Since this is how I’m treated for trying to accommodate your wishes, I’ll be the asshole and confine you to the clinic until I’m good and ready to release you. How’s that sound?”
Hal started undoing the duct tape much quicker now—the flight doc was really pissed. In a moment Sabin was untied and back on his feet. “Sorry, Doc,” he said. “I’m a little jumpy when the team’s going out on a mission.”
Sabin looked at his outfit and nodded in disgust. “You were trying to go out with them, against my orders, weren’t you?” he observed. Briggs’s silence confirmed his suspicions. “Not only will I put you back in the clinic, but I’ll put a twenty-four-hour guard on you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine, really,” Briggs said. “If I have any problems I’ll be sure and let you know. And you obviously put a real big bug in the gunny’s ear, because he booted me off. But you don’t need to confine me. I’ll do as you say.”
“Good. You’d better.” Sabin turned to Behrouzi and asked Briggs, “Now, can you please explain who this is, and what she’s doing here? You obviously know who she is.”
Briggs hesitated—he didn’t know how to address Riza in front of any outsider. But Behrouzi extended her hand, gave Sabin a mind-blowing smile that melted both men’s hearts, then showed him an ID card. “I am Riza Behrouzi, assistant to the deputy general, Directorate of Military Intelligence of the United Arab Emirates.”
She handed her ID card over to the doctor, who gave it a careful examination before handing it back. “I was ordered to interview Major Briggs immediately, since he and his forces came under attack by an unknown ZSU-23/4 system on Tumb as Sughrd on their last mission.”
“Here? Now? That seems a little strange.”
“Truthfully, Doctor, the Directorate had heard that Major Briggs was dead,” Behrouzi said with a half-amused, half-embarrassed expression. “Little of what the Americans do here at Mina Sultan Naval Base is well known in the UAE. We are also looking for Gunnery Sergeant Wohl, who apparently is also alive and well. Do you know where I can find him? I need to interview him immediately.”
Sabin looked at Behrouzi suspiciously, then at Briggs. After years of serving with special operations forces, he knew that the less he said and the more suspicious he was, the better. “You should be talking to the base commander or the operations commander, Major Behrouzi,” the doctor said. “I’m not exactly sure how you got on base without an escort, but Major Briggs seems to know you and is willing to vouch for you. I can’t help you any further. Major Briggs, are you well enough to escort Major Behrouzi to base headquarters, or should I call security?”
“I’ll handle it, Doc,” Briggs assured him. Sabin smiled and nodded—it was obvious that Briggs not only had the situation under control, but was as anxious as a love-struck teenager to be alone with this woman. The flight surgeon rubbed his aching arms and wrists once more, received another mind-blowing smile from Riza as an apology, then departed.
When Sabin departed, Behrouzi turned to Briggs and began, “Leopard … Hal, I am sorry I surprised you like this …”
Briggs didn’t let her finish. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a deep, longing kiss, and she returned it with every bit as much passion, holding him even closer. Both of their eyes were smoky, almost tearful, when they parted. “My God, Riza,” Briggs said breathlessly, “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I have missed you as well,” Behrouzi said. “I heard of your last mission just tonight. Were you hurt? The doctor said you-“
“I’m fine,” Briggs interjected. “Just a scratch.”
“A scratch? Let me look.” She zeroed in on his left shoulder as if she knew exactly where to look, and she unbuttoned his rough cotton shirt and peeled back his underwear. Heavy dressings covered the wound on both sides of his shoulder. “Entry and exit wounds, Hal? It is much more than a scratch,” Behrouzi said breathily. “I am so glad you are safe.” They kissed again, drinking even more deeply from each other than before. “You wanted to go on a mission? Tonight? Are you mad?”
“The team is flying into Iran, inspecting every safe area between here and Bandar Abbas.”
“Looking for Colonel Paul White and the survivors of the attack on your ship, I know,” Behrouzi said. “I have information for you—information on the whereabouts of your commander.”
“Paul? He’s safe?”
“For now,” Behrouzi said ominously. “He and twelve crew members were taken aboard the Iranian aircraft carrier Khomeini after his ship was
Briggs tried to hide his thoughts, but his suddenly averted eyes were a dead giveaway for a trained observer like Behrouzi. “The carrier … the Americans will attack the aircraft carrier?”
“I can’t tell you, Riza,” Briggs said. “We were told there’d be plenty of distractions while we made our infiltration into Bandar Abbas …”
“I shall see about the carrier,” Behrouzi said. She took out a cellular telephone, got the Dubai Directorate of Military Intelligence duty desk, and spoke to the senior controller at the command center. A few minutes later, she had her information: “Peace Shield Sky watch reports that there appears to have been an aircraft accident near the Khomeini—a helicopter or fighter crashed at sea, and there have been reports of antiaircraft fire.
After the accident, one helicopter was reported departing for Chah Bahar—none toward Bandar Abbas.”
“That means they’re taking their prisoners to Chah Bahar!” Briggs said. “Leopard, that helicopter could be a simple medical evacuation, or it could be just the carrier commander and his staff,” Behrouzi said. “And my intelligence information may be faulty and they could not be on the carrier after all, or they could be held on the carrier, or there could have been more than one helicopter …”
“Or this could be the best chance we’ve got to rescue our teammates,” Briggs said. “If we can get a strike team together, I’m going to give it a try. I’ve got to notify the team and tell them to back us up—there’s no time to waste!” Briggs was on the phone in an instant, notifying his command center that Wohl and the CV-22 team should return as soon as possible. “Riza, you’re wonderful,” Briggs said. “You may have saved the lives of all the survivors … but I have to go.”
“I shall go with you, of course.”
“Riza, this mission won’t be sanctioned by anyone..
“You think you shall go alone?” Behrouzi asked him with a smile.
“Will you sprout jet-powered wings and fly five hundred kilometers to Chah Bahar?”
“I’ll find a plane or a ship to take me,” Briggs said “The team will be back in less than an hour. Another hour for refueling and a briefing, ninety minutes enroute …”
“If your mission is approved by your superiors,” Behrouzi added.
“And by then, it will be daylight.”
“I told you, I’m not talking about a sanctioned mission—I’m talking about rescuing my men,” Briggs said. “They’re my men—at least they’re supposed to be, if they’d ever let me prove it to them. I could take a cargo plane, parachute in, reconnoiter the base, and report back here.”
“Are you sure you are thinking properly?” Behrouzi asked cautiously. “Are you doing this because it is your duty and you feel you can succeed—or are you doing this to gain the favor of the men who now must serve under you?”
Briggs fell silent and scowled at Behrouzi—but, dammit, she was right. “I’m not thinking straight,” he said aloud, not really talking to Behrouzi but to himself. “This is not how Chris Wohl would do it. He’d play it by the book, gather intelligence, collect the data, assemble a plan, brief it with his superiors, get approval, assemble his troops and equipment, then brief his troops. He’d be methodical, calculating, and always damned effective. But …”