Whatever this GEM outfit was, their Intel was impressively detailed. Jazz had spent part of the morning going through the information on the CD Hawk had passed on to him. There were radio intercepts and aerial photographs, suggesting high-tech flyover Intel-gathering techniques. There were also maps tracking similar past movements of the target. Everything had the feel of a smoothly run operation.
His curiosity was piqued. Government-sponsored? Un-koshered? These were familiar words but not familiar territory. As long as he’d been out in the field, those terms had belonged to special operations groups, not independent contractors.
Jazz’s immediate thoughts turned to his favorite subject, Vivienne Verreau. Being in spec ops, he]d learned to expect the unexpected, to deal with the constant change of plans, because war was not only strategy but also the ability to go with the flow. But that woman had truly confounded him.
Icy cold one moment and sultry tease another, she didn’t fit the image of an Interpol interrogator, and she damn sure didn’t look as if she’d ever run a group of operatives. Yet he knew she was the former and she appeared knowledgeable enough to do the latter. Of course, appearing to know how to run a team was very different from actually running it. An unknown factor in an operation was a very risky move on the admiral’s part. There had to be more than just a simple extraction operation going on here.
“What do you think of the plan?” Hawk interrupted his thoughts.
Jazz shrugged. “It reads like SOP. We’ve blown up bridges before.” He used the cursor to enlarge a segment of the map. “Look. The territory has plenty of good hiding spots.”
“That’s advantage and disadvantage.”
“Do we need to recon the area first?”
“We can do an insertion of two or three men earlier, set up a hideout at an overwatch location, and have them stay there all day.”
“What would that do?”
It was Hawk’s turn to shrug. “I don’t fully trust Intel that’s not ours.”
“Agreed. So we watch for...?”
“Dilaver isn’t a crime boss for nothing. He could send someone ahead of him to check out the area; who knows? This is new for him, coming to new territory and seeking the Triads. He would be nervous, or at least wary.”
Hawk was always good at analyzing his opponents. Jazz preferred to coordinate the strategy. With combined background in warfare and music, he had a unique perspective on how to create and destroy things. His superiors had appreciated it enough to encourage him to take the necessary courses, and he and his team had won many war games that tested strategy.
His new mission was to destroy a bridge at a precise time. Routine stuff. He likened it to elevator music, familiar and boring at the same time. But this time they had two oncoming vehicles, one of which he had to leave out of the danger. Timing, as in a complicated music piece, was going to be very, very important here.
Jazz turned. “You said they’ll provide what we need. Give me the inventory.”
“Plenty of C-4.” Hawk grinned at Jazz. “You don’t have to give me that ‘yeah, stupid’ look. Blow up a bridge, Jazz. You’ve done it enough times to do it blindfolded with one hand playing some damn music instrument.”
“I’m not that bigheaded. I need both eyes to see what I’m doing,” Jazz retorted.
“Conflict resolution, SEAL-style,” Hawk said, still grinning. “There’s even TNT if you need that. We have Prima-cord to connect the charges. We have cable. We have sniper rifles. M67 hand grenades, if we feel like tossing some baseballs around.”
Jazz lifted an eyebrow. “Happy children, aren’t we?”
“What can I say? I like blowing things up.” Hawk slapped him on the back. “I’ll take care of that. You coordinate the ambush.”
Jazz studied the map again. The target point was well chosen. There was a nice sharp bend a little ways after the bridge to keep the “kill zone” out of sight. He and Hawk would be able to control the whole operation from that vantage point, depending on the time of day. That was one of the key unknown factors—when exactly the target would appear.
“Tell me again why we need her along for this?” Jazz asked, knowing he didn’t need to give their subject a name.
“Because it’s a joint mission ordered by the admiral?” Hawk offered the obvious reply in the form of a question.
“Is that good enough for you? Do we really need her there?”
“Remember the envelopes we exchanged? Besides this particular computer disk with all the Intel on Dilaver, it also contains names of the Triad gang leaders that Dilaver hopes to meet with. GEM’s main contract is to stop certain key exchanges between these two groups. They need our muscle. All they want is the cargo. Vivi speaks the languages and she knows the area.”
“We’re talking jungle here, not city tours,” Jazz pointed out. He just couldn’t see Vivi running around in the jungle as they had been doing a few nights ago.
Hawk shrugged. “I’m not happy with her there, but to be honest, I’m intrigued, too. As long as she isn’t in the way or jeopardizes the operation, I might even enjoy having her.”
Jazz swiveled in his seat and met Hawk’s amused gaze, shining with suppressed laughter. “Having her?” Jazz repeated. “Don’t count on it.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you so prickly over a woman, bro. Tell me why and maybe I won’t chase her.” Hawk paused, then added with quiet emphasis, “Maybe.”
“I don’t know,” Jazz admitted. “She’s different.”
“Yes, she is,” Hawk agreed, “but that isn’t a good enough reason to interrupt a session of strategic planning before an ambush. Our heads are in our pants and that’s not good.”
Actually, they had never been like this, thinking of a woman when they should be sitting down planning every detail of a dangerous operation. In fact, Hawk had never allowed that kind of interference before. Catnip for women he might be, but nothing came between him and battle.
“You’re right. We put this aside till after the operation,” Jazz said. “You keep your head out of my pants.”
Hawk grinned. “I’m not interested in getting my head or any parts of me in your pants.”
The electronic alarm signaled the steel door being activated just before it slid open and the men trotted in, most of them carrying their newly cleaned and oiled weapons. They were grimy from outdoor exercises, the heat and dust outside evident on their soaking T-shirts and dirt-streaked faces and arms.
“What I want to know is,” Cucumber said, toting his AK-47 on his big shoulders, “why we had to run around the yard like some chickens in search of worms when you two are sitting in the air-conditioned cave drinking iced water?”
The huge SEAL had on a dark green bandana to keep the sweat from his eyes, his jaw darkened by dirt and stubble. He chomped on an unlit cigar as he flapped his sticky T-shirt in an exaggerated fashion with his free hand. Finally he just took it off altogether.
“Hey, don’t be calling us chickens!” Mink slapped a hand on Cucumber’s shoulder. He, too, had an unlit cigar in his mouth. He squinted and lowered his head in an exaggerated imitation of Clint Eastwood. “I see two chickens nesting here. Dirk, do you see them?”
Dirk pulled on his shades. “I see nothing.”
“What, are you a chicken too? Daren’t call them chickens to their faces?”
“He doesn’t have the balls.”
“Chickens have no balls, idiot,” one of the others chimed in.
Dirk grabbed himself between the legs. “There, proof we aren’t chickens.”
Cucumber moved away, and without a big body to brace his weight, Mink fell over. He made no attempt to stop his fall. Dirk followed and both men landed in a heap, squawking in unison. Male laughter filled the room.
Jazz gestured at the pitchers of water on the nearby table. “Must have been some tough exercise, since you stooges found time to get some cigars.”
Cucumber threw a box at Hawk who caught it. “Cuban cigars, man. Vivi’s guys gave it to us. A present.”
Hawk extracted one and placed it under his nose, taking a long whiff. “Why were they giving out dog turds?”
“Hell, man, there were men hidden all over the whole damn compound,” Turner said as he wiped his face with his shirt. “They were watching us.”
“Interesting,” Hawk said.
“Yeah. Like chicken hawks,” Mink said.
“Only we chickens went after the chicken hawks instead,” Dirk added. Both he and Mink acted the “hunt” out. The men laughed again.
Jazz leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at the offer of a cigar from Hawk. “Did they cause trouble?” He remembered the hidden weapons under the tables and counters yesterday. Those men had meant business.
“Nah, they were just watching.” Cucumber shrugged. “We pulled a couple of them out of the bushes or bellied up behind them and poked them with our weapons. They didn’t even seem to mind, just laughed. Then one of them handed us the cigars, saying that he just became a daddy.”
Hawk rolled the cigar thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. “It sounds like they’re testing us.”
“Why?” Cucumber asked.
“Maybe our new Assistant Patrol Leader can tell us something about it,” Dirk said, a sly note creeping into his voice as he eyed first Jazz then Hawk. “When will we see her again?”
Jazz refused to be baited. He knew the men were curious about Hawk’s and his interest in Vivi. Ignoring Dirk’s comment, he just answered, “In fifteen minutes or less.”
“Do we have to clean up for her?” Cucumber asked. “Female is female, you know.”
“Hell, no,” Turner said. “She’s coming with us on an ambush and extraction, she’d better be able to take the sight and smell of sweaty men.”
The rest murmured their agreement.
“We heard something today, sir,” Mink said.
Jazz sighed. He knew what was coming. “What?” Jazz asked, resigned.
“That you kissed a woman last night, and”—Mink paused a dramatic beat, then leaning forward, he added—“and she ain’t no spring chicken!”
The men laughed and Jazz shook his head. Hawk’s grin was positively evil. He pointed at his best friend.“Laugh away. You’re next.”
The men hooted some more at this revelation.
“Hey, Hawk, you didn’t tell us you’re next!”
“Yeah, that part you left out, sir!”
“Hell, here we thought you were going to kiss yet another GEM babe!”
“Eh, I think he probably didn’t even kiss Marlena. Bet you were lying, Hawk.”
Marlena was Kisser’s wife. The stories Jazz had heard about her skills with weaponry made him wonder even more about Vivi’s background. Cucumber, Mink, and Dirk were very impressed by the GEM operative after having seen her in action.
Hawk grinned. “I wouldn’t like about something like that. That’s one fine woman.”
“Yeah, except for her shopping thing,” Mink brought up, dangling the pair of expensive sunglasses the Stooges had snagged in the D.C. boutique. Marlena had taken them there so they could all get decent clothes for the opera.
Jazz turned to Hawk. “A bunch of SEALs in a ladies’ boutique. You allowed that to happen, bro. I’d rather kiss the old lady than be caught dead in that kind of place, with some man patting me between my legs.”
With his usual flair for story-telling, Cucumber had related the incident where the tailor was measuring his inseam and had gotten a bit too close to certain parts. He’d had the whole team in stitches with his exaggerated version of the poor tailor dangling by the collar.
“Playtime’s over, boys,” Hawk said, putting down his cigar. “We have an op coming up we need to prepare for, so get your chicken heads back in place. We have Dilaver to deal with, and Miss Verreau will be here soon.”
“Yes, sir.” One by one the men nodded and echoed Cucumber.
“Our main target is Dragan Dilaver, not the extraction, but we’re part of the extraction, get it?” Jazz tapped on the open map he and Hawk had earlier perused. “He isn’t your usual drug dealer. He has an army and he’s known to sell illegal arms to the KLA in Europe. And,” he paused, “there are the young girls he sells for quick cash flow. They’re our extraction targets.”
“Fucking piece of chicken shit,” Mink said.
“I can’t wait to take him out,” Turner said.
“Hell, for what he’s done to those kids, I’ll do a reversed Godfather thing—cut his chicken head off and put it next to his horse in bed.” Cucumber picked up his newly oiled M16, glaring at the picture of Dilaver that was still on the big screen.
Jazz stood up. Trust Cumber to end with a gory and macabre image. “’Cumber, you got to quit watching those gangster movies, especially if you’re going to make weird references. You got the right attitude, men,” he said. “Let’s—”
The electronic alarm went off again and the sight of Vivi on the screen interrupted Jazz’s train of thought. She stared back at the camera, her expression guarded, as she waited outside. He hadn’t seen her for a few hours and he’d been missing her like crazy. Man, he had it bad.
“Look at that. We have company,” Cucumber said, in a singsong voice.
“Hey, sir, one last question,” Dirk said.
“What?” Jazz murmured as Vivi came into view. Like the mysterious lady in film noir, she walked in, dressed to kill. A black halter-top with some kind of tight stretch pants that emphasized every elegant curve. He immediately noticed his necklace, his pendant tucked into her top, out of sight. But that didn’t stop the satisfaction in knowing where it was.
“What did the old lady taste like?”
Jazz strode toward his target. “Like chicken,” he said, as he closed the gap. He ignored the snickers behind him.
***
Vivienne hadn’t expected a group of sweaty men waiting for her. She paused just inside the electronic door, taking in the sight. Raw and ready men, handling their weapons with casual familiarity, making jokes about women as they stood next to maps showing their next battle. They had that look in their eyes she’d learned to recognize. It was challenge mixed with male appreciation. They didn’t want her there, intruding on their male world of guns and sexual prowess.
She caught the gaze of Lieutenant Zola Zeringue. A man. Definitely. And not a simple one. She had witnessed first-hand the contrasting parts of him playing military man and protector and was drawn to him in spite of her aversion to his profession. There was something gentle about him, in the way he went out of his way to help women, the way he tolerated the kids hanging on to him yesterday, and the way he poked fun at himself the night before. Right now he had a look in his eyes that made her think of the impossible. A lover. The thought sent unexpected shivers down her spine.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted, his eyes appearing even bluer than she remembered.
Shoving aside the memory of his lips on hers, she strode into the room. She sniffed and smiled, addressing all the men lightly. “I see you’re all ready for combat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they answered collectively.
But there was skepticism in their eyes. She didn’t belong.
Vivi looked at Hawk at the other side of the room. He hadn’t moved since she entered. She had to win her battle one front at a time. “Good afternoon, Monsieur Lieutenant Commander. Have you gone through the material yet?”
He nodded. “Yes. We’re ready when you are.”
“Any time.” Vivi turned to Jazz. The next front. His eyes rested for a moment on his necklace around her neck. Her heart skipped a beat and she avoided looking at him directly. She hadn’t been able to explain to herself why she hadn’t taken the thing off. “Lieutenant, I hope you find the new facilities a little better than the ones from your previous accommodations?”
“It’s an improvement,” he said. “But I didn’t know we were prisoners.”
She frowned. “Prisoners?”
“My men told me they were being watched as they worked out in the compound. And that they found men hiding in the bushes, weapons ready.”
Vivi smiled. She’d known the SEALs wouldn’t like that. She gave the roomful of men an arched look. “You found them anyway, so what’s the problem?”
“Did you give those men the order to hide there? And if so, why?” Hawk asked, straightening up for the first time.
Vivi wondered at the intensity of his gaze, trying to gauge whether it was anger or curiosity. She found it difficult to read Hawk. “You have to understand. The men outside have been hearing about SEAL operatives, that they’re the elite warriors of the United States. Surely you can see why they decided to have a little fun.”
“What if an accident had happened?” Jazz asked. “Someone loses his temper and fires off a shot or two. We could have had a situation here.”
She looked around at the group of men. They were all watching closely, studying her response to their leaders’ drilling.
“You must understand too, Vivi, SEALs don’t operate with the same rules. We don’t trust everything around us, no matter how ‘safe’ the setup looks.” Hawk pointed to the electronic eye with its blinking red light. “There’s no observing camera looking on in our world. We don’t appreciate being watched and we tend to eliminate things we don’t appreciate.”
Vivi allowed the tension to stretch as she made eye contact with each of the men. She was quite ready for this. “Displeasure noted, but it isn’t my job to make sure I or my men tiptoe around your rules. If I don’t push it before our joint mission, how would I know what my limits are? Talk is cheap around here. I prefer to observe the action.” She slowly strode past the men toward the front of the room. “I had confidence in your men’s ability to judge a war game being played, Lieutenants. No one was injured. Now I ask the same from you all, that you have some confidence in my abilities. I know”—she paused, turned and faced them, the entire front—“when to let men be men and when to bend the rules a little.”
She broke into a smile. “Besides, now that we’ve gotten my men’s curiosity out of the way, we can start work. Ready?”
They appeared to accept her explanation, although it was difficult to tell with Hawk and Jazz. The two of them had exchanged one of those baffling glances. Hawk gave a small nod and the men moved around the room, taking their places.
Her other problem, Lieutenant Jazz Zeringue, didn’t seem so understanding. “I would still like to know your reason for giving your men permission to test my team,” he said, his expression serious. “First, it doesn’t strike confidence in my men and they’ll be suspicious of a possible ambush in future exercises. Second, it brings up the question as to the need for our team at all, when there are obviously enough hands out there to perform this mission.”
Vivi had asked the same question. With T in the picture, she knew this wasn’t a standard operation. The few times she had been in operations that involved her chief, she’d learned there were always side deals going on, that nothing was ever as it seemed. But she couldn’t tell these men that, could she? They were plenty nervous enough. She could just imagine what they would say if they found out yet another female operative might be involved. Trust the strategist among them to catch the little details, she noted ruefully.
“Good points, Lieutenant,” she said, giving a shrug. “Call it healthy male competitiveness.”
“In other words, you aren’t going to tell.”
Why was Jazz deliberately baiting her? She wondered at this prickly side of him. She canted a brow and shrugged again. When cornered, use NOPAIN. “It won’t happen again. As for needing your services, I’ve been told that SEALs are the best at extraction in unique circumstances. Blowing up a bridge is, of course, not much of a challenge, and sure, my men can do this. I’m merely following instructions. According to my agency, the admiral’s STAR Force SEALs excel in this kind of work, where precision is involved. I can’t afford to have that truckload of girls killed by mistake.” Her voice hardened at the thought, and she added, lowering her voice to get their attention. “The men outside aren’t trained for that and I can’t use Interpol operatives. Your team is here to help me out.”
NOPAIN was as simple as it sounded—non-physical and innovative negotiation. Yet it was more complicated than blowing up bridges. She bit back a grin as she looked into Jazz’s suspicious eyes. What were they going to do—argue against their own expertise?
She took advantage of the silence and switched on the screen behind her. She had prepared a photo of Dilaver’s three-vehicle convoy taken by satellite. Immediately, the men’s attention turned away from her. NOPAIN one, SEALs zero.
“A quick run-through. At the speed of travel, the hostiles should be at target point in roughly sixty hours. However, it’s been raining, and we have to prepare for delays. You will have to tell me the time the team needs to set up the bridge. The weather will be the main factor.”
Hawk spoke up. “Mud,” he said. Vivi waited, but he didn’t seem to think further explanation was needed.
She nodded in agreement. “Their drivers’ experience with muddy terrain comes into question, especially as they get closer to the bridge. The river is overflowing, and there are some soft spots that will slow them down. My men have already made sure the trail on the other side of the bridge will be muddier than usual.” She clicked the switch again, and the photo zoomed larger. “Dilaver’s in the first vehicle. He’ll cross first. The second one is the extraction target—the girls are in there. You can tell by the larger back portion of the truck with its sealed bolts. The last one is the guards. We’ve been watching them. Sometimes they switch with Dilaver’s vehicle and they go first, but the target truck is always in the middle.”
“How many women?” Jazz asked very quietly.
“At least a dozen,” Vivi answered just as quietly. “They are very young, probably kidnapped or runaways. They’ve been either drugged or starved so they’ll be very weak.”
“Why the need to transport them to the Triads when there are plenty of girls here?”
“Because their business is more than the women,” Vivi said. She kept her voice toneless, keeping her anger under control. “The exchange of women is just a goodwill gesture. Nothing like mixing pleasure with business.”
Cucumber let out a string of insulting expletives, some of which were very painful to the male anatomy. “Yes, I couldn’t agree more,” Vivi continued, “and here’s the hard part. We have to separate Dilaver’s vehicle from the other two. The guards are dispensable, but Dilaver must be allowed to escape. Meanwhile, you have to make sure the truck with our girls stays out of harm’s way.”
There was silence as the men in the room digested the new piece of information. She knew they’d assumed that Dilaver would be either killed or captured, but that wasn’t in her orders. She looked at Hawk. He should have similar instructions in his envelope. Obviously he hadn’t shared everything with his men yet. Or with Jazz. They were doing that silent communication thing again.
“We let the bastard go?” Cucumber asked, disgusted. “Why the hell would we want to do that? Get that scum now. Better sooner than later, right?”
“That isn’t the plan,” Hawk confirmed.
“Why the hell not?”
Hawk shrugged. “Orders.”
“I can’t believe Mad Dog wants scum like Dilaver alive,” Dirk said.
“What would happen if he gets killed?” Cucumber asked, playing with the big weapon in front of him. “By mistake, of course.”
Vivi heard the underlying threat. The room buzzed with agreement as the men commented on allowing Dilaver to escape. Soldiers. They were always thinking of a kill. For once she agreed; monsters like Dilaver should be canceled right off the bat. But she’d learned from experience, sometimes, to achieve the goal, one had to lose a few battles.
“What would you be doing, Miss Verreau?” Jazz interrupted.
Unlike the others, he hadn’t voiced his opinion about Dilaver. There was something about the way his mind worked that really intrigued her. Everyone went for the obvious, but he kept bringing up the one important thing she’d been trying to get them to ignore. Her presence.
“I’ll be keeping out of your way, of course,” she replied smoothly.
His smile held a hint of disbelief but he didn’t challenge her. She was beginning to understand another thing about Jazz Zeringue. He was too much of a gentleman.
She smiled back sweetly. Nice guys were easier to be manipulated.
***
Stefan wasn’t a conventional man, but the sight of Alissa and her brother sitting so close together before him left a bad taste in his mouth. He took a long swallow of rice wine. Although he’d suspected Alissa got where she was through sex, it hadn’t occurred to him until now that she would extend her power base in her family with the same method. Being the favorite Triad sister obviously meant more than sibling love. Alissa’s brother cut off a piece of apple.
“My sister must like you very much, Stefan. She doesn’t give out my private number to just anyone.” His French was very good, without the local accent. “In fact, you’re the first.”
The knife glinted sharply in the dim light as the fruit made its way to his mouth. He tapped the corner of his lips with the blade. When Alissa immediately curled up to him to lick the juice off, he placed a lazy arm around her shoulders, curling his fingers into her hair.
Stefan didn’t answer. He knew this man. He was one of the Triad brothers, known for their ruthlessness and power. Unlike Alissa, who had mixed blood, his features were local, with a low, wide forehead; high cheekbones; and small, slanted eyes. There was an angry scar above his wide, thin lips, and it moved whenever he spoke, as if it had a life of its own, reminding those looking that the owner was a violent man.
Right now he appeared to be in a congenial mood. Perhaps the heavy meal of goose and mango rice, with the ever-present filled cup of rice wine, contributed to it. But Stefan was not taking it for granted. He noticed the wine had barely any effect on his host as he finished cup after cup, challenging Stefan to match him.
“So tell me, what can a man like you offer me? I have plenty of dealers and information sources. My sister insisted you’ll be of help, that your information had added to her coffers.” His voice was mocking as he added, “And that you’d serviced her well.”
Alissa looked very comfortable next to her brother, bending over to take a bite from his apple. Obviously a very close relationship, Stefan noted with quiet sarcasm. Alissa might or might not be a half-sibling, but there was no mistaking the intimacy of the two as being more than brother and sister.
“I heard you’re interested in a large shipment of the new drug. I can get that for you,” Stefan said.
“I can get that through my usual channels,” the other man countered in a bored voice, but his eyes were bright with cunning. “Do you have a better price offer? Or perhaps you have no customers because I own everything around here?”
Stefan waited as the two of them laughed heartily. “I normally don’t deal with drugs,” he said after they subsided. “This is a favor for a friend, and Alissa was very happy with the pills. Weren’t you?”
Alissa smiled coyly as she caressed her brother’s hand dangling lazily over her shoulders. “The customers liked the girls who took them, Yeekohkoh.”
Yeekohkoh was a Chinese familial term that meant second brother. This man was the middle brother of the trio who called themselves Sam Tai Yeh—Three Big Masters—or as the West knew them, the Triads. The second brother had a reputation for ruthless torture, the one who had expanded the gang’s power base from prostitution and gambling to more international crimes. Such as drugs.
“Mmm-hmm...and I’ll try a sampling tonight.” He bent his head, pulling Alissa closer for a noisy kiss.
Stefan watched dispassionately as the couple took their time. As a middleman, he’d talked to many strange characters, some more powerful than others. This deal was a favor to get to bigger things. He could take a few incestuous kisses to get what he wanted.
“Yes, I understand favors. I also understand business, and Alissa tells me you’re an excellent businessman.” The gangster lazily waved his knife. “Tell me, if I do business with you, what’s this favor from which you’ll profit? And do I get a cut?”
Stefan smiled slowly. He appreciated intelligence, especially in matters of profit and loss. “I’m an expert in international weaponry. All things are negotiable if you’re willing to share”—he eyed Alissa briefly—“favors.”
The knife caressed Alissa’s chin, tipping it up. She stared back at her brother unflinchingly, her lips parted. “I live to please my Alissa,” the man replied softly. “We’re practically family. Won’t you call me Yeekoh?”
It wasn’t just a simple invitation. To call the man across the table “second brother” meant being accepted. Stefan didn’t decline the fresh cup of wine from the servant girl. He looked across the table. “Salute,” he said, keeping the triumph from his voice.