Page 6 of Knot Guilty

“We have a new contract. The Iranian government has lost some of the pallets of cash so generously provided to them by US taxpayers. Army intelligence reports that this US currency is now in the hands of arms dealers with plans to use their contacts to move it out of the country.

“The administration believes the information was intentionally released to give the Ne?am plausible deniability for the cash’s intended purpose. The CIA is convinced that Iran’s government is using the network of arms dealers to funnel the money to various terrorist organizations that the Ne?am supports. The treasury department just wants their money back.

“The whole US Intelligence community has been tasked with hunting down these shipments and finding evidence of the government’s involvement, proving the state-sponsored terrorism theory. Or, at minimum, that the money is in the hands of terrorists hustling guns. Either of those scenarios would be a deal breaker, proving the Ne?am is in breach of the nuclear deal and making it legal for the US to seize any cash found.

“You all know that a hell of a lot of money was sent to those bastards. Recovering as much as possible is a big priority. Making sure that all the currency found is repatriated will be difficult as no one knows how much is being moved around.

“The US Treasury’s Financial Crimes Enforcement Bureau and the CIA are working to identify cells involved and intended recipients. The army has selected a team to execute raids based on gathered intelligence and seize the cash and any weapons found. FinCEN personnel will wait in the wings to take over after each cache is captured and secured. However, they’re concerned that stacks of bills might go missing between capture and relocation. They want assurances that all the cash will be repatriated. That’s where you come in.

“Since FinCEN agents aren’t combat trained, they won’t be involved in the raids. You guys will and are going to police the ops until the raid sites are secure and FinCEN can take over.”

“As part of the contractual agreement for this work, the army has asked me to remind you that these are good women and men you’ll be working beside. Your job is only to act as a deterrent to lessen the temptation that comes with being around shit-tons of untraceable cash.

“Because the Army is responsible for mission security, I’m only sending enough operatives for a three-shift rotation of unit watch. That will include the six of you plus one more as a backup.”

Knot turns to me, silently placing responsibility for the operation on my shoulders. “Once you arrive at Shindand, you’ll be briefed by Colonel Heathman, who is to be your main point of contact.”

Addressing the whole group again, he adds, “You leave the day after tomorrow. Zero five hundred.”

Knot walks away, likely headed back to command central, and Aaron ducks around Maxen to stand in front of me. The rest of the group closes in for an impromptu first strategy meeting. “Who do you want for this?” Aaron asks.

With the three teams currently not deployed, I have seventeen people from which to choose a backup. Since I was involved in the hiring of most of them, I know what I’ll be getting and don’t have to worry about regretting whoever I choose.

The extra wheel on this mission will be more than a backup. I’m going to use them to liaise with home base here in Virginia when I’m on watch duty, so I should probably go with someone on my team.

“Let’s take Zach. I figure the Army guys will be less likely to give any shit to someone that wore the same uniform.”

Aaron nods in agreement but then scrubs a hand through his hair. His body language is tense, and he looks like he wants to say something.

“All right, you guys get out of here. I’ll keep you posted if any changes happen.”

Aaron watches the others walk away, tracing the movements of one person in particular. I follow his gaze to where Maxen is tucking gear into a gym bag.

“What happened in that match, Sadie?”

I slowly turn back to my friend, noticing the concern pinching his brow as he studies me. I’m not sure if I’m more uncomfortable with the question or the answer, well, half-answer. Something about Maxen throws me off. We had never sparred against each other before today, so I expected a bit of a learning curve. As for what Maxen is up to, I don’t have the first damned clue.

Aaron hasn’t moved, still waiting on an answer, so I decide to be completely honest, if a little vague. “Officially, I think I won, which, despite what Spatch preaches, I shouldn’t have been able to do against a Delta. Maxen was sandbagging. What I can’t figure out is why.”

Aaron openly stares back at me, his expression a mix of irritation and something else I can’t interpret.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll go talk to Zach and get him up to speed.”

Aaron walks out of the training room, mumbling something about blindness. His question and accusing behavior have left me puzzled. Just because I haven’t figured out what Maxen is up to does not mean that I’m the one being obtuse. I grew up with four brothers, so not blind. Just not interested in analyzing men’s neuroses.

My gaze wanders to the row of world clocks on the wall. It’s time for range practice. Now that’s something that makes sense and is exactly what I need after this brain fuck of a morning.

Bullets don’t behave one way today and then the complete opposite the next day. You load bullets into a magazine, point, and shoot. The shots go where you send them, no questions asked. Why can’t men be as simple as bullets?

I guess the same question could be asked of women, but I wouldn’t know how to answer that one either. I’m an only daughter, raised by a widowed stone mason and four older brothers. You’d think I’d have the male mind figured out growing up around all that testosterone, but not so. Sure, I could tell when one was about to pound me for one reason or another. That’s how I first learned to fight. Since I was an annoying brat, more often than not, I got plenty of practice.

My brothers weren’t mean. They were just brothers. My raising probably would have been different if my mom were still alive, but she died in a car accident when I was six.

Neither my dad nor my brothers knew what to do with a girl. The woman next door, Mrs. Bea, a friendly older lady, is the only reason my father and I survived the female version of puberty. For the rest of the time, I was treated like just another son, with the same expectations, bickering, and play fighting as my brothers. That lasted until I was about sixteen, when others began noticing I was a girl.

After a Friday night football game, Michael Baxter grabbed my ass on the field. That was the first time I saw what it looked like when my brothers were angry for real.

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