Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (34 page)

He punched to his feet, the raging storm back. “No. That’s not true. I’m not loyal. I’m not a good man. It’s my fault Vida died.”

Surprise drew Cassie to her feet.

He rounded on her, dark brows drawn together. “I had no business getting involved with you, and that’s what killed her. Now my inability to deal with the nightmare life keeps serving up killed one of the best soldiers I’ve ever known.” He pivoted, rocks crunching beneath his boots. “How can you call me good when I’ve done all that?”

“Because I know you. Not the horrible circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”
His voice pitched. “Vida and Hawk were
people
! Friends—my girlfriend. And now they’re both dead because of me.”

“Fine. You want to play the blame game, I’m in.” Cassie’s pulse sped as she held out her arms. “The entire freakin’ mission is my fault.”

He glared at her.

“I broke rank and went after Kiew. When you found me, I’d been talking to her, trying to convince her to come with me.”
Oh, man, what are you doing?
“I wasn’t there to capture her. I wanted to help her get free.”

Sal drew up short.

In the seconds of that moment, of seeing how deeply she’d disappointed him, wounded him, Cassie felt a blow to her gut.

“Tell me that’s not true.” His tone went deadly.

Why had she told him that? It was true, but… she would lose her job for admitting it.

He muttered an oath and shifted away, holding his head.

“Sal—”

“No.” He held out a hand to her in a severing fashion. “No more, Cassie.” He held a hand over his mouth then dragged it down his beard. “I can’t do this anymore. I think I’m about to let go of it, and then you punch me in the gut with something like this. You were
actively
working against my team?”

His words, the truth of those words, stunned her. She’d had an assignment. “I thought she needed a way out. I thought…” Wow, it sounded so lame now, especially remembering the horrible things Kiew had said. The bombs she’d set off.

“It’s over.”

“Sal, I came here to fix this between us because we have a daughter. I prayed God would provide a way for me to see and talk to you, and I got this assignment. It was screwed up and they manipulated me, but I came. We need resolution. You said you wanted to get to know Mila…”

“Is that your get-out-of-jail-free card? The way you thought you could drag me back to your bed?”

Cassie sucked in a breath. Snapped back as if he’d slapped her. “How dare you! I had no intention of telling you about Mila. You know what, you don’t deserve to be a part of her life! Or mine!”

“You can’t stop me from being a part of her life.”

Fear squirreled through her chest at the threat that hung in his words. She didn’t want it to go this way. Things were supposed to be smoothed over, at best, between them. She’d never expected to win him back. Oh, she’d hoped—a fool’s fancy, she understood now—but she knew Sal hated her. “Why can’t you put as much effort into working this out as you do into hating and blaming me? If there’s a way to fix this, tell me!”

Sal angled in a shoulder, the scent of iodine and antiseptic shielding his normal smell. “You want to fix things? Then
fix
this.”

“Fix what?” She flashed her palms at him. “Ya know what? I’m not doing this. You want to be ticked off and keep hating me, then fine. But don’t drag me through this.”

“You just said Hawk’s dead because of you, so how is it
I’m
dragging you? First Vida—”

“Stop. Blaming. Me. For. Vida!” Her breath shuddered from the emotion. The ping-pong of their relationship. The yanking of each others’ chains. “I can’t take it anymore. It has to stop.”

He studied her for a minute, his left cheek just below his eye twitching. “Neither can I. And you’re right—this stops. Right here. Right now. We’re done, Cassandra.”

CHAPTER 30

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
5 April—1335 Hours

Y
ou stupid, idiotic sons of—” Ramsey flung a metal chair across the briefing room, his ruddy face a mixture of rage and combat exhaustion.

Dean threaded his fingers together on the table. The men with him included Sal, Knight, Eagle, and Harrier. Riordan and his team had joined them, but the verbal lashing didn’t have the weight it carried for Raptor. Nothing like getting flogged when you’re already missing a limb. Hawk.

Even thinking the man’s call sign pressed heavily on Dean.

“Do you realize the delicate relations you have completely upended tonight with your harebrained, failed operation?” He careened around the room, his arms writhing and lashing out. “And not just any building because that would be too easy.”

Eagle folded his arms over his chest, his feelings about the general’s tirade clear.

“You have compromised years of intricate political maneuvering with one of the most important assets this side of the Atlantic.” He let out a growl and threw a punch in the air.

Sal sat with his head in his hands, his expression awash with grief. Shock. Fury. His fingertips whitened as he pressed them against his closely shaven head.

They’d lost two men—Burnett and now Brian.

“What brand of stupidity possessed you to think you could just go off half-cocked and do that?”

“It wasn’t half-cocked,” Riordan countered.

“What?” Ramsey roared.

Face blank, Riordan didn’t back down. “We had a plan. We executed the plan.”

“You executed one of your own!”

Sal shifted, dragging his leg in and extending the other. His breathing was growing heavier. More agitated.

“There is
always
risk.” Riordan sure didn’t care that he was arguing with a general. Then again, he reported to Admiral Rosen. “And every man in this room’s aware of that.”

“So that gives you the right to screw with lives and wreck—”

“No, but when a mission goes south as it did tonight, it means we deal with it, learn from it.”

Ramsey bent toward Sal. “How are you doing with Bledsoe’s death, Russo?”

Dean about came out of his chair. “Sir.” That was uncalled for, shoving that down Sal’s throat. And if he knew his friend, a physical confrontation could ensue.

Ramsey met his gaze for a moment then moved away, apparently seeing the storm brewing in Sal’s expression. “This piece of dirt is racking up lives like they’re candy, and what in the name of all that’s holy have we accomplished? Except to get our butts handed to us time and again?” He pounded a fist on the table.

Harrier flinched. Shook his head and sagged under the verbal lashing.

“Do you have any idea the political damage you’ve done, how much this will cost the government? You can bet your sorry butts I’ll find a way to take this out of your hides.”

“Sir,” Dean finally spoke up. “We had actionable intelligence that told us Kiew Tang was an asset. One we needed to secure. We put a plan in play.”

“And did you succeed in that mission, Captain?” Ramsey’s blue eyes blazed as he whipped around the table pressed in on Dean, who stared him down. “I should’ve been fully briefed before you went out.”

“With all due respect, sir, our team is granted autonomy under the direction of General Burnett’s—”

“Who is dead! Did I mention it? The man we’re supposed to be chasing down killed him. And over thirty soldiers and airmen on this base in the attack last month. Or have you bumbling fools forgotten that, too?”

“No, sir.” The growl came from Sal. Fire roared through his eyes as he glowered at the general.

Dean wanted to warn off his friend, but wasn’t sure he could with the kindling that had been ignited. When he managed to catch Sal’s eyes, he pushed as much “go softly” into his expression as possible.

“You got something to say to me, soldier?”

Nostrils flared, lips pinched tight, Sal huffed. “No. Sir.”

“Good!” Ramsey barked. “’Bout time you idiots grew brains!” He pivoted to Dean. “Full report. My desk. First thing. Maybe by then I can figure out what punishment to dish out to you imbeciles!”

As soon as the door slammed shut, muttered curses filled the air right along with a hefty dose of defeat.

Sal slumped back in his chair, one leg out to the side, staring at the bandage on his arm. No doubt reliving the tragic moment he lost hold of Hawk. Would he ever be able to live that down? Forgive himself? Falcon had always been hard on himself. Demanded the best. Found his flaws inexcusable. Failings unacceptable. Dean would need to corner Sal and make him talk it through later. Would probably be the only time the guy would speak it out loud.

“They knew we were coming,” Sal said, his voice low. Intentional.

Dean sat a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

Sal’s gaze darted to his. “The charges—there were too many for Tang to have set them herself.” He thumbed the angry welt on his cheekbone. “She didn’t have time to set enough to bring the building down like that.”

“I think he’s right,” Riordan said. “It came down too fast.”

Sal poked a finger at the table. “Meng-Li knew we were coming.” His breathing seemed a little slower, more deliberate this time. “He knew and he intended to bury us there.” Grief twisted a knot through Sal’s face. “He succeeded with Brian.”

Silenced pounded the room, pushing their thoughts to Hawk.

“Let’s call it a night,” Dean said. This night had been too hard and bloody already. “Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The other nine men filed out, each giving Sal a pat and offering their apologies, telling him he did his best. When the door closed, Dean leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs. “Fekiria should be told.”

Sal’s jaw muscle popped. “Take me to her. I’ll do it.”

“You’re in no shape—”

“
I’ll
do it.” Sal pushed up and lumbered out of the room, the tragedy pressing his wide shoulders down. The growled words he’d spoken carried a deeper, darker meaning:
It’s my fault he died
. Sal wanted to tell Fekiria because he wanted to punish himself. Apologize to her for failing the man she loved. Dean wasn’t sure he could let that happen. Sal was too haunted.

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
5 April—1445 Hours

“We need to talk.”

Sal entered the Command briefing room where Dean sat with Riordan. Should’ve known Dean would figure things out and call him out. Just as well. He’d come here to come clean with the higher-ups anyway.

“Have a seat,” Dean said, as he angled a laptop so the screen was visible. “Chris and I have been talking about the mission.”

“That’s why I came,” Sal admitted. “I—”

“Well, hang on.” Dean pressed P
LAY.

The grainy, bumpy video seemed to be nothing more than a village foot patrol. “I… don’t understand.”

“Keep watching,” Riordan said.

Shadows and voices clogged the feed as the camera bobbed along. Angled around a corner then steadied out. The cameraman must have stopped. Sal leaned in trying to make sure he didn’t miss something. “I…”

A man emerged from a structure. He went to a car. Left. A woman and two children emerged.

Sal shrugged. “Not following. Sorry.”

“What’d you see?” Riordan asked, his tone speculative. Not condemning or demanding.

Resisting another shrug, Sal sighed and glanced again at the screen. He really just wanted to get this confession over with. Pack his bags and head into anonymity. Instead he complied. Thought through what he saw. “The man who emerged—his uniform suggests American military. Feed was too far to see his face or rank, but he walked as someone with authority. Head up. Straight on. Wasn’t afraid of being seen.”

Riordan gave a firm nod. “Good.”

“Who is it? Who else is in the house?”

“Why would you ask who else was in the house? You saw the woman, I take it?”

“An American soldier in a home with a woman, alone?” he snickered. “Not if you don’t want to get strung up by your manhood by both the ISAF and ANA.”

For several long seconds, Riordan studied Sal. “Before I answer your question, tell me what else you saw.”

First—that Riordan had an answer and withheld it bugged Sal. Had he missed something on the video? “Sorry, I only saw the soldier. And the woman and kids.”