Miles To Go Part 2

At least she didn't seem to be injured. The fall had thrown her off mentally or, more likely, was a sign that she wasn't focused to begin with. MacPherson. Smythe. Nina. Too much to think about.

She had to get it together. She thought of Smythe so far ahead and felt a surge of frustration course through her body. She couldn't lose. She couldn't bear to go back to her dull little cubicle and her cases that never seemed to go anywhere. She had joined the FBI for a life of action, a life that had meaning and purpose.

She hadn't realized in her youthful naivete that there were never any guarantees. But as a permanent member of CT3, it was an absolute that she would be doing something that mattered. She felt her focus return and, with it, picked up her pace. She saw the simulated window just ahead, a wall erected on the path with a square cutout. Instead of crawling through it, she grabbed the top beam, tucked her legs and swung through the opening. She let go and landed perfectly in the puddle on the other side.

Ignoring the chill soaking into her socks, Rennie ran hard, the well-worn path cutting clearly through the woods. She had always been a runnerat least ever since she had become physical.

For many years she had done nothing but read and try to stay out of the way of her chaotic family. Then she had discovered motion and never looked back. Running felt so natural, she often wondered how she had done without it. Here was pure freedom, perhaps the only kind she had ever known. She leaned into it and pushed harder. Her insecurity fell away and she felt a solid rhythm settle into her limbs.

She bore down on the ravine. Traversing this deep cut always ate up a lot of time. It was fifteen feet across and angled down ten feet on each side. A rope trailed down the steep uneven descent and another snaked back up. Rennie knew she had recovered from her fall. Her body felt good and strong and she wondered if she could make up time by jumping the gap instead of s.h.i.+mmying down one side and up the other, as Smythe had surely done. The path was rocky at this point and she skirted the dips and b.u.mps nimbly as she raced toward the ravine. Then she picked up speed and ran for the edge. Focusing on the strength in her legs, she leapt. For a moment it felt like she was flying, her legs still churning as she tore through the air. In that instant she wanted to stretch out her arms and turn her face to the sky, drinking in her escape from being earthbound. But not today.

She came down fast, hitting hard ground on the other side of the ravine that crumbled under her feet. She felt herself fall but finally her fingers grasped the rope and finding her footing, she pulled herself to the top.

There was still no sign of Smythe but she knew she was gaining on him, she could feel it. The thought made her push herself harder. This section of the path was the last straight easy bit before turning north and climbing and curving to the ridge.

The cliff face was just ahead, a sheer rock wall ten feet high.

Some places were mossy and slick, but when she reached it she instinctively knew each foothold in the rock. A thick rope snaked over the edge a few feet and when she grabbed it, she took a few well-placed steps and was up and over. The incline to the ridge loomed before her. Trailing up the mountainside, it was the most difficult part of the courseexcept for the Wall which presented a special problem for the women. Rennie ran and climbed and ignored the pain that was settling into her legs. She put Smythe out of her mind and used the pain to fuel her. Just take the hill. Take it as fast as you can. Then the pain pa.s.sed and she felt unstoppable, tearing up the path, taking its twists and turns, legs pumping, breath even and steady. This section ate up the most time. Glancing at her watch, she knew she was running the course faster than she ever had before. Much faster. It had never meant so much. And then the ground leveled out and she was running along the ridge. A few hundred yards ahead she could see the iconic cargo net.

She scrambled up the net, the rope thick and rough against her hands. The cargo net always made Rennie think of the countless hands and feet of those who'd struggled over it through the years, pus.h.i.+ng themselves and asking more of their bodies than they ever had before. She paused at the top to see if there was any sign of Smythe. Then she heard a tiny splash in the distance.

She knew it could only be one thingSmythe crossing the creek where it traversed the course at the second point. She felt a huge surge of adrenaline shoot through her as she flipped over the top of the net and landed on her feet. She could do this. He was within striking distance and had no idea how close she was.

Smythe was breathing hard. He had let himself go a little soft, but it would take next to nothing to get his body back.

MacPherson knew that too. Smythe didn't understand why he was giving him such a hard time, trying to humiliate him by racing a woman. He'd worked his a.s.s off for years in HRT and looked at this selection period as a little breather. But he and MacPherson had always clashed when they were in HRT together. MacPherson had gotten leaders.h.i.+p positions because he was willing to kiss a.s.s and Smythe wasn't.

Smythe wondered how much distance he had on Vogelmaybe half a mile. He thought he might be able to increase it to three- quarters before it was all over. Of course, there was no use in killing himself. But MacPherson had put him into a position where he had to make a point and drive it home hard. He thought the idea of women on the team as abhorrent as MacPherson did, maybe even more. Not that he didn't love women. He had a beautiful wife he adored. He had no problem with women agents. But here, in special operations, was his world. A realm utterly devoid of anything suggestive of the female. He liked it that way. It was a place where he could join a long succession of brave men who lived purely in the world of action. Whenever he jumped from a plane or dove into the sea from a chopper or slit the throat of a drug warlord he felt like he was meeting his destiny.

And then there was Vogel. He wondered why she thought she could play at this game. Didn't she know what their enemies would do to a woman if they captured her? Smythe finally topped the ridge and his breath began to ease. He was going to have to give up his Cubans and start seriously training again. Everyone knew he could have had the number one spot if he'd given a hundred percent. He even had to wonder if he really came in tenth or if MacPherson had manipulated the scores just to f.u.c.k with his head. And what about Vogel's score? There were rumors it was high, higher than a lot of the guys', but Smythe knew that was impossible. She wasn't big enough to compete on their level.

He couldn't see how some of the guys thought she was hotnot soft enough for his taste.

Smythe jogged up to the creek and splashed through it.

MacPherson had put him in a bad position but at least had tried to make it okayafter the meeting he had taken him aside and a.s.sured him that it was nothing personal. Stabbing him in the back while shaking his handhe should have been a politician.

Smythe hit the ground and scrambled through the bear pit, a low crawl through a ditch beneath crisscrossing barbed wire. Then he saw the Wall just ahead and smiled. At least by winning today he would prove that even the strongest women just couldn't make it, by far. The Wall was almost eight feet and he knew Vogel would have a h.e.l.l of a time with itall of the women did. He hopped, pulled himself up and was about to drop down to the other side when something caught his attention. He turned and saw Vogel running toward him at full speed.

By the time Rennie splashed through the creek, there was no sign of Smythe, but she knew he must be close. The course here twisted and turned, arcing up and down, which didn't give her a long view. There were only two more obstaclesthe bear pit and the Wall. She could handle the bear pit but the Wall was hard.

MacPherson always instructed the women to do it in tandem, giving each other a leg up. Rennie knew the men resented this.

She thought she could do it alone but hadn't wanted to set herself apart from the other women any more than she already had.

Rennie took the bear pit quickly, crawling on forearms and knees, dust flying into her face and then tore off toward the Wall.

The eight-foot obstacle was difficult for the men as well, she reminded herself. The boards were fitted so that it was impossible to get a foothold, which meant a well-timed jump and focused upper body strength were absolutely necessary to get you up and over.Rennie was envisioning herself making it over when she caught a glimpse of Smythe as he reached the Wall. But his focus on it was complete and he didn't hear her. A flower of calm bloomed in her chest. Here it was. Fifty yards. She concentrated on running as fast as she could. As Smythe reached the top of the Wall he turned and spotted her coming at him. The look of alarm twisting his features was one she knew he didn't show often. Then she saw the startled look quickly turn to anger before he dropped to the other side.

This was it. Rennie knew she had to make it over in one try, no do-overs. She ran toward it headlong and everything seemed to slow. The breeze cool against her face, she felt like she filled the parameters of her being completely and when she leapt, she knew every fiber of her muscles was engaged in getting her over that d.a.m.n wall. She flew at it and caught the top board under her arms, her chest and hips and knees bouncing so hard against the wooden planks she almost knocked herself off. In her mind she glimpsed herself, as if she stood off to the sidethe Wall in a deep embrace, her body arcing upward, legs bent toward the sky, until gravity pulled her back down. For a moment she thought the impact had knocked the wind out of her, but she captured her breath and pulled herself up the few inches she needed to hook her knee over. She dropped off the edge, hit the ground hard, rolled and was up and running. She saw the top of Smythe's head and took off after him.

MacPherson checked his watch. It had been nearly an hour.

They should be out of the woods soon. At least Smythe should be. He knew Smythe would have some good distance on Vogel.

He didn't want to humiliate him. Anyone else it wouldn't have, but Smythe was thin-skinned. He just wanted to get his point across. He knew Smythe could beat Vogel, any one of the men could, but he wondered by how much.

MacPherson stood away from the rest of the team. The men were joking around, occasionally checking the line of the woods.

The women stood together, close and quiet. It was always this way. Unless they were sleeping together, the s.e.xes usually felt most comfortable separate from one another. MacPherson was glad that selection had finally come to an end and hoped that this little exercise he was putting Smythe and Vogel through would show his superiors the futility of trying to integrate women into high-level special forces teams.

"Look!" Perez pointed toward the woods. "There he is."

MacPherson turned to see Smythe running toward them. He wasn't far out of the woods and he looked haggard, but the experiment was almost over. The men were yelling and high-fiving each other.

"Okay, people, back it up! Clear the finish line. Make room for the man." MacPherson waved everyone back from the two orange traffic cones. Then, suddenly, everyone's attention was riveted on Smythe. He was running hard but he kept turning his head back toward the line of the woods. Everyone followed his gaze. At that moment, Vogel burst through a ma.s.s of leaves running full tilt.

"Holy s.h.i.+t!"

"Here she comes," MacPherson muttered under his breath.

Rennie's feet pounded the ground so hard she thought she could feel it give way. This was the way she liked it. As the woods receded behind her, she could see Smythe wasn't too far ahead.

He turned and met her eye and stumbled slightly. She could tell by the way he ran that he was struggling. She could do this. The finish line was a little less than half a mile away. As she closed the distance, she could see the crowd gaping. Some of them were clapping, some were jumping up and down, but most were just staring. She saw their mouths moving too, but no sound could penetrate her focus. She could hear her own heartbeat though, steady and even, and she used its perfect thump to concentrate everything she had on running faster than she had ever run. She felt the pain in her legs, the pain in her chest, but it was just pain. It hurt and she loved it, feeling it deeply and knowing it couldn't do anything to slow her down. And she didn't slow down. The finish line was only a couple of hundred yards away. Every second she closed in on Smythe. Poor Smythe, she thought, poor Smythe, poorsmythepoorsmythepoorsmythe, with every beat of her feet, poorsmythepoorsmythe, and she was past him. And then sensing him at her heels, she picked up the last bit of speed that was left in her and ran for the finish.

Nina caught Rennie as she tore through the cones, Rennie nearly knocking her down.

"You did it! You did it! You kicked his a.s.s!"

Nina had her tight around the waist. They were chest to chest and it felt so good. Rennie could see MacPherson standing stiff with his hands on his hips, watching them, and saw everything she had just accomplished begin to shake under his stare.

"Oh my G.o.d, I need to sit down," she said, pus.h.i.+ng Nina away from her. Nina would understandshe knew how things worked.

Rennie lay down flat on the cold ground and closed her eyes.

The muscles in her legs were throbbing from the run. Smythe was standing at a distance, bent over and breathing hard. She wondered when he had crossed the finish line. How close had he been? She sat up and someone handed her a cup of water. Her hands shook so badly she could barely drink from it. She closed her eyes again and when she opened them she saw a large pair of boots in front of her. She squinted into MacPherson's face.

"Congratulations, Vogel. You're a full member of the team,"

he said, his face and voice as impa.s.sive as a stone. Then he squatted down next to her and leaned in close. "Let's hope to G.o.d you don't f.u.c.k things up."

Rennie said nothing.

And that was all. He stood and walked away.

Rennie looked around for Smythe. A few of the guys were talking to him. Chen put his hand on his shoulder, but Smythe knocked it away and walked off the field. He turned one last time and glared with undisguised hostility at Rennie.

CHAPTER TWO.

CT3 Temporary Command Center Quantico, Virginia Rennie arrived at the conference room about twenty minutes early and sat where she could look out the window. A batch of new FBI Academy recruits were being given their tour of the grounds.

Their blue polo s.h.i.+rts were crisp, tucked into their razor-sharp khakis and they all looked excited enough to burst out of their skin. Rennie almost felt that way today. Since the Cut, the two new teams had been training nonstop. For the last six months, they had been up at five every day running, lifting weights, shooting, going through tactical exercises and slaving away over the books in the cla.s.sroomforeign policy, geography, history, especially of the Middle East and the former Soviet republicsand everyone's favorite, the outdoor practic.u.m on survival skills. She was stuffed with new knowledge and it felt so good. Her boredom with her previous field a.s.signment had become mind-numbing with its 0.

attendant casework that could drag on for years and still not get anywhere. With mission work, she could look forward to intense focus followed by a quick resolutionfor better or for worse.

At four months, her team began to go on a.s.signments, all domestic. Most were hostage situations and most had been resolved through negotiation. But on the last call-out, they had dropped down onto the roof of an apartment building in Richmond and surprised a man holding his wife at gunpoint in the lobby. They disarmed him quickly and without a shot being fired. But this morning's meeting would bring something entirely different. And at 0800 it would begin. Rennie looked at her watchfive minutes to go.

Something in the doorway caught her eye and she looked up and saw Smythe. He was glaring at her from across the room and she wondered how long he had been standing there. He walked over and dropped his notebook on the table so that it made a loud crack as it hit the s.h.i.+ny surface. He still held her gaze as he took his seat at the far end of the table. Since winning the race, Rennie's relations with Smythe had been a little tense to say the least. But for the most part he had kept his distance. Before the race, she hadn't really noticed him but had sensed that he was short-tempered, volatile. She remembered talking to Brad about him once. He said that Smythe was the only Hostage Rescue Team member who had volunteered for the new division and he had a proven track record there. Brad figured this was probably the reason he'd come in last placehe a.s.sumed he was a shoo-in and had coasted by on his reputation.

Then Perez fell from the rappelling tower. Smythe, as the most qualified alternate, took his place and suddenly set his sights on Rennie, becoming occasionally hostilealthough never when anyone was around. The rest of the time he ignored her, so she never knew what to expect from him.

"So, Vogel, you think you're ready for the big time?" Smythe's light tone belied the look in his eyes.

"As ready as the rest of the team."

"That's greatthere's nothing I love more than a confidant woman."

Smythe thought he knew how to get under her skinbut Rennie wasn't bothered by him.

"You going to bug me today, John?"

"John? That's greatwe're good friends now, huh, Vogel?"

"Why not?"

Rennie had never seen Smythe this combative.

"You know, the other day I was in the tavern with a few of my buddies," he said, linking his fingers behind his head. "We were throwing back a few beers and one of my buddies said he had heard something interesting about you." Smythe rocked his chair slowly on the back legs. "You know what that might be?"

His eyes were hard.

Rennie sat perfectly still. A cold chill began to crawl up her waist. If anything could fill her with fear, this was it.

No. Not now, not after making it this far.

"What do you think, Vogel? What do you think my buddy had to say?" Smythe leaned forward, suggestively stroking his chin. "I have to tell you it wasn't very nice."

Rennie's throat constricted. If she just sat quietly, maybe it would all go away. She didn't try to speak, but she held his gaze. Her expression showed no weakness, she always had a good poker face.

"My buddy heard that we're going on a suicide mission and you're our ticket to h.e.l.l."

Rennie rolled her eyes as she understood that he was on the wrong track. Relief coursed through her. Could he see it?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice was strong now.

"What it means is that when our mission, which Walker will be delivering to us any minute," he glanced at his watch, "when our mission," he said emphasizing the word, "was chosen by a.s.sistant Director Daniels, it was chosen as a response to the quota being forced down his throat." He added with a smirk, "Or should I say up his a.s.s?"

Rennie didn't respond.

"You don't get it, do you? It's been chosen with a view to pre- determined failure, to make a point and send a clear message to those who are trying to tell him who he should hire. Or at least that's what my buddy heard."

"Suicide mission? Oh, come on, I can't possibly screw things up that bad," Rennie said lightly.

Smythe seemed to relax a little.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But from what I hear we're walking into an impossible situation."

She wondered why Smythe was wasting his breath on this nonsense.

The rest of the team filed into the room, followed by Commander Walker. Brad was pumped up and gave Rennie a big smile. She could nearly see his muscles twitching under his dress s.h.i.+rt. Walker closed the door and pa.s.sed out a thick folder to each member of the team. He switched off the lights and positioned himself in front of his laptop. Everyone focused on the first image projected on the wall Operation Black Fire.

Here we go.

Walker didn't speak, letting his silence hang like a weight.

He looked at each member of the team as if to communicate the import of this moment.

"Welcome to Operation Black Fire."

The words on the screen were replaced by a photograph of a man with a closely clipped beard wearing a slouchy dark green Western style uniform with black epaulets.

"This is Ahmad Armin, as most of you, no doubt, are aware.

He was catapulted onto the international stage a year and a half ago when he took an American woman hostage. He is an Iranian nuclear scientist who along with his brother, Na.s.ser, also a physicist, was once courted by the CIA. Both are secular and Harvard educated. From what we can get out of the CIA, Na.s.ser was an extremely moral man who responded to the agency's argument that Iran's political situation was so far out of control that his country's leaders couldn't be trusted with the nuclear technology he was helping them to acquire. The agency convinced him to defect. His little brother, Ahmad, revered Na.s.ser, and initially went along.

"Then Ahmad fell under the sway of a nationalist movement sworn to uphold the memory of the CIA's shenanigans during the time of Mossadegh. They convinced Ahmad that the Americans would imprison his brother and humiliate the Armin family and Iran."

"So, he murders his brother," Smythe spoke up, his voice laden with his usual irony. "His beloved brother."

"That's right. He kills his brother, shoots him in the head while he's sleeping, supposedly to save him from the shame he would bring upon their family and on Iran by defecting. What happens after that isn't entirely clear. From what we can gather, he snapped."

"And he finds religion," Levin offered.

"We don't think so. He's not an ideologuehe may be playing that part but we think it's a cover, an attempt to s.h.i.+ft the blame of his brother's murder from himself to the United States."

"So, he starts a quasi-religious jihadi movement and sets up a military outpost on a piece of land in Tajikistan," Baldwin added.

"Right, setting up his brother as a martyr figuresomething Na.s.ser himself would have found abhorrent. We have intel that he's being funded by the Libyans, who love to hand out money to anyone who will stick it to the U.S. and who have pressured the ruling powers in Tajikistan to look the other way. From there, he's trained his soldiersa ragtag group of religious nuts, teenagers and indigents who will do anything for a buck. They've launched a few small-scale attacks on U.S. targets in the Middle East, mainly in Saudi Arabia."

Walker cycled through a series of photographs of bombed cafes and an apartment building housing U.S. personnel.