Page 5 of Shadow Games

Blade had his own secondary op in progress. Afghanistan was the number one producer in opium poppy. There had been rumors going around that Blade could hook you up with any kind of drug, but nothing concrete. Wyatt was a firm believer, though, that if there was smoke, there was fire. Too many people had mentioned Blade’s shady dealings. Never enough to go to the brass with, but definitely enough to cause concern. So, he watched him, and kept track of his movements.

That night they'd been split into four-man fire squads to circle the building where the hostages were being kept. Wyatt was leading team three, with Dominguez, Sharp and Still. Blade had taken Black, Tonneau and Britton in Squad one. Blade had given them directions to come around the building from the east, they would take the west and Squad two would come in from the North. But something felt off. Switch had felt it too. The sandstorm was messing with their equipment, so they were basically going in blind.

It was the perfect cover for Blade to do his drug deal. When they heard gunfire, he and Switch had run toward the sound, though they were running blind. He’d followed the tug on the leash more than anything, trusting in his partner, weapon raised and ready. Then there’d been an explosion behind him.

In the heat of the moment, Wyatt realized that the rest of his squad had hung back, probably unable to see. Switch’s pull on the line had given him direction and speed, but they hadn’t had that. When the explosion went off, he’d known immediately that it had taken out his squad. He’d run back in the direction he’d come from, only to find bodies on the ground. There was a hollow sickness in his gut, and he’d known before he touched them that they were gone.

Wyatt kneeled down next to Dominguez, but the man was dead. Shrapnel obliterated his lower half. It was like he’d stepped on a pressure mine. Sharp and Still had turned away like they’d been about to run, but the blast had gotten them as well. Three irreplaceable operators dead.

Switch had given a sharp bark, pulling on the line. Wyatt had spun just in time to see Blade shoot the dog. His first instinct had been to lunge up and take him out, but Blade had drawn down on him. “Ah, ah, ah, Whisper. Wouldn’t want to have another incidence of friendly fire, now would we? Why couldn’t you have died with your team? That would have made this so much easier.”

An Afghan soldier had coalesced out of the storm, carrying a weapon. He stopped beside Blade and said a few words in Pashtun. Wyatt recognized some of it, but not all of the words. Something about the delivery was waiting. Blade had handed over a bag of something, and the Afghan soldier reached inside. He drew out a handful of afghani, the local currency, and Wyatt could tell it was large bills by the color. The man nodded and gave a wave, then merged back into the storm.

Wyatt was in shock. It the past two minutes his squad had been destroyed and his partner killed. His team leader was dirty, and Wyatt had no idea what to do about it.

Blade waved him up. “This is how this is going to play out, asshole.”

Wyatt had listened to the plan incredulously, shaking his head. The aid rescue was a ploy to implement an attack on American forces by the Taliban. In the confusion of the storm, Whisper had set a charge, which took out his teammates rather than the Taliban that had attacked them. Realizing he was alone, he’d shot at forms in the blowing sand, only then realizing it was more teammates.

“You keep telling me no, but it’s going to happen. If you want Rowan to survive, you’re going to follow my directions to the letter. Hand me your rifle and your sidearm.”

Wyatt set his weapons on the ground, immediately feeling vulnerable. Blade stepped forward and picked them up.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he said, glancing back at his squad. “They were good men.”

Behind Blade, Black, Tonneau and Britton materialized out of the storm. For a split second, he thought help had arrived. Then he saw the smug looks on their faces. Britton smirked as he looked down at Switch. “You’ve been waiting to do that for a while, boss.”

Blade had held up a fist for a bump, and he’d gotten it. Then he’d used Wyatt’s sidearm and shot Black and Tonneau at point blank range, too much for their ballistic vests.

Wyatt was disgusted. There had been undercurrents in the team, and he understood it now. They were all in on it. He looked at the dead bodies behind him. Maybe not all of them.

Wyatt blinked as the gas light came on on his dash. The memories weren’t doing him any good right now. Hating to stop but needing to, he pulled into a station. He let Echo out to pee, used the bathroom himself and got a drink, then he was back on the road. Arriving at the airport, he wasn't sure what to expect. The plane Charlie had gotten him was a beautiful little white jet. He had a feeling he would be in Cleveland in no time.

As Wyatt walked toward the plane with Echo at his side, a man stepped out and waved him on board. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and appeared to be in his mid to late 40s, with a laid-back demeanor. Thick dark hair stuck out from his forehead.

“Get settled in the back and I'll call in to the tower. I’m Jack. If you need anything, just let me know.”

Wyatt gave him a nod and did as he was instructed, settling into one of the oversized chairs. Echo sat in front of him, looking out the window. Her tail wagged slightly, and he knew she was excited to be traveling. The dog loved bye, byes. Scratching between her ears, he looked out the window as well as the plane taxied to the end of the runway.

Twenty-three months ago, he'd had no idea what he was going to do after being washed out of the SEALs. He had some money in his account, but it definitely wasn't enough to retire on. He’d started woodworking, something his dad had done years ago. Deep in the night, when the dreams woke him, it had given him an outlet for his emotions. And it had turned into his salvation. He'd started with small things like birdhouses and bat houses. Then he'd worked his way up to small furniture. Now he could build almost anything out of wood. Once a month, he packed up his truck and took his projects down the mountain. The Blue Ridge Mountains had plenty of places for tourists to stop and pick up souvenirs and the like. Wyatt had three stores that he worked with, supplying them with wood products. They sold the pieces on commission. He also took projects on the side. And he made more than enough money to keep them comfortable.

He'd also come to be known as a competent gunsmith. So, between the furniture and the guns, he made a healthy living. It also gave him enough contact with the outside world that he didn't go stir crazy.

The plane took off, racing down the runway. Wyatt grinned slightly, loving the feel of the gravity against his midsection. One of the reasons he joined the SEALs was to travel. He loved planes, loved jumping out of planes even more. He and Switch had done a lot of that when they'd been together.

Once they gained altitude and leveled out, Wyatt unsnapped his seat belt. There was a large plastic rifle case in the back of the plane, and he had a feeling it was for him. He was curious to see what she'd sent.

Wyatt flipped open the lid and sat back on his heels. Inside the gun box were half a dozen weapons he was very familiar with. The first thing he lifted out was the MK 16 Scar L, a 5.56mm x 45 mm rifle. It was one of the weapons SEALs preferred. Half a dozen loaded mags were tucked in beside it, so he locked one in and sighted down the barrel. He wouldn’t know until he shot it, but it seemed in perfect condition. Ejecting the mag and the round, he placed it back into the foam case. There was a Sig P226, just like what he’d carried years ago, as well as several clips for it. He’d add it to his own weapon. One of the advantages to flying private was that he could carry on his own weapons. He had a Beretta in a harness under his flannel overshirt, as well as a couple of blades tucked in his boot and waistband.

He kept up his skills. Hunting with a rifle was one thing. It was another thing entirely to use a handgun to protect yourself, and he’d created a course with targets to keep himself in fighting form. The thought had always been in the back of his head that someday, Blade could try to take him out. And he wanted to be ready when that happened. Instead, someone had taken Blade out. In one respect, Wyatt was happy about that. Now, though, Rowan had no protection.

The thought chilled him.

There was a small box in the right-hand side of the case. What was that? He popped the lid open and grinned. Trackers. And a hand unit to track them. He flipped it over in his hand. Yep, they had magnets on the back to stick to metal. He had no idea what he would need a tracker for, but it was nice to have them just in case. Actually, he could put one on Echo’s collar. Just in case…

Lower right there was another box set into the cushion. He opened the box to find a set of night vision goggles. They were what the SEALs had used, so he was familiar with the controls as well as the capabilities. What a nice little package Charlie had sent him.

Snapping the lid closed on the rifle case, he returned to his seat. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to remember Rowan.

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