Page 14 of Love Me Knot

I reach for the device on my bedside table, swiping blindly at the screen until the call answers. “I want my dog back.”

A tinny voice responds though I can barely hear it since the call isn’t on speaker. Eyes still closed, I pull the phone to my ear. “Who is this?”

“Sir, this is Ensign Dorne. Your platoon is now on alert. You will be briefed at zero nine hundred.”

“Zero nine hundred,” I repeat to confirm.

Dorne hangs up after my acknowledgment, and I let my arm fall to the mattress. On alert? We just got back.

Chelsea

Friday morning, Knot interrupts close-quarters training to call out two teams, Sadie’s and ours. That’s a giant red flag. CQ training is vital to keeping our asses alive, and Spatch is considered god on this dance floor. In this room, everyone is of the same rank, and no one leaves until Spatch says so. Not even Knot himself enjoys CEO privileges during these hand-to-hand sessions.

The sixteen of us scurry off the mat to get cleaned up, wondering what the emergency could be. My first thought is of Iron Strike, but Cargill won’t be here until later today.

Alongside Sadie and Dani, I rush through dressing, pinning up damp hair, and soon cram into our boss’s office with the men. Birdie is already seated in one of Knot’s guest chairs, and the rest of our two teams hover around Knot’s huge office.

The boss nods to Aaron, who closes the office door. The room instantly begins to change when Knot initiates lockdown procedures. The door seals, audio and visual shades lower over the windows, and air stops flowing from the vents.

I assume this has to do with Cargill. I glance at my watch. Seven a.m. Birdie hasn’t had a chance to review his files yet. This has to be about something else.

The first words out of Knot’s mouth prove me wrong. “Iron Strike’s PMCs were set up to take the fall for the massacre in Jordan.”

We all look toward Birdie, but she shakes her head. Knot continues. “Roman left a copy of the audio recordings. I listened to all the tape last night, and what I heard contradicts the reports coming out of Washington that the PMCs were careless and leaked mission details. At the time of the ambush, the team from Iron Strike had no knowledge of their target, objective, or possible payload. Someone set up the mission for failure, but it wasn’t Roman’s men.”

Questions about the circumstances overwhelm my brain, and I ask the most obvious one. “How did the contractors walk away unharmed?”

“I believe that to be intentional. Iron Strike’s team getting out cleanly lends credence to the charge. It makes them appear derelict in their duty as security for the mission. In the eyes of the public, if something was to go down and these men were doing their jobs, they would have taken the heaviest losses.”

Sadie, crosses her arms. “You didn’t call us up here to tell us this, especially when you don’t have admissible proof yet.”

Knot glances at his phone and disarms the room’s anti-espionage security. “No, I didn’t. Birdie will work on getting that proof, but I have no intention of waiting.”

Bash leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what do we do?”

“Now we cut these sons of bitches down.”

Everyone in the room turns at the voice, and Bash jumps to his feet, standing at attention. His reaction is pure instinct upon seeing the white uniform. “As you were, son.”

Knot emerges from behind his desk and greets the oldest of the two officers. “Admiral.”

The white-haired gentleman pats Knot on the arm and shakes his hand. Knot then introduces the man to the rest of us. “Team, this is Admiral Jameson of the US Navy SEALs. Most of you know Commander O’Reilly.”

The commander, dressed in a working uniform, steps up to Bastien and pulls him in for a hug. “Good to see you, Laurent.”

“You too, sir.”

Knot locks down the room again, and the admiral perches on the edge of the executive desk, studying the group. “Someone in my house is selling out our country because they want you gone. A lot of good people are dying because of it. The audio from Iron Strike is proof enough of the problem but not criminal evidence. I understand you have people investigating, but I’m not willing to wait around while more people die. Since you’ve all got a vested interest in ending this threat, I trust you’ll get the job done.”

The admiral nods toward O’Reilly and Knot, who disengages the room’s security. The admiral marches from the room as if he hadn’t just rattled our cages. What job? Knot doesn’t reengage the lockdown after Jameson leaves. He also doesn’t clue us in as to what this mysterious job is.

Knot and Commander O’Reilly move toward the office door before finally addressing the contractors. “All of you to the war room. As of right now, you’re deployed. You don’t speak about your mission with anyone but the thirty-five people assigned to this op.”

“What mission?” I whisper to no one, moving in unison with the rest of the group.

Knot leads us into our strategy room, which is half-full already. Well, that explains the other sixteen people. No big deal. This is just like any other deployment. Activate Work Chelsea, and… Oh, shit.

Jackson and the three men with him at the Taphouse are seated in the center of the room. Fuck fuckity fuck-licker. That’s it. God hates me. There’s no other explanation.

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