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Gabriel
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Hours after leaving the bar, Gabe sat in his motel room, flipping Silas’s card between his fingers, reflecting on what had—and hadn’t been—said while Fred snored loudly on the bed beside him. Was he seriously considering going active duty again?
Sure, maybe he hadn’t been as “retired” as he pretended to be. He might have had his hand in a few cookie jars over the past couple of years, but nothing major. Just enough to keep his skills sharp, his appetite for adventure satisfied. He might have occasionally offered up some advice and suggestions based on his years of experience when an old friend asked for help.
But none of that stuff should have appeared on the DHS radar. Then again, when Silas Branson was involved, the impossible became not only possible, but probable.
He exhaled. What Silas was talking about wouldn’t be a weekend thing. It wouldn’t be something he could coordinate from his mountain cabin. It would involve suits and civilians, two things for which he had very little use these days.
However, the idea of taking down Kristikos was appealing. So was the thought of running his own show outside of the normal, bullshit channels. According to the little bit Si had revealed, Bone Frog made its own rules. That had been Si’s final cast, the last bit of bait he’d tossed out, knowing Gabe would rise to the surface and bite.
Dawn was just breaking over the horizon when Gabe lifted his hand to knock on Silas’s door. It opened before he had the chance to make contact, as if Silas had been waiting for him. Silas didn’t even attempt to hide his knowing grin. The confident fucker was already showered, shaved, and dressed. An overnight bag sat atop the made bed.
“If I do this, Si, I want complete autonomy. We do things my way.”
Silas nodded, triumph shining in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ll be debriefed on the plane. Wheels up in an hour.”
“Wait. Right now?”
“No time like the present.”
Gabe thought about the go bag he had in the back of his truck. He’d expected the trip to Homer’s hometown to take no more than a day, two at the most, and had prepped accordingly. To be gone longer than that, he’d need more clothes, more gear, food for Fred.
“Everything you need will be provided for you,” Silas said as if reading his thoughts.
“Where are we headed, anyway?”
“The East Coast.”
Things moved quickly, for which Gabe was glad. If he had too long to think about what he was getting himself into, he might decide to leave the task to someone else. Someone younger. Someone whose bones didn’t creak quite as much and whose social skills weren’t so rough around the edges. Someone who didn’t have the memories of his friends dying around him because Darius Kristikos cared more about filling his pockets than he did the consequences of his actions.
But even as he thought that, Gabe knew he wouldn’t change his mind, no matter how much time he had to weigh the pros and cons. It was exactly because he had such a personal interest in the outcome that he had to do it. Not only for himself, but for those who could no longer pursue their own justice. He would make damn sure that if there was a way to nail Kristikos to the wall and prevent more good men and women from being blindsided, he would do it.
Maybe, with closure, the nightmares would stop. Maybe then, he could go back to his cabin and retire for real.
With Fred beside him, tail wagging as if he sensed an adventure, Gabe drove to the address Silas had given him. The place turned out to be a local airfield, military-run based on the fatigues worn by those at the gate. They must have been expecting him. He was waved through and directed toward a nondescript hanger, where he was greeted with a nod and given further instructions.
Gabe was okay with leaving his truck at the airfield, but refused to leave Fred behind. “We’re a package deal,” he told them.
After some discussion and a phone call, he and Fred boarded a private plane, where an attractive but serious-looking female airman was waiting with Silas. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Fred. Fred turned on the charm, gave her the big ol’ puppy eyes, and won her over in an instant.
“May I pet him, sir?” she asked.
Gabe nodded. The young woman crouched down and scratched Fred’s ears, who responded with a doggie grin and a sloppy kiss or two.
“He’s quite the ladies’ man,” she laughed.
She wasn’t wrong. Women took one look at those soulful, brown eyes and melted. Sometimes, when things got too lonely, Gabe even used it to his advantage.
As they prepared for take-off, Gabe sat across from Silas. Fred got the window seat next to Gabe and was strapped in with some creative use of a chute harness. “It’s okay, bud,” Gabe told the hound when he started shaking while Silas looked on in amusement. “It’s just for a couple minutes.”
Thankfully, the take-off was a smooth one and Fred was content to look out the small window. Once they reached a cruising altitude, Gabe released the straps and allowed him to explore the cabin while Silas brought him up to speed.
“Christos Kristikos disappeared from his private estate in North Carolina approximately one week ago during a private dinner meeting with an unknown guest. After the meal was served, Christos gave instructions they were not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. No one has seen or heard from Christos or the guest since.”
“I don’t suppose we know who the mystery guest was?”
“Not yet, no.”
“What are you thinking? An inside job?”
“Either that or Christos staged his own Houdini act,” Silas confirmed. “The estate is like a fortress, designed and built by a firm who caters to the insanely rich and powerful, probably on Darius’s dime. I’m sure the old man ensured the place had its share of secret passageways and panic rooms, providing the ability to come and go undetected. We’re pulling the original blueprints from the county records to be thorough, but none of that would be included on the filed schematics.”
“I’m sure someone there knows.”
“No doubt,” Silas agreed, “but knowing and sharing are two very different animals. Christos employs a full-time staff of forty at the estate, with a live-in staff of six. They’re not stoked about our involvement; their cooperation with outside agencies has been reluctant at best.”
Gabe laughed. “And you think that’s going to change by putting me in charge?”
“I think that Bone Frog Command doesn’t have the same limitations traditional US agencies do.”
“What are you saying, Si?”
Silas’s eyes met his. “I’m saying, this thing has the potential to blow up in our faces. Do whatever you have to do to bring this to a resolution as quickly and quietly as possible. You report only to me. Got it?”
Gabe nodded, feeling slightly better about his chances. “Roger that.”
Silas handed him a tablet. “What we’ve got so far is on there. It’s not much. Most of the intel we have is on Christos and his business dealings, which may or may not have fuck-all to do with anything. Information on his people is still sketchy, based primarily on what we’ve been able to dig up from their visa applications.”
Gabe grunted and skimmed over the information to get an idea of what he was dealing with. He’d look at everything in greater depth later.
There were satellite pictures of the estate and surrounding grounds, some recent photos of Christos, and a list of business assets within the US. Gabe whistled softly when he saw the number of zeroes accompanying some of those line items.
He moved on to the brief dossiers on the six live-in staff members. Most, according to the information provided, had been with Christos or the Kristikos family for years: an estate manager, a cook, a housekeeper, a groundskeeper, and a head of security, all with distinctly Greek names—except for one.
Well, hello there.
Gabe stared down at the picture of a woman with clear, intelligent, light brown eyes and hair the color of burnished bronze. Attractive, mid to late forties, well-groomed. With her light complexion and delicate features, she stood out like a sore thumb amongst the others.
“Virginia Miller?” Even her name sounded as American as apple pie. “What does she do?”
The gleam in Silas’s eye spoke volumes. “She’s Christos’s personal assistant.”
Gabe silently translated personal assistant to mistress, tucking that information—and the inexplicable pang of disappointment that came with it—away for further analysis later. He would personally interrogate everyone as a matter of course, Virginia Miller included.
He closed out that folder and went to move onto the next, only to discover there weren’t any more.
Gabe prompted, “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“Officially, yes. I told you, it’s not much, but—”
“Honest to Christ, Si, cut with the ‘official’ bullshit, will you? You and I both know there’s got to be a hell of a lot more to warrant a joint task force and the personal attention of the AD of DHS. What are you not telling me?”
Silas’s lips quirked. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Saint—straight talk, no bullshit. All right, here it is. Christos might want everyone to think he stepped outside his father’s dirty shadow by setting up shop in the US, but don’t think for a moment Darius would allow that to happen. Darius has an old world, old school mentality, and is no doubt feeling mortality creeping up on him. Nothing is more important to Darius than his legacy and heir.”
“Which means Christos is also Darius’s greatest weakness,” Gabe finished, having already put those pieces together.
“Exactly. And, since a man in Darius’s position cannot afford to have any weaknesses, it then follows that he would go to great lengths to ensure his errant, but much-loved, son’s well-being, especially outside of his homeland of Greece where he doesn’t have quite the control.”
Guaranteeing his son’s safety would require more than money; it would require buying compliance to ensure nothing happened. The implications were gut-wrenchingly clear, and as close to a confirmation of Gabe’s suspicions as he could get.
Gabe’s words came out like a low hiss. “Let me get this straight. You’re confirming the US Government cut a deal with Kristikos?”
“Officially, of course not.”
“Si . . .” Gabe warned, adding a withering look.
“The correct term is ‘mutually beneficial agreement,’” Silas said, frowning. “Unofficially, in exchange for the protection of his son, Kristikos has been quietly supplying some of the newer weaponry, giving us an advantage over our competitors. Occasionally, he will also arrange for certain information to make it to our ears in a timely manner.”
Silas was picking and choosing his words carefully, but they were hard to hear over the screams of protest raging in Gabe’s head. Yeah, sometimes deals were necessary to catch the bigger fish, but Darius was one of the biggest fish in the terrorist sea. He’d supplied the means to kill hundreds of US service men and women.
“How long?” he asked between gritted teeth.
“Long enough.”
No wonder they’d never been able to nail the son of a bitch. Gabe raised his gaze and looked directly into Silas’s eyes. “Good men died because of Darius Kristikos.”
Silas’s jaw ticked, but his face remained resolute. “And hundreds, possibly thousands, of lives have been saved because of this arrangement.”
The needs of the many outweighed those of the few. Logically, Gabe understood that. Emotionally, not so much. Those who’d died were good men. Men who had dedicated and ultimately given their lives to protect the masses. They were worth more than a number on a spreadsheet, goddamn it.
His feelings must have shown on his face because Silas added gravely, “I’m not happy about it, either, Saint, but no one asked my opinion. And no one gives a shit about yours, either.”
“You should have told me, Crash.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Right,” Gabe muttered. “Need to know.”
“What I need to know is, can you do this or not?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
Sensing his anxiety, Fred climbed back up on the seat beside him and shoved his big nose under his hand. Gabe ran his hand along Fred’s head and back, the action helping to calm some of the turbulent thoughts raging within. He pushed aside his revulsion and tried to think objectively.
Regardless of his personal thoughts on the matter, Christos Kristikos’s disappearance was bad news for the US. No matter who was behind it, Darius could use the situation to renege on those “mutually beneficial agreements” Silas had mentioned, subsequently putting more good men and women at risk.
Beyond that, as long as Christos Kristikos drew breath, he remained Darius’s greatest weakness, and therefore, the best means of getting to Darius and taking him down. Government deals be damned, finding Christos might be the only opportunity Gabe would ever have to get inside access to the Kristikos empire.
“Yes,” he answered decisively. “I can do this. What about my team?”
“A work in progress.” Silas pulled up something on his own device, then extended his arm and tapped Gabe’s tablet with it, wirelessly transferring information from one to the other. When he pulled away, a new folder entitled “Grunts” appeared on his home screen.
“I’ve drafted a team based on their unique skill sets and availability. You also have the option of bringing in your own people, if you wish.”
A few names came immediately to mind, but Gabe would think more on that later, once he had a better idea of what he was dealing with.
He nodded, taking a moment to skim the brief thumbnail profiles Silas had put together. On paper, it was a good team. On paper. In reality, there was a big problem.
“They’re civilians.”
“Technically, so are you now,” Silas countered.
“They have little to no military background, and you want to put them under my command?” Gabe asked doubtfully. SEAL commanders weren’t exactly known for their people skills. Orders had to be followed or people died, it was as simple as that. He was used to working with trained, disciplined men and women who trusted and respected the chain of command. Those in the private sector didn’t have the same mindset. They didn’t do as they were told. They questioned everything. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with that kind of shit, and he told Silas so.
“They’re good people, Saint,” Silas insisted, “but you’re right, they’re not the type to blindly follow orders, and—full disclosure here—they’re not necessarily the best team players. But they are among the best and brightest in their fields. That’s why I need you. A firm hand to rein them in and keep them focused.”
“I’m not a fucking babysitter.”
Once again, Silas’s lips quirked. “No, you’re a SEAL commander. One who won’t tolerate any bullshit and will ensure the job gets done.”
“Retired SEAL commander.”
“As if that changes who you are.”
Gabe grunted, but inside, that sense of renewed purpose continued to build. He missed leading a team almost as much as he missed being a part of one. But these weren’t SEALs they were talking about, they were civilians, and despite Silas’s songs of praise, Gabe had his doubts. The rules for dealing with civilians who didn’t toe the line were a lot different than those of the military.
“You’ll have complete autonomy,” Silas reaffirmed, as if reading his mind. “Delegate at your discretion.”
Gabe’s eyes snapped up. Despite Silas’s claims, he’d still been expecting a laundry list of politically correct dos and don’ts for dealing with the private sector. “How did you swing that?”
A smirk accompanied the gleam of knowledge in Silas’s eyes. “Being AD does have its advantages, you know.”
“Meaning you’ve got someone by the short hairs. Unofficially, of course.”
The gleam intensified, and Gabe guessed Silas had a whole stack of markers he could call in if needed. Given Silas’s penchant for knowing things he shouldn’t and his direct connections to some of the most powerful men and women in the world, he should have known.
“This team, have they been briefed?”
“No, that’s your job. They’ve been told only that they’ll be working on a top-level security mission but no specifics. You will decide what they need to know and when. As for you, you’ll report directly to me. I’ll expect progress updates at regular intervals. Other than that, you’re on your own. Officially,” he added with a smirk.