She returned the clicker to Kelly, who then put up a photo of a salt-and-pepper-haired man in dark-rimmed glasses. “This is our HVT, Andrea Bendarik. He’s laundering Stjepanić and Angar Said’s money through his bank with numerous companies created by Stjepanić’s organization. The CIA wants to talk to him, so you’ll be snatching him.” She set down the clicker. “At the very least, we may shut down the routes Angar Said is using to get his heroin payday from, or we may even get lucky enough to pull him out of whatever hole he scurried into when he left Paraguay.”
The Commander said, “Okay, guys, you’re heading to Prague with wheels up in eighteen hours. Officer Sparks and Agent Steele will meet you there. We’ll be working out of the DEA’s office to keep a low profile. Get yourselves organized. I don’t have to remind you all how important it is to eliminate Angar Said as a threat to national security. Losing him in Paraguay was a bitter disappointment.” The big brass looked at Dodger’s LT. “Get this one right.”
Fast Lane’s mouth tightened, but he never looked away.
The room started to clear, but 2-Stroke made a beeline for the sexy DEA agent. Agent Steele stopped and said something to Kelly, and Kelly nodded and left the room. They hugged a bit awkwardly as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. There was also an interesting development. 2-Stroke not only knew her, but he was sweet on her. Dodger couldn’t blame him, but it definitely took this babe off his radar.
She and 2-Stroke left, and Dodger noticed his teammate had left behind his notebook. He went to pick it up and his curiosity got the better of him. He flipped it open and surprise coursed through him. It wasn’t a journal, it was a sketchbook, filled with portraits, exquisite, finely detailed, expertly rendered portraits of all of them. But in the back pages were pictures of two men he didn’t recognize, and on the last page was a dead-on version of Agent Steele, but younger…a teenager, Dodger thought.
He couldn’t get over the artistry. Dodger had no idea 2-Stroke could draw like this. He headed for the cages just as 2-Stroke came back into the room, his expression showing his alarm at leaving the notebook behind.
“I was just—”
“I’ll take it, Dodger.”
“Neo. I was going to make sure you got it back.” He handed it over, and 2-Stroke accepted it. “Look, I won’t tell anyone.”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
He could tell 2-Stroke was downplaying his reaction to Dodger’s snooping. “I’m sorry. I’m a right curious wanker. Your secret is safe.”
“Good to know,” 2-Stroke said.
Dodger nodded. “Okay, mate. You got it. You know that we always have your back.”
“Copy that,” 2-Stroke said, then hurried down the hall.
Fast Lane materialized out of the shadows. “What was that about?”
“I have no idea. He seem off to you?”
“He obviously knows Agent Steele.”
“Yeah. He’s usually so steady and even,” Dodger said.
“I’ll talk to him.” Fast Lane’s expression got even more serious. “I need both of you with your heads in the game. We’re going into a city on an op that we need to get perfectly right.”
“Is your command of this team in jeopardy?”
“I fucked up in Paraguay and they aren’t happy. They could take me off the team and put me in administration. Truth be told, I’m running out of operating years. You know how that is. The Navy doesn’t like to keep their officers in the field.”
“I can’t imagine this team without you.”
“Well, we’re not there right now. Let’s focus on the things we can control.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get ready to spin up. I’ll see you on the plane.”
Dodger went home to make sure everything was handled, and his apartment was in good order, then he went to the cages to get his gear situated for their trip. Mad Max and Saint were there.
“Hey,” they greeted him as he walked in.
Saint sauntered over and leaned his shoulder against the frame. “What’s up with Neo?”
Ever the vigilant doc of the team, Saint was always aware of their physical and mental health.
Dodger shrugged. “Maybe he’s on edge about the op.”
“He’s a rock when it comes to ops. Try again.”
“You are a right observant bastard, aren’t you?”
Saint chuckled. “Spill.”
“I don’t know,” Dodger said, not exactly lying, but he wasn’t going to mention the notebook or the babe. It was 2-Stroke’s business, and he’d promised.
“Okay. I’ll figure it out.”
Good luck with that. In his experience, when a guy wanted to keep his own counsel, especially in an alpha group like this team, he would deflect questions like Teflon. It was another testimony to their team dissonance that 2-Stroke wasn’t comfortable opening up about his past.
Dodger snorted. Like he could talk. He’d kept mum about his past too. He filled his team up with stories about his globetrotting, dazzled them with his ability to pull a rabbit out of his hat wherever they went, but when it got down to brass tacks, he was nothing but a withholding bastard too. He wasn’t sure what he was protecting. These men on his team were the best in the world. It made him sick to think about telling them about his mercenary days. He was ashamed of them. He was a different guy back then. He had to acknowledge that he lost his way after sacrificing his place in the UK’s Special Boat Services, a position he worked hard to get, to follow a woman to the United States only to be dumped by her for another man…an American. He had spiraled, drank too much, and gotten a job with a disreputable importer. When the bloke had asked him to do some shady stuff that put innocents at risk, that was the breaking point for Dodger, and he’d quit. Before joining the SEALs, he had hit rock bottom.
But all of that stuff was in his past.
An hour later, when he parked and walked toward the plane, he saw Dragon, Jo, and Ceri, the cute family talking and hugging it out before he left. Then there was Pitbull, Mak, and Samantha, another adorable family. Then Hemingway and Shea taking a private moment along with Mad Max and Renata before he had to board. Saint, 2-Stroke, and Fast Lane were already entering the belly of the plane.
It was roughly a twelve to fifteen-hour trip, and Dodger expected to sleep most of the flight. He nodded to his teammates as they boarded, then stowed his gear and set up his hammock. He headed for one of the coolers for a beer, popped it open, and took a gulp. He shrugged off the sight of the guys with their families and loved ones. He was fine on his own.
Truth be told, he hadn’t seen his mum and dad for a couple of years. Sure, he kept in touch, called on birthdays, holidays, and their anniversary, but he hadn’t actually seen them or his brother in a long while.
Maybe it was time to take some leave and go visit the UK. Maybe.
He sat down in one of the red mesh seats and took another sip. 2-Stroke came over and sat down. “You still drink that stuff?” Neo asked.
“Yeah, it’s good.” Dodger smiled at the water in 2-Stroke’s hand. He took enough ribbing for not being a drinker. He might have a shot of tequila every once in a while, but he’d never seen 2-Stroke drunk. A surprise for a young guy. “Why don’t you drink, mate?”