Thanks for the chance…the opportunity…I won’t fail you this time. I swear I won’t….”
Easing her hand away, Maya stood there looking at Cam. The pilot’s face glowed with relief, with joy. Her green eyes swam with tears she was desperately trying to force back. Maya knew Cam needed to prove herself again.
“Listen to me, Cam,” she murmured gently, “this mission is not about you proving yourself to me or anyone else. If I didn’t think you had what it took in the first place, I’d have chosen someone else, so let’s get over that hurdle, okay?”
Choking back her tears, which she knew were not appropriate, Cam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.” Her heart was soaring. She felt giddy, almost dizzy, and so relieved. She saw respect in Maya’s eyes, sincerity in her expression, and Cam was so surprised and delighted she could barely sit still in the chair. Opening and closing her hands, she whispered, “Thanks for letting me do this. It means so much to me….”
“I know it does,” Maya said gently. Giving her a brief smile, she looked down at a red-and-white-striped folder labeled Top Secret. Picking it up, she handed the folder across the desk to Cam. “Here’s your mission. Everything you’ll need to know.”
Feeling like an exuberant puppy, Cam laid the file in her lap and opened it with trembling hands. Immediately the text blurred before her eyes, and she self-consciously wiped away the tears. She didn’t dare cry in front of Maya. Not now. Cam had to show her C.O. that she was up for this assignment, no matter what it entailed.
“This mission is going to be the hardest one you’ve ever said yes to,” Maya warned in a dark tone. “Let’s go to the briefing room. Morgan Trayhern is waiting to talk to you about it.”
Chapter 2
“Cam, I want you to meet Morgan Trayhern. He owns Perseus, a top secret company that interfaces with the CIA and many other agencies around the world.”
Cam smiled and gripped Morgan’s hand. “Mr. Trayhern, this is an honor,” she said, meeting his warm blue gaze and his smile. Morgan Trayhern was a living legend. He had been a marine captain in the closing days of the Vietnam War. Since then, he had risen to heady heights within the secret, black operations world by his success with his covert agency, which provided much-needed assistance to democratic countries all over the world. He had a knack for employing some of the best men and women from the military as mercenaries to help people in trouble. And now Cam was gripping his firm, powerful hand. She was giddy with excitement.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cam,” Morgan said, releasing her hand. “And congratulations on being chosen for this mission. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a row of chairs that faced a blank white wall.
“Yes, sir.”
Maya sat next to Cam. She handed her a folder that had been sitting on the table in front of them. “You’ll need this, too. Morgan? You ready?”
“Yep.” Moving to one end of the table, he flipped open a laptop computer and pushed a button. The wall became a viewing screen for a slide presentation.
Cam’s heart raced with excitement. She had gotten the mission! She’d been chosen! Joy warred with anxiety within her chest. More than anything, she wanted to prove that she was worthy of her C.O.’s belief and trust in her. Compressing her lips, she listened as Morgan’s low, deep voice filled the small room.
“Major Stevenson has given you two files,” he said. “The first is an overview of the mission. The second has photos, biographies and fitness reports of the three Apache pilots you’re going to be responsible for training in interdiction in northern Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Cam said, looking at Maya.
“Yeah, northern Mexico,” she repeated with a smile. “Right on the border with California. Lucky you. Maybe when things iron out, you can head to San Diego and kick up your heels. Do a little partying in your spare time.” Maya knew that many of the BJS pilots longed to go back to the U.S. from time to time. Living in the humid Peruvian jungle year in and year out, in constant combat mode, took a heavy toll on each of them. Maya started to enforce a thirty-day vacation for her pilots each year so they wouldn’t get too homesick. Three years of duty with no downtime wasn’t good.
Looking at Cam’s face, lit up now with a glow of pleasure, Maya smiled. “And your home state of Oregon isn’t that far from there,” she added, reading her mind.
“I know!” Cam exclaimed happily. She gripped the open folder on her lap. “It’s real close!”
“Well, first things first. Congratulations, you’re going to be the commanding officer of this mission, so who knows? When things are quiet, you might put one of your other pilots—your executive officer probably—in charge, and you can take off for a weekend and visit your family in Oregon. Anything is possible once you get this mission on track.”
Morgan smiled. “Major Stevenson, who is used to commanding, makes this sound easy, Cam. Leading is the hardest work you’ll ever learn how to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Cam said, looking at him. Morgan was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore civilian clothes—charcoal-gray slacks, hiking boots, a red polo shirt. His black hair was cut military short, the silver at his temples lending his handsome face a frame for those lively blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She smiled at him as he cocked his head and gazed at her almost as if he were looking through her. Ordinarily, Cam would have felt invaded, uncomfortable, but she didn’t now. Maya had that same ability, and Cam never felt threatened by it, either. Maybe good leaders had that quality of being able to look into the heart and mind of their people in a nurturing way, to see what they were made of.
“You said ‘commanding officer’?” Cam asked in surprise.
“Yes, that’s you,” Morgan murmured with a smile. He pressed a button on the laptop. “You may recognize this place. It’s Tijuana, Mexico—a huge, sprawling city on the U.S. border, right across from San Diego. This is where you’re going.” He pressed the button again.
“There’s a small Mexican Air Force base just beyond the southern outskirts of Tijuana. Two Apache Longbow helicopters are going to be flown in from the States for your use. Your mission, Cam, is to be C.O. for a small contingent of Mexican helicopter pilots who are just now graduating from flight school at Fort Rucker.”
Her brows rose in surprise, but she tamped down her desire to ask questions.
“Two of the three pilots are Mexican nationals. The third—” Morgan pressed the button “—has dual citizenship, from the USA and Mexico. He’s Chief Warrant Officer Gustavo Phillipe Morales.”
Cam looked up as a color slide flashed across the wall. The man who stared back at her made her heart thump hard. About six feet tall, medium-boned and athletic, he was dressed in a dark green, one-piece army flight uniform. Looking deadly serious, he stood in front of an olive-green Apache helicopter, his helmet dangling loosely from his long, tanned fingers.
Gulping, Cam quickly perused the man’s photo. There was something arresting, beckoning and frightening about him, all at the same time. His face was square, his jaw set and his mouth thinned into a hard, single line. Thick, straight brows sat over his cinnamon-colored eyes. It was his eyes, with their huge black pupils, that drew Cam the most. The eyes of a predator. But then, she reminded herself, all gunship pilots had to have that “look.” If they didn’t, they weren’t going to cut it in combat. Morales’s eyes had that gleam of a hunter looking for its prey.
Her pulse raced momentarily. His black hair was cut short, with a few rebellious straight strands dipping over his broad, unwrinkled brow. With his high cheekbones and hawklike nose, he definitely had the face of an Indian, and he reminded Cam of an Incan god she had seen carved in stone on some ancient frieze somewhere. Gustavo Morales had sharp angles and rough edges, giving Cam the impression that he’d been around the block and taken a lot of beatings, but learned from each experience. She saw confidence and pride radiating from him. Just the