Page 80 of Vaquero
Meg smiled as Craig strode past Captain Dooley, the children chattering like little magpies at his heels. Craig was one in a million. Like Julio. She could see him doing the exact same thing and with just as much gusto. Her chest expanded with a heartfelt sigh. Man, she loved that guy.
“Yes?” she said as she turned back to the ship’s captain.
Dooley was not the only O-6 grade officer on this carrier, but it had become quickly apparent to Meg that his men and women held him in high regard. He was their captain. Corpsman Giacomo never mentioned him without passing along some hidden compliment or praise.
Dooley stood straight as an arrow at well over six feet. At first glance, he was just another guy, but one look into those piercing hazel eyes, and a person knew different. This was a powerful, intelligent man who commanded one of America’s most magnificent displays of national strength and pride, a multi-million-dollar floating city, equipped with the most technologically advanced, state of the art war-fighters.
Dressed sharply in his khaki-colored captain’s work uniform and jacket, he bowed his head to her in quick acknowledgment of respect. The beige turtleneck collar under his work shirt belied the practicality of the man, while the high and tight cut beneath his Captain’s cap demanded respect.
“We’ve received word about Hotrod and Agent Juarez from Fort Campbell,” he said without his customary courteous preamble.
She canted her head at information that didn’t make sense. Why had Julio gone to Kentucky? Was that where Doctor Hazelton demanded they go? Or was he already on another mission? Her heart skipped a beat. “And?”
Captain Dooley’s hazel eyes softened. “There’s been an accident aboard the Blackhawk, ma’am. All on board are safe and accounted for. As far as we know, everyone’s in decent condition.”
“Decent?” she asked. “What…? How…? Were they attacked?”
“Yes and no.” He took firm hold of her wrist then, steering her through another bulkhead and farther away from where her children lived. Farther from Craig and Marta. “Senator Sullivan asked me to secure you for the duration of our voyage.”
“Senator Sullivan? Secure m-me? Why? I have work to do. Kids to care for. I can’t… Oh, my God. Are you taking me to the brig?”
He tossed her a half-smile at that. “No, ma’am, but I am placing you under armed guard for the duration of this exercise. Would you mind spending the rest of your time on board in sickbay? I know a little boy who thinks you’re his mother. In fact, he’s been calling for you today.”
“How do you know what’s going on in sickbay?”
That half-smile again. “It’s a captain’s job to know what his crew and passengers need. Trust me. Dominic needs you now.”
But Meg needed something, too. “What happened to Hotrod and Agent Juarez? Are they safe?”
“You mean Julio?”
She nodded vigorously, afraid if she said anything more, she’d reveal too much.
“Yes, they’re both safe. The Blackhawk is damaged, so they’re spending the evening on an island off the coast of northern Brazil. But rest easy. Rescue is in transit, and, if all goes as planned, Hotrod and Juarez won’t be there long. As you know, Julio works for Senator Sullivan. That makes him a high-value target, and, knowing what we know now, that makes you a target as well.”
Me? A target?
Dooley nodded at the two young men standing at attention and sporting rifles outside sickbay. Navy military police were called Masters-at-Arms. Both were young and wore the same khaki working uniform as their captain, except for the cloth badges affixed above the name tapes on the right side of their shirts. Both second class petty officers, they looked too young to be armed like they were. Yet Meg could tell by the strict way they addressed their captain they were serious professionals.
“But… Wait!” Locking her knees, she stymied forward progression, which brought Dooley’s stern gaze back to her.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Why am I a high-value target? Who’s out to get me? I’m just a foreign aid-worker.”
His lips pinched. “Because you’re connected to Agent Juarez. Don’t deny it. I noticed the connection the second you two landed on my deck. This is just a precaution, because if I noticed it, someone else might have noticed it, too.”
Well, that was disconcerting. She nodded, aware just how discerning Captain Dooley was. She hadn’t even really noticed him until now. She and Julio were closer now than they’d been that first day they’d landed. Could Dooley tell that, too? “So?”
Instead of answering, he segued to, “What do you know about Matryoshka Dolls?”
“Nesting dolls? Umm, I’ve got a couple sets. My brothers have been all over the world. They’re always bringing knick-knacks back for me.” Why was that worthless trivia important?
“Not those kinds of dolls,” Dooley grumbled, as, once more, he ushered her along and into sickbay. Nodding at the armed guards, he sealed the door behind him and shut them out. “I meant the subversive, all-female mafia out of Kazakhstan, formerly a Soviet republic, now home base for the bratva.”
Meg swallowed hard. Every military member knew the various terrorist groups around the world, including the exceedingly wealthybratva, aka the notoriously brutal Russian mafia, also known as Solntsevskaya. The bratva controlled much of the crime, not only in Russia, but in the Ukraine, Denmark, Netherlands, Czech Republic, the UK, France, Spain, Africa, Australia, and too many other countries. They’d recently arrived in New York City, and had immediately sent their soldiers into the streets to attack NYC police officers and other first responders.
But Matryoshka Dolls? They must be new. “I’ve never heard of those kinds of dolls before.”
