Headed for Trouble - By Suzanne Brockmann Page 0,110

But how high? And who else knew?

“Shit,” Shane said now. He flipped his lip mic back on. “Scotty, I want you to assume these guys are un-friendlies, possibly former CSO now working for the tangos. Copy? Over.”

It was too awful to think that they might merely be regular, ordinary—if you could call them that—CSO.

“Copy that, LT,” Scott came back. “Holy fuck. Over.”

“Have they spotted Slinger?” Shane asked, his mind racing. How was he going to turn this lose-lose scenario into at least a partial win? “Do they know he’s alone? Over?”

“Negative,” Scotty said. “He’s remained out of sight. Over.”

“Good. Contact him,” Shane ordered. Jesus, maybe—just maybe—this would work. “I don’t want them to see him. I want them to think there’re seven of him, you copy? And I want him to lead them across the border and then lose them. Stay with them until then, then join him and get to safety. This is a direct order. Over.”

“Aye, aye, sir, over.”

“Over and out,” Shane said. He looked at Magic. “I need you to go find the senior chief and Owen and bring them back here.” The conversation he needed to have was not one he wanted to take place over the radio—not even over a scrambled signal. “And give Owen a heads-up. I’m going to ask him to tap into the radio communications between those two rogue teams.”

“You don’t need Owen,” Magic pointed out as he pushed himself to his feet. “You need Slinger for something like that.”

But Shane didn’t have Slinger. He only had Owen. “I need you back here, too. And bring Rick in when you get here. Oh, and see if you can’t scare up changes of clothes for you and the senior and Owen and Rick. I want you to be able to blend in.”

“Not for you, too?”

Shane shook his head. “No.”

Magic was a smart son of a bitch, and he knew where Shane was heading, and he didn’t like it. He crouched down again next to him. “Shane. Please. Whatever you’re planning … Let me take the blame for it.”

“And how’s that gonna work?” Shane asked. “You, what? Knock me unconscious?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Magic said, “but … Yeah. I could. Do that. Or … maybe you hit your head when you hurt your ankle. That’s possible.”

“Except I’ve been talking on the radio,” Shane pointed out. There would be a record of that.

“Maybe that was during the watchamacallit,” Magic said. “The lucid interval.”

“And no one’s going to be suspicious when I’m in the hospital and the injury to my head isn’t severe enough to—”

“Maybe you got better,” Magic said, then swore, because he knew how stupid he sounded.

“It’s called mutiny. You’ll go to prison,” Shane said, “and I’ll still lose my command.”

“There’s gotta be another way,” Magic started.

Shane cut him off. “I gave you an order. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Magic stood up. “Fuck you, Lieutenant Ass-hat. I’m not letting you do this.”

“Yeah, you are,” Shane gently told his friend. “Because maybe this is some kind of mistake, the thing with the inaccurate face-rec, and I’ll get a medal for saving the day.”

“You seriously think—”

“No,” Shane said. “But I’m going to play it that way, with maybe a little negative reaction to the pain meds thrown in for good measure. With luck, I can sell it, and I’ll be okay. I’ll get through this, too.”

Magic didn’t believe him. Probably because Shane himself didn’t believe it possible. Someone among their superiors had wanted Tomasin Montague dead. And Shane was going to be burned—badly—for his refusal to get the job done.

Still, he pushed, adding, “You know how it works, Dean. The team leader always pays for any mistakes. And if we’re both gone, who’s going to find out how this happened? Who’s going to make sure this doesn’t happen again? We didn’t work and sweat and bleed to get where we are, only to have them—whoever they are—turn the teams into some kind of goddamn private hit-squad.”

Magic shook his head. “Double fuck you, for always being right.”

“Go,” Shane said.

Magic finally nodded. And turning, he vanished into the shadows of the night.

Shane got busy, taking out the syringe that Rick had given him even as he broke radio silence to contact the SEAL who was following the mysterious team that Scott Linden had said was heading their way. “Laughlin to Dexter. Report in if you can, over.”

CHAPTER THREE

“Our intel was incorrect, the target is not here. I’m aborting this mission, and I’m ordering you,” Shane said, looking