Prime (Chess Team Adventure, #0.5)

King’s brow furrowed. The statement didn’t make any sense. Females weren’t eligible for Ranger school because of the military ban on women in combat occupation specialties.

“I thought it was just scuttlebutt,” Tremblay continued. “G.I. Jane bullshit. Some general had the nutty idea that Spec Ops needed to be co-ed, so he set up a special pilot program to start training women for the Unit.”

King glanced at her. She was still smiling, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “I’ve never heard anything about this,” he said.

“A buddy of mine was an R.I. They wanted to keep it all very hush-hush in case things went horribly wrong…which is exactly what happened. Only one of the candidates made it through, which just showed what a stupid idea it was to begin with—”

Zelda cleared her throat. “Standing right in front of you, Prince Charming.”

The Delta shooter swallowed nervously. “Ah, sorry…but you know what I mean.”

“Actually I don’t. I’d love to see how you’re going to get out of that hole by digging deeper, but we should probably cut to the chase.”

King wanted to hear more about this woman—Zelda Baker, evidently the first and only female Army Ranger. Keasling had told him that their contacts in Myanmar were military intelligence; aside from that, he hadn’t known what to expect…but as Tremblay had so eloquently put it, he hadn’t been expecting her. But she was right; they were on the clock. “I was told that your people are maintaining surveillance on the subjects. Is that correct?”

“My people?” Her lips curled in something that might have been a wry smile or a sneer—he couldn’t say for sure.

She gestured for them to follow her into one of the partitioned areas, which had been converted into a makeshift office. There was a wall map of Southeast Asia tacked to one wall and a pad of butcher paper on an easel in a corner. A folding card table served as a desk, but most of its surface was taken up by electronic equipment—a military radio, a computer terminal and a fax/copier/scanner. The only decorative item in evidence was a stuffed toy sitting on the table right next to the computer. It was a Ranger Bear, just like those sold in the Post Exchange—a teddy bear in camouflage BDUs complete with a black beret, but this one had been modified. The bear’s head had been removed, and in its place was a Magic 8 Ball. King noticed that someone had pinned a silver rank bar to the beret.

Zelda saw him looking at the doll. “That’s Lieutenant Ball. He usually makes better decisions than a real officer.”

She stripped off her padded boxing gloves and tossed them down next to the disfigured bear, then sank into a chair. “Let me tell you about ‘my people.’ It’s just the two of us—me and Shin—and I really don’t have time for this bullshit.

“There’s a quarter of a million troops in Iraq ‘fightin’ the evildoers.’” She emphasized her contempt with air quotes. “But do you know where the tangos get their guns? Or the money to build IEDs to blow your asses up? Right here. This is where the evil begins.”

“Drugs.” King understood immediately what she was talking about. Opium trafficking in the Golden Triangle was keeping Al Qaeda and other terrorist groups flush with cash. He also knew that the CIA and FBI were actively working to shut down the criminal agencies that were facilitating those activities, but evidently Zelda saw her mission as more than just orders to be followed; it had become personal.

She waved dismissively. “Drugs. Sex slaves. Child soldiers…anything that can turn a profit for the triads.”

“Look, I get it. You’re fighting the good fight here, and you don’t appreciate being pulled off that to do favors for us. But we’re on the same side.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “Are you sure about that? The guys we’ve been trying to take down—the 14K triad—they’ve got a particularly brutal revenue stream: they kidnap people off the streets and harvest their organs. Care to guess who buys them? Rich, connected people—people back in the states—who don’t want to have to wait for a donor match. Do you think the people in power really want to shut them down?”

King realized that he had to take charge of the situation. “It’s not our job to figure out what they really want. We follow the orders we’re given.”

“‘Ours not to reason why,’ is that it?”

“That’s what you signed up for, soldier.”

The faintest glimmer of a smile returned to her full lips, and then she did something completely unexpected. She arched her back and stretched lazily, like a cat rousing from a nap. “Well then, what are your orders, sir?”