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Taken off guard, Morgan nodded, moved his hand to the back pocket of his chinos and took out his well-worn, black leather wallet. Opening it on the table, he noted Maya’s sudden, intense interest. Her gaze was pinned on the color photos he kept within his wallet. Taking them out, he turned them around for her to look at.
“This is my oldest son, Jason. He’s fourteen.”
“He looks a lot like you,” Maya murmured. “That same dark, handsome face.”
Morgan warmed beneath her praise because he could tell already that Maya wasn’t one to make small talk or say things just to be polite. “Thanks. This is Katherine Alyssa, my oldest daughter. She’s riding her Welsh pony, Fred. And this last one is of my wife, Laura, holding our latest children, fraternal twins….”
Maya picked up the photo, her brows arching with surprise. “So, you have twins….” She studied it with renewed intensity. “You have beautiful children.”
“Thanks. My wife and I agree, though we are a little partial toward our children.” He said nothing more, realizing that because Maya was a fraternal twin, she would make a positive connection with his children. He liked the fact that despite her being a hardened military veteran, she had a soft heart, too. The more he got to know Maya, the more he liked her.
Handing him back the photos, she looked up. “Ah, here are our lattes. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this….” And she reached out to take a cup and saucer from the waiter, thanking him warmly in his own language. He bowed his head and shyly smiled at her.
Mike thanked him also. When the waiter left, he chuckled quietly and sipped his mocha latte. “See? I told you Trayhern wasn’t the typical male bastard that you’re used to working with.”
Wrinkling her nose, Maya again met the solid blue gaze of her new boss. She sipped the rich coffee with delicious slowness and allowed the sweetness to run delectably across her tongue. Placing the flowered china cup on the saucer, she folded her hands on the table.
“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Mr. Trayhern.”
“Call me Morgan. I don’t stand on ceremony with my people.”
“All right,” Maya murmured. “Do you know anything about us or did you buy us sight unseen, Morgan? A pig in a poke, maybe?”
Her direct and uncompromising gaze would have been unsettling had Morgan not liked that kind of straight-across-the-board honesty. When she lifted her lips and smiled, it was with a carnivore’s grin. She was playing with him, like a jaguar might with its helpless quarry. Houston was right: she shot from the hip. Good. “Yes, I saw the bottom line.”
“And the fact that I used to have three Boeing Apaches, but because spookdom decided to strangle me slowly by cutting my budget yearly, I had to cannibalize one to keep the other two flying?”
“I saw that.”
“And that I’ve got twelve overworked pilots who need some help and relief?”
“Yes, I saw that, too.”
“And that the men don’t like us women showing them up?” Her eyes glinted and she leaned forward slightly.
Morgan wasn’t intimidated by her low, furious tone or her directness. He met and held her stare. “I saw that, too, Maya.” When he used her first name, rolling it gently off his tongue, she recoiled. At first, Morgan wondered if she didn’t like his informality with her. And then, intuitively, he figured it out: Maya was expecting a hard-nosed bastard to show up and try to push her around, keep her outside the circle, like other men had before him. The look in her eyes was one of surprise—and then naked suspicion. Morgan knew he was going to have to sell himself to Maya. He would have to prove that, although male, he was trustworthy. That he would fully support her and the hardworking women comprising the secret squadron hidden in the mountains of Peru.
Leaning down, Morgan pulled out several papers from his own backpack. He looked around. The place was deserted. He wanted no other eyes on the material that he was going to lay out before her.
“Don’t worry,” Maya said. “Patrick knows who we are. He and I are good friends. He protects me and my women when we come into town and need a little R and R. This is our home away from home. He’ll make sure no one comes up here during lunch. We’ve got this place all to ourselves.”
“Good.” Morgan placed the first sheet of paper in front of Maya. “This is an acquisition form showing that two Boeing Apache Longbow helicopters have just been purchased for your squadron by me.” He put a second paper in front of her. “This is a Blackhawk helicopter to replace the Vietnam era Cobra that you’re flying.” He put a third document in front of her. “Within a week, you will be receiving three I.P.s—instructor pilots—to train you and your team on the new Apache D model, and three enlisted men who will train your crews in software, armaments and mechanics. And lastly—” he put a fourth piece of paper in front of Maya “—here’s your new budget. As you look it over, you’ll see the financial strangulation your squadron has been experiencing is over.”
Maya took all the papers, intently perusing them. Did she dare believe her eyes? Was this really true? She’d gone for three years with so little, watching her people bear the brunt of their financial distress. The task before them had seemed almost impossible, and yet they’d managed to strangle the drug trade to Bolivia by fifty percent, despite the odds, despite the fact that the U.S. government had practically choked off the mission through lack of funding. Looking up, Maya regarded Morgan through her thick, black lashes. He was at ease, almost smiling. She knew the sparkle in his eyes was not there because he was laughing at her. It reflected his pride in the job he’d done getting her the aircraft and help she so desperately needed.
Cutting her gaze to Houston, she growled, “Is this for real, Mike?” After all, Mike was one of her kind, a Jaguar Clan member, and she relied on him heavily at times like this. No clan member would ever lie to another.
“It’s for real, Maya. Every word of it. Morgan is your sugar daddy.” And he gave her a playful, teasing grin.
Maya grimaced. “What a sexist you are, Houston.”
He scratched his head ruefully. “I was teasing you, Maya. Morgan Trayhern runs a first-class operation known as Perseus. You and your squadron are officially moved under his wing and command.” Mike tapped the budget paper. “Look at the bottom line. That’s money. U.S. funds, not Peruvian soles.”
Maya looked at it. Her heart thudded with excitement. “I’m afraid to believe this,” she whispered as she looked through the pages again. “We’re really going to get two new D models? The ones with radar? I’ve heard so much about them…. I tried to get them, but they kept telling me they didn’t have the budget to let us have the upgraded model.”
Morgan tempered his excitement over the joy he saw in Maya’s face. This woman was used to running her squadron her way. And he respected that. Still, he needed to be able to gently move her in the direction that he saw her duties down here heading, now and in the future. Maya’s plan had been a greenhouse experiment—an all-woman military contingent doing some of the most demanding, most dangerous work in the world. Despite the difficulties of going up against drug runners who flew the Russian Kamov Black Shark assault helicopters, which were nearly equal to an Apache, and flying in this nasty, always changing weather at some of the highest altitudes on the planet, she’d been more than successful. She’d never lost a helicopter or a pilot in the three years since she’d started this operation, and that was a phenomenal record of achievement in Morgan’s eyes.
He knew that it was Maya’s careful selection of the right women pilots and crews that made this mission successful. Furthermore, she was a charismatic leader, someone people either hated or loved on sight. Morgan understood that, because he had that quality himself. Only Maya was a much younger version of him; she was only twenty-five years old. She had a lot going for her. And he admired her deeply for her commitment to Peru and its people.
“There’s just one hitch,” Morgan told her quietly. He saw her eyes narrow speculatively on him.
“What?” she growled, putting the papers aside.
Seeing her tense, Morgan said, “I know you have an all-woman squadron. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find women IPs to come down here to upgrade you on flying the Apache D models. Do you have a problem with men coming in for six weeks and staying at your base to teach your people?”
“I don’t have a problem with men, Mr.—Morgan. They have a problem with me. If you can guarantee they won’t be gender prejudiced, I won’t kick and scream about it.”
“Good,” Morgan said, breathing a sigh of relief. He turned and dug into his pack again, producing a set of orders that had been cut by the army. “Here’s the list of men who will be coming in shortly. We haven’t been able to tell them they are coming down here yet, but that’s a mere formality. I give you my personal guarantee that they are the best. The army’s cream of the crop of teachers, to move your people into the D models as rapidly as possible. Because you are so shorthanded, you can’t afford to send your pilots back to Fort Rucker for training. Instead, we’re bringing the training to you, so it won’t interfere with your ongoing missions.”
Taking the list of names, Maya frowned as she rapidly perused it. She knew just about everyone in the training field. The Apache team was a small unit within the army as whole—a tight, select family, for better or worse.
Morgan started to lift the cup to his lips when he heard Maya curse richly beneath her breath. She jerked her head up, her green eyes blazing like the hounds from hell. Her glare was aimed directly at him. His cup froze midway to his lips.
“There’s no way I’m letting this son of a bitch anywhere near me or my pilots,” she hissed, jabbing her finger at the paper she flattened between them. “You can take Major Dane York and shove him where the sun never shines, Mr. Trayhern. That sexist bastard is never going to step foot onto my base. Not ever!”
Houston scowled and took the paper. “Major Dane York? Who is he?”
Maya breathed angrily and sat back in the chair, her arms folded across her breasts. “You didn’t do your research, Mr. Trayhern. I’m really disappointed in you.”
Carefully setting the cup down in the saucer, Morgan allowed a few moments to stretch between them. The anger in her eyes was very real. Her nostrils were flared, her full lips flattened and corners pulled in with pain. Taking the set of orders, he stared at the name.
“Major York is the most accomplished I.P. in the Apache D model instruction unit.”
“Yeah, and he could walk on water, too, and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing to me.”
“You have words with this guy back at Fort Rucker?” Mike asked, a worried look on his face.
“Words?” Maya clenched her teeth as she leaned toward Morgan. “That bastard damn near had me and all the other women going through Apache training five years ago washed out! Why? Because we were women. That’s the only reason.” She jabbed at the paper Mike held. “I’m not letting that Neanderthal anywhere near me or my crews. Over my dead body.”
“Hold on,” Morgan murmured. “Major York’s credentials are impeccable. I wanted the best for you and your pilots, Maya.”
“I can’t believe this!” Maya suddenly stood up, energy swirling around her. She moved abruptly away from the table and walked over to the row of windows that overlooked the busy street below. Hands on her hips, she said, “He’s gender prejudiced. He didn’t like me. He didn’t like my flying skills. He didn’t like anything I did because I was a woman. Well—” Maya turned around and glared at them “—I had the last laugh on him and his not-so-subtle tactics. He didn’t know my father was an army general. When York was unable to acknowledge some of the women’s superior flying skills and wouldn’t grade them accordingly, I got angry. When he did nothing to stop his other instructors from harassing us with innuendos, I called my father.”
Morgan frowned. “What happened then?”
Moving slowly toward the table, Maya tried to settle her rapidly beating heart. “You know, York is like a black cloud that follows me around.” She laughed sharply. “Here I am in backwater Peru, and he manages to find me anyway. What kind of karma do I have?”
Houston glanced at Morgan and noticed the worry in his boss’s eyes. “Maya, what happened?”
“My father had a ‘talk’ with York’s commanding officer. I don’t know what was said. I do know that from that day forward, York straightened his act out. He doesn’t like women. At least, not military women pilots.” Her nostrils quivered. She stood in front of them, her legs slightly apart for good balance and her arms crossed. “He was never fair with any of us. I challenged him. I called him what he was to his face. I’d like to have decked him.” She balled her hand into a fist. “Just because we were women, he wanted to fail us.”
“But you didn’t fail,” Morgan said.
With a disgusted snort, Maya moved to her chair, her hands gripping the back of it as she stared malevolently down at him. “Only because I had my father’s influence and help. Otherwise, he’d have canned every one of us.” Maya jerked a thumb toward the windows where Machu Picchu’s black lava sides rose upward. “And you know the funny thing? Every woman in that company volunteered to come down here with me and take this spec ops. They didn’t like the odds, the army’s obvious gender preference toward males getting all the good orders and bases, while the women got the dregs. Screw ’em. I said to hell with the whole army career ladder and came up with a plan for this base. My father backed it and I got it.”
Maya’s voice lowered with feeling. “I’m sure the army was glad to see all of us go away. Out of sight, out of mind. Well, that’s okay with us, because we have a higher calling than the army. We couldn’t care less about our career slots or getting the right bases and orders to advance. We love to fly. All any of us wanted was a chance to fly and do what we love the most. We’re linchpins down here, holding the balance between the good people and the bad guys, and we know it. What we do makes a difference.”
Morgan stood and placed his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry to hear how tough it was on you and your women friends, Maya. I’m sure the army realizes what assets you are. Your stats speak for themselves.” He held her angry green gaze. “But York is the best. You have my personal promise that when he arrives, he will not be the same man you trained under before.”
“I will not allow him to step foot on my base.”
Morgan held her challenging stare. He heard the low, angry vibration in her tone. “You’ve got to learn to trust me, Maya,” he said huskily. “I want only the best for your squadron. You’ve earned that right. If Major York steps out of line, you call me and I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“I don’t want him back in my life!”
Her explosion of anger and pain echoed around the room.
“If you don’t accept him as your I.P., you forfeit everything on those papers.” Morgan pointed to the table where they lay.
Still glaring, Maya looked from him to the papers. She desperately needed those new D models. Her pilots deserved to have the safety the new copters would afford them. And she was dying without the necessary funds for spare parts for her old Apaches. Swallowing hard, she looked slowly back up at Trayhern.
“Very well,” she rasped, “authorize the bastard to come down here.”
Chapter 2
“Major York, if you don’t want to be kicked out of the U.S. Army and asked to resign your commission, I suggest you take this temporary duty assignment.”
Dane stood at attention in front of his superior’s desk. “Yes, sir!”
“At ease,” Colonel Ronald Davidson said, and gestured toward a chair that sat at one side of his huge maple desk. The winter sunshine of December moved through the venetian blinds and painted shadows throughout his large office. Was it an omen of things to come? Dane had a gut feeling it was.
Dressed in his one-piece, olive-green flight suit, Dane took the orders and sat down. Davidson’s gray eyes were fixed on him and he knew why. Trying to choke down his fear, he tucked the garrison cap he’d been wearing into the left shoulder epaulet of his flight suit. He sat at attention. The tone in his C.O.’s voice made his heart beat harder. Dane knew he’d screwed up—again—with a woman Apache pilot in training to upgrade to the D model. Was this his death sentence? He tried to concentrate on the neatly typed set of orders before him. Reading rapidly, he felt a little relief began to bleed through him.
“Sir, this is TDY for six weeks down to Peru, to teach some spook ops pilots D model characteristics?” He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. Dane thought the colonel had called him to this office to tell him to resign his commission because of his latest mistake. Obviously, he’d been wrong, and more of the tension leaked out of him. The last thing he’d expected was an assignment like this.
“That’s right,” Davidson informed him in a growl. Getting up, his body thin and ramrod straight, he tapped his fingertips lightly on the desk before him. “You’ll see I’ve assigned two other I.P.s and three enlisted men to accompany you down there to train these pilots. You’re to head it up—unless you don’t want the assignment, Major.”
Dane looked up. He got the gist of his commander’s warning. Yesterday, Warrant Officer Kathy Juarez had filed a gender complaint against him. Dane had been warned it was coming. Swallowing against his constricted throat, he scowled down at the orders. He’d opened his big mouth without thinking first, and the words had flown out. Dane was trying very hard to think before he spoke after his lesson four years earlier with another student, Chief Warrant Officer Maya Stevenson, and the group of women going through training with her. He’d cleaned up his act quite a bit, but sometimes, when he was dog tired and stressed out from the heavy demands on his shoulders, he’d slip up. And he had.
Davidson was giving him one last chance to shape up. There was no choice and Dane knew it. He either took this TDY or Davidson was going to make sure that this most recent complaint from a female pilot was going in his jacket. And once it got in there, his career was over. He would be better off resigning and saving them the trouble of putting the complaint into his permanent military record. It would be a black mark that would follow him until the day he died, a stain he did not want on his record. The army was on a crusade to make itself genderless. Male and female no longer existed. Just bodies. Just human beings. Well, Dane was having real problems adjusting to that new perspective.
“Just to give you a little background on this spook ops group,” Davidson continued in a milder tone, “it’s been shifted to Perseus, a Q-clearance organization within the CIA family. They operate on a need-to-know-basis by only a handful of people within the government. Morgan Trayhern is the boss. He’s asked the army for the best I.P.s we’ve got. The detachment known as Black Jaguar Base has twelve pilots who need upgrade training. The work they do down there is crucial to stemming the flow of cocaine from Peru into Bolivia. Because they cannot spare their people to come up here to Fort Rucker for training, you’re going to go down there and train them, instead.”
“I see, sir.” Well, Dane really didn’t, but that didn’t matter, either. What mattered was that his C.O. was yanking him out of this messy and potentially embarrassing situation and tucking him quietly away. Out of sight, out of mind. And out of trouble, as far as he was concerned. Because of Dane’s jaded past, Davidson, who was in his fifties, didn’t particularly care for him, though he respected his abilities as a teacher and pilot. It was a good thing, for Dane knew his career would have been over with this latest charge set against him.
Not that he didn’t deserve it. Warrant Officer Juarez was Hispanic, and he’d made the off-the-cuff remark that no South American could fly as well as a North American one. Stupid, yes, but he’d shot off his mouth to his new class of Apache pilots first without thinking about the consequences. And Davidson wasn’t happy about it or he wouldn’t be sending him away for a long time to let the situation cool down. Dane’s ill-timed comment reflected directly back on the colonel, too. Davidson was protecting his own hind end in this. He was up for general’s stars in another month. If this incident took off and the newspapers ran with it, Davidson’s stars were down the toilet.
“Sounds interesting, sir.” And it did. Dane had never been to South America, although he was born in Del Rio, Texas, a little border town, and grew up bilingual, even though they moved from base to base frequently.
“You’re getting the assignment because you speak Spanish, Major,” Davidson said heavily. “Everyone chosen is bilingual. This spook ops has Peruvian, and other South American pilots, as well as some on loan from overseas. Mr. Trayhern needed someone who could handle the different languages and get the job done. That is why you’re getting this TDY.” Davidson glared down at him. He picked up another paper. “And perhaps, while you’re gone, Major, I can sweet-talk Warrant Officer Juarez into dropping her legitimate charge against you. I’m sure you won’t make the same mistake twice, will you? After all, you’re going to South America to find out just how good the pilots are down there.”
Swallowing hard, Dane said, “Sir, I’ll make sure it never happens again.”
Scowling, Davidson glared at him. “You’re old guard, Major. You’re a lot younger than me, but you sound like the army back in World War II. Well, those days are gone and you’d better get with the new program of gender neutrality or your butt is history. You’d best make good on this mission, Major. I’m expecting a glowing report back from the C.O. of that ops about you and your men’s white glove behavior. Do you read me loud and clear?”
“Yes, sir, I hear you.” Dane stood up at attention beneath the man’s drilling, cold look.
“Sit down.”
Dane sat. He felt the C.O.’s anger avalanche him.
“I’ll be damned lucky if this warrant officer doesn’t go to the press with your remarks. Our women pilots are just as good—probably better—than our male pilots. They’ve distinguished themselves time and again, and you keep working against them. I don’t know what your agenda is, Major, but on this TDY, you’d better stuff it and work with the people down there four square.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“You and your contingent are leaving tomorrow at 0800. You’re taking a navy helicopter carrier down to Lima, Peru. The capital city sits right on prime beach-front property. You’re also taking two D model Apaches and a Blackhawk with you. You’ve got three I.P.s, one for each aircraft. One of the three enlisted instructors will fly with each of you. The aircraft, once assembled inside the carrier when it arrives at Lima, will be flown off it and you’ll rendezvous with elements of Black Jaguar at an agreed-upon time.”
“I see, sir.” Dane felt a little excitement. He’d never been on spook ops before. His world revolved around teaching pilots about the deadly beauty of the Boeing Apache. He lived to fly. And he was a good teacher, to boot—at least with male pilots.
“We’ve got an agreement with the Peruvian government, Major. Once those D models are assembled and brought up to the deck of the carrier, you will fly them on specific coordinates that will be preprogrammed into the flight computers. You will not, under any circumstances, be carrying hot ordnance on board. The Peruvian government wants those three aircraft to leave under cover of darkness, just before dawn. They don’t want any nosy newspaper reporters to get wind of us coming into their country or the president will have a lot of explaining to do.
“You will meet two Black Jaguar Apaches at a specific location deep in the mountains, far from the capital. They will then escort you to their base. As I understand it, it is dangerous where you will be flying. There is a drug lord, Faro Valentino, who has two Russian Kamov Ka-50’s assault helicopters that ply the same area. If they see you, they’re going to try and blow you out of the sky. It will be up to the C.O. of the base and their Apaches to protect you and fly shotgun. They will be carrying hot ordnance on board, in case the Kamovs jump you. There’s no guarantee they will. But the C.O. has informed us that you should expect attack. You need to review the terrain of the area and be ready to cut and run if that happens. You need to know where the hell you’re going and what you’re going to do to make sure these new D models aren’t downed before they get to their new base.”
Frowning, Dane said, “No hot ordnance for us in a dangerous situation? Isn’t that stupid, sir?”
Davidson grimaced. “Major, choose your words more carefully, will you? Didn’t you just hear me? The Peruvian government will not allow you to bring these assault helos over their territory with missiles, bullets or rockets. What if you crash into homes and kill people? They’re afraid that if the combat helicopters are seen, word will leak back to their press, and all hell will break loose. Having U.S. military aircraft flying in Peru is a political hot potato, anyway. We’re stepping on eggs. There is no way to get where you’re going, except by helicopter. The jungle where the drug lords produce their cocaine is wild, dangerous, country.”
“But they’ve got Apaches carrying ordnance.” Dane tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Why is it all right in one place in Peru, but not another? Why should I open up my crews to possible confrontation with a Kamov and get shot all to pieces?”
“We have a lot of political toes we just can’t step on,” Davidson said slowly, obviously at the limits of his patience with Dane. “Once you get the D models to the base, you’ll be able to train the pilots there. When everyone is up to speed, the D models will join the A models already there, and you can fly with hot ordnance.”
“So, we risk three helos and six people trying to get them to this jungle base?” Dane frowned.
“You will have two Apache A’s escorting you in, Major. Just follow the C.O.’s instructions, and things should go well. But as mission commander on this TDY, you need to realize that if the Kamovs attack, you have to have a plan on outrunning and outmaneuvering them because they can outgun you. The only thing standing between you and them will be those two A models rigged for combat.”
Unhappily, Dane nodded. “I see, sir.”
“Good.” Davidson reached for a folder and handed it to him in a brisk manner. “Here’s more info. Take a look at it.”
Opening the file, Dane nearly choked. The color photo of the C.O. of the Black Jaguar Base stared back at him.
“Problems, Major?”
Heat shot up his neck and into his face. Dane tried to squelch a curse as he sat there, pinned in place by his C.O.’s gaze.
“Sir…” he rasped, half standing, pointing at the photo in the file “….this is impossible…this can’t be…. I mean—”
“Captain Maya Stevenson is the C.O. of Black Jaguar Base, Major. And she’s your commanding officer on this mission.”
