Chelsea
Anticipation is high the following day. Word got around about the gala, and instead of our usual Friday antics, the expanded team is packed in the war room waiting for news. However, neither Knot nor O’Reilly are here yet.
My ass is planted in a chair across the room from Bash and the rest of my team because Jackson is seated with them. My distance likely paints me as a chicken, but I prefer to think of it as self-discipline. I don’t trust myself around that man after last night. Jackson is a force of nature, and the more I’m around him, the harder it is to fight his charm.
Jackson hasn’t given me any reason to equate him to Trace, at least not yet. He might not be out to use me, but he’ll walk once he sees the mess inside. I’ve seen this script play out too many times to believe otherwise.
Even Bastien looks at me differently these days. Once he learned my foundation had a crack, things have been different at work. We used to have an easy camaraderie. I would kid around, and he would snicker or tell me to knock it off. Now, Bash seems to put great effort into navigating our partnership. Awkwardness fogs our interactions.
I can confidently say that being handled with kid gloves is even worse than being ridiculed. I miss my friend. I could have seen myself becoming close with Birdie, but loyalty was never an expectation of mine. I assume she’ll follow Bastien’s lead and drift away like he has. Like everyone in my life has.
I tuck into the corner behind some of Sadie’s teammates when the war room door opens with Knot, Commander O’Reilly, and Admiral Jameson on the other side. The room quietens, and the admiral sets the tone right out of the gate. “You leave for Spain in one week.”
Zach from Sadie’s team pats me on the shoulder, I suppose in recognition for my idea. I disregard the gesture and concentrate on Jameson’s briefing.
“I’ll dispatch the SEAL team to a nearby embassy for a fake security bulletin courtesy of the CIA. The rest is up to you to figure out. And with that, I take my leave. I don’t want anyone outside this team to be privy to mission details.” Admiral Jameson scans the room, pausing when his gaze finds mine. The officer tips his head in silent recognition and exits the room.
“You heard the man,” Commander O’Reilly says. “We’ve got seven days to button this up. Let’s start from the top.”
Lieutenant Chris Hill, or Fish as I’ve come to know him, stands and takes us through the security plan. Wrench demonstrates his limo surveillance equipment in his New York accent. Sadie outlines individual assignments. Some will pose as guests, some as servers, and others as security guards.
When she’s finished, O’Reilly gestures to Jackson and me. “You two are all set?”
Birdie speaks before I have the chance to stammer out a response. “I’ve worked with our friend from the CIA on scripting a few scenarios and questions. I’ll work and Jackson through those each day until deployment.”
“Good.” The naval commander turns to his friend and former teammate. “Warden, where are we on location setup?”
My boss answers, “We’re covered. I’ve got a call scheduled with Sambi in an hour. I want you and the team leaders to be there. Bennett and Danforth, you’re with Birdie. Everyone else is dismissed. Tomorrow, we begin rehearsing.”
Once more, the room clears of everyone except Birdie, Jackson, and me. Birdie’s eyes bounce back and forth between us when I’m slow to move. With a sigh of resignation, I rise and cross the floor to join them.
“Okay,” Birdie says, handing out folders to Jackson and me. “We’ve covered a bunch of likely scenarios and ways to steer them toward the information we want. Of course, we can’t anticipate everything. You’ll have to be prepared to improv. Hopefully, there’s enough here for you to latch onto something to steer conversations back to where we want them.”
Birdie opens her own folder. “Admiral Jameson reported that Harding was checking you out, . If he’s into you, we can play up that angle.”
I roll my eyes. “Doubt it. I’m sure he was more interested in campaign contributions than copping a feel.”
“Either one works in our favor,” she says, not missing a beat.
Placing the folder on my lap, I open it and read the first few lines on page one. is soft and pliant toward the congressman. Openly flirt when Jackson isn’t around.
Jackson’s fists clench around the folder he’s holding, his playful grin nowhere to be seen. He’s reading the same thing.
“I…I don’t think this will work,” I say.
Birdie shrugs. “It’s only one of many suggestions. You’ll have to practice them all and pick one on the fly once you feel this guy out. Skip to the next one.”
Page two has me coming off as an activist, passionate about eliminating war contractors. I flip to the next and the next, growing more nauseous with each new persona.
“Alright,” Birdie chirps. “I’m Harding, and I’ve just walked in. You’re standing to the side greeting guests, and security introduces me to you.”
Jackson runs through a basic introduction as his usual self. He gestures to me and gives my name, but I freeze with my eyes glued to the paper.
“?” Birdie prods.
Instead of seeing words on a page, I hear an argument in my head. “You’re a certified asshole.”
“And you’re one hell of an actress.”
That confrontation with Jackson derails any possibility of getting through this, especially after last night. Jackson must read my mind as he says, “I think it might be a good idea if and I get a chance to read through these before trying to act them out.”
Birdie tilts her head in thought. “Good point. I’ve worked on them so much that I’ve probably memorized everything. The precise scripting isn’t as important as the overall leading. You guys read through and work on these. Change whatever you want to be more natural.”
Birdie stands to leave, but not before I catch the concerned look she aims my way.
Jackson closes and locks the door behind her and kneels in front of my chair. “Talk to me, .”
I shake my head, embarrassed about falling apart over a simple assignment.
Jackson shifts and then, “Eyes up, Marine!”
On their own, my face and eyes lift in response to the command.
“You were given an order. What’s keeping you from carrying it out?”
I’ve never heard Jackson use that tone, though I’m sure his men have plenty. I drop my eyes to the papers in my lap, refusing to look at him.
Jackson barks, “I asked you a question, Captain Danforth.”
My eyes squeeze shut briefly before I pick up the papers and hold them between my fingers in disgust. “I’ve been every one of these people in my life, but I don’t know who the hell I am now.”
Jackson grabs my face with both hands and slams his mouth against mine.