Chapter 1
U.S. Embassy
Amman, Jordan
The fluorescent lights did nothing to abate the jackhammer in Lance’s head. Ten and a half hours on a plane from New York to Amman, Jordan had left him with the mother of all migraines. The drive from the airport to the US Embassy had been quick, but laced with blaring horns and jarring turns. Driving was apparently not a forte of the Jordanian people. More like lunatics trying to qualify for the Indy 500.
Tom Dix, the CIA spook leading him down the hallway, was talking a mile a minute. Lance should’ve been paying closer attention to what Dix was saying, but the steady drumbeat between his eyes was distracting as hell. He couldn’t really blame the guy. Thrown into an impromptu job interview for a position Lance couldn’t elaborate on until they decided Dix was the man they wanted had to be unnerving as hell. Dix was handling it relatively well—all things considered.
Too bad Lance couldn’t find a comfortable spot with the guy. He got that Dix had to be somewhat narcissistic relaying his accomplishments, but something was off with the delivery. Lance wondered if the guy was naturally this self-obssessed . Dix hadn’t given anyone on his team an ounce of credit for their successes. That didn’t sit well with Lance. No team flourished based on one person’s accomplishments.
Every time Dix began with, “I was responsible for…”, Lance’s head pounded like a gong. Normally he’d be able to block out the pain—but that was typically when he was on an op and had other issues occupying his mind. Things like staying alive, and keeping the men under his command safe.
This was not an actual operation. Lance had one final spot to fill on the new special operations team known only by the highest levels in the government as The 13. Highly covert in nature, Tom Dix only knew the position would be a huge move up from where he was currently assigned.
A woman approached them from the other end of the hallway. She was tall, athletic build, fair skin with dark red hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She was in the same spook uniform all the other CIA weinies wore, but she filled hers out in all the right places. Black suit with a white shirt—it actually looked kinda hot on her. Her features were serious. Her mouth dipped at the corners slightly as her darkened gaze fell on Dix.
“Riley,” Dix greeted her as they approached the doorway. The air instantly chilled.
“Dick…” she drew out.
Lance forced his face to remain placid, but he was ready to burst at the implication of how she felt about the man next to him. Not much of a stretch to see this woman was not a fan of Tom Dix.
Dix gestured to Lance. “I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Commander Ritt Knight, Navy SEAL. He’ll be observing things for the next few days. Please make yourself available to answer any questions he may have.” He glanced at Lance. “This is Riley Bray.”
Lance took her outstretched hand and shook it. Soft. Firm grip, but not like she was trying to prove she was one of the guys by breaking bones.
“I’m his second in command,” she said with a smirk.
Peripherally, Lance watched Dix’s fake smile drop.
“You’re here strictly as an observer in this meeting, Bray, and nothing more. You speak only when spoken to. Understood?” Dix’s tone was sharp. Apparently, there was no love lost the other way, either. How on earth could anything get accomplished if the top two people could barely stand each other?
Spooks…weird bunch.
She placed her fingers to her lips and twisted them as if she was turning a key in a lock.
Damn, this woman has attitude—teetering on the edge of insubordination. Lance wasn’t sure if he was disgusted or impressed.
A bit of both.
Dix huffed and entered the room. Riley waited for Lance to enter, but he gestured for her to go ahead of him. Ducking to the back of the room, he took a seat in an empty chair along the wall. Riley did the same, but adjacent to where he sat. The placement offered him an opportunity to observe her.
And her to observe him as well, he noted.
Dix stood at the front of the room in front of large screens and addressed the group of top brass and top dogs within the CIA, as well as a few advisors to the President.
“Current intel indicates the head of the Syrian faction of ISIS in the east will be meeting with ISIS leaders from other regions in the town of Palmyra. We’ve put together a team of SEALs to go in, and capture them for interrogation,” Dix explained.
“I thought the 1/75th Rangers from Izraa were slated for this op?” A man in a gray pin-striped suit asked.
Dix’s eyes widened a fraction. He flipped through the papers in his file.
A throat cleared from the other side of the room. Lance’s gaze landed on Riley. She sat forward in her seat a fraction of an inch. “That is correct, sir, but following the attack on the forward compound there, the operation has been diverted here. The latest intel received was recovered by CIA operatives in the field placing this mission under CIA jurisdiction.”
The men nodded and turned their attention back to Dix.
“Where will the prisoners be held after capture?” One four-star general asked. Joint Staff. Cairn was his name.
“We have facilities here on the compound that can house up to four men. If there are more than that, we will utilize the forward compound in Izraa, as a last resort. That would be specifically for lower level captives.”
“When are you planning to go in?” General Cairn asked.
“Two days.”
Riley shifted slightly in her seat. A flag officer swiveled sharply, facing her. Admiral Turner. Lance knew the man by reputation. He was a badass in the Navy.
“Riley, what’s your take?”
Lance sat up in his chair. If the flag was asking for her opinion, he trusted her. Maybe more than he trusted Dix. That spoke volumes in Lance’s book.
Dix shot a warning glare across the room at Riley. She ignored him, and sat straighter in her seat.
“Sir, I would have to say, unequivocally, no-go, at this time.”
Bright red flooded Dix’s face. His eyes bulged. He looked like a puffer fish about to explode.
All the men at the table swiveled in their chairs toward Riley.
“Your reasons?” Turner asked.
“The intel we’ve received has not been thoroughly vetted.”
“I can assure you,” Dix said, his voice booming in the small confines of the room, “the information is good. Ms. Bray is speaking out of turn and without review of the latest intelligence analysis.”
Turner stared at Riley, then turned to Dix. “Perhaps you should make your deputy apprised of these things prior to having her attend meetings where her opinion will be relied upon.”
Wow…smacked down by the Admiral. That had to sting.
And it would probably come back on Riley two-fold. By the way she was sitting there, it appeared she unfazed by the potential verbal assault she might face when the meeting concluded. Not that her opinion seemed to matter to the larger group. The op was a go—given the highest priority, which meant it was going to happen soon.
The meeting broke, and Dix was grabbed by a suit. Lance caught his attention, told him he’d see him back at his office. The room cleared. Riley had ducked out without a word to anyone. Lance stepped into the hallway and looked down both sides. He caught sight of her halfway down the hall in the opposite direction of Dix’s office, and he took off after her.
“Ms. Bray,” he called.
She stopped and turned toward him, her eyes wary. “Riley.”
“Riley,” he said, and stopped in front of her. “Tell me why you think the op should be a no go.”
“Like I said, the intel hasn’t been thoroughly substantiated, in my opinion.”
Lance stared at her. She was tense. Her lips clamped shut, grinding her teeth. He had a lot of experience reading people. There was more to the story than she was letting on. “What else?”
She exhaled and shifted on her feet, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I have a bad feeling.” She looked at him, scanning his reaction. Most people didn’t give bad feelings the proper amount of credit. Lance did. More than one man had been saved from the unexplainable bad feeling that came from reading a situation and leaning on experience. The gut feel had saved his ass on more than one op.
He wasn’t sure what Ms. Bray’s experience was, but she seemed pretty confident in her convictions up to this point. It couldn’t have been easy countering her boss in a room full of men way above her pay-grade and sticking to her guns. Lance admired her for that.
“Go on,” he said.
She looked him straight in the eye, and never wavered. “It was too easy. We had a wealth of information that basically fell into our laps. I question whether the SEAL team has had adequate training for it. All the planning has been rushed, and the only reason I can see for all this hastiness is your arrival.”
Suckerpunch. Lance’s hackles went up. He drew in a steadying breath. “So, this is my fault?”
She resumed walking down the hallway. “Not at all. Dix is solely on the hook for this one. Him and his enormous fucking ego.”
“You don’t like him much.”
She whirled around and faced him. “Look, Commander Knight—”
“Lance.”
She drew her eyebrows together. “I thought your name was Ritt?”
“Lance is my call sign.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, Lance. I would like nothing more than to endorse Dix because it would get him out of my hair and my unit. But, if he’s going to be put in a position where he’s responsible for people’s lives, I can’t give you what you want. That man cares for one thing, and one thing only—himself. He doesn’t do anything that won’t will further his career and make him look good.”
“According to what I’ve read, his record is clean. Sparkling, actually. No one has died under his watch.”
“Not yet,” she said. “But—mark my words, it will happen. It’s only a matter of time.” She turned and walked into her office, closing the door behind her. Conversation over.
Lance stared after her for a moment longer. A shiver ran through him. Something about her touched a deep nerve, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
One thing he did know—Riley Bray was a force to be reckoned with.