Special Forces Rendezvous

chapter 11



Julia’s mouth fell open. After one speechless moment, she grabbed the remote from Sebastian’s hand and turned up the volume.

“The network just received a video from the United Liberty Fighters, a revolutionary group based in the South American island nation of San Marquez,” the blond reporter continued. “Just minutes ago, this network as well as several others received a video from what is believed to be a militant faction of the ULF. They claim to have splintered from their counterparts and are taking full responsibility for the deaths in Dixie, New York.”

“What the hell is going on?” Sebastian burst out, raking a hand through his hair. “How did any member of the freaking ULF get their hands on this virus?”

Julia had no answer for that. She was glued to the screen, growing more and more alarmed by the second.

“The tape is currently being edited by our producers, as it contains content that may not be suitable for all audiences,” the anchor was saying.

Sebastian quickly changed the channel, flipping until he found a network that was speedier with the airing of that tape. A man’s fuming, red face filled the screen, his swarthy skin tone hinting at South American descent. He was ranting and raving, spittle flying into the lens as he spoke so fast that it was hard to keep up. A minute in, the anchors identified him as Raoul Escobar, the unofficial leader of the splinter group. His anti-American spiel lasted for several minutes before he finally got to the heart of the matter.

“We know what you’ve been doing in our country and we do not approve of your unspeakable treatment of our people.” Escobar’s accented voice trembled with fury. “You enjoy killing our people with your disease? We will take that disease and kill your people with it.”

Horror smashed into Julia’s chest like a baseball bat.

“Christ,” Sebastian muttered. “They know the virus was engineered in the States.”

“And now they’re using it against us,” she breathed.

Shock, fear and terror vied for her attention, each one coursing through her bloodstream until her entire body felt weak and her head grew foggy. The television continued to blare out bits and pieces of the terrorist tape, while updates buzzed along the bottom of the screen.

“We do not ask for much,” Escobar was saying, bitterness oozing from his tone. “Our fellow soldiers have been attempting to achieve this for many years, but we are not pleased with Luego’s slow-moving efforts. We have decided to speed up the process.”

Julia grew sick to her stomach as she waited for Escobar to go on, but the terrorist leader had decided to pause for dramatic effect. His bushy black mustache twitched as a frown pinched his lips, and those dark furious eyes continued to blaze.

“Your little town of Dixie was a warning shot,” he announced. A despicable smirk lifted his mouth. “Your government wiped out two of our villages. We were generous—we wiped out only one of yours. Now it is time to show your gratitude.”

He went quiet again, making Julia want to hit something. “Come on, you psycho, tell us what you want,” she snapped.

Escobar cleared his throat. The quality of the digital tape was surprisingly excellent, showing every hard line in his angular face as he revealed his intentions.

“We have one demand: remove all American influence from our country—social, economic, military, all influences. Remove your troops from our capital city of Merido and its surrounding areas, as well as the doctors and aid workers who take it upon themselves to poison our people. Our nation does not want your interference. We do not welcome any foreign interference. All foreign-born citizens will be expelled from San Marquez when we come to power. Our nation will be purified, once and for all.”

Julia’s jaw dropped. The whole purification speech sounded a lot like the mentality of Nazi Germany, bringing another rush of horror to her body.

“Holy hell, these people are nuts,” she said.

Sebastian’s features hardened. “Not nuts. Just extreme nationalists with unrealistic expectations.”

Unrealistic proved to be prophetic when Escobar fixed a deadly look at the lens and said, “You have one week to remove your presence from our country.”

“One week?” Julia exclaimed. “That’s impossible. They can’t possibly hope to remove all traces of America from the economy. Our countries are heavily involved in trade.”

“As a sign of acceptance to this agreement, you have seventy-two hours to remove your military forces from San Marquez,” Escobar finished. “If you do not, we will release the Meridian virus into the water supply of a major U.S. city.”

“Meridian virus?” she echoed. “Isn’t that what the general in Esperanza called it, too?”

“I guess it does have a nice ring to it,” Sebastian said sarcastically. “But whatever they’re calling it, they just informed the CDC that the virus is waterborne.”

On the TV, Escobar was replaced by the open-mouthed, pale face of the sole male news anchor, who attempted to recap everything they’d just seen on the tape. But the man could barely contain the quaver of panic in his voice, and soon after, the screen cut to the live coverage still occurring in Dixie.

When Sebastian’s phone rang again, Julia actually welcomed the distraction. She felt as if she’d just ridden a roller coaster for the past twenty minutes. Her brain felt battered and bruised from all the information that had been fed into it, and she couldn’t control the shaking of her hands. A major U.S. city. These people were willing to kill thousands and thousands of people, millions even, to get their demands met.

“Did you see all that?” Tate’s voice barked out of the phone speaker.

Sebastian muted the TV. “Yep. I guess Luego wasn’t cutting it in the eyes of his followers.” There was scorn in his voice when he said the name of the ULF leader. “And as if one rebel group wasn’t enough, now the ULF has split into two. Rebels and terrorists.”

“My question is, how the hell did Escobar and his group get their hands on the virus?” Tate demanded. “Project Aries was hush-hush.”

“Whoever’s in charge had to have informed someone in the San Marquez administration,” Julia spoke up. “That was a joint task force in Esperanza, which means that at least some people in San Marquez know about the project.”

“Yeah, but I can’t imagine the U.S. giving anyone else the virus,” Sebastian said slowly. “They didn’t recruit any San Marquez scientists to run the tests. They sent Richard Harrison, an American, to oversee the project.”

Tate concurred. “Stone’s right, there’s no way they’re placing a deadly biological agent in the hands of anyone who could use it against them. They may be testing it on foreign soil, but make no mistake, they consider this an American weapon.”

“So then how did Escobar get the virus?” Sebastian repeated.

“Best bet? Someone involved in the project sold out his country.”

Julia’s eyebrows shot up. “You think one of the scientists who worked on Project Aries sold the virus to terrorists?”

“Scientist, military member, politician—it could be anyone who has knowledge of Project Aries. But Eva’s focusing on scientists first. She’s still digging into Harrison’s background and trying to find more details about his lab, which we believe engineered the thing. I’ll keep you posted on what she finds.”

“In the meantime, we need to contact the CDC, or someone in the government,” Julia said firmly.

There was a short silence on the other end of the line. “Seb?” Tate finally said.

“She’s right. We can’t just sit on what we know. A terrorist group has its hands on a biological weapon, Captain. At the moment, we’re probably the only people other than the scientists who created the virus who know a damn thing about it.”

“Frank has two days’ worth of research logs,” Julia said. “He has video of the lab mice’s reaction to the virus, observations, notes—all this needs to go to the CDC. They need to know what they’re dealing with, and the second they have a sample in their hands, they can start working on a potential antidote.”

Tate’s low curse emerged from the speaker. “You’re right. It needs to be done.” A pause. “How’re you going to do this, Sergeant? We still have that list of army names we came up with, the one of officers we might be able to trust.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair and absently rubbed the stubble coating his jaw. “I don’t know. I’d like to stay away from the usual military channels. But there might be someone at the Department of Defense that I can contact. A friend of my father.” He released a breath. “It would help if I knew what our status is in the military community—are we considered deserters? Are they saying we’re dead?”

“No clue. Eva can’t access our files. They’re beyond classified. Look, I trust your gut, so whoever you decide to take this to, I’ll back you on it.”

After they hung up with Tate, Sebastian rose from his chair, walked over to Julia and helped her to her feet. “C’mere,” he said gruffly.

The next thing she knew, she was enveloped in his strong embrace. His arms came around her waist, sliding up the bumps of her spine and stroking the center of her back.

“What’s this?” she murmured as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She breathed in the woodsy scent of him, wondering why he always managed to smell so great.

“You were paler than snow,” he answered. “You looked scared, and I figured you might need a hug.”

Despite the fact that she was still reeling with shock, she laughed softly and looped her arms around his broad shoulders. “I don’t think a hug is going to erase this panicky feeling, but it does help.”

“Good.” He brushed his lips over hers, just a soft, reassuring kiss before he released her and plopped down on the bed.

She sat next to him and reached for his hand. “So who’s this man you think we can trust?”

“Brent Davidson. Last time I spoke to him, he was working in the deputy secretary’s office as some sort of liaison. He’s pretty high up on the DoD ladder.”

“Wow. Your father really did have friends in high places. Were he and Davidson close?”

Sebastian nodded, carelessly rubbing the center of her palm. The calluses on the pads of his fingers tickled her flesh. “They were very close. Brent and his wife would come over for dinner once a month, and he and my dad went on yearly hunting trips.”

“Did you and your mother keep in touch with him after your dad died?”

“We did. Even kept up the monthly dinners. But Mom died about five years after Dad, and once I enlisted, I didn’t see as much of Brent anymore. We had lunch whenever I was in town, and I know he kept tabs on me when I was in the army. If there’s anyone I’d trust in the government, it’s him.”

“Then we go to him,” Julia said simply.

She scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Without hesitation, he slung his arm around her and brought her closer. They sat there in silence for several minutes, while the news reports ran over and over again in Julia’s head. One thousand people dead. More deaths to come if the terrorists’ demands weren’t met.

The memory of those body bags in Esperanza crossed her mind, making her shiver. What if the virus really was released in a major city? How many body bags would be required this time?

“It’s a nine- or ten-hour drive to Virginia.” Sebastian’s voice interrupted her grisly thoughts. “If we leave now, we’ll get there around ten tonight. I’ll contact Brent once we’re there.”

“Shouldn’t we contact him before we commit to a nine-hour drive?” she pointed out. “What if he’s on vacation or something?”

Sebastian responded with a firm shake of the head. “I don’t want to give him any time to put together a team or—”

“A team?”

“To apprehend us. We don’t know how my former commander explained away our absence. When three black ops soldiers go AWOL, there’s bound to be some fallout. If Commander Hahn declared us traitors, Brent won’t be very happy to see me.” Sebastian shrugged. “If he’s on vacation, we pick someone else at the DoD we might be able to trust.”

“Makes sense.”

Hopping to his feet, he took a purposeful step toward the duffel bag across the room. “Gather your gear, Doc. It’s time to hit the road.”

* * *

As they neared the seven-hour mark of their drive, it occurred to Sebastian that this was the most time he’d spent with one woman in years. The realization was so startling that he took his eyes off the windshield to swivel his head at Julia, who was eating a bag of potato chips in the passenger seat.

“What?” she said when she caught him staring. “Do I have crumbs all over my face or something?”

“Nope. I’m just glad to see your appetite has returned,” he said lightly.

Shifting his gaze back to the road, he tried not to dwell on the confusing emotions fluttering through him, but it was impossible not to. He really was happy that her appetite had returned. And he was happy that her cheeks had regained their rosy color again. Happy that the fear and worry had left her eyes.

Above all, he was happy that she was sitting here beside him. He wouldn’t have wanted to be in this car with anyone else, and that startled him more than anything.

He liked Julia Davenport. He liked her a helluva lot, and even more, he wanted to know everything about her. What she did in her spare time, her favorite food, what kind of music she preferred. He wanted to hear about her travels and the patients she’d treated over the years and the places she still wanted to visit.

And not only did he like her, but he worried about her. He consistently found himself wanting to make sure she was okay. That she was well-fed. That she had enough to drink. That she wasn’t too tired.

What the hell was up with that? He wasn’t that guy anymore, the one who worried about the people in his life, the one who tried to protect the people he loved. Nowadays, he didn’t love anyone. It was the only way to ensure nobody else got hurt.

“You’re being scarily quiet.” Julia’s voice held a note of intrigue. “What’s on your mind, Stone?”

“You,” he admitted.

“Oh, really?”

He kept his tone casual. “I was wondering what your favorite kind of music is.”

“Easy. Classic rock.”

Grinning, he shot her a sideways glance. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t believe me,” she scoffed. “But it’s true. I’m all about the rock icons. Zeppelin, the Stones, Supertramp, ZZ Top.” She cocked her head. “What are you into?”

“Same thing. With the occasional hip-hop track thrown in for good measure.”

“Ooooh, a gangsta,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s me. Gangster to the core. I haven’t picked which gang I want to join yet, but I’m leaning toward the Bloods.”

She laughed, and the melodic sound sent a jolt of heat shimmying up his spine. If someone had told him that he’d become addicted to this woman, he probably would’ve been dubious as hell. With those big doe eyes, small breasts and fragile body, she was definitely not his type, at least not the kind of woman he’d been gravitating toward in the last ten years. Once upon a time, though, he definitely would’ve been drawn to Julia. Her features lent her that air of vulnerability that would’ve appealed to his protector nature.

Protector. Ha, what a joke. Even now, he still tried to delude himself into thinking he was capable of taking care of the people in his life, when all the evidence pointed otherwise. He’d lost everyone he’d ever loved, and the only reason the cycle of heartache had ground to a halt this past decade was because he’d shut himself down. His heart was immune now, locked up tight, and nobody was ever going to penetrate that sucker.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to raise his guard a few more notches. Julia was getting too close. Her razor-sharp intelligence, the wanton sensuality she wasn’t even aware she exuded, her nerves of steel and abundance of courage...he liked everything about the woman, which meant it was time to remind them both of the very temporary nature of their relationship.

“Hey, we made great time,” Julia exclaimed as the sign for Arlington whizzed past the passenger side.

She was right. They’d made the drive in eight and a half hours, and he hadn’t even been speeding. Because he couldn’t draw any undue attention to him and Julia, he’d followed every last traffic law, no matter how badly he’d wanted to rev the damn engine of this sedan and floor it all the way to Virginia.

Flicking the turning signal, he changed lanes, then drove smoothly off the interstate exit ramp. After about a mile, he glimpsed a motel on the side of the road and turned into the parking lot.

“Wait here. I’ll get us a room,” he told her.

A bell dinged over the door of the motel office, but the young male behind the counter didn’t even look up when Sebastian walked in. His gaze was glued to the television in the corner of the ceiling, which was playing clips from the video Raoul Escobar had released to the press.

“Didja see this?” the clerk demanded, sounding awed. “This is some crazy stuff right there.”

“Crazy,” Sebastian agreed. He dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the countertop. “I need a room.”

Without wrenching his eyes from the TV, the clerk slid over a clipboard. “Fill this out.”

Scribbling a fake name, address and credit card number, he slid the clipboard back to the kid, and received a big red key in return.

“Towels in the bathroom. Wi-Fi password is the motel name and your room number. Check out time is 10:00 a.m.” The kid recited the facts without once looking at Sebastian. As Escobar’s angry eyes flashed on the screen, the clerk shook his head. “Frickin’ terrorists! Think they can mess with us? You’re in for a rude awakening, ass munch!”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Sebastian left the office, got back in the car and drove to the spot in front of their designated room. The interior ended up being nicer—and cleaner—than he’d expected. Queen-size bed in the center of the room, a chest of drawers, a small kitchenette area and a bathroom equipped with a handful of fluffy white towels.

He removed his Beretta from his waistband and dropped it on the kitchen table, then bent down to unzip his duffel. He found one of the prepaid cell phones, then pulled out his own to search for Brent Davidson’s number in the contact list. He punched the number into the other phone, and as he waited, he glanced at Julia, who had plopped down at the foot of the bed and was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Davidson,” a brusque male voice answered.

“Brent. It’s Sebastian. Sebastian Stone.”

Silence.

“Brent, you there?” he asked curtly.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.” Disbelief hung from the other man’s voice. “Sebastian! I can honestly say I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

His guard instantly shot up. “And why is that?”

“Hahn said you were living it up in Brazil.”

An incredulous laugh lodged in Sebastian’s throat. Was that the official story? That he’d moved to South America to, what, work on his freaking suntan? Yet he didn’t pick up on a single note of mistruth or insincerity in Brent’s voice. Christ. Maybe that really was how the army had justified his absence.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was,” he said noncommittally.

“Well, it’s good to have you back. We’ll have to catch up over dinner. When are you—”

“I need to see you, Brent. Tonight.”

There was a beat, followed by a loud bark of a laugh. “Sebastian, that’s impossible. I took your call because it came from an unfamiliar number and I thought it might be related to this pandemonium bomb I’m trying to defuse. I’m in the middle of a national crisis at the moment. In case you haven’t seen the news, there was a terrorist attack on U.S. soil today—”

“Why do you think I’m calling?” he interrupted.

Another beat. “You’re saying you have information about the attack?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Where are you?” Brent demanded. “I’ll send a car to bring you to the Pentagon and—”

“No.” His tone was so harsh that Julia flinched from her perch on the bed.

“What do you mean, no? Stone, if you have any information pertaining to this attack, you’d damn well better tell me or I’ll charge you with obstruction—”

“I have every intention of sharing what I know, Brent. But only with you. And only if you come to me. Alone.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Come alone and I’ll tell you.”

A resigned breath floated over the extension. “When and where?”

“Thirty minutes. At the place where we last saw each other.”

Brent paused, as if trying to remember where that place had been. “All right. Fine.”

“And if you bring backup, I’ll know, Brent. I’ll know, and I’ll disappear, so don’t even think about bringing one of your bodyguards.”

There was another pause, followed by a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A click sounded in his ear, indicating the other man had hung up. The second he disconnected the call, Sebastian broke the flip phone in half, then tossed it on the frayed carpet and gave it a few good stomps with the sole of his heavy black boot.

Julia’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that overkill?”

“No such thing.” He gathered up the pieces of the disposable phone and tossed them in the wastebasket, then extended a hand at Julia.

She rose without question and walked right into his arms, the top of her head tickling his chin. He was a full head taller than her, which never ceased to amaze him because the woman often seemed larger than life. He remembered the day they’d met at the clinic, how self-assured she’d been, how confident her gait was as they strode side by side down that hallway. Inside that skinny, delicate exterior, she was a force to be reckoned with.

“Is it wishful thinking on my part if I think you’ll agree to stay in this motel room while I meet with Davidson?” he asked, cupping her angular jaw with both hands.

A stubborn gleam entered her eyes. “Definitely.”

“You’ll definitely stay behind?”

She snorted. “It’s definitely wishful thinking on your part.”

“Figured I’d try.” He dropped a quick kiss on her sassy mouth before pulling away. “Come on, let’s go. I want to scope out the area before we expose ourselves.”

“What area? Where exactly are we meeting this guy?”

“The last place I want to be.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, as Sebastian drove through the gates of the Arlington National Cemetery, Julia instantly reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. Her hazel eyes shone with sympathy. “Oh, Seb, I’m sorry.”

Seb.

He couldn’t control the rush of warmth that flooded his chest. It was the first time she’d used the nickname, and he enjoyed hearing it far more than he should.

“This is where your dad’s buried?” she prompted.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

His gaze landed on the endless rows of white headstones. Veterans, soldiers who’d died in combat, military families...all the graves blurred past the window as he drove deeper into the shadow-cloaked grounds. He kept his eyes and ears open, his senses on alert, seeking out any hints of danger. His internal threat meter wasn’t going off, but he still made sure to park the car as far away as he could from their actual destination.

A few minutes later, he and Julia set out on foot, his boots and her sneakers barely making a sound as they crossed the manicured lawn.

“So many of them,” she murmured, a note of sorrow in her voice.

“Too many,” he said hoarsely.

As they got closer to the section where his father was buried, he withdrew his gun from his waistband and held it at his side. He searched the darkened lawn, but his threat readings remained low.

He led the way through the rows and rows of headstones, choking on another lump of sadness. He had to force himself to focus. To sweep his gaze over his surroundings, to stay alert, to stick close to Julia.

When a tall oak tree with low-lying branches came into view, Sebastian headed toward it and came to a stop. Sticking close to the shelter offered by the tree, he pulled Julia to his side and said, “Now we wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Only minutes later, the sound of a car engine echoed in the cemetery and a pair of headlights emitted a pale yellow glow in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian readjusted his grip on the Beretta and eyed the sleek black BMW, which didn’t slow down as it drove right past their section. But Brent Davidson had always driven Beemers, for as long as Sebastian had known him.

“Is that him?” Julia murmured.

“I think so.”

Several more minutes passed, but the BMW didn’t make another appearance, and neither did Brent. Sebastian was just beginning to wonder if they’d been stood up when he heard a rustling sound. His back stiffened, and then the nape of his neck began to tingle and his internal alarm system began to shriek.

“Son of a—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. The cold steel of a gun barrel pressed into the back of his head, and then a deep male voice growled, “Don’t move.”