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I understood. Men are either born soldiers, or they’re not. It’s as simple and complicated as that.
Being a soldier taps into a man’s most primal instincts, to protect, to serve, and to avenge those who have been wronged. Our training is as much discipline as it is learning to control fear, regardless of the dangers or discomforts. It’s a job where courage—man’s greatest challenge—is necessary for survival. If you’re lucky enough to develop it, it is extremely addictive.
Our bodies begin to crave the adrenaline rush that accompanies operating in life-or-death situations. There is at least one moment in every mission when every soldier vows it will be his last, yet the moment the job is done, the need for that rush emerges again. And on and on we go.
“How did you get involved with Astor?” I asked.
“A buddy of mine left the Army to work for him.”
“Who?”
“Name was Eric Williamson. Died on his first mission.” Leo stared out the window, lost in memories. “Anyway ...” He shook his head, pushing them away. “I applied to take Eric’s spot after he died, but Astor wouldn’t hire me due to my injury.”
Truth? I wouldn’t have hired him either. As a unit, a soldier is only as strong as the man next to him. This is one of the reasons I preferred to work alone. I don’t trust people.
“But it’s fine,” Leo said, blowing it off. “A year later, he called me up and offered me a job doing this kind of work for him. To be an agent’s contact when needed—like I’m doing for you right now. He chose me for this particular mission because I helped profile Kusma Petrova decades ago when I worked for the CIA.”
He shrugged.
“Astor pays well and lets me do something I love.” A wicked grin cracked Leo’s face. “Like tail a ridiculously beautiful target for a few days.”
The protectiveness hit me fast and sharp. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable about my reaction.
What the hell was it about this girl? Sophia Banks was not the first beautiful woman I’d ever seen and wouldn’t be the last. Hell, having sex with random women was a way of life for special ops soldiers. It was a release, like alcohol or drugs, but without the hangover.
Women fawned over us, and we took them. Keeping them, however, was an entirely different story. But never once—not a single time—did any of the women make my heart jump the way it had when I looked at Sophia Banks for the first time.
“Has anyone else been tailing her?” I asked, needing to know that there weren’t a bunch of operatives jerking off to her from behind their tinted windows.
“Nope. Just me. You know Astor; the fewer people involved, the better. And this mission has included the fewest I’ve been involved with. Like you said, the information we have sucks, but that’s in part because the information on Sophia is extremely limited in the first place. There is no profile or background to study, which corroborates with how the Black Cell Unit operates. Their members are virtually untrackable—or just trackable enough to throw you off. The Russian government funds Black Cell—although they’ll never admit to it—and sets them up with alternate IDs, safe houses, fake death certificates if needed. There is absolutely nothing on Sophia Banks until she popped up on the radar after moving here.”
“I understand the government thinks Kusma is in the area, possibly on the coast somewhere. What do you know about that?”
“Nothing more than exactly that.”
“And you’re sure she’s not with him?”
“If so, she hasn’t been seen with him. It appears she lives alone.”
“Did you break into her place to confirm that?”
“I had a look around.” He flicked a piece of lint off his jacket. “I’m telling you, there is not a single thing to indicate a male lives in that house.”
I scratched my chin. “What about her cell phone? Have you been able to track it? See where she’s gone in the last few months.”
“She doesn’t have one.”
“Bullshit. A woman, living alone in the wildlands of Alaska, has a cell phone.”
“Maybe she has a burner, but none of the local cell phone providers have an account under the name Sophia Banks.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. But here we are.”
I sat back, shifting my coffee cup between my fingers, unable to shake the feeling of unease surrounding this job.
“You said you profiled Kusma when you worked for the CIA. What are his strengths, his weaknesses? How do women—like Sophia, for example—play into his profile?”
