"Man, how does he do it?"
Ruffin turned to Jaelin, who sat a few stools away from him at the bar. He followed the sniper's gaze to a table in the middle of the crowded nightclub. There he saw Skrag, laughing it up with a slender, dark-skinned beautiful Trinidadian woman on each arm.
"The man's all gray, has a beer gut, looks like he doesn't shave and is older than my dad," said Jaelin. "How the hell does he still get girls like that?"
"Must be giving 'em a good story," Ruffin said.
"Which one this time?" asked White.
"Could be the time he auditioned to be Lynyrd Skynyrd's bass player, or his three years with Hell's Angels. Who knows?" Ruffin wondered how many of Skrag's stories were true and how many were BS. Hard to tell with him, since he told them so convincingly. True or not, it helped Skrag score more than some guys 40 years younger.
Ruffin scanned the rest of nightclub. People chatted and laughed and drank and danced. From what he'd seen on his way over, several bars and nightclubs in Port of Spain were packed, the locals celebrating last night's rout of the Venezuelan military. At the center of that celebration, at least in this nightclub, were the members of Shield International. The moment he and his team walked in, most of the patrons applauded them. Men shook their hands and slapped their shoulders. Women hugged and kissed them. Some kisses on the cheek, others on the lips.
Hail the conquering heroes, Ruffin mused. That's when he spotted Sergeant Jellicoe at another table with two men he recognized from the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment. None of them looked particularly happy. Jellicoe especially. Ruffin felt a twinge of empathy for their Trinidadian liaison. Jellicoe struck him as a proud and professional soldier. It probably didn't sit well for a man like that to have to depend on a bunch of foreigners to protect his country. Hell, Ruffin knew how he'd feel having someone else fight his battles for him. Unfortunately, without any true warships and warplanes of their own, Trinidad had no way to counter the Venezuelan navy and air force.
"A toast!" Akua raised his bottle of beer. "To kicking much ass on the Venezuelans!"
The other team members raised their glasses, with Ruffin giving a loud, "Uuh-Rah!"
"And if Moscoso's stupid enough to try this again," White said. "We'll kick much more Venezuelan arse!"
More cheers went up from the team.
"He will try again," said a lean, dour-faced man. "Most likely with an even bigger force that will not be easy to stop."
Jaelin responded with a snorting laugh. "Man, do you always have to be such a downer, Fets?"
Dmitri Fetisov, ex-Russian Naval Spetsnaz, just shrugged. "I am not a downer. I am being realist. We have wounded General Moscoso's pride. He will not let that stand. He will strike again, harder."
"Then we'll just have to hit him even harder." White slammed his beer bottle on the bar for emphasis.
"Yeah!" Akua pumped his fist. "Bring them on!"
Ruffin smiled. Much as he wanted to celebrate last night's victory, the eternally morose Fetisov did have a point. He doubted a nutjob like Moscoso would take kindly to such a defeat. He'd respond, respond big time. And Shield International would have to be ready for it.
"Another round for these brave men," a familiar, booming voice rang out.
Ruffin and the others looked to the left. A stocky, bald man just under six foot walked up to them, smiling.
"Chief," Ruffin greeted him.
"Glad you could join us," said JQ.
"My pleasure," replied Daniel Briggs, the CEO of Shield International.
"So where have you been keeping yourself, Sir?" asked Best.
"Dinner with The President at his house. He wants to do a medal ceremony for you guys, show his appreciation for what you did last night."
Some of the men quietly nodded, but didn't look very enthused. Ruffin maintained a neutral expression. None of them had gotten into this profession seeking medals. The ones that did didn't last very long, either in training or on the battlefield.
"What about the Venezuelan prisoners?" Ruffin asked Briggs. "We get anything out of them?"
"Not much, other than they were going after the Magnificent Seven. That helicopter pilot you and Officer Hughes got kept talking about something big going down, but couldn't elaborate."
"Could be anything from an invasion to WMDs," said Ruffin.
"Who knows? We'll have to keep an eye on Moscoso. We gave him a hell of a bloody nose, but I don't think this thing between Venezuela and Trinidad is over."
"I told you." Fetisov took a swig from his beer.
"You know, it's not always good to be right," Jaelin told him.
Fetisov grunted and took another swig.
"But we'll do that tomorrow," Briggs continued. "Meanwhile, you men enjoy yourselves. You earned it."
They thanked the CEO as he headed off, talking with other Shield International members.
A few minutes later the pounding DJ beat came to an end as the karaoke portion of the night began. First up was Tombstone, clad in his cowboy boots and hat. He sung George Strait's "Carrying Your Love with Me."
Ruffin shook his head. "There's something unnatural about a country song being sung in a German accent."
"Well it looks like he ain't doin' bad," Jaelin noted. "He's got people up and dancing, including some really fine women." He leapt off his stool and came over to JQ. "C'mon, big brother. Let's hit the dance floor and show those honeys a good time. What'd you say?"
JQ raised his hand and rubbed the gold band on his ring finger with his thumb. "I say I'm married."
Jaelin grinned. "Good. More girls for me."
He turned, then paused, his eyes locked on the front door. "Whoa. Look what just walked in."
Ruffin also looked to the door. He tensed when he spotted the woman. She was around five-seven with a trim figure and a skirt that ended above the knees, revealing firm, slender legs. Dark brown, shoulder-length hair frame a smooth, tan face with full red lips.
"Oh crap."
Jaelin turned to him, a puzzled look on his face. "Why 'oh crap?'"
The woman caught his gaze. Ruffin drew a breath and held it. Desire and dread flooded through him.
"That there, lad, is the Major's ex-girlfriend," Best jumped in. "Watch what you say around her. She works for The Agency."
Jaelin nodded. "I take it you're not talking about a travel agency."
The woman strode toward them. Several of the male patrons watched her go by with wide eyes. Ruffin's jaw stiffened. Heat rose inside him as she stopped just a few feet in front of him.
"Hey, Miranda." He flashed her a smile.
Miranda Quintero nodded to him. "John." She then scanned the other team members. "Gentlemen."
The men greeted her, a few of them, including Best and JQ, by name.
"So, it looks like you're the big heroes around here."
"We're not heroes," Ruffin told her. "We just did our jobs."
"Uh-huh." Miranda nodded. "Well, the job you did last night didn't make a lot of people in Washington happy."
Ruffin scoffed. "When you say, 'People in Washington,' what you really mean is President Atherton. What, he pissed because we actually did something about these raids while he sat in the Oval Office looking like a pussy?"
Jaelin, White and Akua all chuckled.
"This is serious, John." Miranda gave him a look like a mother scolding a child. She then glanced around. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?"
"My hotel room's not far from here."
He noticed the hesitation in Miranda's face.
"Hey, I'm sure your buddies at The Agency already replaced the bugs I found and destroyed. This'll save you the time of having to write out a report for them."
Miranda exhaled loudly. "All right."
Ruffin bid his men good-night. Best leaned toward him and said under his breath, "Careful with her, Sir."
"I'll be fine."
He noticed the corners of the ex-sergeant major's mouth twitch. This wasn't the first time Miranda shadowed Shield International on one of its missions. She'd popped up when they took down that group of pirates in Somalia and the al-Qaeda terrorists in Tajikistan. Each time she told them what they were doing had serious political consequences for the Atherton Administration.
Ruffin frowned as they exited the club. He thought back to three years ago in Djibouti, when he was still in the Marine Corps, on anti-pirate ops with the Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team, or FAST. Miranda had been his CIA liaison. My God, the times they had together. Now here they were on opposite sides of the spectrum.
Not that that ever seemed to matter after Miranda finished giving him her warnings on behalf of President Atherton.
"So when did you get into Port of Spain?" he asked as a cool breeze washed over them.
"Four months ago."
He gave her a puzzled look. "What, you can see into the future? You knew we were gonna be here now?"
Miranda grinned briefly. "Port of Spain is my new duty station. We're just a stone's throw away from Venezuela, so it's a perfect place to keep an eye on them. I can speak Spanish, I spent two summers in South America when I was in college. The Agency felt this was a good place for me."
"And it makes it convenient for you to ride our asses when we 'get out of line.'" He used his middle and index fingers as quotation marks on the last four words.
Miranda shot him a nasty glare. She didn't say another word the rest of the walk back to the Marriott and up the elevator. When they entered his hotel room, Ruffin announced loudly, for the benefit of the CIA bugs, "We're home!"
He turned to face Miranda, a big smile on his face. Her brow furrowed as she shut the door, hard.
"Just a little joke." Ruffin looked past Miranda to the full-length mirror on the door, which reflected his lean, solid 5'10 frame crowned by short light brown hair. He checked his expression, hoping it looked innocent enough to disarm Miranda.
Judging from the sharp look on her face, it didn't.
"Do you know what you and your company did last night?"
"Yeah. We prevented the Venezuelan military from raiding Port of Spain again."
"And by doing that, you created an international incident."
Ruffin rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't give me that crap again."
"Blowing up pirates and terrorists is one thing. But now, Shield International, a private company, committed an act of war against a sovereign nation. There are five Venezuelan warships at the bottom of the Caribbean and nearly three hundred soldiers, sailors and airmen dead or wounded."
"Then they shouldn't have tried to commit an act of war on another sovereign nation." He suppressed a smile of satisfaction at throwing Miranda's argument back at her.
Not that it deterred her. "It also makes the United States look inept and weak. Like we can't solve these kinds of crises."
"You mean it makes President Atherton look inept and weak, which he is."
"He is trying to resolve this conflict."
"Really? How?"
Miranda paused. "He's been talking with the United Nations, trying to come up with a resolution to condemn the Venezuelan raids."
Ruffin barked out a laugh. "A UN resolution? Are you kidding me? You think someone like General Moscoco gives a damn about some politician wagging his finger and telling him to stop attacking Trinidad, pretty please with sugar on top?"
He placed his hands on his hips. "You know when I was in sixth grade, there was this SOB seventh grader who used to bully me around. Then you know what I did?"
"What?"
"I hung out with my cousin Doug over the summer. He was with the high school wrestling team. He got me in shape, taught me some moves. Then first day of school, when that douchebag put a hand on me, I hauled off and belted him. Gave him a nice bloody lip. He never bothered me again after that."
"I take it there's a point to that story."
"The point is there are people in the world who couldn't give a crap about talking and resolutions. They're evil bastards, and the only thing they respond to is a swift kick in the ass. And that's what we gave General Moscoso last night."
"That swift kick in the ass could land Shield International in a lot of trouble. The President contacted the Attorney General about possible legal action against your company."
"Let 'em try. We have a contract with the government of Trinidad and Tobago to help in the defense of their country. We were acting on their behalf. So if that wuss Atherton wants to serve us a warrant, tell him he can stick it up his ass. We're staying here, and if Moscoso wants to launch another raid, then he's gonna be out more planes and ships and soldiers."
Anger lines etched in Miranda's face. She shook her head. "That stubborn Scottish pride of yours is going to bite you in the ass one day."
"Ha! That's rich, coming from the queen of stubborn Puerto Rican pride."
Miranda closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. She spoke through clenched teeth. "Tell your boss, Mister Briggs, that he is stepping on some big toes in Washington, and if he cares about his company and all his US interests and holdings, he'll rethink what he's doing in Trinidad."
"I'll tell him. But I guarantee you he'll ignore it. Now if you're -"
"Dammit, John!" Miranda walked up to him and grabbed his wrist. He held his breath, his chest tightening.
Miranda also paused, biting her lip for a moment. She spoke in a low voice. "I'm begging you, listen to me. You don't want to take on Atherton and his administration. You've seen how his people can tear apart their opponents. They'll do the same to you, your men and the rest of Shield International."
"We're not afraid of Atherton and his attack dogs. They want a fight, we'll give them a fight."
"John, please." She tightened her grip on his wrist.
He stared into her face, that beautiful face. Her anger dissolved, replaced by worrying. He could see the pleading in her eyes.
She took a step closer to him.
Ruffin's heartbeat picked up. He continued staring at her face.
He drew a staggered breath, wrapped his free arm around Miranda's waist and drew her against his body. They kissed.
XXXXX
Al Lemongello stood on the bridge of the cruise ship Emerald Wind, gazing out at the darkened, calm waters of the Caribbean. Some would hate having the graveyard shift as officer of the deck. Not Lemongello. He liked the quiet of the night. It proved relaxing. He needed the chance to relax after that two year hell called his divorce. All the lawyers and court dates and screaming matches with his bitch of an ex-wife and fighting to see his children more than two days a month caused him to gain twenty pounds, lose his hair and take pills for his high blood pressure.
Out here, in the middle of the ocean, he could forget about that. The world was calm. Just the ocean, the stars and –
A quake ripped through Emerald Wind. Lemongello fell to the deck. So did everyone else on the bridge.
"What the hell was that?" blurted Howell, the helmsmen.
"I'll check. Call the captain. Tell him to report to the bridge."
"Yes, Sir."
Lemongello pushed himself to his feet and rushed outside to the bridge wing. He turned to the right. Fear and shock froze his muscles.
A jagged tear went up the port side and through the aft decks. Already he could feel the cruise ship listing.
"Sound the alarm!" he shouted to Howell. "Get everyone to the lifeboats. Tell the captain -"
A rush of water erupted behind him. He swung around. Lemongello gasped, his wide, terrified eyes locked on the form before him.
Oh my God. He was vaguely aware he'd wet his pants. He kept looking at the thing towering over Emerald Wind, not wanting to believe it. He'd only seen this thing in pictures and videos from the alien attack on Japan thirty some years ago. But Godzilla had killed it. It shouldn't be here. It shouldn't!
Titanosaurus reared back and let out a roar that sounded like a hundred angry elephants. It raised its arms and brought them down.
Lemongello managed to scream before his world ended in a crash and darkness.
TO BE CONTINUED