Chopra and Hussein were seated nearby and watching, and their uneasy expressions caught Heidi’s attention. “Are they your friends?”
“No, we are not,” said Chopra.
The Snow Maiden looked fire in the old man’s direction. “Please…”
“Viktoria, what’s going on?”
“I’m wondering if we can stay with you for the night.”
“We? You mean them as well?”
“Yes, I’ll explain everything, and I’ll take care of your rent for the rest of the year.”
Heidi shifted in her seat. “This is, uh, quite strange. You drop in unannounced with these people. Can’t you get a hotel?”
“No, I can’t right now. It’s complicated. I just need you to trust me. And we need to talk.”
“You know I don’t have much room.”
“We’ll sleep on the floor. I just need this right now, and I can explain everything once we’re up there.”
“I was about to have dinner. I don’t have enough food for us all.”
The Snow Maiden grinned. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Viktoria, what’s wrong? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
The Snow Maiden reached across the table and clutched both of Heidi’s hands. “You can trust me.”
Brent had bought himself a little condo just thirty minutes away from Fort Bragg. In fact, the place was almost paid off, and the resale value wasn’t bad, despite the ever-fluctuating market. Most folks who lived in his complex were military, and demand for such housing remained high. A condo was the way to go for a single military man: no lawn to worry about mowing, no building maintenance to perform, but the HOA fees would eventually bankrupt him, he knew.
He was on his way home after heading down to central Florida to see George Voeckler’s parents. They lived in a small retirement home in The Villages, and it was with great sorrow and resignation that he expressed his condolences in person. The NSA had already sent representatives to notify them of George’s death, but Thomas had beaten even them to the punch. He’d called his parents while en route back to the States, and as expected, neither Frank nor Regina Voeckler had taken the news very well.
Thomas had not been present during Brent’s visit. Regina had said he’d gone off to his time-share on Captiva Island. The Voecklers were exceedingly proud of their two boys and made a point of telling Brent about the great influence George had been on Thomas. They feared that without George’s continued guidance, Thomas might slip back into a depression and into his “old ways.” He’d already been talking about quitting the NSA job when he’d come home. Regina had taken Brent’s hand and had begged him to talk to Thomas. Brent said that he would.
But for now, he needed to get back home for a meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Susan Grey, DCO, 1st Bn, 5th Special Forces Group, a long title for a woman short on patience. Grey was a lean, athletic woman with short blond hair who seemed demure before she smiled and ate you for breakfast. She headed up Ghost Recon and had not endorsed Dennison’s selection of Brent to lead the Snow Maiden mission. She would remind him of that, and the meeting would, of course, determine his future in the military, if there was one at all.
As he’d suspected, the team had been pulled off the hunt and sent back home, and were about to be reassigned. Lakota’s eyes had burned when she resignedly had taken his hand at the airport.
Brent did something stupid and said that now that they weren’t working together, he’d like to take her out and buy her a beer.
“You mean a date?” she’d asked.
“I don’t know what I mean.”
“Well, when you figure that out, give me a call.” She’d given him a curt nod and walked away.
Oh, yes, he was quite an operator when it came to the ladies..
It was late afternoon when he got back home and he was too tired to cook, so he drove down to the Liberator for a burger and a drink or two. He sat alone in his usual booth, and Schoolie, the big boy with the scarred face, drifted over and slid into the seat opposite him. “Back from Europe.”
Brent made a face. “I know why you’re here, and I’m not talking.”
“You don’t have to. I got some scuttlebutt.”
“We’re friends now? Sharing secrets? I thought you wanted to bust my chops.”
“Well, that, too.”
“Then why are you talking like my buddy?”
“I’m still your buddy, Brent. But when I offered my hand before the mission, you should’ve taken it. You jinxed yourself.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“Look, let me tell you what’s going on…” Schoolie leaned in closer and scratched his stubbly jowls.
Brent rubbed his eyes, leaned back, and sighed deeply.
Schoolie’s tone grew emphatic. “Word is they’ve just assigned a new team to your old operation.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I’m on the new team. We just got briefed. You didn’t hear this from me — but they found her again.”
Brent nodded. “We knew she’d turn up.”
Schoolie winced, took a deep breath, and said, “This isn’t the kind of stuff we should be doing.”
“It’s a different war now.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I don’t like it.”
“So why’re you telling me this?”
“Because I know you, Brent. You won’t take this lying down.”
Brent accepted his beer from the waitress and, after a long pull, said, “Maybe I will.”
“Why don’t you talk to Dennison? I’ll drive you down to the comm center.”
“I need a chauffeur?”
“You parked on the grass again, and they just towed your car. You didn’t learn your lesson from the last time?” Schoolie tipped his head toward the front windows, where a tow truck was just leaving with Brent’s car hanging from the back.
Brent burst up from the table, cursed, and started toward the door.
“Get it later,” said Schoolie. “Come on, I’ll take you for that call. See if you can have a little video chat. Do it now before your meeting with Grey.”
“Yeah, I came back here to call down to Florida, where I just was…” he said wearily. “Maybe I should’ve dropped in on Dennison while I was there.”
“Maybe. Have a seat, finish your beer and your dinner. Then we’ll go.”
Brent complied, and Schoolie tried to probe him for what had happened on the mission. Brent gave him the look that said even asking was breaking the law. That Schoolie had mentioned his own assignment was certainly a violation, not one Brent would ever report, but a violation nonetheless.
“Why are you trying to help me?” Brent said, after taking his last sip of beer.
Schoolie averted his gaze. “This is going to sound stupid.”
“I figured.”
“Seriously, I’ve served under a lot of people. I’d be honored to work with you. I’d like to see Boleman out and you in. I’d like to see that happen.”
Captain Jay Boleman was a few years younger than Brent and regarded as one of the top three team leaders in the entire organization. Unfortunately, his skill was equaled by his arrogance.
Brent grinned broadly. “So you’d rather work for a junkyard dog than a greyhound, is that what you’re saying?”
“Jay’s an ass. We both know it. Anyway, I thought I’d help you out.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They left the Liberator and went to the comm center for a secure line. Brent made the call to Tampa, only to be told that Dennison was gone for the day and that if the matter wasn’t urgent that he should try again at 0800. He cupped the receiver.
“I guess you’ll have to call her tomorrow,” said Schoolie.
Brent swore to himself. “The meeting’s tomorrow. I need to talk to her now.”