them up and returned them to Bagram Airfield. Two members of his team had stayed behind to maintain surveillance on the target.
But the knowledge that they’d let Hamid Al-Azir get away pissed him off on a level so deep that he hadn’t stopped to fully consider his actions. As soon as the helicopter had touched down at Bagram, he’d stormed over to the Special Ops commander’s office to find out what the hell was going on. He hadn’t even stopped to clean himself up and still wore the dust and grime of fourteen days in the field.
“I understand your frustration, Major,” Colonel Decker said. “Vital operations have been disrupted across the theater, but the Pentagon has demanded a full investigation into the U.S. air strike that occurred outside Kandahar two days ago. Until that investigation is complete, your orders are to stand down.”
Chase hadn’t read the reports, but by all accounts the Special Ops air strike against the summer retreat of a top Taliban leader had been a complete disaster. The local population claimed that dozens of innocent civilians had been targeted, and Washington’s response was an abrupt and complete halt to all special-operations missions.
Chase blew out a hard breath and looked at Colonel Decker. “How long?”
The Colonel shrugged. “The Pentagon says at least forty-eight hours, but my guess is a week. Maybe longer.”
Chase bit back an expletive. At least with a two-man team in the region, they could still keep tabs on Al-Azir. The months spent tracking the Taliban leader wouldn’t be completely wasted, but Chase didn’t think he could relax until they had the bastard in custody.
“Sir, I’d like to rejoin my surveillance team ASAP.”
Colonel Decker picked up a folder and pinioned Chase with a hard look. “Before I let you do that, why don’t you tell me what happened after the stand-down order was issued? My report states gunfire was exchanged at the compound, and your team requested air support.”
The Colonel’s expression was grim and Chase knew it didn’t bode well for him. “Sergeant Morse was unaware of the stand-down order,” he lied, “and attempted to take the target into custody.”
“Uh-huh.” The dry tone clearly said the Colonel didn’t believe a word of Chase’s story. “And as their leader, your responsibility was to ensure your men not only heard the order, but heeded it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In light of your inability to control your team, Major, I have a new assignment for you. Here, take a look. This should keep you busy for the next week or so. How well you perform this duty will determine whether I send you back into the field.”
Frowning, Chase took the file from his superior and opened it, quickly scanning the contents of the dossier. Along with the usual personal information, the folder contained several glossy media photos of a young woman with a guitar. She was attractive in a sexy, teenybopper way, with wild blond hair and heavy eye makeup. She wore a pair of tattered jeans and cowboy boots, paired with a red camisole top that laced up the front like a corset. Scanning the dossier, he saw her name was Tenley Miles and she was some kind of country-pop singer. And she was coming to Afghanistan.
“What is this?” he growled, but he had a sinking suspicion that he already knew.
“Your new assignment,” Colonel Decker announced cheerfully. “She’ll arrive in three days as part of the Independence Day concert tour, and you will act as her escort while she’s here.”
“Her babysitter, you mean,” Chase muttered, flipping through the photos. A quick appraisal of her personal information confirmed that she was barely eighteen years old. “Why isn’t the USO handling security? This isn’t something we do.”
While Chase and his men routinely provided protection details for VIPs and dignitaries during their visits to Afghanistan, they had never been asked to act as bodyguards to celebrities. The USO had its own contracted security personnel for that purpose.
“The USO staff is stretched thin with the other entertainers who are coming over. Besides, she’s not here on a USO ticket,” the colonel added. “She’s here on her own dime to make nice with the troops and, as I understand it, try to repair the damage she did at a recent concert when she publicly lambasted the U.S. military.”
“Christ, leave it to the celebrities,” Chase said in disgust. He pulled out a news article that provided the details of Tenley Miles’s anti-military rant. He gave a disbelieving huff of laughter as he quickly read the column. “I think I’d rather take my chances with the Taliban.”
“Are you telling me you can’t handle one girl?” The colonel arched an eyebrow.
“That depends,” Chase said absently, thumbing through the remaining documents. “Is water-boarding still allowed?” Picking up a black-and-white photo, he studied it for a moment before turning it toward the other man. “Who is this?”
“Her personal assistant.”
There was some writing on the back of the photo. “Katherine Fitzgerald,” Chase read aloud. “Publicist.” He gave a snort of disgust. “Great. Tell me I don’t have to babysit her as well.”
Turning the photo over, he studied the woman again and something fisted low in his gut. She was slender and her face boasted beautiful bone structure, although her baggy cargo pants and cardigan sweater effectively hid any curves she might have. Her hair was an indeterminate color and style, having been pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and Chase let his gaze linger for a moment on her full lips and the determined set of her chin.
“Actually,” the colonel said, “her flight lands in about two hours and I’d like you to be there to meet her and get her settled.”
Chase frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was pander to some entitled celebrity and her publicist. “I thought you said she wasn’t coming for another three days.”
“Tenley Miles won’t be here for another three days,” the Colonel clarified. “Her publicist arrives today to scope things out. So … you have three days to tour three of our bases—Bagram, Camp Leatherneck and Kandahar, where you’ll rendezvous with the entertainers upon their arrival.”
Chase frowned. “Is that typical protocol for these kinds of events? To send a publicist or personal assistant—or whatever the hell she calls herself—over early to scope things out?”
“I guess that depends on the star power of the celebrity,” Colonel Decker said wryly. “And I’m not into the country-pop scene, but my understanding is that Tenley Miles is a very big deal.”
“So if the USO has run out of room, where am I supposed to put her?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. But keep in mind that how well you perform this assignment will determine how quickly I allow you to return to the field with the rest of your team.”
In other words, if he couldn’t handle these two women, there was no way he’d be allowed to oversee a covert Special Ops team.
“Just so that I’m clear,” he said carefully, “I have complete responsibility for this woman while she’s here, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And if she’s not happy with the, uh, accommodations?”
“Then she goes home. Same thing for the singer. I won’t compromise their safety or the safety of the troops, so if either of them is unable to follow your rules, Major, then they’re on the next flight out. But you won’t let that happen. They will follow your rules, do we understand each other?”
Chase read the unspoken message loud and clear. If the women ended up leaving early, it would only be because he had failed in his assignment. And if that happened, he could expect to spend the remainder of his deployment chained to a desk somewhere. He considered the factors involved in the first phase of his assignment: one woman, three bases, three days. No problem. He hadn’t