27. Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Day 10 Denali, Alaska
Aiden weaved his way through the milling warriors, hoping to escape from the conference room before Benioko accosted him. Since the shaman’s private attempt to persuade Aiden to join his cult had failed, Aiden expected the old man to give public hounding a try. So far, he’d evaded the shaman, who was still at the back of the room with Wolf and a reverential cluster of warriors.
He’d just stepped through the door when talons latched onto his biceps. His brother’s Kalikoia warriors wouldn’t be so familiar, and he’d left Benioko behind, which meant the iron fingers had to belong to one of his former teammates. Probably Cosky. Rude and assertive described his sister’s husband well.
But when he turned to glare, the hawkish face that greeted him was Mackenzie rather than Cos. It didn’t surprise him. Mackenzie wasn’t known for his manners, or temperament either. He’d seen his former commander slip into the conference room and take the wall behind Zane and Rawls during the middle of his TED Talk. The wall lean had surprised him. He’d expected the dude to take Aiden’s abandoned chair.
“Come,” Mackenzie barked, letting go of Aiden’s arm. He pivoted, his shoulders leading the way, and stalked to an open door ten feet to the left.
Aiden followed Mackenzie down the hall and through the open door. Zane, Cosky, and Rawls stood in a loose huddle near another table. A smaller one with no Kalikoia words carved into its surface.
He turned, scanning the room for a coffee stand and found…nothing.
Fuck.
This impromptu meeting was going to be unbearable without a caffeine punch to stabilize his patience and temper.
He sighed, exhaustion suddenly crashing over him. “Can this wait? I need…” His voice trailed off. He could hardly admit he needed a damn nap. Before he could backpedal, his commander—or former commander—stepped into him, standing almost chest to chest.
“Hell no, this can’t wait!” Mackenzie snapped, a thunder cloud rolling across his lean face. He jutted his chin out. “You got a problem with that?”
A crackle of irritation flickered beneath Aiden’s fatigue. It was just like Mackenzie to turn this into a confrontation. While the bastard’s short black hair carried more gray, and his face more lines, his black eyes still flashed with temper. The commander’s disposition hadn’t softened since he’d been booted from ST7.
“We’re not questioning what you said back there,” Zane broke in, calmly smoothing the tension riding the aftermath of Mackenzie’s outburst.
It looked like those old team dynamics were still in play. Zane was still smoothing the choppy waters following hurricane Mackenzie, and the commander still needed a fucking filter.
“We have questions about O’Neill,” Zane continued.
O’Neill? Not Kuznetsov? Not the two clowns who’d gone after Demi? Not Aiden’s detailed account of what he’d seen in Karaveht or experienced with his own team?
“What about him?” Aiden’s eyebrows lifted.
“This was the first time he’s asked questions in a briefin’. Before today, he just sits there, boots on the table, eyes closed, actin’ like his shit’s too grand for the rest of us.” Rawls squinted, then shook his head. “But now? Hell, the dude’s obviously piped in. He knew of Nantz Technology. He knew what they manufacture. Hell, he even used USSOCOM lingo.”
Zane nodded and used his index finger to scratch the middle of his furrowed forehead.
“And he called us squids ,” Mackenzie practically snarled, as if that was the missing rivet that sank the ship. “Straight out of the marine raider field book.” He gritted his teeth before adding in an angry rumble. “Asshole.”
Aiden glanced between his former teammates. Seriously? They were worked up because of O’Neill’s SEAL insult? Was life so slow under Wolf’s leadership they had to generate drama to feel alive?
“He didn’t get the insult quite right,” Aiden drawled, loading his voice with mockery. “It’s dirty, nasty squids.”
“The point is,” Zane glanced at the opaque glass window in the door Mackenzie had closed, as if ensuring nobody was outside listening to them, “he’s obviously got contacts. Non-USSOCOM contacts. We can use that.”
Aiden cocked his head, considering that. Fair enough. “I don’t know the guy. But then I’m not the one who’s been crewing with him. That would be you boys. Why the hell would you think I’d know more about him than you do?”
Rawls shrugged. “Didn’t that brother of yours fill you in on the Shadow Mountain crew?”
That question brought a scoff and an eye roll. “Big bro hasn’t told me shit about anyone on this base. That goes double for O’Neill.” He frowned before adding, “That said, I get the strong impression he’d like to toss O’Neill out on his ass.”
Cosky nodded, curiosity flickering in his silver eyes. “We get the same impression. Why hasn’t he? What does O’Neill have on him?”
“No clue,” Aiden drawled.
O’Neill’s history was the least of his concerns. Although, if the dude had contacts outside of USSOCOM, they could be downright helpful. Assuming the bastard would admit to having any contacts.
“The guy’s got to be a former raider,” Rawls said, his brows creased in thought. “That would explain his hand-to-hand and close quarters skills.”
“Nah,” Cosky’s eyes narrowed. “My money’s on intelligence. One of the stateside alphabet soups. CIA or DIA, maybe AMI. Special ops soldiers wouldn’t know about Nantz Technology or the shit they develop.”
Mackenzie grunted. “Intelligence makes sense, explains how Wolf always has up-to-date SAT images and resource reports.”
“Agreed.” Zane nodded. His voice turned thoughtful. “If O’Neill has contacts in the CIA or NSA, it makes sense why Wolf hasn’t canned his ass, even though he clearly wants to.”
Rawls shook his head, his face doubtful. “Don’t think so, skipper. Wolf’s crew was already piped in—intelligence wise—long before O’Neill planted his boots on base.”
Aiden barely caught a yawn. Man, he could sure use some damn coffee. Those nightmares were playing hell with his sleep. “What’s O’Neill’s full name? I’ll have Dev check him out.”
Cosky’s eyebrows bunched. He shook his head and shrugged. “Never heard another name. Just O’Neill.”
Aiden glanced at the others, receiving head shakes or shrugs. “Is O’Neill his last name?”
More shrugs greeted his eyes.
Hell, he’d have to ask Wolf. His brother must know O’Neill’s full name. Maybe he even knew where the dude had crewed prior to arriving at Shadow Mountain.
“I’ll see what Wolf and Dev know,” Aiden promised, wiping a hand down his face to hide a yawn. “Now if that’s all—”
Zane immediately broke in. “Anything new from the lab tests?
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Did Zane honestly think he wouldn’t have mentioned it in the meeting, or while they’d been having their little chat earlier?
“You haven’t asked?” Mackenzie snapped, turning the question into an accusation.
“Of course, I asked.” Aiden snapped back. You jackass . “They have nothing new to share.”
Mackenzie grunted his version of an acknowledgement and swung toward the door. “Keep me in the loop.”
Aiden grabbed the edge of his tactical pants to keep his fingers at his side. He wasn’t sure exactly what his hand had in mind—a salute or the middle finger. Both were possible. Neither were appropriate.
If Mackenzie hadn’t had the back of every operator under his command, and went to bat for them repeatedly, someone would have killed him years ago.
He waited for Zane and Rawls to follow the commander out of the room before blocking Cosky’s access to the door.
“How’s Demi?”
“Haven’t talked to her much.” Cosky stopped within inches of ramming into Aiden. He took a long step back. And then another. “Don’t see that she’s missing your face, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Like the asshole would know if she was missing him. His brother-in-law wasn’t nearly as perceptive as he assumed.
“She eating? Sleeping?” He needed to free up time to hop on the Bell and fly down to visit her.
Cosky scoffed. “Do I look like her dietitian or sleep therapist? Get off your ass and visit her. Wolf will give you a badge and the Bell.”
“I’m working on it. The lab has me pretty tied up.”
Cosky’s face softened. He glanced at the inside of Aiden’s elbow. “No shit. They turned you into a pincushion. You sure the lab’s not overrun by vampires? Christ knows they’ve sucked enough blood from you.”
Aiden grimaced. He’d been asking himself the same question. Which reminded him…
“Is that damn cat still ripping Demi to shreds?” Even more importantly. “Tell me Kait healed those scratches.”
With a yawn, Cosky ran a palm down his face. Looked like Cos needed a coffee boost as much as Aiden.
“Demi wouldn’t let Kait heal her. Claimed the scratches were healing fine. As for the cat, they say he’s an angel. Taking his medicine twice a day. No scratching. No biting. Demi’s calling it a miracle.” He dropped his hand and scowled. “You know she named the damn thing Trident? For Christ’s sake, convince her to name it something else. It’s blasphemy to name a passive little shit like that after a symbol of power and courage.”
Aiden couldn’t tell if he was kidding. Probably not. Cosky took the symbolism inherent in the Trident seriously. Kait said he still had his, even after all the bullshit WARCOM had put him through.
“Tell her to name him something pampered and precious,” Cosky continued. “Like Prince, or some shit.”
Aiden zipped his lips. No way was he telling Demi what to name her cat. But it was interesting that both O’Neill and Cosky felt the cat was misnamed. Yet for opposite reasons. Cosky said the animal was too delicate for the symbol. O’Neill said the symbol was too delicate for the cat.
Strange. But interesting.
Day 10 Washington, D.C.
The man on the other end of the line had no name. What he had were excuses. Endless excuses. None of which were acceptable. How hard was it to grab one solitary woman?
Impossible, apparently, when one hired incompetent hacks.
“Explain to me how you can lose a plane.” Clark’s voice remained mild, even as his fingers dug into the arm of the elephant chair with such force they left imprints in the tough leather. “The FAA requires the registration number to be visible on the aircraft. They also required aircraft to file flight plans. This Citation is not a ghost. It exists.”
“Of course it exists.” The man with no name’s voice erupted down the phone line. “My guy followed the girl and her guards to the airfield. He saw her board the jet. He texted me the registration number. I ran it. Nothing came up in the search.”
“Then your goon misread the numbers,” Clark’s voice sharpened. He collected himself. When he spoke again, his tone had returned to its normal, mild octave. “It would appear that all three of the men you hired for my needs were second rate, at best.”
According to No Name’s own account, Aiden Winchester had been waiting at the airfield. He’d been right there, and this asshole’s hired goon had let him fly off into the sunset—with the very woman he’d been sent to kidnap. What a complete moron.
“I don’t hire second-rate.” No Name’s voice hardened. “This fuckup was not because of employee failure. There is no record of that jet landing or taking off from San Bernardino. It didn’t even show up on radar. Someone disappeared that plane, which requires money. Lots of money. A luxury your target doesn’t have.”
Clark pondered that. Who had Winchester hooked up with? Someone with enough resources to hide a plane, apparently.
He could concede that the disappearing plane was out of his hired gun's control. But what about the girl he’d hired them to grab? They’d lost her, too, even though they’d been right there in her building. And then they’d gone and got themselves caught.
Amateurs.
He hadn’t paid a fortune for amateur hour.
Clark reined in his frustration. “I’m disappointed. You assured me this would be simple. You assured me your men were the best.”
“They are. This was a unique situation.” Mr. No Name’s tone tightened. The pompous ass clearly didn’t appreciate having his failures laid at his feet.
Too damn bad.
Clark’s fingers dug deeper into the arm of the elephant chair. He’d paid an exorbitant amount of money to acquire Winchester or his girlfriend. And this…this failure was unacceptable. Not because of the money. Because of Winchester.
He had to get hold of Winchester.
“I’m disappointed.” Despite his best efforts, his voice thinned. “I require Winchester, his woman, or my money back.”
“I’m working on it. Just let me do my fucking job.” The line went dead.
Clark scowled. He’d be happy to comply if the bastard wasn’t so goddamn awful at fulfilling the terms of his contracts. The bounty he’d put on Winchester’s head was fortuitous. His original reasoning had been math based. The more contract killers looking for the SEAL, the better the chance of acquiring him.
At least he had other options now that Mr. No Name had proved his incompetence.
Pushing himself up, he wandered over to the enormous window looking out over the glittering lights of Washington, D.C. For the first time, his touchstone view didn’t soothe him. His heart was pounding way too fast. His muscles were so tense they ached. Lightning bolts of pain periodically shot through his jaw thanks to the latest round of teeth grinding.
No Name’s news had not been the worst of the day. That honor would go to his eyes and ears in Hurley’s command.
The admiral—indeed, the entire United States military by now—knew about his NNB26 nanobots. They knew how his bot weapon had affected the citizens of Karaveht and why Winchester’s SEAL teammates had killed each other.
They knew everything. Except who created the weapon.
Since Winchester and his teammates were still missing, and Hurley’s evacuation team had found no bodies in Karaveht, the only way they could have found out about his little prodigies was through Winchester. Or more precisely, through the SEAL’s dead teammates.
Someone must have autopsied them and discovered the nanobots and Winchester had passed the information on. His contact in Hurley’s office had said they were in contact with Winchester, although the SEAL refused to tell them where he was, or who he was with.
Winchester had hooked up with someone powerful, though. Someone with a full lab—one equipped with AFM, NMRs, SEMs, STMs and SPMs. All of which were required to work with nanotechnology and all of which were expensive as hell. It reminded him of the ghost jet that had landed and taken off in San Bernardino. But there was also Winchester and his dead teammates’ disappearance from the evacuation site in the hills above Karaveht. Something must have dropped in to pick them up before Clark’s crew had arrived, yet there was nothing on the SAT pictures during that timeframe. Nothing on radar either. No flight plans.
A ghost chopper, if you will, rather like Mr. No Name’s ghost plane. No doubt both were owned by the same organization that had discovered the nanobots.
Which was terrible news.
He’d prayed—actually prayed—that No Name’s phone call had been to inform him they had the Barnes woman under wraps. At least he’d have had a bargaining chip to get Winchester into his lab.
But no… dammit .
Clark took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs. For the first time in, well, forever, he was on the verge of panic.
Whoever Winchester was working with was well-funded. So well-funded they’d discovered his nanobots. But even worse, they had access to Winchester—who was apparently immune to the nanobots.
If they figured out why Winchester was immune, and figured out how to replicate that and make others immune, they’d render his weapon inert. His retirement plan would self-destruct.
The only thing in his favor was the fact the weapon would never be traced back to him. He’d covered his tracks and his identity completely, hid himself through endless shell companies and aliases.
He was safe.
When his cell started buzzing, he picked it up, hoping the call was from Mr. No Name saying he’d tracked down Winchester, or someone claiming Winchester’s bounty, which would mean they’d captured the cagey bastard.
Basically, just hoping for a ray of sunshine on this shitty day.
But nope—the call was from Doctor Lovett, his nanobot miracle worker.
“Daniel,” Clark forced a jovial tone. “I was just thinking about you! How does a raise sound?”
He should present him with a BMW, too, or a car of equal status and value. It was simply good practice to keep your top performers well rewarded. Such generosity was one of the first things he’d learned as an entrepreneur whose success often depended on the brilliant creations of others.
“Clark!”
There was a harried note to Clark’s name. And Lovett hadn’t responded to the offer of a raise.
“What’s wrong?” Clark’s tension, which had barely faded, returned with tornado force gales.
“It’s the NNB26 prototype.” Lovett sounded stunned. “They’re active again.”
Perplexed, Clark frowned. “That is not possible. I haven’t reactivated them.”
“That’s the point,” Lovett said in a rush. “I checked the program. Nobody reactivated them. Yet they are active again. Scurrying around like ants in their maze.”
Instinctively, Clark shook his head. “That’s simply not possible.”
“Possible or not,” Lovett’s voice rose and edged into shrill, “the NNB26 prototype nanobots are active. Come down and see for yourself.”