather obviously, wasn’t used to the feel of a Chinook seat as she kept shifting about.
“Do they always happen in layers like that?” Abby closed her eyes again. Had she ever been so tired in her life?
“No. I’ve always had, or been, peripheral help. But like this, no.”
“Is it over?”
“The operation.”
“What else is there?”
When Beale didn’t answer, Abby looked over at her. She sat in the copilot’s seat staring out the windshield with her hands resting lightly on the unpowered controls.
“Like the feel?”
“This was never my bird,” Beale said softly. “MH-60 Black Hawk, then a too-short five years in a Night Stalkers DAP Hawk. After that came the Firehawk, the wildland firefighting config. Still the same bird.”
“Front of the fight.”
“Not anymore.” Beale’s voice was so wistful it almost hurt.
Abby looked ahead. She couldn’t imagine a day when she wasn’t flying. Could Derek imagine a someday without The Unit filling every available moment? Probably no more than she could.
Still Beale hadn’t moved, but Abby didn’t want to simply abandon her.
“I’d better go find Derek and have him load up his gear before we start taking my baby apart,” she reached out to pat the console.
“He’s not here.” Beale said it like the sky is blue.
“When will he be back?” Abby sat up straight and fully turned to study Beale’s profile.
She didn’t say a word.
Abby slammed against the back of her seat at that gut punch.
It knocked the wind out of her more thoroughly than being butted by a full lobster trap swinging in a rough sea.
Yes, it had been a crazy mixed-up couple of days.
His not joining Miss Watson’s trip to 10 Downing Street had simply struck her as Derek keeping a Delta-low profile.
Honestly, she’d been so careful to keep inside her military box after the takedown of the MI6 team that she hadn’t noticed him missing from the group.
But that he was gone?
Without a word?
“Where the hell did he go?”
Beale still didn’t look her way as she said, “Stirling Lines in Credenhill, Herefordshire. The British SAS base.”
Perhaps an emergency call for assistance as the Delta teams were already local? It didn’t seem likely.
A cooperative training exercise? Arranged on no notice like their own journey to RAF Brize Norton. And she knew only two people who could have arranged it.
“Gibson?” Though she already knew the answer.
Beale simply shook her head.
Derek! He was suddenly avoiding her. “Didn’t he see how transparent that was?”
This time Colonel Beale turned to look at her. “He’s male. Therefore I’m guessing…nope.” Damned woman was smiling at her own joke.
She hadn’t chased Derek away like so many men before him. She’d seen the look in his eyes after they took down the MI6 team. They’d operated together tighter than any transmission’s synchromesh. He had…
“No.” She couldn’t believe it.
“Yes.” Beale said with that same damn smile.
“He turned chicken on me?”
Beale’s look said plenty.
Abby slapped on Charlene One’s electronics and tapped the screen for the Warm Start Checklist. With a flick, she routed it in front of Beale. “Read!”
Beale began reading down the list almost as fast as Abby was doing the steps by rote.
Ethan ran up toward his side of the aircraft. Beale closed the door in his face. “I’m not going to miss this.”
Sam stuck his head into the cockpit.
Abby didn’t even give him a chance to ask what was going on. “Everyone off. I need at least one crew chief. You’re it. You have thirty seconds to clear them out.”
She got the big twin rotors lumbering their way around. But her Charlene was a beast of a bird and the ten thousand horsepower of her two engines overcame their inertia in seconds.
“Good to go?”
“Copilot good.” Emily reported.
“Just a…” Sam was still hustling “…and we’re clear. Good to go. You’ve got me doing the work of four.”
Abby didn’t care. The rear ramp clanged shut as she lifted.
Emily was handling the tower, which was good as Abby wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. “Heading Two-Eight-Zero,” Emily called out as soon as they were clear of the base’s air space.
The SAS base lay only ninety kilometers northwest of Brize Norton, so eighteen minutes later they were landing at Stirling Lines. Her Chinook took up a third of their little helo runway. She shut it down right where it was, blocking everything.
“Sam, anyone tries to board, you have my permission to shoot them.”
“Uh, yes ma’am.”
“They’re British, you might offer them tea first.”
Abby didn’t appreciate the colonel’s humor.
Which was a pity, it was a good line. The two of them climbed down at the same moment the security troops trotted up, a staff sergeant with a three-man fire team.
An SAS staff sergeant, which meant he was more skilled than any soldier outside the SAS at any level.
He saluted nicely, which was the only thing that slowed her down.
“You didn’t give our base much of a head’s up on your arrival or your purpose, ma’am. While Group Captain Cutcher cleared you—”
First Abby had heard of it. She’d thank Colonel Beale later.
“—she’s RAF, not Army and not SAS. We need to know the purpose of—”
“Where is he?”
The sergeant blinked once, then showed that, like Delta, the SAS recruited for intelligence in addition to other skills. “American chap put his bum in a sling, did he, ma’am?”
“He did.”
“Just a short walk.” He did an about-face and, with a hand sign she didn’t quite catch, had his squad form up around them—half escort, half guard. Then, correctly judging her mood, he set off at a fast walk. They were soon doing a light jog to keep up with the striding pace she set.
They crossed the grass and headed up a lane between long buildings.
The SAS apparently didn’t train out in the open where they could be observed by others.
One building echoed with the hard snaps of an indoor shooting range, another with the grunts of hand-to-hand combat training.
Straight ahead was an open field. Beside it parked a line of electric motorbikes, a pair of MRZRs, and a DAGOR.
Misty was the first one to spot her. She simply pointed. Abby shifted her course. Then Misty smacked Hot Rod and Compass atop their heads so they wouldn’t miss the show.