Her Unbroken Seal (Midnight Delta #11) - Caitlyn O'Leary


“Mason, come in. Time to check in.” Clint shoved his fear and anger down deep, the way he’d been trained. Still, there were times he hated being the computer/communications guy on the team. He wanted in on the action, but no, he had to be in the back, coordinating things. And now he couldn’t get his best friend and Lieutenant to answer on their team commlink at the agreed-upon time.

What the hell? I’m going to rip them a new one when I see them. I better damn well see them, they better be okay!

He might be working to channel calm from heaven, but he knew deep in his gut that this was going to be one of those missions. He’d felt it three times before in his career as a SEAL, and he’d been right every single time. There was some bad juju going on, he just knew it.

He’d known it when they’d filed into the briefing room back in California to hear about the mission. He’d known it when they’d touched down here in Syria. He sure as hell knew it now that his team, his best friends, were suddenly not talking to him as they were all spread out along the streets of Idlib. The men were all over the place—in between shelled-out buildings, long lines of cars and not to mention the streets filled with carts and people trying to flee to the Turkish border for safety.

Yeah, there might not be bullets flying, but this was going to turn into a clusterfuck. He knew it to the marrow of his bones.

“Somebody better damn well check in or your ass is grass and I’m the lawnmower,” Clint gritted out.

“I’m here, I’m here. Sorry about that, it’s crazy down here.” His lieutenant didn’t sound as contrite as Clint felt the situation warranted.

“Dare, say you have something,” Mason commanded his medic through their comm system. Finally, Clint relaxed a small amount. The fact that Mase was demanding that Darius pull information out of thin air was damned ironic, considering they were surrounded by thousands of fleeing refugees, and Clint had been doing the same thing for twenty minutes.

“Nothing so far, but I’m doing more doctoring than I am gathering intel. It’s brutal out here.” It was sub-zero conditions and Clint had seen plenty of displaced Kurds walking with small children and babies. Of course, Dare was doing triage.

“What the fuck were these numbnuts thinking coming to Idlib?” Drake demanded to know for the four quillionth time. “I mean I know politicians are, by nature, self-serving and stupid, but this has to take the cake.”

“Can it, Avery,” Mason clipped out. Apparently, he was as sick of hearing Drake’s complaining as Clint was. “This is the mission. We locate the Senator, his entourage, the poor reporters he strong-armed into coming along and get them the hell out of here. More importantly, before whichever terrorist group is up to bat, finds them.”

“That’d be Hayat Tahrir al-Sham,” Finn said through Clint’s receiver. “They have the stick this week. Next week my bet is on al-Qaeda.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Drake grumbled. “They’re all the same, they’re killing innocents and they will kidnap Senator Leonard and his little team, and why in the fuck did he take two women with him? Why in the fuck did he leave Damascus? Why in the fuck did he come to Syria in the first place?”

“This is the last time I’m telling you, Drake, shut it.” Mason was pissed. “Dare, start asking questions.”

Clint knew that Mason was relying on Dare Stanton to find out information because he was doing field medic work on the refugees. However, Clint would bet his bottom dollar it would be Finn who would come up with answers. Darius would end up trying to save the entire caravan of people from freezing to death, especially the children. He could never pass up helping a child; it wasn’t in his make-up.

“Guys, we have to make this fast. I have rumors that tanks are coming this way on the M-5 highway. You know that means they’re intending to clear the way so this week’s bad guy of the month can come in and scoop up the senator and his party,” Clint said as he looked down at his tablet. “I’m still trying to get the intel verified,” he told his team.

Clint was positioned on top of what was once an apartment building, but was now a bomb-shelled husk of rubble. He had tracking on each of his men but having