The Alpha Enigma by W. Michael Gear

Author:W. Michael Gear [Gear, W. Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2020-11-03T00:00:00+00:00

55

Before going operative, Karla endured a queasy stomach, heightened senses, and the nervous tingling of muscle and bone. Not that anyone would ever catch a whiff of it. Not from CPO Karla Raven. As a female, her balls had to show more polished brass than any other man’s in her platoon.

Knowing that thirty Talon security guys were waiting just behind that gate wasn’t in any way comforting. Better that they’d been Al-Qaeda–trained Taliban. At least they got sloppy on occasion.

As she roared up the conifer-lined drive; her eyes searched for the first black-clad guard who would step out and level his weapon. She could name a thousand things that could go wrong, and her imagination, if given the time, could have invented thousands more.

Damn it, she was a SEAL, and SEALs did the impossible on a routine basis.

But generally with better intel and planning.

Stow it. You’re on a mission.

That smug-assed Major Savage had sat through the entire briefing, his arms crossed, mouth clamped. His disbelieving eyes had practically screamed, “Idiocy!”

The Skipper’s reaction had been almost as bad. She’d watched his worry grow the way a thunderhead did over a mountain. By the end, she’d seen a desperate fear behind his eyes.

He thinks we’re not going to make it.

She jacked the wheel, sending them right on the narrow paved strip that dropped down toward the basement kitchen.

“So far, so good,” she whispered.

Which, of course, was when the guard stepped out from behind a dark-green dumpster at the edge of the kitchen parking lot. Two Jeeps and a Subaru were nosed in against the wall, and Karla recognized the loading dock and rear kitchen door.

“Let me,” Cat said unexpectedly, grabbing up her map. She was out the door the moment Karla slowed the Chevy.

“Hey!” Cat screamed. “What’s with the damn gun? You a psycho or what?”

“You’re in a restricted area. I need you to get down on the ground now, hands where I can see them!”

“Okay, so he’s not buying her lost tourist bit,” Karla murmured as she slipped the HK .45 from her hip holster. Her foot hovered over the accelerator, ready to stomp it if he stepped in front of the vehicle. Or whip the HK out the window for a left-handed shot if he didn’t.

“Don’t be a macho asshole!” Cat almost shouted, tears leaking out of her eyes. “You’re scaring me. Here, see? Here on the map. We’re looking for Murry’s. You know, the director? We’re supposed to be at the party.” More tears, Cat obviously terrified. “We thought this was his house! Tell us where to go, and we’ll leave!”

Then, to Karla’s amazement, the guard actually frowned and lowered his gun as he stepped forward—right into Cat’s spray. The guy dropped like he’d been spine-shot.

“I’ve got to get me some of that.” Karla drove wide around the sprawled guard and backed up to the loading dock.

Cat was struggling with the guard, having rolled him over. Now she was tugging at the subgun’s sling. Something about the image—Cat Talavera

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