Page 16 of Call Sign: King
Unfortunately, Ryder did understand. He’d been trying to hire and staff the European BSO office for the last two years and had many of the same problems.
“When’s the last time you talked to Ice? He’s interviewed over a half-dozen prospects in the last few months. He should have someone up and ready soon.”
“Bullshit. I like Ice fine, but losing Torch in the European region was a real kick the balls,” Webster groused.
“I get that, but it’s too hot there now for Torch. Like me, he needs to stay stateside for a few years until the dust settles after the Yemen fiasco.”
“I get it. Torch needs to stay out of the Middle East, but at least leave him in northern Europe. He’s got the language skills and more importantly, the leadership skills to get things done.”
“Ice is coming along,” Ryder defended his newest team leader.
“He’ll be fine in about five years. I don’t have time to fucking wait.”
“If you think it’s so easy to find someone better, have at it. Hire them for yourself.”
“Believe me, I would if I could. At least you have fat paychecks to back up your offers of dangerous employment. All I have is Uncle Sam’s hearty pat on the back and a gold watch if you’re lucky enough to still be alive long enough to retire.”
Brandon’s complaint was unfortunately spot on. Ryder should know. He now often made more money on one mission than he used to in an entire year working for the US government.
“I won’t go to Europe,” he said putting the idea to rest for good. “But I will call Ice and see what we can do. I’ll try to shake out someone I can assign to this one, but you’ll owe me.”
“Fuck that shit. You’re making bank over there.”
Just as Brandon finished his sentence, someone burst into his office. Ryder couldn’t see who it was as they were standing behind the camera, but he heard the woman’s message loud and clear.
“You need to turn on the TV… right away.”
“I’m on a call…”
“You need to see this,” she argued, not giving up. The urgency in her voice put Ryder on edge. Was there some national emergency playing out he should be aware of?
The sound of a reporter’s voice came through the computer speaker from the other end of the call. At first, Ryder couldn’t really hear what was happening, but Brandon Webster’s face draining of blood and turning sheet white got his attention.
“Fuck… I need you to stay calm,” Brandon said cryptically before adding, “You might want to turn on the TV, Helms.”
What the hell could be happening in the middle of a Monday that Ryder needed to worry himself with?
“What channel?” he asked, reaching for the iPad that controlled the wall of monitors on the far side of his office.
“Um… I think any of them. I’m on CNN, but they are showing an earlier report from ABC News.”
It took a few seconds to get the complicated communication setup to get him to the television feed. His heart lurched when a close-up of smiling Khloe filled the screen. The volume was off, so he only had the crawler at the bottom of the screen to give him his first clue.
IS KHLOE MONROE OFF THE MARKET?
“What the fuck?” he mumbled, trying to figure out how to get the sound on.
The next photo to fill the screen made the sound obsolete. There on the big screen was a photo taken at the premier the week before. The lighting was dark, but there was no doubt the picture captured the moment Khloe had reached over and taken his hand at the end of the movie. Time-lapse photos snapped on the screen, showing them holding hands and minutes later, Ryder leaning close to nuzzle her ear as he’d congratulated her.
This… right here… it was his worst nightmare coming to life. Of course, the media picked up on their intimate connection. Anyone who spent five minutes with them knew he worshiped the ground Khloe walked on.
Just when he thought it was over, his world crashed in around him.
It was a close-up shot… this time of Ryder. It had been taken at the afterparty. It had been torture, but he’d kept his distance from his wife, watching her dancing and socializing from the sidelines. He’d thought keeping his distance would keep her safe, but he hadn’t counted on reporters photographing the murderous look on his face as he’d watched from afar.
Worse, they’d captured him putting his hand on her bare back intimately as they’d left and even holding hands the last few yards before getting into the limo in the alley behind the theater.
“Well shit,” Brandon said, lighting another cigarette. He was one of the few people on the planet who knew in great detail what a disaster this was.
