Critical Diagnosis (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 20

  She gave a small nod of the head. “Understood, sir.”

  A hint of a smile passed his lips. “You up to the job?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  He took a step backward and gave her one final look up and down.

  “Report to B wing, Fort Carson, tomorrow, 0900 hours. Tell them you’re assigned to Operation Triton. Don’t be late.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She saluted, but he had already turned to stride back down the hill.

  Colonel Gantry smiled at her. “Trust me, Sergeant. His bark is a lot worse than his bite.”

  * * *

  Dean paced the briefing room where his men would soon assemble. Correction, he said in his head, men and woman. He opened Sergeant Hanson’s personnel file on the desk, despite having read it several times already. His admiration for her had increased considerably on reading that she had successfully taken out a suicide bomber in Baghdad, saving the lives of hundreds of civilians—an act for which she received the Army Commendation Medal.

  He had been taken aback the previous day, seeing her skills for himself, the way she was so patient, waiting for the target to appear, her discipline in lying low, never once giving away her position. He had to admit that it was an impressive display of exquisite marksmanship. If only she wasn’t a woman, he couldn’t help thinking. He had no objection to women serving in the military; he just wasn’t sure of his own ability to serve alongside them. His instinct was to protect women and shield them from danger. It was something he’d done during his entire teenage years, having continually guarded his mother and sister from his violent bully of a father. As he grew into a strong, muscled young man, he was able to use his own power to counteract that of his father’s, but the image of his mother and sister cowering from yet another of his dad’s drunken rages had been burned into his mind. By the time he was sixteen, he’d developed such a strong protective instinct that he knew his path lay in the military, serving those who needed defending the most. To wear the green beret was his one true desire, the ultimate symbol of male strength and prowess. Sergeant Hanson may be the best sniper for this job but, in his world, it was men who provided the safe havens. And the one person he wanted to place at the center of his safe haven at that moment was Cara Hanson herself. She had awakened feelings that he would need to guard against.

  A knock on the open door broke through his thoughts. He closed the file and pushed it to one side, along with his feelings.

  Cara Hanson stood in the doorway, her bright blue eyes staring straight ahead as she saluted.

  “Sergeant Hanson, reporting for duty, sir.”

  He flicked his eyes over her body, which appeared even smaller in stature than the previous day. She looked very different without the ghillie suit and was wearing standard-issue fatigues. He was now able to see her face in its fullness, sun kissed and healthy. Her shiny blond hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, highlighting her high cheekbones and Cupid’s-bow mouth. As a deep, primal emotion stirred within him, he wondered if he had made a grave mistake in allowing her to enter his perfectly ordered domain.

  “At ease, Sergeant. Come in, take a seat.”

  Two more soldiers entered the room, and Dean rose purposefully.

  “Sergeant Hanson, I would like you to meet Sergeants Gomez and Hicks. We’ll be operating as a four-man team for this mission.” He looked toward the two male sergeants, who were exchanging looks of surprise while shaking Cara’s hand.

  “Sergeant Hanson has been granted special dispensation to serve, on a one-off basis, as a combat sniper for this mission,” he explained.

  Female operatives were a rare species in Special Forces and he knew she would be regarded with curiosity. Even he was curious about her but he knew that, within forty-eight hours, she would be back in her regiment and out of his life. Keep it professional. Don’t get too involved. That was his mantra.

  The soldiers took their seats, and Dean handed them a photograph of a man wearing the same distinctive green beret as each of the men in the room.

  “This,” he said, “is your target.”

  He heard a collective gasp from the room.

  He raised his eyes to his team. “This is Major Christopher Moore from Tenth Special Forces Group. Twelve months ago, he infiltrated a terrorist cell in Ohio with the intention of supplying information back to the U.S. Government regarding intended targets. Six months ago he went rogue and disappeared from our radar. Intelligence has confirmed that he’s turned against us and is now assisting the cell, helping them purchase illegal weapons and bomb-making equipment. In short, he’s gone to the Dark Side.”

  Sergeant Hicks raised his hand. “How do we know this for certain, sir?”

  “The terrorist cell in Ohio was raided three months ago by the military. Secret documents recovered there confirmed our worst fears. They state that Major Moore revealed himself as a spy and pledged his allegiance to the group.” Dean walked to the desk at the front of the small, windowless room and placed the photograph on it. His shoulders dropped. “Major Moore used to be my commanding officer. We trained together. I would never have believed he could turn his back on the Green Berets, but there is no place for sentiment in this mission. He is a very dangerous and wily enemy. We’ve been trying to track him ever since the raid in Ohio, and we finally have our shot at taking him out.”

  Cara raised her hand.

  “Yes, sergeant,” he responded.

  “Is termination the only option here?” she asked. “Could we not take him into custody?”

  Dean sighed heavily. “Sergeant, if that was an option I would take it. Major Moore is a highly trained Special Forces soldier and won’t come in without a fight. We know he’ll be taking part in a weapons-smuggling operation tomorrow in the Four Corners region. These weapons are seriously powerful, capable of killing hundreds in one deadly swoop. We can’t risk his escape. I’m afraid we have no choice.”

  He felt his chest tighten, and his heart heaved. He straightened his back. “It’s always difficult when faced with a soldier who’s turned his back on his country, but this man is no longer on our side. He is no longer a patriot. He is a terrorist, so let’s put personal feelings to one side.”

  Easier said than done, he thought. Major Chris Moore had been his loyal friend as well as his commanding officer. He’d thought Chris was a man of honor, a man of integrity, a man of faith. But he’d been wrong, wrong to believe that God’s plan would spare him the pain of facing his best friend as an enemy in combat. After months of prayer, he’d eventually reasoned that God had turned His back on him, and he would need to trust in his own judgment rather than wait for a Heavenly answer that would never come. He turned to his soldiers and drew a deep breath.

  “We reconvene at 0600 tomorrow morning for Q&A. Read your brief, get some rest and prepare your minds.”

  His eyes scanned the three soldiers and came to rest on Cara. He watched her for a few seconds as she studied the photograph intently, her face betraying a sadness that she’d successfully locked tightly away from view. Her face was open, readable and it momentarily mesmerized him. She looked up and caught his eyes upon her, and he felt her gaze penetrating his shell to the tortured core within. He quickly looked away and walked purposefully from the room, creating a draft that caught the loose strands of hair falling around her cheeks.

  Glancing back from the doorway, he wondered what thoughts were going through her head. They were revealed to him when he saw her finger trace the smile of the young soldier in the photograph, before she hung her head to her chest. In that moment he felt a kinship with her that he’d never experienced before.

  * * *

  Cara steadied her hands as she pulled camouflage netting over the small army jeep. She was nervous, more nervous than she had ever been. She reached into the neckline of her suit and took out the silver cross whi
ch she wore around her neck. She held it in her fingers for just a second before tucking it securely back inside.

  “Sergeant, it was clear on the briefing that no form of jewelry is permitted on this mission. Dog tags only.”

  She looked over to Captain McGovern, who was staring at her sternly. The whites of his eyes shone against the black smears on his face. Yet beneath the tension on that face, his handsome features still clearly stood out. She tried not to notice but it was hard. She may be an elite sniper but she was still a woman.

  “This necklace travels everywhere with me, sir. It never comes off.”

  She saw a fleeting softness in his eyes. “Very well, Sergeant, I’ll turn a blind eye this time.”

  He turned to face his unit and all three soldiers lined up, standing at ease before him. He looked at each of them. “Radio contact is limited to target identification and emergency protocol. We use call signs only. Gomez and Hicks, proceed as agreed. Hanson, you’re with me. Let’s roll.”

  The chirping sound of woodland birds echoed in Cara’s ears as she followed in the captain’s footsteps. He led her through thickets and streams, continuously looking behind to check her position. She started to relax. She loved the outdoors and moved through it like a quiet wind through the trees. It was where she was raised. Since she was ten years old, she’d been able to hit a tin can from five hundred yards with her dad’s hunting rifle. Her father had taken her on regular hunting trips and she had never disappointed him. He proudly proclaimed to the world that his teenage daughter possessed an aim that far surpassed his own. Her mom playfully complained about being a “hunting widow,” but she loved the fact that Cara and her dad were so close. It was a bond that could never be broken—except by death.

  No, she pleaded in her head, not now. She pushed the picture from her mind—the image of her father lying cold and still at the edge of the lake, blood seeping into the water from his outstretched hand. That fate would not befall anyone else in her life. She’d made sure of it. She’d become the best of the best.

  Dean stopped ahead of her and signaled for her to come closer.

  “You okay?” he whispered into her ear. “This is where we go our separate ways.”

  She nodded.

  “Let me check your earpiece,” he said, brushing his hand across her face to rest on the speaker in her ear.

  Her breathing quickened as he adjusted the small black device, securing it firmly in place. As he pulled his hand away, she felt rough, calloused skin on her smooth cheek.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  “Ready,” she replied. And she was. She was born ready.

  She navigated easily to her designated position and began her routine of prayer. Her heart was heavy with the thought of taking out one of their own. She valued the sanctity of life and didn’t take her job lightly, but she knew that taking just one life could save hundreds, maybe thousands. When she had been tasked with shooting a suicide bomber in Baghdad three years ago, she hadn’t hesitated. She saw the crowded market, with women and children walking freely, and she’d pulled the trigger to take a clean shot. The choice was hers, but she trusted that God would understand her reasons—protecting the innocent would always be at the top of her agenda. She would do whatever it took to fulfill the promise to her father at his funeral, when she had resolved to dedicate the rest of her life to using her weapon to save as many lives as possible. She would atone for her fatal mistake seven years ago, and her father’s death would not be in vain. Even if it meant a lifetime of shutting herself off emotionally, it was the price she must pay for redemption. A click in her ear took her to high alert. It was Captain McGovern using her call sign.

  “Red Four. Truck approaching. Target identification imminent. Prepare.”

  Cara watched as a gray truck drove into the woodland clearing about a quarter mile away. It moved slowly, like a lumbering elephant, coming to rest partially covered by the branches of a low-lying tree. She aimed her rifle on the door of the truck as the face of her commanding officer settled on her mind. His safety was paramount on this mission and she would not let him down.

  Suddenly, she saw movement: a glint in the hillside to her right. A finely honed instinct told her that this was a telescopic sight, another sniper playing the waiting game just like her. She scanned the hillside with her binoculars, trying to make out a figure, a shape, anything. There! She’d found him—someone lying in the undergrowth, unmoving but not well hidden. She traced the line of his sight with her binoculars. In the distance, lined up perfectly in his vision, was another figure, crouching down close to the clearing. Her heart began to hammer. She took out her radio.

  “Red One, please raise your right hand.”

  Dean McGovern’s reply was thick with anger. “Red Four, stand down, await target instructions.”

  “Commander, raise your right hand.” She felt the panic rise in her voice. He must have heard it, too. He raised his hand. She gasped, realizing that the sniper in the hills had his weapon trained on her commanding officer. She spun her body around to face this new threat and breathed hard, lining him up in her sight. She gripped her radio.

  “Commander, new threat detected. Move position.”

  “Give details, Red Four.”

  There was no time to explain as a shot rang out from the sniper in the hill. She took aim and fired her shot immediately. The figure scrambled to its feet and ran, stumbling into the darkness of the woods beyond. She lost vision on him within seconds.

  More gunfire echoed in the valley below. Voices bounced through the air, chaotic and aggressive. Before she could react, a huge explosion rocked the hills, sending a vast fireball billowing into the air. She watched it rise like a demon into the inky sky. She couldn’t catch her breath. She froze.

  Captain Dean McGovern’s voice snapped her back to attention as his words echoed, loud and strong, in her ear. “Red Team, abort, abort! Fall back and regroup!”

  She picked up her rifle and ran.

  * * *

  Dean banged the steering wheel in frustration.

  “What just happened back there?” he shouted.

  He looked at Cara in the rearview mirror. She sat, hunched and breathless in the backseat with a look of deep shock on her face. The jeep raced along the lane, whipping up leaves and woodland debris as it gathered speed. Dusk was settling, and the sky gave off an eerie half light, illuminating the black hills into which they fled.

  He quickly slammed on the brakes as he realized he’d reached his rendezvous point. “Where are they?” he shouted, looking around anxiously, searching the hills for any sign of danger. “Gomez and Hicks should be here.”

  In a flash, Sergeant Gomez darted out from the trees and ran toward the jeep. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. He was covered in mud and brushwood, but he kept his gun raised, pulled close to his body. Dean pushed open the door of the jeep. Gomez hurled himself onto the front seat, slamming the door behind him.

  “Go!” he yelled.

  “Hicks,” Dean yelled back. “Where do we pick up Hicks?”

  Silence.

  “Gomez, you and Hicks were paired, where’d he go?”

  The sergeant stared straight ahead. “He’s gone, sir.”

  “Gone?”

  “He was in the direct path of the explosion.” Gomez’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t retrieve him.”

  Dean gripped the wheel tight. “You sure?”

  “Yes, sir, absolutely sure.”

  Dean clenched his jaw and his breathing grew quick and strong. The tires squealed as he pressed the accelerator hard. “What on earth just happened there?”

  He noticed Cara jump at the force of his shout.

  Gomez sat back heavily in his seat, rubbing his face. He was pale. “The truck was packed with explosives. This was no weapons drop. Ther
e were two heavily armed militia soldiers in the front seats. They knew we were coming. This was a setup.”

  Dean banged the wheel again. “Someone set us up?”

  “There was a sniper trained on you, sir,” Cara said, clearly trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I scared him off with a shot, but he was trying to take you out.”

  “Did you get a good look, Sergeant?”

  “No, he was too far away.”

  “Did you injure him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So you missed?”

  “No, sir, I was firing a warning shot. I wasn’t trying to hit him.”

  Of course, he should’ve known. She never missed.

  The jeep’s small engine whined against the speed at which Dean drove. He had to think. He needed somewhere secret, secluded. There was just one place he knew, and he wouldn’t feel safe until he got there.

  He looked at Cara again through the rearview mirror.

  “Sergeant Hanson, are you hurt?”

  She rubbed her knee, wincing. It looked as if she’d fallen heavily through branches and thorns. Her face and hands were badly scratched.

  “No, sir.”

  His eyes flicked between her and the road ahead.

  “This mission just got messy. You’re not trained for this kind of assignment, so it’s my job to protect you. You stay close to me, and you do what I say, when I say, understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  He wasn’t convinced of the sincerity behind her standard response.

  “Until we find out who tipped off Major Moore, we trust no one.”

  Dean watched her closely through the mirror. She blinked slowly and seemed to be trying to steady her breathing. She took off her helmet and pulled the band from her hair, allowing it to fall loosely around her face. She put her head in her hands. He grew concerned.

  “Sergeant Hanson, stay focused. I need to ditch this vehicle and acquire another. While I look for something suitable, why don’t you lead us in prayer for Sergeant Hicks? He was a good soldier and a brave man. Let’s honor him and the sacrifice he made for us today.”