Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 7
We piled into Donovan’s black 4Runner and drove west into the city itself. Our base of operations was located in Shockoe Bottom, an old loft apartment on the James River converted into an office slash living area. We drove into the garage on the first floor and hopped out.
Aside from my midnight-black Indian Scout motorcycle, the garage housed our arsenal. The entire right wall was lined with electronic lockers filled with weapons, body armor, explosive ordnance, and other tactical equipment. Everything a private mercenary group needed.
But Juliana didn’t seem to notice any of it. She got out of the car and stared at the door to the loft, which was emblazoned with the logo of our mercenary group.
“Eagle Eye Consulting?” Juliana asked.
“That’s us,” I said proudly.
Juliana was struggling not to laugh. “That’s your name? Seriously?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Nope.” She clamped her lips shut and turned to Donovan. “And to think you were making fun of my old hacker name.”
“Eagle Eye Consulting is better than Ravenclaw.”
“I was a teenager. You guys are grown-ass men.”
“The name was Gregor’s idea,” Michael said. “I wished to call our company Leviathan Solutions. After the sea monster from the Tanakh.”
“That’s way better,” Juliana said. “You should have gone with that.”
I bit back my annoyance as we went inside.
“The lay of the land is straightforward,” Donovan announced. “This floor has the kitchen, living room, and a parlor back that way. Upstairs are three bedrooms and two bathrooms. We all have our own apartments too, but whenever we’re on contract we usually just crash here.”
I liked when we were on contract because I enjoyed being around Michael and Donovan. Squadmates should always stick together. It made for a more cohesive unit when we went into danger. Live together, eat together, sleep together.
“You can take the last bedroom on the right,” Donovan said. “Unless you’d rather get a hotel somewhere by yourself.”
“This is fine,” Juliana said while looking around. “This is more than fine.”
“I would like to take a shower and change into clean clothes,” Michael said. “Shall we break for half an hour and then assemble for the mission briefing?”
“Works for me,” Juliana said.
“There’s fresh towels in the hall closet. Make yourself at home,” Donovan said.
“Oh, I will,” she replied. She turned to leave, unconsciously twirling her hips a little, in that special way only a woman could.
I had serious doubts about this girl. But I had to admit, she was nice to look at. My eyes lingered on those hips as she started up the stairs.
Guys evaluated women on their looks. Yeah, it was shitty, but we couldn’t help it. We did it without thinking. A subconscious mate evaluation that stuck with us for millennia.
She stopped suddenly and turned back, almost catching me staring. I quickly looked away.
“Thanks for giving me this opportunity,” she said. “Even if your mercenary name is dumb.”
I waited until she disappeared around the corner upstairs and I heard the door close.
“So if you just gave her my room,” I demanded, “who do I now have to bunk with?”
11
Juliana
I closed the door to the bedroom and let out a long sigh. It was a lot to process. None of this felt like it was real.
A two—or maybe three—week vacation from CSCG to work with a mercenary team. To assassinate a drug lord.
The man who killed my father.
It was like I’d fallen into a familiar dream and had yet to wake up.
I pinched my arm until it hurt. This was definitely real.
The room was as spartan as could be: twin beds spaced five feet apart with a chest at the foot of each one. The walls were painted a drab olive color without any other decoration. It was like the guys were trying to emulate a barracks.
It almost made me nostalgic.
There was no bathroom in here so I went back into the hall. I grabbed fresh towels from the closet—which actually smelled fresh, which meant they probably had a maid—and went into the hallway bathroom to clean up.
I’d showered in Boston before leaving my hotel this morning, but there was something about traveling that made you feel dirty. Maybe it was sitting in a middle seat on an airplane, surrounded by sweaty people and breathing the same recycled air. The scalding hot water and lavender scented body wash helped take away the grimy feel on my skin. I stepped out rejuvenated and renewed.
Wrapping my towel around my body tightly, I cracked open the door. The coast was clear. I quickly slipped down the hall and into my room, closing the door behind me.
I opened my suitcase on the bed and surveyed my inventory. I’d only packed three changes of clothes for Defcon East. I needed to go shopping. The guys would probably make a joke about a woman wanting to go shopping the moment she got here, but it couldn’t be avoided. Besides, I had thick skin. You didn’t go through the Army without learning to take a healthy dose of shit-talking in stride.
I changed into my last clean top and pair of underwear, and pulled my jeans back on over those. The room didn’t have a mirror so I left my room and returned to the bathroom, pushing open the door without a thought.
I froze in the doorway.
Michael was in the process of stepping out of the shower. He was like a carbon copy of Brad Pitt from Fight Club, tall and lean and painted from head to toe in muscle that glistened with moisture. His dark curls were wet against his head. He had a long scar that ran from his chest to his belly, criss-crossing with the lines of his abs.
And his junk…
Michael was definitely a shower instead of a grower. Even hanging limp, his cock was like a smooth Pringles can. Once my eyes locked onto it I couldn’t look away.
He turned to me with only mild surprise. “Excuse me?”
His words knocked me out of my stupor. “Shit. Fuck! Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
I turned and fled back to my room.
Nudity didn’t bother me, but it was an uncomfortable thing for people who had known each other less than a day. Who the hell didn’t lock the bathroom door behind them? If anything, this was his fault.
My cheeks were burning. Was I blushing? It was just a naked dude. I’d seen plenty of those in the Army.
A smooth, ripped dude…
I opened the door to leave my bedroom and came face to face with Michael again. Fully clothed this time in a grey shirt and sweatpants. Now that I was aware of what he was packing, the bulge in the front was impossible to ignore…
“I’m sorry,” I quickly said. “How did you take a shower that fast? I was in the bathroom like a minute before you.”
“Water is precious in Israel,” he said. “You called me Adolf.”
“I… what?”
“When you hacked our laptops last night,” he said with a cool, impassive stare. “You called me Adolf.”
“Oh,” I said. My eyes widened. He wasn’t German, he was Israeli. And I’d called him Adolf. “Oh, fuck!”
“Why would you call me such a thing?”
“I didn’t recognize your accent!” I said, mortified. “I guessed German, but obviously I was wrong. Michael…”
“You think it is humorous to call a Jew Adolf?”
I waved a hand. “It was an off-the-cuff thing. I know it looks bad, but that’s not how I meant it. Please believe me.”
He stared at me. His eyes were the color of a cloudy sky. They held my attention like a vice.
“I am sorry about your father,” he said. “I hope this mission gives you the closure you seek, Juliana.”
The way he said my name was like someone ordering a bottle of expensive wine at a restaurant. Juliana, every syllable pronounced and tasted by his tongue. It sent a strange shiver down my spine.
And without another word, he turned and went down the stairs. Was he still angry? His face was like a mask so it was tough to tell.
Nice start to the mission, Juliana. Praying that I didn’t make any other bad first impressions, I followed him downstairs.
It was impossible not to admire the architecture of a loft like this. The outer walls were all distressed brick. Exposed ductwork hung from the ceiling. The windows in the living room ran floor-to-ceiling, old thick glass that gave a westward view of the James River.
Donovan was making sandwiches in the kitchen while Gregor sat on the couch watching ESPN, one tattooed arm draped across the back of the cushion. He’d changed into a white tank top again, though at least now he wasn’t smoking a cigar.
“Hungry?” Donovan asked.
“Like I skipped a meal,” I said.
He placed a slice of bread on the top of a finished sandwich and slid the plate across the dark marble countertop. I sniffed it before taking a big bite. Honey turkey and swiss, with lots of mayo.
“Did you find this on my background check too,” I said with my mouth full, “or is it a coincidence you made my favorite sandwich?”
“Just the basics,” Donovan grinned. “We know your favorite brand of soda and chips, too.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Which are…?”
He hesitated a moment. “Pepsi, and sour cream and onion.”
I made a game show buzzer noise. “I’m sorry, the answer we were looking for was Mr. Pibb and ruffles.”
“Damn. Wouldn’t that have been cool if I guessed right?” He gestured at the fridge. “We’re usually stocked with food, but since we just got back we’re low on cold cuts and cheese. This is all that’s left. Total coincidence it’s your favorite.”
“Guess you’ll have to get to know me the old fashioned way by asking questions.”
“I’ve got a question,” Gregor called from the couch. He kept his eyes on the TV. “How’d it go when you snuck into your sergeant’s office with Private Jenkins? Did you guys get caught?”
It took me a moment to remember I’d taunted them when I hacked their hotel room setup. “It went horribly. We didn’t get caught, but Jenkins had the worst case of whiskey dick.”
Gregor snorted. “Rookie mistake.”
Donovan gestured around the room. “How do you like the place?”
“The digs are nice,” I admitted. “Way too many smart devices, though.”
“What do you mean?”
I gestured across the kitchen. “You have a smart fridge, a computerized HVAC unit, and it looks like you have a couple of Google Home Assistants. What else am I missing?”
“Smart locks on every door,” Donovan said proudly. “IP cameras on all outer facing entrances. Sensors on the windows and roof. This place is more advanced than Fort Knox.”
His smug look made me laugh. “None of that shit is secure, dude.”
“We get it, you’re a big-time hacker badass,” Gregor said.
“It’s not secure for anyone,” I said. “A first-year Network Analyst could take over this place by the time you finish eating that sandwich.”
“We will take your advice under consideration.” Michael opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “Shall we get started with the briefing?”
“Might as well.”
Michael returned to the living room and began pulling the curtains across the windows.
“No automated curtains you can close with the press of a button?” I teased. “Some mercenary company.”
“We’ll use the proceeds from this contract to upgrade our facility more to your liking,” Donovan said. “Now, the mission.”
He pressed a button on his tablet. Gregor groaned as the TV changed from the baseball highlights he’d been watching to the background of a computer with that silly Eagle Eye logo.
I lowered myself onto the couch with my sandwich and said, “Should be easy, right? Drop into the jungle, find the fucker, and put a bullet in his skull?”
Gregor barked a laugh. “That’d be about as effective as trying to shove a soft dick in a dry pussy.” He seemed self-conscious about his language and cleared his throat. “Err. Like trying to shove a soft penis into a dry vagina.”
I tossed a piece of bread at him. “Dude, I was in the Army. You don’t need to tip-toe around me.”
“Regardless of the colorful description, Gregor’s right,” Donovan continued. He swiped on his tablet and the TV screen changed to a topographical map of Colombia in shades of green and brown.
“JGB’s last known location was a few clicks south of Bogotá.” A red dot appeared over the city of Villavicencio. Almost smack dab in the middle of the country.
I stared at the red dot on the map. It felt like things were coming full circle. I’d been discharged from the Army for trying to get information on Blanco… And now here it was, presented to me on a silver platter.
“So we do have some intel to start with,” I said. “Nice.”
Donovan pursed his lips. “That was three weeks ago. Analysis of his previous movements suggests he is now in the following area.” He tapped the tablet.
I waited for a new dot to appear in a different city. Instead, a red border spread out from the dot until it covered the entire south-east portion of the country.
“Seriously? You don’t have it narrowed down more than that?”
“Like Pablo Escobar before him, JGB has dozens of hideouts throughout south-east Colombia,” Donovan said with a lecturer’s tone. “He moves around often, never staying in one place long enough for intel about his location to trickle out. By the time any intelligence sources pick up chatter about his location, he’s already moved to a different one.” He paused for effect, turning toward me.
“And that’s why you’re here, Jules. To help us narrow down where he is.”
I looked up at him as if he were making a joke. “Are you implying these jungle hideouts have sophisticated computer networks I can hack into?”
He dropped down onto the couch next to me. His arm brushed against mine but he didn’t bother scooting over. “Believe it or not, these are impressive compounds. Some are like mansions copied and pasted into the middle of the jungle. But no, that’s not where we’re starting.”
The map disappeared and was replaced by a photograph of a man with bleached blond hair and an expensive looking suit. He was smiling at the camera. The kind of photograph you’d find on a company web site.
“Meet Bezos Accola. By day he’s a hedge fund manager for Credit Suisse Group. By night he handles all the sensitive financial data for JGB.”
“Presently, he is our only lead on narrowing down JGB’s whereabouts,” Michael said. “Although we suspect he communicates with several intermediaries as opposed to Blanco himself.”
I nodded along. “This is something I can work with. I’ll target his email accounts or cloud storage first. See what there is to see. Maybe a few targeted phishing campaigns…”
“We tried that,” Donovan explained. “Brought in our usual computer guy to kick the tires on Accola’s public-facing accounts. Couldn’t get into any of them. He’s too smart to fall for phishing emails, and everything he uses has two-factor authentication enabled.”
“There are ways around that,” I said.
“Not two-factor on a cell phone,” Michael said. “He utilizes a cryptographic key carried on his person at all times.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, that’s a bigger problem.”
“The network schema for his private office is also locked down tight. Whitelisted traffic only passing through a DMZ. And what they do let through they throttle down to ridiculously slow speeds. That way if they are somehow compromised, the hackers need days just to copy a single Excel spreadsheet.”
“Dude’s paranoid as fuck,” Gregor said. “Granted, the paranoia is justified. But still.”
“We need to visit Bezos Accola in person,” Donovan said. “I’m working on those logistics as we speak, but be prepared to leave tomorrow.” He tossed the tablet on the coffee table and crossed his arms over his big chest. “Any questions?”
“That’s it?” I said. “We’re starting this mission three degrees of separation from Blanco himself?”
“That’s how this works, Jules. We’re given leads and we follow them until we find a window of opportunity.”
I’d imagined it being more straightforward. Flying to Colombia and knocking down doors until we found someone who knew Blanco’s location. Real mercenary work with guns and strongly-worded demands. The desire to be down in South America as soon as possible, hunting the man who killed my father, was overpowering. Chasing after some other guy first felt like an unnecessary detour.
But if this was the only way to get to Blanco…
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “By the way, I’m going to need some new clothes for the trip. I’m not Mary Poppins; that small suitcase doesn’t contain my entire wardrobe.”
“We figured as much.” Gregor tossed me a blue credit card. “Buy what you need. Expense it later. No shopping sprees, kiddo.”
“You mean I can’t buy all the pretty dresses?” I said in as high-pitched of a voice as I could muster. “Don’t worry about me. I just need to get a few extra changes so I can blend in.”
“Speaking of blending in…” Michael glanced at Donovan, who grimaced.
I looked back and forth. “What?”
Donovan turned to me and sighed. “There’s something else you need to do. Something important for keeping a low profile. I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”
His eyes flicked up to my hair.
I exhaled. “Ah, shit. You need me to dye my hair.”
“Purple sticks out, kiddo,” Gregor said. “In order to blend in you need to actually, you know, blend in.”
“Sorry, Jules,” Donovan said.
“It’s not the end of the world,” I said. “I’ll get it done today.”
“We appreciate your understanding,” Michael said.
“Whatever it takes,” I said. “So where’s this accountant? What kind of clothes do I need to buy?”
“You’ll want to pack warm,” Donovan said. “You’re going to Switzerland.”
