J Saint - Collateral Damage

"Damn it. You know what I mean. You're not being reasonable."

"That psych therapist called you, didn't she?"

"You could have sat through the session. It's not just her, though. They've all called. Physical Therapy. The doctor. The nurses."

"And?" Jack shrugged. "We've both been down this road before. Group therapy and PTSD platitudes aren't worth a crap. You and I both know the dreams just have to run their course. The sooner I'm back on my feet and out of here doing what I do, the sooner that will happen."

The nurses had reported his nightmares, but the daytime flashbacks he'd been able to keep hidden. Some know-it-all shrink who didn't have a clue to the shit he lived with, wouldn't do anybody any good by rattling around in his head.

Weston narrowed his gaze. "Have you looked in the mirror, DT? You're not white as a sheet. You're grayer than death itself. You're overdoing it. It'll be months before we can even assess whether or not you can return to duty."

Jack schooled his features into a blank stare. The fear that had been driving him wild, what he didn't want to consider, had just been flung into his face and hung like a noose before his eyes.

Assess whether or not he could return to duty?

Fuck that. He was nowhere near ready to put his neck in the loop by even discussing the idea. He glared at Weston, determined to stand his ground.

"No, I haven't looked in the mirror. I don't care how the bastards rearranged my mug." Jack nodded to the TV screen where President Anderson's address to the nation had just ended and video from al-Qaeda's attack on America's oil hubs filled the screen. "This shit happened on our watch, sir, and I want back into the fight."

Al-Qaeda's latest move was their smartest yet. By crippling the US's oil reserves and industry, they not only brought the country to an economic standstill but also divided it into factions. Crude oil rang in at two-fifty a barrel and was climbing higher. The tree huggers and libs shouted it was time to go green cold turkey and that gluttonous America was finally paying the price for their imperialistic agenda. The rest of the population was up in arms, wanting blood, and demanding that President Anderson act immediately.

The President and Weston were cousins with a remarkable resemblance to each other, even considering the twenty year age difference. Both men had intense eyes, square jaws and black hair. Their imposing six-three stature, sharp speaking skills and determination made a dynamic combination. Unfortunately, Jack didn't think there was anything the President could say that would stop the inevitable. An eye for an eye wouldn't satisfy the Americans. They wanted blood for oil and mass destruction for economic devastation. An all out global war marched closer by the minute.

"Get back into the fight?" Weston shook his head. "You're not being reasonable, DT, and you know it."

Jack closed his eyes and counted to five. He was being reasonable. It wasn't his fault the world had gone off the deep end. "Do they know who took out Aziz yet?"

One of Islam's top Imams, Hassan Omar Aziz had been killed by sniper fire within the hallowed borders of Iran. That one act had inflamed the Muslim world and fired extremists to new levels of hatred. Evidence left behind fingered the Americans, as if they'd done the deed and then boldly said, "Fuck you. Here's proof. What can you do about it?"

Radical Muslims worldwide refused to see it was a set-up.

Weston shook his head. "No. Everything possible is being done. Every asset is searching and every snippet of intel for months is being scrutinized."

"What did Meir say?" Meir Goldman, one of Mossad's top agents, had worked with Delta on a number of operations and had become a personal friend of the team. He was a man who'd proved his salt and had once saved Jack's life. A man they could count on being honest with them when he could. Relations between Israel's Secret Service and the US had become strained after the assassination of Aziz as each looked to the other for the deed. Aziz had been very vocal in his hatred for America and in his demand that all Muslims were called to destroy Israel. Reclaiming of the Middle East from the infidels was Islam's only path to salvation.

"Meir had very little to say. He's offended that we left Mossad out of the intel on Shalev and the mission to rescue her." Weston paused then abruptly turned and paced away, hands fisted. "If only things in Lebanon had gone right."

A weaker man would have flinched from the intensity in Weston's voice. The tense emotion was totally out of character for the cool, by-the-book commander, and Jack studied him closely for the first time since waking up in the hospital. Something had set Weston off his game. Dark circles bagged his eyes and a seemingly brittle veneer had settled over his chiseled features.

Weston was the kind of man who'd never admit to a weakness, so Jack knew better than to ask what was eating his commander. He'd have to check with the other men to see what was going on. Not that the current world events weren't enough. Meir's reticence had to bite too. Weston and Meir had been involved in a harrowing mission a couple of years ago, one that neither of them spoke about. Still, Jack couldn't blame Meir for being ticked. If the shoe had been on the other foot, Jack would have been pissed too. But there hadn't been time to coordinate a joint operation to rescue Shalev and James's daughters when the actionable intel had come through.

If everything had gone right with the rescue, all of Israel would be singing the US's praises, but it hadn't. Now Meir and every other Mossad agent thought they could have made a difference if they'd been there. Hell, Jack had been there and even he felt the same way.

"You know, it's still not making sense to me." Jack rubbed the ache in his temple.

"What?"

"That the terrorists blew up the fucking world at the last moment. I clearly remember the second floor was on fire. We were on the third. They could have waited, and picked us off as we climbed out of the windows. The whole suicide scenario of them blowing up us and themselves doesn't mesh."

"With Beck's team on the perimeter, maybe they didn't think they had any other option. Who can ever really understand the suicide mindset?" Weston shrugged, dismissing the subject. "Listen and take a chill pill. Every agency with an acronym from A to Z has men on the job and you're a long way away from getting back into the fray."

Jack exhaled at the force of the frustration ripping at him. How could he just do nothing? "Have you found out anything about the blue-eyed blond son of a bitch who hid in the armoire?"

"We've been through this a dozen times. There's no record of the guy. No blond men in the photos of dead. Nobody in rescue and recovery remembers seeing a blond man. Rico and Pecos don't remember seeing him. Maybe you're confusing him with someone else-"

"Rico doesn't remember anything after the initial assault into the building. Pecos was in the other room, he never saw the blond. And no, I am not confusing anything. He was there and I killed him. I'd bet my life that not only was he American but Jihad wasn't even a whisper in his mind. Something more than a Holy War might be behind the kidnappings."

"I don't know what to tell you. I've run every available avenue into the ground." Weston turned and raked his fingers through his longish hair. Delta didn't follow regulations. "For now, just let it go, DT. Okay? Put the mission behind you and give yourself time to heal. Why don't you take a vacation? You wanted to hit Montana last year and had to cancel for a mission. Why not go now?"

Jack closed his eyes and counted, making sure his response sounded damn reasonable. "Take a vacation? Neil's dead, and I doubt his wife is holding her own. My best friend is on a on a major bender and won't even talk to me, something that has never happened in all of the years that I've known Beck. Pecos is blind and struggling. Rico is in about the same shape as I am and chomping to get back on the team. These are my men. Not some Joe-Blows off the street. I can't abandon them right now. And let's not forget to mention the entire world is on the verge of war over al-Qaeda's latest. Considering all of that, I can't believe you're telling me to go play tourist. To go take pictures of what? Yellowstone?"