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There was a short silence. “Fine. Find the girl and protect her, but be fucking subtle about it. I will get back to you with more orders soon.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Good luck, soldier.” He hung the phone up.
I hung mine up and tossed it aside. I hated all this spy shit. I was trained to kick down doors and to kill my enemies in any way necessary, not to sneak around like a fucking asshole. Granted, I could do all that shit, but I much preferred the old-fashioned method of firing my weapon into some terrorist twats.
I sighed and took out another phone. I took a picture of the photograph and uploaded it to a secure cloud server. I waited a minute and then dialed another number.
“Navy Intelligence,” the woman said.
“Hello there, Lucy,” I said.
“Well, if it isn’t Captain Emory. What do you need today? Drone strike?”
“Nope. Something much simpler. I just uploaded a photograph to the server. Can you analyze it and find out who the girl is?”
“We can do that. I’ll call you back.”
“Got it.” I hung the phone up and then stood.
My orders were clear and simple: protect the girl and don’t make a scene. I assumed Blackfire wanted to keep me out of the spotlight, since nobody knew that The Network was operating domestically in the States.
He probably wanted to avoid any panics or serious incidents. There wasn’t going to be any backup on this one, no local law enforcement or the CIA or some shit like that. No, this was just me, a single, deadly Navy SEAL sent to protect a girl from one of the deadliest terrorist organizations on the planet.
I grinned to myself. It sounded like a good fucking time, just the sort of thing I needed. Sitting around all day and fucking all night was great and all, but I craved something more, some fucking action.
Besides, there was the chance to see that girl again. I didn’t know what I wanted from her, but the memory of that delicious pussy came back to me, sending a thrill down my spine. I’d felt something with that girl that I hadn’t felt before or since, and I was mostly resigned to never feeling it again.
Who knew what I’d feel when I saw her again, but that didn’t matter. I had to focus on my mission, on keeping her safe.
I went to pack, waiting on that phone call.
Tara Bright of Dayton, Indiana. It didn’t take Intelligence very long to figure out who she was. Probably they had some crazy-advanced facial recognition software linked up to every driver’s license database in the whole country or something insane like that. But once I had a name and an address, I knew that I was on my own to do the rest.
I shifted in my seat as the plane descended toward Indianapolis. From there, I’d rent a car and drive straight until I got to Tara’s place.
It was early Friday morning and the airport wasn’t too crowded. The plane landed without any issues, and I grabbed my shit, just a single carry-on bag, and headed toward the rental cars.
Into the airport and down to the rental car place. I waited in the damn line, impatient to get on the road. When I finally got to the front of the line, the woman smiled at me. “Can I help you?”
“I need a car,” I said. “Something cheap and easy. A sedan, preferably.”
She frowned at her screen. “Well, we’re out of sedans in the lower tiers. We do have a few SUVs and trucks?”
“What about the upper tiers?”
“We have a Ford Mustang available.”
I grinned at her. “That’ll do.”
She took down my information, I paid the good lady, and off I went.
Out in the parking lot, I found my car pretty quickly. It was the only electric blue Mustang in the whole place. I stood in front of it, grinning hugely.
So much for not drawing attention to myself.
I got inside and started the engine. It roared to life and I revved the engine.
Nothing was fucking better than a fast car. I pulled out of my spot, drove down the airport road, and got onto the highway heading north toward Dayton.
As I drove, I stopped off at the first gun emporium I saw advertised on a billboard. It was just what I needed: huge and impersonal. It took me ten minutes to walk in, select the pistol I needed, and purchase it. Shouldn’t have been so damn easy, but I felt much better with the loaded weapon’s weight in the waistband of my jeans as I got back into the Mustang and roared out toward Dayton.
I was armed, dangerous, and driving a fast car. I felt a thrill run down my spine. I was elated. I lived for this shit, for danger and suspense and fucking action. The Network was here—I was beyond sure of that—and Tara was in danger. And I was going to keep her safe.
Her and her baby.
