“I’m going to assume that you’re not speaking about a vice admiral of the US Navy,” Captain Andrews said as she settled herself into a seat.
“Right, I was completely talking about someone else who decided to send a damned bookkeeper on a combat mission,” he grumbled as he turned away.
He shrugged it off — while he didn’t like it, he had known going in that Karson would saddle him with observers. Damn fool doesn’t know what he’s getting her into.
“Is everyone here?” he asked, forcing his mind to other subjects as he looked around.
The SEALs were all present, their gear loaded into place as they settled down into the small jet. Now that Judith was along for the ride, they had a full crew.
“Not everyone.”
Masters grimaced at the words that had been spoken under Rankin’s breath. I thought we’d dealt with this, damn it.
“Who’s missing?” Judith Andrews asked, frowning as she looked around the plane. As best as she could tell, everyone she’d expected to see was present.
Masters sighed, opening his mouth to explain, only to be interrupted by another voice.
“Yeah, who’s missing? Kinda rude, isn’t it?” a voice asked from behind him. “I mean, who would keep us all waiting and such.”
Hawk Masters closed his eyes and slowly turned around. When he opened them he saw a man dressed all in black, with black hair and eyes so dark that the only color that accurately described them was, of course, black. The man was sitting on the other side of Masters, but the only door into the plane was behind him, and he knew for a fact that no one had just walked past him.
Right?
“How the hell did you get on this plane without me noticing?” Masters asked, taking two steps back so he could glance out the door of the Gulfstream.
No other vehicles were around, and no one was out there. He didn’t dare ask the man the question he really wanted to ask him, not with Judith Andrews sitting right there. How the hell did he get on this base without an escort?
“Oh, you know.” Alex waved his hand casually. “I’m sure you just didn’t notice me, what with that lovely lady there distracting you. She certainly distracted me.”
“Who is this man?” Judith asked, her tone one that was normally reserved for describing things like raw sewage.
Masters couldn’t help but smile as he looked over at Rankin and mouthed the words I told you he’d be here. Rankin flipped him the bird, but that was fine because at least he knew he had his whole team.
“This is Alexander Norton, Captain,” he said, not looking at her as he spoke. “Civilian consultant to the navy. He’s with us.”
It had been a long couple of days for Masters, and the flight north to Alaska felt even longer. They were an hour into it when his mind came back around to the attempt on his life the night before.
The mottled blade of the kukri he’d commandeered from the would-be assassin was like nothing he’d seen before. It almost looked like it was made of legendary Damascus steel, but not quite — for one thing, it was too heavy. As he turned the weapon over in his hand, sliding his thumb along the razor’s edge of the blade, he could tell it was a killing tool and nothing but.
He knew he’d never seen the assassin before in his life, never even heard of anyone besides the Gurkhas using kukris. Over the years, Hawk had undoubtedly made some enemies. There were men and things that wanted him dead from both sides of the veil, but he didn’t recall making any enemies who had the inclination or the resources to send others to do their dirty work.
He was deep in consideration of that little conundrum when a voice spoke up from beside him, snapping him out of the fugue he was in.
“Where in the other side did you get a hold of that?”
Masters looked to his left to see Alex leaning over, warily eyeing the kukri.
“You recognize it?”
“Yeah, it’s a Clan blade,” Alex said, “and I know for a fact that you’re not Clan.”
Masters shook his head. “Who are the Clan?”
“They’re a sect of sorts,” Alex explained. “They’ve been around for as long as anyone can be bothered to remember. There are some notes on them that go back to pre-veil days.”
“Damn,” Masters swore.
The veil was to the communities what the birth of Jesus was to a Catholic. They knew the day it came into existence, during the chaos of the last days of the Roman Empire, and a lot of people in the communities treated that as year zero. It meant that these Clan types had some real history.
“They’re isolationists, don’t mix much with the communities,” Alex explained. “We only know what we know about them because periodically they throw members out for failing certain Clan doctrines. Those people usually join the communities, but even then they don’t talk much.”
He eyed the blade for a long moment before going on. “They don’t take kindly to people snooping either. They send assassins to take care of troublemakers, men and women who like to use blades like that. So tell me, Hawk, why the fuck do you have a Clan blade?”
“A man tried to gut me with it just last night.”
Alex closed his eyes, swearing under his breath. “Devil’s spit, Masters. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know!” Masters threw up his free hand, gesturing in annoyance. “All I did was take the admiral up on his compulsory offer and fly out to Coronado. I’ve kept quiet since the last time we met.”
“Well, you stepped into someone’s outhouse, my friend,” Alex snorted. “I’d sleep with that blade if I were you.…Someone wants you out of the game in a permanent way.”
“Yeah, well I plan on it. This damn thing sliced through a good chunk of my forty-five,” Masters said, his tone a mixture of annoyance and admiration. “Can’t even find a nick on the blade.”
“You won’t either,” Alex said. “Clan blades are legendary. Literally, some people claim that Excalibur was a Clan blade.”
“The metal reminds me of Damascus steel,” Masters said, “but it’s too heavy.”
“It’s not,” Alex assured him. “Damascus steel is a poor copy of Clan steel. Clan blades aren’t indestructible, but they’re as close as anything I’ve ever seen. They’re prized within the communities, and rare enough that they don’t often slip out into the rest of the world. When they do, someone in the know goes after them and brings them back. What happened to the man who carried this?”
“I gutted him last night.”
Alex nodded. “Good. That’ll set them back a bit, hopefully between that and this little trip up north, we’ll be able to work out why they want you dead before they try again.”
“That would be nice, yeah,” Masters said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Alex’s eyes wandered around the plane, settling on Nathan Hale, who was leaning back in his seat with a sword between his legs. The man in black shook his head slowly. “You’ve got an interesting group of playmates this time around, I’ll give you that.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“Your friend over there with the sword.” Alex nodded in Hale’s direction. “What do you know about him?”
Masters shrugged, looking at Nathan for a moment. “We were on a squad together for a few months, and we’ve done a few missions together. I know enough.”
“Uh huh, you know how he got that sword?”
“Yeah, some punk tango in the sandbox tried to gut him with…,” Masters trailed off, eyes falling to the leather-wrapped blade the sniper was cradling. “Are you telling me—”