DEADLY DILEMMA by Dan Stratman (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📕

“Jesus! They’re coming through the fence,” Lance shouted.

The four Delta Force operators were belly crawling through the snow and under the breach in the fence created by the door. As they stood up, each man went off in different directions. The scene on the monitor was empty again.

Then the picture went dead.

Lance rotated the knob, looking for a working camera. “They’ve cut the lines. We’re completely blind.”

They listened for any sounds that would give away the team’s location.

It didn’t take long.

The sound of C-4 explosives obliterating the door to the building above reverberated down the elevator shaft. Dust and debris rained down into the hallway.

“Close the blast door!” Cyndi yelled.

Lance flipped the selector switch in the box to Close, grabbed the handle with both hands, and pumped frantically.

A snail crawling across the floor would have moved faster than the blast door.

They heard a metallic banging echo through the hallway. The steel lattice elevator door had just been slammed closed. The electric motor powering the elevator came to life. Pierce and his team were coming for them.

Realizing the futility of trying to close the massive door in time, Cyndi said, “Split up. Take cover on your side. Wait for my order before firing.”

Lance went down on one knee to the left of the blast doorframe.

Cyndi got in position on the right side.

The smoke-filled hallway obscured her view of the elevator shaft. Unable to see more than a few feet, she tilted an ear toward the hallway.

Seconds ticked off as Cyndi and Lance waited for any sign of what they were up against. All too soon, they got their answer. Loud coughing could be heard at the far end of the hallway. The Special Forces team had arrived.

Specialists in close-quarters battle, the team came armed with Heckler & Koch HK416 rifles and Glock 17 pistols—perfect for close-quarters combat. The HK416 had earned mythical status among operators after it was confirmed to be the gun used to kill Osama bin Laden.

They kicked in doors in the smokey hallway and took cover behind them. The men lay on the cold concrete floor to escape the poisonous air above. Four rifles were trained on the opening to the LCC.

“Drop your weapons!” Cyndi yelled out. Given how outgunned they were, she had delivered the order with surprising bravado.

“Hold your fire,” Pierce coolly replied. “Everyone just calm down. We’re here to secure the site and escort you back to base. That’s all. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Cyndi squinted into the haze, trying to make out their locations. “Is that Major Pierce?’

“Yes, it is. Are you injured, Captain Stafford?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is Lieutenant Garcia okay? I have a first aid kit if you need it.”

“He’s fine.”

“I need Garcia to answer for himself to prove he’s still alive.”

Lance turned to Cyndi with a puzzled look. “Still alive? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Garcia, are you okay? I need to hear your voice,” Pierce repeated.

Lance pulled back from the doorway. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“I said he’s fine,” Cyndi shouted. She pulled back as well. “He’s trying to get us to turn on each other.”

“Lieutenant, if you can hear me, think about your future. She’s the one responsible for what happened. Cyndi is the crew commander, not you. The buck stops with her. Give yourself up peacefully, and your pilot training slot will be held for you. Make the wrong call, and it’s gone.”

“How does he know about my new assignment?” Lance asked with genuine concern. “I just got the letter. And how does he know your first name?”

“How should I know?” Cyndi lay on her stomach and peeked around the door. When she saw their rifles, her eyes narrowed.

Pierce motioned to Lopez. “Talk to him.”

Lopez nodded. “Garcia, you in there?” he yelled out. “Hablas español, amigo?”

Lance’s father had come from a very wealthy family in Mexico City. Despite his privileged upbringing and the best private tutors to teach him English, he’d required his own kids to learn Spanish to maintain a connection to their heritage.

“Sí,” Lance replied.

“La chica está loca, muchacho!”

“What did he say?” Cyndi asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance answered. “He’s pretending we’re friends because I speak Spanish.”

“Chica means girl, doesn’t it?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Fine. He said you’re crazy. Now, are you happy?”

“Crazy? I’ll show him crazy.” Cyndi jumped up behind the cover of the door and drew her pistol.

Lance put a hand up. “I’ve got this. Let me handle it.” He drew closer to the edge of the doorframe and yelled, “We’re not amigos, so drop the act. Go back to the barrio where you belong, cholo.”

“Kiss my ass, pendejo!” Lopez jerked his rifle up into firing position.

Pierce slapped him across the back of the helmet. “Stand down, dammit.”

Inside the LCC, Cyndi chuckled. “I don’t speak Spanish, but he’s probably not going to buy you a beer when this is over.” She flashed a thumbs-up from across the opening. “Good job getting inside his head.”

“Stafford, this is Major Pierce. I read your mandatory psych eval that was done before you entered missileer training. In his report the shrink said you were a rule follower, fiercely loyal, a high achiever, and a patriot. I believe him. Let’s go back to the base and sort everything out like good airmen. Do the right thing. Don’t tarnish your family name any more than it already has been.”

Somehow, Pierce managed to claw at Cyndi’s confidence. The logical part of her brain couldn’t find the strength to brush it off, despite McNeil having told her Pierce had gone rogue. Because of that nature as a rule follower, a sliver of doubt had worked its way into Cyndi’s thought process, a kernel of guilt—exactly as Pierce had hoped. She sank back and slid down the blast door. Cyndi holstered her gun.

“Don’t listen to his crap,” Lance warned.

“What would your dad tell you to do if he were still alive?” Pierce asked with faux concern.

“Cyndi, he’s messing with you.”

Cyndi pulled her knees up against her chest. She looked around the LCC