Chapter 10
Ronan Alexander leaned forward and looked at his sister at the far end of the conference table. “What did you say?
His sister Gabby sighed. “Con said he thought we were going to lose Berserker. His injuries were brutal, but a CIA contractor landed on the river or the bank or an island in the river.” Gabby frowned down at her tablet and then shook her head.
“Location isn’t important, but what is important is that she landed and flew Z out under fire. ”
“Why?” Charley asked as she leaned forward. “What was in it for her?”
“Nothing,” Jason King said. He took off his glasses and leaned back.
He’d announced his retirement as CEO of Guardian recently, and a year from now, Ronan, Gabby, and Charley would be at the helm of the organization.
Tori smiled to herself. The company couldn’t be in better hands.
Field-tested and proven, the siblings were the hallmark of the company.
They would lead the next generation through the darkness that Guardian navigated to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.
Jason pointed at her. “Tori, tell them what you found out.”
All eyes swung to her, and Tori smiled politely.
“Willow Tucker is an independent contractor who started working for the CIA years ago.
Her father was a bush pilot in Alaska and raised Willow in the cockpit.
He had a reputation for his skill as both a pilot and a mechanic.
Willow seems to have inherited those traits.
She was used in several missions. One in particular was in the Sudan.
Ronan frowned. “Wait a minute. Willow? You mean Eagle?”
Tori nodded. “She was the one who pulled you out of that pinned position.”
Ronan tossed his pen on the table and rubbed his face. “I’ll never forget that mission. She was working for the CIA then, too. They let us borrow her for the drop and exfil. She’s a spitfire of a woman and has more ice-cold bravery in her little finger than most people have in their entire body.”
Jason cocked his head. “Explain that?”
Ronan chuckled. “It’s a hell of a story.” He took a breath and started. “We were in Sudan …”
Ronan pressed his back against the sun-scorched rock, the heat seeping through his tactical vest as he keyed his mic. “Dude. Hostile fire. I say again, hostile fire. We’re pinned down. Where's my bird?”
The crack of incoming rounds forced him to duck lower.
Twenty meters down the wadi, or dry river bed, Juggernaut's SAW hammered out controlled bursts, buying them precious seconds.
Wolf was on the opposite side, his rifle picking off targets with methodical precision.
But the hostiles were closing fast, and they were about to be overrun.
“Skipper, your bird is three minutes out.”
Three minutes. Ronan checked his magazine. Half empty. Fuck. It was easy to do the math. Three minutes was a lifetime in a firefight.
“Copy that. Put me through to her.” He switched channels. “Eagle, this is Skipper. Be advised, situation has deteriorated. We've got hostiles converging on our position. This is going to be a hot extract.”
“How hot are we talking, Skipper?” The woman's voice came through calm and steady, like she was asking about the weather instead of flying into a combat zone.
Ronan had heard the stories about the CIA contract pilot.
The rumors were rampant in the Sudan. The woman who'd lost more planes than some pilots had logged flight hours, who flew like gravity was a suggestion rather than a law.
He'd been skeptical. Right now, he was just grateful she was crazy enough to fly for the CIA and be that agency’s contribution to the mission at hand.
“Twenty hostiles. We’re taking fire.”
Juggernaut's SAW punctuated his words, the sound echoing off the rocky walls of the riverbed. Wraith appeared at his elbow, breathing hard, a fresh magazine in his hand.
“We need to move, boss. They're flanking right.”
“Copy. I see your smoke.” Eagle's voice came over the comms again, still unnaturally calm.
Ronan risked a glance skyward, squinting against the brutal afternoon sun. Nothing yet. Just heat shimmer and empty sky. But the purple smoke from their marker was billowing nicely, a beacon in the wasteland.
“Eagle, we need immediate extract. They are working on flanking us.”
“Roger that. Coming in on your six. Thirty seconds.”
Thirty seconds. Ronan's pulse kicked up. He spat out orders. “All right, boys, taxi's almost here. Juggernaut, prepare to displace. Wraith, Wolf, Stryker, keep a tight formation on my mark. We move fast and we move together.”
A chorus of rogers came back through his earpiece.
Then he heard it. The blessed sound of twin engines growing louder every second.
“Hope you boys are ready to run.”
Despite everything, Ronan felt his mouth twitch. “We were born ready. Just bring us that taxi.”
The plane materialized through the heat shimmer like something out of a fever-fueled dream.
A Cessna SkyCourier, flying low enough he could see the rivets in her belly.
It dropped into the dry riverbed at a descent angle that should've been impossible.
Tracer rounds reached for the bird, stitching across the sky.
The windscreen splintered. A visible crack spread across the left side. He watched, expecting her to pull up. But the plane didn't waver.
Jesus. She was actually going to do it.
The SkyCourier flared hard, tail nearly dragging as the main gear slammed down in a shower of dust and rock chips. The plane bounced, skidded, and fought for traction on the uneven ground. But she held it, keeping the nose straight, although how, he couldn’t guess.
“Move!” Ronan barked into his mic.
They ran. Wraith hit the door first, smooth and efficient, hauling himself inside. He turned and offered a hand as Wolf followed, then Stryker with their comm’s pack. Ronan turned to cover Juggernaut's retreat, his rifle barking as the big man backed toward them, still laying down fire.
Rounds pinged off rocks, chewed up the sand around their feet. One punched through the plane's thin skin with a metallic shriek. He grabbed Jug by the tactical vest and hauled his ass in the door.
Ronan yelled, “We're in, we're in, go!”
But she was already moving. He felt the plane surge forward before he'd even gotten the door fully closed, the engines screaming as they ate up ground. He grabbed a cargo strap and hung on, watching through the open door as the walls of the riverbed blurred past.
They were accelerating but not fast enough. The end of the line was rushing at them, and it wouldn’t be a pleasant stop. A wall of boulders that would tear the wings and crush them like a beer can loomed just in front of them. Ronan's knuckles went white on the strap.
“Too heavy. Too slow. We're not going to make it.” Wraith’s words were way too fucking calm.
“Come on, baby, fly for me.” Eagle’s words came from gritted teeth. Her voice was barely a whisper and probably not meant for the comms, but everyone heard it. Heard the absolute conviction in those words.
The plane's nose lifted. The ground fell away. The boulders flashed past underneath with clearance measured in feet, not yards.
They were airborne.
“Holy shit,” Stryker breathed.
But the nearest hostile had reached the river’s edge. The mounted gun swiveled, tracking them. Seconds later, the side of the aircraft lit up with a sound like the world tearing apart. Rounds hammered into the fuselage, and Ronan saw sparks fly from somewhere up in the cockpit.
“Hang on!”
The plane snapped into a hard right bank, G-forces slamming Ronan against the bulkhead. His stomach lurched as they dropped, diving toward the deck, using the terrain to break line of sight. They skimmed over a ridgeline so low he could've reached out and touched the rocks.
Then they were behind the ridge, in the valley, and the hostile fire fell silent.
For a moment, nobody spoke. They just breathed, the sound of the engines and their own hammering hearts filling the cargo bay.
Ronan hauled himself forward toward the cockpit.
Through the narrow doorway, he could see Eagle in the pilot's seat, her hands steady on the controls despite the cracked windscreen and the holes punched through the instrument panel.
Her profile was calm, focused, like she'd just parallel parked instead of pulling off the most audacious flying he'd ever witnessed.
“Eagle, Skipper. Status?” Dude’s voice was filled with urgency.
She glanced back at him, and he caught a glimpse of sharp eyes and a face too young for the kind of skill she'd just displayed.
“I've got a cracked windscreen, some holes in the fuselage, and I think they killed my number two fuel gauge.
But both engines are green, and we're flying. I'd call that a win.”
A win. Ronan felt a laugh tear from him. “Roger that. We’re secure. And holy hell …” He made sure his voice carried the weight of what he was feeling. “That was some of the finest flying I've ever seen. You just earned yourself a lot of fans.”
Behind him, Juggernaut's rumble added, “Damn straight. You fly like you've got rockets for wings and ice water in your veins.”
He saw the color creep up her neck, but her hands never wavered on the controls. “Just doing my job, gentlemen. Though I wouldn't say no to you all buying me a drink when we get back.”
Ronan laughed, the sound rough with adrenaline and genuine appreciation. “A drink?” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, after that, the first three rounds are on me. Maybe the whole bottle.”
Her grin was quick and bright. “I'll hold you to that, Skipper.”
As she pointed the battered SkyCourier toward home, Ronan settled back into the cargo bay with his team. They were already starting to decompress—gear checks, rough jokes, the familiar rhythm of men who'd survived another day.
Tori nodded. “She has a jacket about three inches thick with citations, but somehow, she got tied up with Mike Reeves.”
“Why’s that a problem?” Jason asked.
“I’ve known Reeves since my time in the Agency.” She leveled a long look at Jason. “He was on the team that sent me to Afghanistan.”
Jason’s head jerked up. “I thought that team was taken care of.”
“Most were.” Tori had been watching the three who weren’t fired. Two were now doing admin and ready to retire. Reeves was another story. “Reeves is the only one who concerns me.”
“Why’s that?” Gabby asked.
“Personally, I don’t think he has a conscience. He uses people like objects to further his goal of moving up. He’s running out of time for that promotion, and Willow is his only in on Morales.”
“Shit.” Charley shook her head. “She’s good people. She’s protected our asset. We can’t let that fuckwad—excuse my language—screw her over and get her killed.”
“Your language is forgiven.” Tori chuckled but nodded in agreement. “I can get the mission canceled, if Guardian already has a person in place to conduct the mission. The CIA knows not to question our onyx missions. I can say one word and get it shut down.”
Everyone looked at Jason, who shook his head. “This is your call.” He gestured to the siblings sitting on one side of the table. “I’ll support what you decide, but you need to start making the calls.”
Tori watched as the three of them glanced at each other. Gabby spoke first. “Say the word.”
“Agreed,” Ronan said. “She’s worth saving and recruiting if the opportunity arises.”
Charley nodded. “You already know my feelings on the matter. But does Z need help, and how can we get it to him?”
“We’re stretched thin,” Ronan said and tapped his tablet. “As it stands now, his backup, Phantom, is working with Cobra team. When they’re done with their mission, we can send him in. What’s Z’s status?”
The answer to that question came from Anubis, who had joined them via video hookup. “They’re at one of our safehouses in country. The problem right now is that they need fuel to fly out. Walking to the targets from their location would take weeks, if not longer.”
“And that’s if the cartel doesn’t find them first.”
“And Z’s mission?” Jason asked.
Anubis answered, “According to the information I’ve received from Con, Z still wants to go through with the mission.
Only now, they have a pilot who can get him in and out, so he’s not alone.
The intent is to pull Morales out of his hole so we can track him.
Then Z goes in and takes out not only Morales but as many of his people as possible. ”
“Civilians?” Gabby asked.
“Nope. None in the areas Morales rotates through, according to information the CIA has been given.”
“Yeah, but will the pilot work with us?” Charley asked. “She’s CIA, and what’s her clearance?”
“Contractor.” Anubis, Jason, and Tori said at the same time.
Charley’s eyebrows rose. “Does that make a difference?”
“It could make a massive difference,” Tori explained. “If she hasn’t drunk the Kool-Aid that Reeves is serving, she could walk or fly away. And she has a Top Secret clearance but not graded to Z’s level.”
“She’s fucking smart. She won’t be fooled,” Ronan said with conviction that Tori wasn’t feeling … yet. “As far as her clearance, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Gabby shook her head. “Like you said, she’s fucking smart. She’s piecing shit together, and from what Con has overheard, it won’t take long before she understands everything.”
“If she doesn’t already.” Anubis’s voice drew Tori’s eyes back to the video screen. “I’ve been going over some of the conversations. She knows. It hasn’t been admitted, but she knows.”
“Then we upgrade her clearance, and when they come out of that jungle, we get her to sign her life away. NDA. Ironclad.” Charley leaned back.
Jason sighed and leaned forward. “Tori, get the CIA op canceled, and let us know when it happens. If there isn’t anything further on Z’s situation, let’s move on to Cobra Team and Phantom. Where do we stand on this one?”
The players tapped their screens, and Anubis started the brief …