Brian chuckled. “We can take care of that back at the barracks. Brigadier, our boy needs a libation.” James followed Brian and the others through the massive hallways to the waiting helicopters.
As he sat, Leeanne’s eyes met his and she smiled. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I love you.” Only then did he cry. For himself, Emerson, or the people he couldn’t save, he didn’t know, but the tears finally came.
Chapter 9
WEACORP
24 January, 2219 Hours
Andrew Fielding, Weacorp’s chairman and chief executive officer, reviewed each page of the contract for the umpteenth time, and only recently had he started to feel comfortable with the wording. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been in Ottawa, accepting an award from the Governor General herself for excellence in service to the Canadian military. The award was a proud moment for Fielding, and, emotions aside, he knew it was worth millions of dollars in extra contracts; but a small, nagging worry ate at him. Every document backed up the figures negotiated during months of meetings and field tests.
What’s wrong, Andrew? he quietly asked. He scanned the papers cluttering his desk. Everything had been dissected, studied, and discussed: the technical reports, financial arrangements, and terms of delivery. He shook his head.
It had been a long day and nothing had really come of it. Another few minutes and he would be on his way home to see his wife. He placed the last of the reports into its proper file and stopped.
“Good God,” he whispered, and stared incredulously at the desk drawer. He pulled the papers out and several minutes of searching yielded the answer. His fingers danced over the calculator; the numbers frightened him.
“What are you still doing here, Andrew?” Fielding briefly looked up. Marcel Lebeau walked in and instantly noticed the look on Fielding’s face. Lebeau, the thirty-nine-year-old vice president of operations, was the number two man at Weacorp. His service with the Royal 22e Régiment, the Van Doos, came in handy when he had retired and signed on with Weacorp. An inbred knowledge of weapons and an understanding of what the average soldier needed were invaluable assets to the company. “What’s wrong?”
“The bloody torque numbers are off, man. Wait a minute,” he said impatiently, and rummaged through the file. “Look at this. If these numbers are correct, those rifles are no damned good at all.” Lebeau looked up, disbelief clouding his eyes. Fielding met his astonished gaze. “People are going to die if these weapons are put into distribution.”
“We have to do something before the signing.”
“If we play our cards right, we can have the machinery on line before the end of the month.” Fielding closed the desk drawer with his foot. “Right now, I’m going home. Call General Cameron and tell him to cancel the signing. I’ll speak to him in the morning.”
“I’ll do what I can on this end.” Lebeau leaned back as the door closed and rested his head in his hands. “Damn, damn, damn,” he said, looking up at the ceiling.
#
A camera, mounted in the extreme corner of the office where two walls met the ceiling, filmed everything. Slightly bigger than three human hairs, it was virtually impossible to see.
One man in an office on the other side of the building sat in front of a television monitor. “Well, my friend,” he said to the image of Lebeau, “we seem to have a problem.”
Brecon, Wales
2257 Hours
Four small rooms fought off the frigid wind as it whipped through the narrow winding streets of the old town. An orange glow penetrated the otherwise dark interior, and the flickering of the flames dancing about the living room brought the ancient beauty of the Beacons inside.
A cedar-paneled room housed the only signs of life. Giggles and quiet whispers carried through the silence. Bubbles filled the old tub, and the steaming water flowed over the sides as the two held each other. Candlelight caught the crystal glasses sitting beside the claw-footed tub.
Leeanne’s soft back rested against his chest, and his strong arms held her tightly. Her head nuzzled into his neck as his fingers slid over her breasts.
“This is nice,” Leeanne said, and kissed his neck. “I could stay here forever.”
He chuckled. His deep voice gave her back the sense of security she lost while he was in Yugoslavia. It didn’t matter to her if he won awards or medals. He loved her and never let her forget it. He was her safety. He was her life and, inwardly, she prayed there would never be a day where she didn’t let him know.
“James,” she said after a lengthy silence, “I know we haven’t talked about this but …”
“But what?”
She looked over at the flickering candlelight and focused her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about us having a child. You don’t have to answer right away,” she said softly, letting him off the hook. “I’m sure we have plenty of time to think about it, and I know when you take your time answering, it just means it’s going to be an answer I don’t like, so why don’t we just skip it. I’m not in the mood for an argument tonight.” Leeanne moved away from James and stepped out of the tub, wrapped a towel around herself and walked out.
James shook his head and stood up. “Gotta remember to keep her away from the second bottle of wine.” He dried off, walked into the living room, and over to the fire. She lay on the floor, her eyes following him as he moved to stoke the dying flames in the fireplace. He smiled as he caught her longing gaze.
“What are you looking at?” he asked quietly, wondering what kind of reply she would give.
“Just you.” Light from the flickering flames danced across her body, and his mind raced with thoughts of kissing each fleeting shadow.
James lowered himself to the floor and kissed her leg, slowly moving up the side of her body. She moaned as his hot breath sent shivers coursing through her tingling body. Who needs sleep, she thought happily.
Chapter 10
Camden Arms Pub, Brecon
25 January, 1319 Hours
“Jimmy,” Brian called out as they walked into the pub. A blast of cold air followed and James quickly shut the door. Today, they were in jeans and sweaters, and any indication of their formal wear no longer visible or wanted.
James marveled at how little had changed in eight years. A small, cozy pub, the Camden Arms may have seated forty if people were very friendly. Pale white walls, yellowed from years of cigarette, pipe, and cigar smoke, accented the dark brown tables and bar. Curtains covered small square windows, preserving the musty atmosphere. There was no mistaking the smell of the draught beer: it was as recognizable to him as gunpowder. It amazed him that a pub this small could survive as long as it had—at least fifty years that he knew of, and probably a hundred more than that.
Leeanne gave Brian a kiss on the cheek, and as James took off his coat, he felt several pairs of eyes on him. “What?” he asked as he looked around. “I showered this morning.”
“Ah, boyo. I thought I taught you better than that.” Brian shook his head. “You’re not in a big Canadian city anymore. Liam doesn’t believe in waitresses.” He drained the remnants of his glass and looked up. “Leeanne, darling. Be a good little girl and fetch us a round.”
James’s eyes opened wide and Leeanne stared in disbelief. Finally, slowly, she reached out and took Brian’s glass, and walked to the bar.
Her stare never left him, and with each second that passed, Brian grew more nervous. Leeanne smiled, but her eyes told a different story as she walked back and leaned close. “Are all you Special Air Service types this brave?” Her warm breath dancing across his skin,