Page 16 of Love Me Knot

“And people,” I add. “And before I get any dirty looks, these analogs produce infrared signatures. We lay out a few fake people in real uniforms with real weapons, and no one looking will know the difference. All we have to do is set up an observation post in an accessible area and be ready to take down whoever comes to destroy our decoys.”

Jackson has apparently heard enough. He’s no longer moony-eyed when he argues against my idea. “We’re supposed to make it look like a team of SEALs would have the kind of lapse in judgment that we’d pick a vulnerable spot to launch an attack?”

“You’re missing the point,” I counter. “Considering the location and its historical lack of enemy activity, no spot would be considered vulnerable. That’s what makes the setup foolproof.”

Jackson turns contemplative, as does the rest of the group. The room is quiet for several beats, and O’Reilly asks, “You can get these decoys on short notice?”

Knot stands and pulls out his phone. “I’ll know in about five minutes. O’Reilly, come with me. The rest of you get to work on the details.”

With the bosses gone, I expect to catch hell from doubters in our blended team, but no one shits on my idea. We leave that room two hours later with good news from Knot about the analogs and a solid plan in place.

To set up the mission, a secret contact O’Reilly and Knot share will leak a fake intercepted communiqué concerning bombs being smuggled into Bulgaria via train through Kapitan Andreevo. The message says the exchange will happen between eleven p.m. and three a.m. ten days from now.

The mission brief will outline how the SEALs are to disable and capture the train when it reaches the midpoint from Kapitan Andreevo and Generalovo, the next small village beyond the Bulgarian border town. The eight documented PMCs are to fan out along the rail line between Kapitan A and the border to act as spotters, meaning they wouldn’t be within attack range.

A few in the group argued against this strategy, but I was emphatic. Knot and O’Reilly agreed. With Iron Strike’s PMCs walking away without a scratch, it was much easier for them to be convicted in the court of public opinion. That’s what’ll make this opportunity too good to pass up.

The beauty of the setup is that there’s only a mile separating the two villages and only a thousand feet from the track to the road. The rest of our people will be able to stage close enough to our decoy target without the proximity of extra warm bodies appearing suspicious.

To catch our killers, a SEAL called Bandaid suggested we use benzilate gas. I’m shocked to find out the man is an actual medical doctor. Wrench, one of the guys at the bar with Jackson, outlined how we could remote activate BZ gas canisters around the area to knock them out. The bad guys go to sleep, we move in to restrain them, and Knot’s CIA blackhat arranges to get them out of the country for questioning. Easy peasy.

Since Commander O’Reilly suspects military frequencies will be monitored, all radio chatter will support the faux train spotters and SEAL strike team. Our real communications will be via satellite phones. Inconvenient but necessary.

Ready with a solid plan of action, the only problem left to solve was logistics. We can’t let it be known when we leave for Europe. To solve that part of the puzzle, we decided to fly out commercially and enter the area by private car.

So, in one week, we’ll leave, and Knot and Birdie will work some virtual voodoo, so it looks like we’re still stateside for another three days. At that point, Knot and O’Reilly will dispatch empty planes to an airport fifty miles from the target zone.

The jets will meet a helicopter and fly empty to the staging point in the daytime. That will prevent infrared scans from revealing the empty bird. Meanwhile, we’ll advance to the site undetected, set up the inflatable SEALs, and get into our watch positions. As if that weren’t enough, we’ll have to maintain radio contact following a script depicting a several-hour delay in action.

I swear. Real missions are never this hard to plan. Fortunately, battle planning is something I’ve always enjoyed. I was in my element today, working out such intricate details.

The distraction was enough that I could mostly ignore Jackson studying me the whole time.

Jackson

The transport chopper lands back in Little Creek around four, and my feet are on the tarmac two seconds later. I jog toward my truck, waving to my teammates and commander behind me. I’ve got somewhere to be.

A short time later, I’m knocking on Caleb’s apartment door, still in uniform. He answers, wearing a grin and steps out of the way for the big, black boxer to intercept me at the door. Captain whimpers and yips happily, nearly knocking me down when I stoop to greet her. “Hey, girl. That’s right. Who’s your daddy?”

She dances and licks my face, continuing to “talk” to me. I talk back, carrying on the pretend conversation. “I hear you’re building up quite the resume.”

Caleb laughs. “She’s a hell of a wingman.”

“And that’s on top of being an undercover agent,” I say, standing and patting the boxer’s head.

I study my son, who’s much more man than boy now and at eye level with me. He shares my dirty-blond hair and his mother’s smile. “Sorry about missing breakfast. I didn’t expect to be put on alert again so soon.”

“Don’t sweat it, Dad. How about burgers and a beer instead?”

My stomach growls, and I give it a pat. “Ooh. Now you’re talking.”

I walk out to my truck and grab clothes from the go-bag I keep ready. After a quick change in Caleb’s guest bathroom, we drive to 80/20 and sit at an outdoor table with Captain.

The air is warm as I sip on the cold brew. “Shit, this is good.”

Caleb tosses Captain a fry as I take a bite of my Alamo burger, groaning with pleasure.

“Damn, Dad. You two need a minute alone?”

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