Warning Order (20 page)

Mason finished the final fighter, and the only sound he heard was the woman's sobs down below.

“Blaine, you and Grinch provide overwatch. Zeus, you come with me,” he said. “I'm going to put that bastard's head in a fucking box.”

W
hat the fuck have you done now?” Simmons demanded, grabbing Cage by the shoulder and forcing him into one of the many offices outside the Situation Room. He'd just received word that the USS
George Bush
had been hit going through the Strait of Hormuz, and early reports weren't looking good.

Cage jerked his hand free with a violent tug, his fist shaking at his side as Simmons slammed the door.

“You think I had anything to do with that? You are the one running this shit show.”

“Are you saying that Vann had our own men killed? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

Simmons had put too much trust in the general, and the realization hit him like a kick in the balls. Vann had promised him that the attack would be surgical: just enough to get President Bradley's attention but not enough to do any real harm. Vann had promised him that he had the right guy for the job, but as more bodies began washing up in the Persian Gulf, it was obvious that Vann had chosen a psychopath to do his dirty work.

Jacob Simmons was a patriot, not a murderer, and right now all he wanted was someone to share the guilt he felt enveloping him. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that all those innocent Americans died because of him.

“In five minutes we are going to be standing in front of the president of the United States. You better get control of yourself, or we are both fucked.”

The two warriors stared at each other, their anger filling the small room, as they fought to control their voices.

“How could you do that? How could you kill them?”

“I told you, I had nothing to do with that,” Cage said. “I put you in charge of this, and somehow you let a simple operation get away from you.”

Simmons felt used and, for the first time in his career, dirty.

“Don't you dare put this on me.”

“Jacob, I told you that trusting Vann was the wrong choice, but you said you could control him. This is on you.”

“I will kill you right fucking here,” Simmons growled, starting forward.

“And then what? Who do you think they are going to pin this on? Me? Your fingerprints are all over this. They will bury you alive, and your daughter will have to live with the fact that her father was a traitor for the rest of her life. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck you,” he spat, staring at the man he'd followed for his entire career.

Cage had changed, and suddenly the scales had fallen from Simmons's eyes. The man he knew was gone, replaced by a hard, hateful man who would sacrifice anything and anyone for his goals.

But Jacob's anger drained away at the mention of his daughter. He knew that Duke was right. He'd vouched for Vann and let him run with the operation instead of dictating what he wanted done. The plan was to disable the carrier, not destroy it, but no, Vann had given al Qatar too much rope, and now they were about to be hanged by it.

“What have I done?” Simmons moaned. “I just killed more Americans than any terrorist attack ever could.”

“I've known you for a long time, Jacob. Hell, I've bled with you in more shitholes than I can count. Let me do the talking once we get in there.”

“I can't believe I let you talk me into this. You accepting this job was never about America, it's always been about your son, about making them pay. When is it going to be enough?” Simmons demanded, bringing up the one thing he knew would cut right to Cage's core.

“Don't you talk about him,” Cage hissed.

Simmons had been there when Cage found out that his son had been killed in Iraq. Cage's wife was sick when their son was killed, and she'd lost her will to fight after he was put in the ground. It was many years ago, but Simmons knew the pain was still there. He wondered if that's what all of this was about, avenging the death of his family, no matter the cost.

“You don't know shit, Jacob. How many more women and children have to die before we wipe those savages out? You want to shed a tear for someone, how about you cry for the hundreds they are slaughtering right now in Mosul?”

As the national security advisor, Simmons knew better than anyone what was happening in Iraq. He had the pictures from Tal Afar, showing the soldiers hanging from light poles, along with the mass graves they hadn't even bothered to cover up.

“How many more have to die before that pretty boy gets off his ass and wipes this evil off the map?” Cage demanded, pointing toward the hallway.

“No one cares about Iraq, Duke. They never did.”

“Well, I care. I even cared about that shitbag Boland. You know that they cut his head off, Jacob, and put the video on the fucking internet. Do you have any idea how many hits that video has gotten in one day?”

“Fifty thousand,” Jacob muttered.

“That's right, fifty thousand people have watched that video in less than twelve hours. So you tell me who's out of their mind.”

“Duke, I—”

“It's too late for all of that. You can either eat a bullet or sack up and drive on, but the only way this is going to end is after we've killed every last one of them.”

Jacob had already made his choice nine months ago, and he knew that there was no way out for either one of them. If he stayed the path, they had a chance to give America peace for the first time in a decade, but at the same time, he hated himself for what he'd become.

“What now?” he asked meekly.

“This shit is all over the news,” said Cage, “and the people want blood. An eye for an eye, that's the American way, and I'm about to give it to them. The president will want me to hold his little hand and tell him it's going to be okay, and we're going to go in there and do just that. Before the end of the day, we are going to have a battalion of paratroopers in Iraq, and you know what? The people of the United States are going to be begging for more. But I need you with me. We have to see it through, or all the sacrifices are for nothing.”

Jacob's head fell to his chest, and he closed his eyes before making the only decision he had left.

“Let's do it.”

C
olonel Anderson stood with his back to Renee, watching the live news coverage coming out of the Persian Gulf. A pretty blond anchor had just been talking to a retired admiral, and then the picture switched to an aerial view of the rescue operations being conducted near the Strait of Hormuz.

A small fleet of boats was carefully navigating the watery debris field as it searched for survivors. Two huge salvage ships were anchored on the other side of the strait, and their crews were working feverishly to reopen the vital channel. The yellow news ticker along the bottom of the screen said that the president would be addressing the nation in the next hour, and then posted the estimated casualty rate.

Renee felt her heart sink as the figure floated across the screen. It read, “Two thousand, thirty-nine suspected dead in carrier attack.” For some reason, her mind shifted to al Qatar. Could he have something to do with this? Was something like that even possible?

“Fuck,” Colonel Anderson swore.

Parker had come to tell her that the colonel wanted to talk to her, and the look on his face was a mix of guilt and embarrassment, which immediately made her expect the worst.

Renee wanted to believe that Anderson was one of the good guys, despite Mason's constant warnings that there was more to him than she saw. The colonel had always been civil to her, but something told her that was about to change.

Anderson was unable to hide the anger glinting in his eyes. “Two questions, one chance: Where is Mason, and where in the fuck is David?” he demanded.

She knew all about Anderson's hatred of Mason, and she wanted nothing to do with that fight. “Excuse me?”

“Don't play dumb. I know David came to see you. He thought he was slick, landing without informing the tower, but the pilot had to file another flight plan, so I guess he's not as slick as he thinks.”

Anderson was fuming, and as he spoke, bits of tobacco shot out of his mouth.

“A couple hours ago, I get a fucking hit on Boland's beacon. You want to guess what the search and rescue team found when they landed?”

“No idea, sir,” she said honestly.

“They found his headless fucking body, that's what they found. Now, I need to know what those two are up to, and I need to know right now.”

Renee was staggered by the fact that Boland had been killed. “Sir, I have no—”

“Cut the shit,” he said, kicking one of the trash cans with a hollow boom; it rolled metallically across the floor. “I was there when you two went after Barnes, remember? I know David offered you a job, and then got you assigned to the task force. I'm not fucking stupid. But guess what? Unlike Mason, you are still in the military, and no matter what you think, you are still under my command.”

Anderson paused to catch his breath. Then he pointed his finger at Renee. “So if you don't start talking, right now, I am going to have your ass locked up.”

She knew that no matter what she said, Anderson wasn't going to believe her. Renee had never seen him like this, and suddenly she was reminded of her old boss General Swift. The only time the general showed this kind of rage was when he was being painted into a corner, and Renee suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that Anderson was involved in the attack.

“Sir, I promise you that I have no idea what's going on.”

“Then how about we start with what you do know?”

She was going to treat the colonel like what he was: a venomous snake. “Like you said, David was here. He said that you kept him out of the loop on purpose, and that he had a job to do.”

“Kept him out of the loop? He was in fucking ErbÄ«l, for fuck's sake,” Anderson spat.

Renee thought to herself, “And you deliberately launched the raid when he was in ErbÄ«l.” But she repeated yet again that she had no idea what was going on.

“Look,” Anderson said, seeming to realize that she couldn't be bullied, “I know that some of the guys have been on your ass, but you've played the game before; you know how it goes.”

Renee just looked at him, wishing she could comment on the understatement of the year, but she knew better than to say anything at this point. Her career was on the line.

“As much as you might want to blame me, we are on the same team, and I need to know where Mason is. This shit is a game changer,” he said, pointing to the TV.

“I can't tell you what I don't know.”

“Fine, you're done here,” Anderson snapped. “I'm sending you back to the States.”

“But sir.”

“It's done,” he yelled. “I am going to recommend that you be charged with insubordination, so you can kiss your career good-bye. Pack your shit and get your ass to the flight line. You are going home.”

The news hit Renee like a kick to the gut, and she felt her knees go weak beneath her. The army was all she had ever known, and Anderson had just taken it away. It didn't matter if the charges went through. Renee knew she was done in the Special Operations world. She'd never be trusted again.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” he asked coldly.

Renee's eyes were burning from the tears welling up as she stomped from the ops area. She needed to get to her room before she lost it.

“Hey,” Parker called from where he'd been waiting, but she kept going without looking up.

“Renee, hey, what's wrong?”

She knew Parker must have been the one who'd snitched her out in the first place; after all, he'd seen her with David. “Leave me the hell alone,” she ordered.

“Whoa, hold on, what the hell happened?” he asked, jumping in front of her.

“Get the fuck out of my way. I don't want to see you,” she yelled, pushing past him.

She hit the door leading to the sleeping area with both hands, and it slammed against the wall with a hollow thud. Turning the corner, she could see her room up ahead, and then Warchild stepped out into the hall.

“I'll tell you what happened,” he said, leaning against his door frame. “Your girl got canned 'cause she thinks she doesn't have to follow orders.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Parker demanded.

Renee felt something snap, and a white-hot rage fell over her.

She turned on Warchild like a wild animal, her fists flying out before he could step out of the way.

The first blow hit him in the solar plexus, doubling him over, and she stepped forward, snapping a vicious knee up toward his face. Warchild was caught totally off guard, and Renee felt his face bounce off her thigh. She was about to drop an elbow on the back of his neck when Parker grabbed her from behind and lifted her off her feet.

Warchild staggered backward, bleeding from his nose, but he recovered quickly and started toward Renee.

“Let that bitch go,” he yelled as Renee kicked at his face.

“Fuck you,” she spat. “I'll kill you.”

“Chill the fuck out,” Parker yelled, swinging her away from their team leader.

“You're dead, bitch. Do you hear me? You're fucking dead.”

Parker kicked her door open and tossed her onto her bed. He held his hands up in the air, trying to signal peace, when Warchild came flying in the room. He lowered his shoulder and slammed into the master sergeant's back, knocking him to the ground.

Renee jumped to her feet. This time she was going to shut that big mouth of his.

“You want some of me, bleeder?” Warchild yelled.

Parker grabbed onto his leg, tripping him up, just as Renee launched a roundhouse kick to Warchild's head.

He stumbled out of the way, causing the kick to go wide. Meanwhile, more men piled into the room.