“Zackie doesn’t make mistakes. There are only a few smells she’d react to like that.” Dilya stormed up to face her. So much for staying safely in Derek’s shadow.
“What are you talking about?” Cutcher scowled at her.
“Where is she?”
“I told you, they’re at breakfast.”
“Not them. Miss Watson!”
Abby held up a hand to stop Dilya physically throwing herself at Cutcher. The hand Dilya had placed inside the cuff of her opposite sleeve was a motion that no one had missed. “No, Dilya.”
A group of early-arriving mechanics at the planes farther along the big hangar noticed trouble brewing. They gathered up some heavy tools and rushed in their direction.
Abby knew it was getting out of hand, but didn’t know how to stop it. Overwhelming force seemed the best option—her only option. She managed to catch Misty’s attention out by Charlene One and gave a simple upsweep of her arm, the military hand sign for Come. Then she fisted her hand and pumped the arm for Hurry!
Misty stepped on the running board of the DAGOR, shouted something to Compass, and the vehicle raced across the fifty meters from their practice area in seconds. Her own crew, led by Sam, arrived at a sprint less than ten seconds later.
The line of Delta operators and Night Stalkers with their carbines at the ready had the Brit mechanics skidding to a halt.
Once they all stopped moving, Abby waved for her people to lower their weapons. Everyone did—except Derek. He kept his rifle against the small of Cutcher’s back.
“Our dog…”
Cutcher looked down at the small Sheltie like it was an alien.
“…has traced a unique scent to your hand.”
Abby glanced at Dilya for confirmation and received an emphatic nod.
“This means you have been in recent contact with a forcibly kidnapped US citizen. One who is a very high-value asset.” Or at least Abby hoped that’s what was going on.
“I haven’t been in contact with anyone.”
Derek nudged Group Captain Cutcher’s spine enough to remind her this was not a good time for a lie.
She raised her hand as if to look at it, and Zackie’s gaze tracked it up. “I…brushed it over a, uh, hospital bed.”
Dilya whimpered.
52
A klaxon rattled along the hangar and was mimicked from the next building over. Farther down the service bay, a smarty-pants had punched the alarm. Derek didn’t dare turn, he just hoped to hell that someone had his back.
Misty’s shoulder brushed against his to declare he was covered. Good. Now he wished he dared a sigh of relief. He didn’t.
“World of hurt inbound,” he informed Abby.
As calm as could be Abby lifted her radio. “Charlie Two. Charlie Four. Full guard on our position. Do not, I repeat, not fire without specific command. No one in or out. Confirm.”
“Charlie Two. Guard only. Weapons not free.” Charlie Four echoed the call. Within moments, the two Chinooks had settled to a high hover just outside the Hangar Bay doors. The hot wind of the exhaust driven downward by their rotors hammered into the hangar. Enough of the noise remained outside that they could speak by raising their voices.
Derek risked a glance out and upward. Both helos’ miniguns were fully manned, crew chiefs at each one with helmets on and visors down. Rear ramps were lowered and he knew his Delta snipers would be covering angles from there as well.
Already there was the whooping nee-naw of approaching RMPs. How soon would American forces be shooting up Royal Mounted Police cars? You didn’t fire warning shots with M134 Miniguns, you laid swaths of unfriendlies to waste.
“Your move,” Abby didn’t look away from Cutcher.
Cutcher assessed Abby for five long seconds while the nee-naws grew loud enough to overwhelm the whine of the hovering Chinooks’ big turbines. Then Cutcher reached for her belt.
