Christen
Tuesday, Forward Operating Base Bara, Iraq
Christen paced the room, wringing her hands in frustration. Back and forth. Back and forth. Come on! She screamed in her head. She was rabid to get back in a helicopter, take off, and head out after the Delta operators she’d left out in the hills. The group she’d brought in was in Medical getting a once over – sewn up and patched. Except for Tyler Newcomb. He stood with his back to the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and a look of patience on his face. It didn’t fool her. Christen knew he didn’t like being grounded any more than she did. She sent him a scowl in return.
“You’re pissed. I get it,” Ty said. “But your bird was full. There wasn’t a damned other thing you could have done by staying back. Our objective was to pull Grey out of his box and get him tucked into bed, safe and sound here on base. Mission accomplished.”
It was reasonable. It was kind of him to say. But Christen still felt like shit.
“How come they call you Ty? I’d think with the last name like Newcomb they’d call you something like ‘Nuke’em.’”
“They tried. I didn’t like it.”
Yeah, it might take someone with a death wish to try to give Ty a label he didn’t want to wear.
Ty’s head snapped to the right, and he stared at the door. A private poked his head in looked around, and backed back out of the room.
This was agony.
Christen took up her pacing again. She didn’t leave her customers in harm’s way. It was against her creed. It rubbed against every fiber of her being. She needed to be part of the rescue crew. Though, as far as she knew there was none being staged. She checked her watch. The hands didn’t seem to move. She needed them to move. She needed night to descend. The cover of darkness. Then, surely, they’d send her to pull the men out of there.
The private stuck his head back in the door. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Davidson,” he said, casting his eyes toward the Delta operator.
Christen stalked toward the private. “That’s me.” Please, let this be orders to go.
“The colonel needs to speak with you stat.”
Christen bunched a fist in the air and yanked it to her side. “Yes!” she shouted victoriously and sent a grin toward Ty.
Ty squinted at her, assessing, as she danced through the doors, feeling jubilant that she was about to get her shackles unlocked. “Where is he?” she asked the private.
“His office, ma’am.”
Christen took off at a jog down the hall. At the commander’s door, she knocked and waited with her hand on the knob for him to call, “Come in.” She pushed the door open and was at his desk in two strides, ready to accept his orders when she came to a screeching halt.
“Lula,” she whispered, seeing the woman sitting in the industrial-metal folding chair in front of the colonel’s desk.
“Hey there!” Lula smiled and gave her a finger wave.
Well, this was Twilight Zone material. What was Lula doing in her commander’s office at the Forward Operating Base in Iraq? Christen’s first thought was the there was an emergency at home, and she needed to be told something in person, something terrible. But that thought was quickly rejected. No one comes to the Syrian border in ISIS’s backyard to deliver personal information. No one even knew she was here. How did Lula know she was here?
“Surprised to see me?” Her smile widened.
Lula had been her friend since they met in gymnastics camp as little kids. They’d been BFF’s all through high school. They were still great friends, but the Internet kind, keeping up on Skype and emails as their lives and jobs took them in different directions. Christen hadn’t been in touch with Lula since Christen had deployed on this last assignment. And she had told no one she was leaving the US.
“Come, sit down.” Lula patted the seat beside her. “We need to talk.”
Yeah, no, this was weird. Christen glanced over at the colonel peering at her from behind his laced hands, his elbows perched on the desk. He was looking at her as if he was seeing a new side of her. Something he hadn’t calculated before.
“Colonel, I thought you might be sending me up,” Christen said.
“We’re working the situation.” His words had no actual meaning. It just told her that this was separate and apart from the Delta operators she’d left behind along with her teammates Smitty and Prominator.
“Lieutenant Davidson?” A woman shifted out of the shadow. She wore khaki pants and a t-shirt, but they weren’t military issue. They were upscale outdoors wear. She looked fit and had a no-nonsense gaze. Christen wondered what branch of the government she worked for. She definitely had some kind of military-type training. She had that look in her eye. Christen instantly got the impression that this woman needed something from her. An ask of some kind. And she’d brought Lula along as grease, to smooth things along.
The woman held out her hand. “I’m Johnna Red. I work for the government.”
CIA? FBI? NSA? As Christen shook hands with Johnna, she wondered if she’d ever know, or if she should care who this woman worked for.
“Please, sit. We need to talk,” she said in a warm, friendly tone.
Christen glanced again at her commanding officer, then slid onto the folding chair, curling her fingers around the seat. She wanted to jump up and shake the colonel. Why was this happening when their customers’ lives were endangered? Why were they sitting in an airconditioned office while her fellow Night Stalkers, were out in the hundred-and-ten-degree heat? Limited water. Bullets raining on them. The downed Black Hawk, magnetizing the militants to their location… this was surreal. Christen crossed her legs. Held. Crossed them the other way. Sprang to her feet.
“Sir, Prominator and Smitty!” she gasped.
“This comes from above me, lieutenant, sit down.”
“Yes, sir.” Christen folded herself miserably into her seat, her back straight, her shoulders squared, and sent a tight lipped wide-eyed stare toward Lula to project her thoughts - This damned well better be good.
“I know we’ve come at a bad time,” Johnna started, and stopped when Christen raised a single eyebrow in her direction.
“Christen,” Lula gathered Christen’s hand in hers. “We’re here because we need your help. You are the only one in the whole world who can help us.” Lula’s lips twitched into a smile. “Which, as I say it, sounds like some shady movie line.” She paused. “But this is big. Right now, your country needs you in its service, just not flying planes.” She tried on a smile, but Christen wasn’t warming to her. Lula shook her head. “You’re going to have to trust me. This is important to the big picture with lives at risk down the line. Military lives.”
Okay, now Christen was truly and completely confused. But still adamant. “I’m sorry. But no. I have a commitment to my unit. I’m not interested in any other assignment. I’m happy where I am.”
Johnna folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “We’ve spoken with the Pentagon and obtained permission for you to work on this project with us. We only anticipate this taking a very short while. Days not weeks. Then you’ll be right back here with your unit.”
“You had no right to do that,” Christen said evenly and turned to Lula. “What’s this got to do with?”
Neither Johnna nor Lula even attempted an answer. Their gazes drifted to the colonel.
It was a compartmentalized secret. “Okay if not what, then whom? Who are you working for now, Lu?”
“Oh, I do International law, still. My office is in D.C. I work closely with the diplomatic corps and travel on those credentials.”
“You’re a spook,” Christen said.
“Do people even use that term anymore?” Lula asked. “I’m a lawyer who works with the US diplomatic corps—”
“Got it. What could I possibly be able to do that no one else in the entire world could do? And the answer is ‘no’ by the way.” She turned toward her colonel. “They can’t order me to do this can they? I’m not in their chain of command.”
“Lieutenant, you have a creed you live by.”
Christen didn’t like the direction he was heading. “I do.”
“‘Service in the 160th is a calling that few will answer. Our missions are demanding and hard. As you’ve proven today, they are almost impossible. And yet, you accomplished the impossible. Your only reward for that will be another mission. One that no one else will try.’” He was paraphrasing the Night Stalker creed, that was darned manipulative.
“That’s right, sir. And that’s why you should order me back out, right now. To finish what I started.”
“You’re needed elsewhere.” His tone was measured. Emotionless.
“With all due respect, sir, this doesn’t sound like a mission for the 160th.” She turned to Johnna. “Does it have anything to do with flying? Would you be the customer?”
“No,” she said simply. Not a syllable of elaboration.
Christen turned around to face her commander. All she could think was that this was stupid. She needed to be going out after Prominator and Smitty. She needed to get to the Delta operators.
“And the second line of your creed says that you are a tested volunteer,” the commander said. “The only thing you seek is to safeguard the honor and prestige of our country. You do this by serving the elite special operators of the United States.”
“Exactly, sir, and Lula isn’t in special ops, and I seriously doubt that Ms. Red is, or she would have introduced herself with her proper military title.” Christen stalled. “Unless of course she’s in their special activities division of the CIA.” Christen focused on Johnna. “Shit. You are, aren’t you?” Christen turned her head abruptly to her commander. “Excuse my language, sir.”
“Very well, then. We’re all on the same page. On this mission,” Johnna said, “you will not be piloting, though there is a flight involved.”
Christen shook her head. Nope. She wasn’t going. Her fellow Night Stalkers needed her here. Their customers needed her skills here. She was going to be single-minded until she’d completed the mission she was already on. Then she’d consider branching out.
“Davidson,” the colonel barked, pulling Christen’s attention to him. “Before you say no again, you will go talk to these women.”
Christen felt like she was being bulldozed.
“While it is still your decision, Lieutenant Davidson,” the colonel said. “The Pentagon anticipates that you will accept this mission.”
Christen rose and snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” She offered a stiff-armed salute, turned on her heels, and exited the office, Lula and Johnna right behind her.
John Grey was walking down the corridor. He stuck a hand out. “Thank you, Lieutenant Davidson that was some miraculous flying. Kudos.”
“Yes, sir,” Christen responded, shaking his hand.
His eyes slid to Johnna. “Red.” Then he nodded at Lula. “White.” He cocked his head to the side and let his gaze sweep over the three women. His face didn’t change expressions, but his eyes lit with curiosity. He gave them a tired smile then moved past them to the colonel’s door.
“John Grey, Johnna Red,” Christen turned, “and let me guess, you’re Johnna White. Does the CIA color code all of its agents? Do you get to choose? I thought Periwinkle was your favorite color, Lu.”
“You can stop now. This is inappropriate for the halls.” Johnna Red pushed open a door on the right and gestured them in with a tilt of her head. She flicked on the lights.
Christen and Lula moved into the room, and Lula shut the door.
Christen turned on her friend, fury blazing in her eyes. “Lu, what’s this got to do with?”
Lula took Christen by the elbow, came up on her toes, and whispered in her ear, “Your dad.”