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“Birdie’s not an operative,” he points out.
“And that’s why I’m training her. All I need from you are some recommendations on weights and reps.”
Spatch still isn’t convinced. “You want me to prescribe a workout for someone without evaluating her?”
Dismissing his concern, I say, “She’s a beginner. Use your imagination. Call Knot if working with a civilian is bothering you. He knows what’s going on and that she needs this.”
The former Ranger school trainer stares back a moment before conceding. Shaking his head, he says, “I’ll have something for you by the end of the day.”
The man didn’t seem surprised by the strange request, just like I wasn’t surprised when he threw me out afterward. It’s not like anything about working here is normal.
All of us, except for Birdie and the support staff, experienced hell through one military branch or another, and yet, here we are, fighting again. The pay and equipment are better, but that’s where the benefits end. We’re heroes no longer. In the eyes of about eighty percent of the population, we’re all war-mongering, psychopathic mercenaries.
In truth, we’re more like the government’s dirty little side piece. We’re sent to war zones so the Pentagon can claim smaller troop deployment numbers. Not important right now, jackass.
The rest of the morning passes painfully slow for me, like a kid waiting for Christmas. Throughout strength and conditioning, hand-to-hand, and range practice, I kept looking at the clock, all because of a pair of sunglasses. Birdie’s sunglasses.
I found them last night in my truck after I left her house. Figuring she’s probably wondering where they went, I plan to take them to her when I’ve cleaned up after today’s training.
I rush through my shower and dress, and for the second time this week, I’m on my way to the executive floor.
Birdie’s door is closed when I arrive, glasses in hand. I knock, but no one answers. “Back again, Laurent?” a low voice asks from behind me.
I face the man and hold up Birdie’s sunglasses in answer. “Birdie left these in my truck. I thought she might need them.”
Knot’s stance doesn’t change, but his eyes narrow slightly. I get the sense that if a shotgun were nearby, he’d be sitting down cleaning it during this conversation. “Birdie’s not here,” he says. “She’s on her way to Langley.”
I slide the glasses into my shirt pocket and turn to leave. “You could leave those with me,” Knot says. “I’ll make sure she gets them.”
“I’ll come back,” I answer without turning around.
Refusing to admit my disappointment, I trudge back downstairs to the war room ahead of our weekly team meeting. I’m early, and the room is empty. I spend the quiet time thinking through the situation with Birdie.
She doesn’t want to bring anyone else in, but I’ll be deploying sooner rather than later. If someone has fixated on Birdie, her self-imposed isolation will leave her a sitting duck. So, you’ll just have to find this bastard and stop him fast.
Chelsea flops down next to me a few minutes later, the first person to enter the room after me. She props her feet on the table and teases, “Where have you been, Bestie? You missed lunch. Today was grouper day.”
“I hate grouper.”
“I know,” she gloats. Then, before I realize her intentions, she’s plucked the sunglasses out of my pocket. “Nice shades, but not exactly your style.”
I reach for them, but she holds them out of reach and puts them on her face. “Oh my god! Your girl must be blind as a bat.”
Chelsea looks around the room and at the rest of the operatives filing in until I manage to get a finger on the bridge and pull the glasses off. Tucking them back into my pocket, I say, “You’re the reason I’m glad to be an only child.”
“Bullshit,” she rolls her eyes. “Your being an only child is why you’re this way. So who’s your girlfriend?”
“Not girlfriend and not your business.”
Sadie walks into the room then, and Aaron, leaning against the wall by the door, looks her up and down before slamming down the light switch. The interactive wall lights up, and Sadie smacks the hologram of the first of three folders. “We’ve got three new assignments. One imminent, and two coming up.”
Sadie turns back to the wall, waves over one of the folders, opening it, and expands a map of Haiti. “Multiple American tourists and do-gooders have been kidnapped for ransom. Our government needs to do something about it without appearing to do something about it. We got the contract this morning. All available intel is being transmitted, but a team needs to leave today. Who wants it?”
Chelsea starts to lift her hand, but I grab it, stopping her from volunteering. Her neck nearly snaps at the speed at which she turns to glare at me in disbelief. I have reasons for sitting this one out, but I won’t explain them to her.
Fortunately, Cade steps up as a new leader. He more than proved himself over the years of working with Sadie, earning the promotion to team captain. As Sadie dives into assignment details, Chelsea leans close, whispering, “Care to explain that?”
Just as quietly, I answer, giving her a half-truth. “I’ve got a side thing going here that I need a few days to clear up before I can deploy.”
