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“Got it.”
Havoc dragged his fingertips down his sleeve to clear the oil, then typed that out for the logistics team to gather the items for the mission. In situations like this, Echo had learned that, when time was of the essence, it worked best when they sent the name of items as soon as an element hit their list.
“The Haloperidol and Lorazepam can tuck into the Glucagon kit,” T-Rex turned to Havoc. “Let them know our normal procedure for that.” He sent his gaze around the table. “Remember that as we relabel the meds, look for the series of numbers. The last number is the number of milligrams to use. H5—five milligrams of Haloperidol and L2 is the two milli of lorazepam.” T-Rex leaned onto the table. “Let’s not get sloppy. We need this guy to eventually answer the intelligence community’s questions. Again, with emphasis, we can’t allow any mistakes to jeopardize this guy’s safety and well-being. Take your time. You know the drill. One inch apart. Thigh or deltoid, whichever is thrashing less.”
“We have that in the glucagon kit – for the label, which one of you has trouble with hypoglycemia?” Havoc asked.
“You,” Jeopardy said. “That’ll explain why you're constantly thinking about food.”
“Not constantly, just since I met the guy living raisin to raisin. I’ve come to the conclusion that every meal could be the last for a while. Eat while there’s food in front of you, right?”
“Slow learner,” Nitro said. “I picked up that lesson when I was in boot.”
“In boot, you knew another meal was coming.” Havoc rubbed his stomach. “This guy lived raisin to raisin for weeks, thinking he’d never eat again.”
“Got a little vicarious PTSD going?” Nomad wanted to hear what that was about; he’d wait until after this mission. One problem with joining a team that had already coalesced with shared mission stories was that a rhythm was in place. The more stories Nomad heard, the more he could get a feel for how the team worked.
“Raisin. To. Raisin.” Havoc bunched up the chip bag and tossed it in the trash.
T-Rex spun toward the door at the sound of a knock.
The Marine popped his head in. “Excuse me, Master Chief, the cars are here to take you to the airport.”
“Here we go,” T-Rex said, closing his computer top. “Let’s make Uncle Sam proud.”
Chapter Seven
Black
Idling at the security booth at the front of the Iniquus campus, John Black accepted his identification back from the guard. He raised his car window and waited for the massive gates blocking the entrance to edge open.
He’d left a message with his assistant that he’d been called into an emergency meeting this morning, and he’d get to Langley when he could. “If Grey reaches out to you,” he’d noted, “no matter what, I need to know immediately.”
That mission was at the forefront today. And he didn’t need whatever it was that Iniquus was about to throw into the pot. He just didn’t.
Impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Black hoped against hope that the asset’s information about Poole was accurate.
If it was, then Red made a hell of a security save with her new mole.
They’d know one way or another very soon.
Knowing what happened when there were too many cooks in a kitchen, Black didn’t want to be an obstacle that confused the forward momentum in the capture of Daniel Poole. He took a step back and had Grey work with JSOC and the White House on this since Grey was boots on the ground in that area.
Still, this was Color Code intel, so it was Black’s name and reputation on the top of the Poole report. While that meant he was first in line for congratulations, he was also first in line to deal with negative ramifications.
When Iniquus's gate attendant waved him through, Black slowly pulled forward, tracing his way down the tree-lined drive. A drive that Black typically enjoyed. He found it soothing.
Today?
Every tree irritated him.
That Iniquus Panther Force called this morning, pulling him away from his focus on Poole and Syria,irritatedhim.
The tight window in Syria was what had his nerves frying.
That and it all fell in line a little too neatly. It seemed a littletoogood to be true.
A little more time and a better chance to vet the information would be a “best of all worlds” scenario. But Black didn’t live in that world. He lived in a world that could catch fire at any moment, and his team had better have extinguishers in hand.