I Own the Dawn: The Night Stalkers (25 page)

“You have, the weirdest, idea, of what, is restful.”

“We. Can’t. Leave. For.” Kee gasped out as she rocked her hips on top of him in a way she’d found to make him completely insane. Long, deep motion that almost dragged him free of her each time before she drove him back inside her like a velvet punch. “Six. Hours. This. Best.”

He slid his hands up the outside of her T-shirt, catching her nipples tight between his fingers. Again, with that perfect judgment of his, he found the pressure to drive her mad rather than into pain.

“Maybe. Sleep.” His voice as fractured as hers.

“Lat, er.” She gasped out. She hoped they weren’t making the parked helicopter rock too much. It was seven hours until sunset. And—She groaned as Archie pounded up into her with that long, hard release of his. His whole body clenched and shook when it happened. His eyes, she knew without looking, would be squeezed shut. His fingertips dug into her breasts, holding on as he shook with the force of it.

She rocked her hips back and leaned forward to drive him all the way home and found her own release hammering through her. She grabbed the backs of his hands, holding his grip to her so that he wouldn’t let go. Couldn’t let go. She leaned into those grasping hands as the light pounded through her.

Night Stalkers might live in the dark, but Archie spread a searing light through her every time. One that lit old alleys and filled in dark corners. One that shone through her present and her past with equal ease, shedding warmth and safety wherever it flowed.

A part of her brain kept trying to compare it to something, as if labeling it would make it better. Safer. Better than flying? Cliché. Better than firing a minigun and bringing the wrath of justice upon the heads of those who killed in the name of their God? Sure, but even for her that was a creepy image. She couldn’t find it, but she knew it existed somewhere. Some way to describe how he could make her feel.

Both their bodies relaxed in stages, the odd shudder of sudden muscle release rippling through them both as if they were inside the same skin. He lowered her by the hands clenched on her breasts until they lay chest to chest. Until her head tucked under his chin, her ear on his chest, the rapid trip-hammer of his heart slowing even as she rested her ear there.

“Now,” she whispered.

“Now, what?” Archie barely managed a mumble.

This time she could smile. His need for a short nap after sex would tick her off if he didn’t always wake with such renewed vigor.

“Now, you can sleep.”

***

Archie had managed to slip his hands off her breasts just as their bodies came together. Which was a good thing as it saved him potentially dislocating a shoulder to maintain his hold. They lay on the cargo deck of the Hawk with the bay doors slid shut. It was hot, midday hot, and he didn’t care. He loved the feel of her lying upon him. Thought it was a good thing they hadn’t taken the time to get completely undressed. Without shirts, they’d be sticking together at the moment rather than so cozy together he never wanted to move again.

He slid one arm over her back, amazed as always at what a small-waisted woman Kee was. You wouldn’t think it of her, with those strong shoulders and bulldozer-strong attitude, but she was quite deliciously trim. His arm reached all the way around to hold her by her far side. He rested his hand over the spot where her life had almost leaked away. He slid his other hand up her back and into her hair, spreading it like a soft wash of silk over his face.

He picked up his head enough to kiss her atop her hair.

She mumbled something against his chest.

“What?” he whispered.

“You didn’t say it.” Her voice almost a complaint, but closer to sleep than she’d ever been after sex. And he felt wide awake for a change.

Didn’t say what? He brushed her hair aside to look down at her as well as he could with her head under his chin, her body sprawled limply on his and still connected in the most delicious way. Which meant he could see a bit of tousled hair, a muscled shoulder, and then across a long valley, that splendid rise of firm buttock that would stand out in any room that didn’t already include her chest. He’d never been with such a perfectly proportioned woman. Shocked him speechless every time he looked at her.

He was about to ask what he had failed to enunciate when it clicked. He knew exactly what she meant.

He had told her he loved her after sex. He told her when he was especially proud of her across the chow table. Thankfully Big John appeared to be too tired to remember hearing him say it.

And he’d stopped saying it because not hearing it in return hurt. Hurt more than he’d expected. She could have simply requested that he no longer say it. He would have stopped. Would have stopped laying his heart at her feet far sooner than he had. But now that he had managed to keep his silence, she had reprimanded him.

He looked again at what he could see, tousled hair, shoulder, and hip. Thought of the joy she gave his body and his mind. Thought of the joy she’d taught him about his own mother when she didn’t even have one. Whether he spoke it aloud or not, no question remained. For the first time in his life, he didn’t just respect a woman, lust for her, like her more than anyone he’d ever liked before. For the first time, he truly loved a woman.

He whispered into her hair, “I love you, Keiko Smith.”

“Hmm.” She snuggled down more comfortably against his chest. “I can hear you say that through your chest. I love how that sounds.”

Then with a deep sigh, she fully relaxed and within moments he knew she slept.

She loved how it sounded?

How it sounded!?

He lay his head back and looked up at the ceiling. At the giant adder painted so that it slid and coiled across the ceiling. It wound upon itself, sliding over service hatches and cable runs, under emergency supplies and extra headsets snapped in place with bungee cords. John and Crazy Tim had started painting it, adding to it a piece at a time when they were a long time between missions. The detail was magnificent. Every scale was edged with a razor-like brightness. Every twist revealed the muscle beneath scale and skin.

Then splitting over the forward center of the cabin into a two-headed beast. Each serpent head driving down the curve of the ceiling toward the two miniguns as if the guns were spitting their death forth from inside the serpent’s mouth. Its own taste for vengeance revealed in wide jaws and glistening fangs.

At least John’s did. Something had been added over Kee’s position. Something new, not a single scuff on the image, no battle scars, no bullet holes punched through. Kee must have made it recently. It took him a few moments to unravel its sense.

A demon. A red-faced, horned demon. With a face revealing stark terror.

She’d drawn a heraldic
serpent
vorant
. The medieval shield crest of the snake swallowing the demon whole and alive.

He could feel her sleep through his arms and his chest and his hips. The perfect lassitude of the somnolent. This sweet woman, who had just used his body most splendidly and asked him to tell her that he loved her, was also the most driven warrior he’d ever met, male or female. Most soldiers like her would have done something stupid and gotten themselves, and probably their squadmates, killed but good. What saved her was a very sharp brain.

A street kid who knew about the SCO. An orphan and dropout who had passed every test on her way to SOAR, a height very few climbed, and only two women. A gunner, a sniper, a killer, with a heart that had adopted Dilya without hesitation and certainly cared for him. Now he understood even if she didn’t.

Kee Smith didn’t think she deserved love because of her past. On top of that, she believed that she didn’t have a heart to give. Of course, she’d never said the words back to him. She might like it, like the sound of it, the feel of it. But she would no more trust her own heart than she’d trust that demon on the ceiling to magically become a good guy.

Well, he was a warrior as well. He had fought and won many battles. If he needed proof of that, he was alive. Where SOAR fought their battles, if you failed, you died. And he wasn’t dead. Clear cut and simple, they hadn’t gotten him yet.

So, he would keep after her until he convinced her that she had the most wonderful heart he’d ever encountered. He would tell her over and over until she understood, until she knew, until she believed.

Until she felt how wonderful her heart could be. Then once she knew it was there, maybe, if he won the biggest lottery ever, she would give it to him.

He kissed her once more atop her head.

“Love you, Kee.”

At least they were up and dressed before anyone found them. No Major Beale hovering over them.

They were halfway to the chow tent before final briefing when Kee realized she was still holding Archie’s hand. Not good. A quick glance showed that they’d walked past a group of red armorers working over Major Henderson’s bird, and some grapes were heading over to fuel up the Hawk she’d just screwed Archie in. A couple of the guys were making fist-pump motions at Archie’s back.

They stopped as soon as they saw her watching.

She casually dropped Archie’s hand and offered a hard fist-pump of her own. That really stopped ’em. Give them a moment or two for that to sink in, and they’d be green with envy.

She returned to his side and, as naturally as she could, fell in step without actually taking his hand. A part of her really wanted to hold hands as they walked. Some soft mushy side she’d never noticed in the first twenty-four years of her life. But she resisted the urge. Messing with the minds of a service crew was one thing. Facing down the Majors in broad daylight, that was another.

“Did you find that strictly necessary?”

Kee glanced up at Archie’s profile. She pulled her shades down her nose a little to check his color. Red, brilliantly.

“Hey. Think of all the respect you’ll get for having nailed the warrior babe.”

His face went several shades darker. Her work here was done. She slapped her shades back into place and didn’t try for a second to suppress the grin she could feel spreading wide across her face.

***

The briefing went off clean.

Kee felt geared up for the mission. Sometimes they looked nasty before you even went in. Those you knew were gonna be ugly. But some felt clean and in the groove; they at least had a chance of not being a complete clusterfuck.

They’d take both DAP Hawks with a ground refuel just before they crossed the border into Uzbekistan without permission. They didn’t want to risk border radar detecting a midair refuel.

An E-2C Hawkeye turboprop with its massive, UFO-shaped radome would serve as airborne radar observer and communications. The eye-in-the-sky wouldn’t cross out of Afghanistan, but they’d be high enough they could at least watch and report. They probably wouldn’t see the jet out of K2, especially if Evans and Arlov stayed close to the ground, but the Hawkeye could see if other nasties were coming their way. Maybe a few jet fighters vectoring in to kill the unwanted helicopters.

No need for D-boys or Rangers on this. It wasn’t a ground action. They’d unraveled the rest of the numbers in the notebook once they knew what they were looking for.

Time of K2 local sunrise. They wanted to be seen leaving K2 air base, clearly seen. That meant earliest liftoff would be fifteen minutes before sunrise, but probably fifteen after. Distance and speed necessary to arrive for the 8 a.m. start-of-conference breakfast meeting. This was the one time all six heads of state could be guaranteed to be in one place.

They wouldn’t do anything flashy, no reason for any special report by the K2 air base commander. But a clear trail of evidence if someone went looking. And the countries with their newly murdered heads of state would definitely go looking.

SOAR’s mission. Get in place between K2 and Tashkent. There was a hundred mile stretch of pretty much nothing northeast of the Karshi-Khanabad air base. Evans’s notebook calculations showed that he’d be flying a straight path. No reason not to. To do anything else would actually draw attention from the Uzbekistan Air Force, attention Evans and Arlov wouldn’t want once they were airborne.

So, the two DAP Hawks would wait out there, well below radar cover, and take out the jet without anyone the wiser. You could pretty much guarantee that General Arlov would want to keep a low profile as well. If he went high, he’d be on radar. After takeoff, he didn’t want to be found again until after they were done.

The same reason the U.S. couldn’t send in jets of their own. Too obvious. Too easily spotted. And no one could know the U.S. Armed Forces were there inside a friendly foreign country.

Once they nailed him, before anyone saw them, they’d beat it back south.

If someone spotted them, they’d run for the Karakoram mountain range and wind their way home through Tajikistan. Not the best choice, but the mountains were nearly impenetrable, so that should work well for cover.

But if they weren’t careful, they’d have a chance of seeing K2 the mountain as well as K2 the air base. If that happened, they’d be in way over their heads. There were some places helicopters were never meant to go. When the air stretched too thin to breathe, rotor-craft died too, they couldn’t find the air to generate enough lift to stay aloft.

That was the other reason the AWACS would be up and watching for them. First, if they failed, it could shout the alarm to the President to call the Uzbekistan government about their rogue Russian jet. Second, if they succeeded but had to retreat into the mountains, the combat search and rescue guys would know where to look for you. And if the CSAR guys had even a fair guess, they’d find you. They were awesome.

She and John took four parkas and some other emergency gear and strapped it all to the rear cargo net. Crazy Tim and Dusty James were doing the same in Henderson’s bird. They were stocking even more gear. Connie Davis would be riding in their bird in case her intel could help. She was the only one other than Kee who’d actually seen General Arlov.

“Sweaty work,” Kee offered as she tied them down.

“Yup!” Big John dumped his load and waved his arms around to get some air moving across where the parkas had insulated his big arms while they carried them. “Seems weird to be doin’ this in the desert sun.”

“Good thing we won’t need them.”

Big John grimaced. She didn’t like the look. John didn’t strike her as a worrier.

“Yeah. Good thing.” His voice low, his eyes focused too hard on the strap he snapped over the pile.

Now she felt a shiver. One that she didn’t like at all.

She’d felt so positive at the briefing, or had that just been the afterglow of sex with Archie? She’d never had a man before who clouded her judgment about a mission.

***

“Are you coming with us, Sergeant?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” Kee climbed aboard and moved to her seat. In moments they were above the camp in the afternoon light and rising quickly. She stared at the ground again, but could spot no sign of a little girl running towards the chopper to wave good-bye as she always did. She’d checked the cots twice, the chow line three times, even checked with the guards at the gate. Nothing. Nowhere.

Dilya had probably found a cozy spot to study
Winnie-the-Pooh
and fallen asleep. They were down most of the third page, word by painful word, but Dilya never forgot anything she learned. Kee felt guilty for not doing the same, for not learning more Uzbek, but first the interrupted holiday, then this mission. She had to smile. Lieutenant Archibald Jeffrey Stevenson III also accounted for some of her distraction. In very, very pleasant ways.

She shifted her eyes out over the town where she was supposed to be watching. Dilya had survived alone in the Hindu Kush, she’d be fine for another night at the air base.

***

“Does this area seem familiar?” Kee didn’t know she’d asked the question aloud until she heard it over her own headset. But it did. They’d been aloft for only two hours. She scanned the rugged hills and winding valleys. It looked exactly like every other lousy part of central Afghanistan, but it felt familiar anyway. Brutal country, almost impossible to cross without a helicopter. It looked even nastier in daylight.

“Nothing particular.” Beale’s voice sounded disinterested. She’d probably flown over this section dozens of times this last year.

Kee glanced over her shoulder, Big John shrugged at her.

“There,” Archie called out. “Ten o’clock, three hundred meters.”

Kee leaned out to check. A burned-out chassis. A dead Jeep. Just visible in the failing light. Her first flight, where they’d almost been knocked down by an RPG and she’d first proven herself as gunner.

“Roger, that’s it.”

Full circle, Kee. This is where you started on this bird. Less than four weeks ago.

“It’s where we found Dilya.” Archie’s voice softened at the mention of the girl. He was so patient with her. He’d learned more of her language than Kee had, but he’d used it to entertain her. To talk about string figures and food, about trips to the town market and funny stories of impossible beasts.

Kee watched the spot as it slid by below them.

Dilya had lain right there on that flat spot of an impossibly remote hilltop. Starving to death but still walking, crawling toward food.

“Oh, damn.” This time she kept the whisper to herself. “Excuse me, sir? How far are we from the site where we picked up Evans’s truck?”

“Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen flying time.”

Dilya had recognized Colonel Evans. Seen General Arlov clearly enough to draw his face. That meant she’d been close. Close enough to be kneeling beside her parents when they’d been executed. Executed for stumbling upon Evans and Arlov’s hidden Toyota. Maybe seen it and come begging for help.

But they’d spared the child. Left her to wander an orphan over the brutal terrain until she’d stumbled on the fateful Jeep.

Spared the child.

“Major, could I see that photo again?”

She handed it back to Kee.

Kee angled it to catch the setting sun. Not enough light, she pulled a flashlight out of her thigh pouch. She turned the photo to one side and the other as if she could get some perspective on it. It was hard to tell through the loose native cloth, but there was a shadow. A shadow on both women.

They were pregnant. When the women had been killed, they’d taken Evans and Arlov’s unborn children to the grave with them.

Evans and Arlov had chosen the future day of their deaths, the day they would unleash war on the SCO for driving them away and then killing their wives, one for marrying a foreign officer and the other for marrying someone suddenly labeled a traitor for having worked with them.

No, they hadn’t just killed the men’s wives.

They’d killed the women the men loved as well as their unborn children.

If someone killed Archie and Dilya, Kee wouldn’t hesitate for a second to start a world war as long as it rained retribution down on the heads of the guilty.

How would she feel if someone executed Archie the day after they threw her out of SOAR not for screwing up, but because someone else, someone far away, made a decision?

Pretty damn pissed.

Suicidal enough to bomb a major city. Sure. But Evans and Arlov would want to be sure. Sure enough to play kamikaze with a Russian jet.