She refused to think about her behaviour the night before.
The fact that she'd gotten that drunk off of two beer was worse than any horny flirting she'd thrown around. But then there were her apparent attempts at bonding... and what she'd said to Pa—which, he deserved, but she felt she'd probably have been much more eloquent had she been even slightly more sober.
When she pushed into the briefing room before breakfast, having been notified of an early morning meeting, she pretended like it didn't happen. She could only expect that Price and Ghost would as well.
"Morning, Daisy," Price nodded before looking back down to the computer.
"Morning," she greeted, eyes scanning past her team to an unfamiliar face.
"Good to meet you, Lieutenant, my name is Hawkins, I'm a weapons expert," he greeted with a hand out toward her.
She shook it, but her face contorted in worry, "That doesn't sound good."
"It's not," Ghost grumbled.
"Are Gaz and Soap alright?" she asked, eyes jumping from him to Price.
"We're fine, bonnie, dinnae you worry," Soap's voice came from a speaker in the center of the table.
With a relieved nod, she looked back to him. "You've been reviewing the blueprints of the weapons from Frank's files, correct?"
"I have, but the blueprints have been edited so we're struggling to make any progress."
"Oh?"
He nodded, lips pulled thin. "They're being smart; erasing any details that would ID the manufacturer. Some we've been able to par-down to a few possible locations, but without lot numbers, it's impossible to be certain. Some blueprints are so scrubbed they're barely even discernable."
"So what's—"
The door opened and Drew turned, saluting Adcox as he entered.
"Morning. Everyone here?"
Price nodded, "Yes, sir."
"Alright, let's hear the lowdown."
She took a seat, eyes moving to Price who turned on the projector, bringing to life images of a warehouse. A second image showed its interior, and with a second glance, she made out the weapons that filled the space; cases of what she could assume was ammo or possibly bombs.
"These are the images that Sergeants Garrick and MacTavish have sent of the identified storage facility... Their stash is far larger than we imagined. Hawkins, have you had the chance to go over the images?"
The man stood, moving to the screen. "It's not possible to identify everything, but these here," he said, moving a hand over the bottom corner of the image, "these are anti-armour grenades, incendiary, these look like they could be EMP devices, and throughout there are boxes of ammunition and guns. And considering there was a mortar being transferred, we should assume they also have shells... meaning the destructive power within that warehouse... is catastrophic."
"How far is this place from civilians?" Drew asked breathily.
"There's only a fourteen kilometre radius between it and the nearest town called Dinton. It's located within a small forest, so it's concealed, but people can access the area easily," Price explained.
Hawkins nodded. "Having that many explosives in one spot is an accident waiting to happen—if someone makes one wrong move, or someone get's spooked, it could set the whole place off."
"That makes shuttin' the place down a lot more complicated," Ghost commented. "If we move in and a stray bullet hits the wrong box, everyone pays the price."
"We also need to think about this strategically," Drew added. "If their stash gets raided, they'll go into hiding and we'll lose their trail."
Adcox nodded, "That's a risk we can't take right now..."
"What's the security on that place like?" Drew asked.
"Weak," Gaz stated, "There was a patrol, but they came off shift around midnight and didn't come back until seven this morning. The doors are locked with chains, but there doesn't seem to be an alarm system. There is no power to the building, and personnel are staying in a trailer next to the warehouse. Their power comes from a generator—which only ups the chance of the place blowing itself off the face of the earth."
"What was the warehouse used for prior to them moving in?"
"Looks like they built it for this purpose," Gaz answered. "There's nothing around that would warrant a warehouse, and no history of business or projects in the area."
She nodded, trying to piece together the mystery of the terrorists.
Price ran a hand over his face, mind whirring. "Daisy, I want you to look into the airspace above the warehouse, see if we can get some helos up with infrared and checking if civilians are in the area without raising too much suspicion. Once we know, we set up roadblocks and warnings from public works that there is some type of construction going on, maybe even wildcat sightings—something that will deter people from being in that area. And we'll keep it monitored. Gaz, Soap, we'll send in a support crew and you'll get surveillance tech to set up around the area. Hawkins, is there a safe distance they should stay?"
"Anything less than half a klick is within the danger zone," he answered, "so any work that needs to be done within that distance is high risk."
"It's get in, get out kind of work then," Soap noted.
"We'll have crews to meet you before lunch. Get surveillance up at the turn of patrols and then get out of there. We'll monitor at a distance," Price ordered.
"Copy that, sir."
"This case has just become top priority," Adcox declared, "unless absolutely necessary, I want everyone focused on finding these terrorists and getting a reign on their threat."
"Yes, sir," Price agreed.
"Let me know of any updates you have."
"Of course."
With that, he stood, making his way from the room.
As the door shut, Drew shifted, arms leaning on the table. "We've got to find out what their goal is. That warehouse is nearly full; if they were waiting to reach capacity to attack, they're nearly ready."
"Depends on what they're wanting to attack," Hawkins added. "That haul would take out a good fraction of a city if deployed strategically, but what do they need it for? What would they gain?"
Drew's brows furrowed. "I'm gonna head to my office, get those airspace details and see if I can make any connections. Price, can you send me the photo of the warehouse? And Hawkins, can you give me a write up of the weapons you're able to identify?"
Both Price and Hawkins nodded and she stood, rounding the table to the door.
"How'd you sleep, Daisy?"
As she turned to Ghost, she caught the smirk behind the balaclava. So with without faltering, she mirrored his expression, "Satisfyingly," she answered before turning. "Later, everyone." She stepped out of the door, eyes rolling.
Asshole.
After grabbing a to-go breakfast, she went to her office, updating her team to their new focus. Then, she slipped into a zone, mind focused on her list of tasks.
Airspace had some traffic, so they could manage a few fly by's without being too suspicious. They'd certainly have to outfit a city works helicopter with an infrared camera rather than using one of their own aircraft, but it would do. She sent that task off to one of her team members, then brought up the database she'd created for the files from Frank.
There were so many, she was hoping maybe somewhere within them there was a clue to the groups goal. Some hint about what the weapons were for, whether that be civilian attacks, political statements, governmental destabilization.
The fact that there were close-range weapons like guns meant they were preparing to face their enemy when the attack happened.
But weapons like they had—prefab bombs, projectiles—weren't easy things to come by. It would take time and significant money to follow through with one transaction, let alone over a hundred... And based off the geographical spread of the deals, they had people in far and high places connected to their cause.
But who?
Who was buying weapons? And who was transporting them?
It must be believed that most—if not all—of those involved in transportation knew about what they were moving. Otherwise, they would likely be caught.
Did they have help from gangs or criminal syndicates?
But again, why would they be involved?
The records from Frank go back six months, but that means that the network that allowed the transactions had been in place much longer. Support had been garnered for this group long ago... but how long?
And what were they supporting?
Everything within Franks files was unhelpful, so to give those questions a break, she pulled up the weapon details that Hawkins had sent her, the photo annotated with a legend of each identifiable weapon.
With a masterlist, she started searching through the files, making slow plausible connections between caches and transactions. It was tedious work considering the secrecy of the records, with few details and identifiers, but she eventually made it to the end of the list that Hawkins sent her.
But her brows furrowed as she looked from his list to the masterlist; they had 107 transaction records, but only twenty-four were accounted for from the warehouse. And frustratingly, nearly the same number had been identified, but didn't have transaction records.
With a long exhale, she returned to the database, searching other keywords that might get flagged. She was in the middle of reading a record when there was a knock at her office door.
Her dry eyes pulled away from the screen, blinking a few times. "Come in," she called.
When it opened, she was met by Price with a brown paper bag in hand. "You finding good stuff?"
She leaned back, stretching her spine a little as she nodded, "Getting there, b'y. Parker finished the details for the helo, I just haven't had a chance to look over the report to send it out—but I trust him, pretty sure everything will be squared away."
He moved toward her, dropping into the chair across from her desk. "What are you working on now?"
"Linking the weapons to their transactions..." she mumbled, running a hand over her face. "There's a lot of weapons unaccounted for, so I'm wondering if they might be in transit still."
"You thinkin' about that deal from Seattle?"
She nodded. "It's possible that there are weapons that are waiting to be transferred, or maybe that are on their way... but I'm not sure. I'm doing a double check now, but we need a better stock list from the warehouse."
"We have a meeting at 2300; we'll ask the boys then," he noted.
"That sounds good," she nodded before looking at the time. "Shit, really? Nine?"
He smiled a little, placing the paper bag on her desk, the black letters of Nando's staring her in the face. "We ordered down at HQ, but you weren't answering your phone, so I ordered for you."
"You didn't have to do that," she smiled, "I would have found something."
"Well, this way, it found you."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. It's a chicken pita, hope that's alright."
"I've not eaten all day, so I'd chew the leather off my boots," she chuckled.
"I'd like my soldiers eatin' more than shoes."
"Yes, sir," she agreed, pulling the bag closer to her. "I'll look over Parker's report and get ready for the meeting."
"I'll see you in a few hours then, Daisy," he stated before leaving the office.
Time seemed to fly around her, reviewing the helo report, compiling her questions, listing what she'd identified so far. She barely remembered getting to the meeting before she was rattling off her summary.
How they needed to look for possible gang involvement, needed better photos of the weapons in the warehouse, how she could contact the surrounding villages in the morning about the helicopter and deterrents for the area. Then she was listening to Gaz and Soap's update, and later Hawkin's.
It was a limbo moment. She hated limbo. So as the meeting ended, she stayed put, eyes focused on her computer as she returned to searching the records.
Once Gaz and Soap could send more photos, Hawkins would give her a new list of the weapons, but she had to double check whether she missed anything in her first go round earlier. She took more time, reading through each record and attempting to assign it a weapon, but as she reached the last record, she'd not made progress.
How many were still in transit?
Were some weapons being stored elsewhere?
And why? Were they too big?
She'd gone through the transactions a number of times by that point, and none of them seemed particularly large, but she'd not been looking at the blueprints. Sure, she was familiar with combat, but she couldn't rattle off specialty weapons or necessarily recognize them based on the records that Frank had.
Christ, some of terms used were so laymen she could barely associate it to one weapon type or another.
Automatic gun: fed by belt, with stand... Ammunition type: 7.61x51mm... Length... Weight... Cost...
Grenades: 42 count... diameter... weight...
It was making her head spin.
Everyone else had long retired from the room, off to bed, or their office, or God knew where, so she shut her laptop, knowing she should take a break. And maybe get a coffee.
The chair rolled back and she stood, computer under her arm as she wandered out of the room and into the hall. She was certain there was a break room around somewhere. At some point she'd passed it...
After turning a corner, she spotted it and pushed inside.
Her brows quirked at the sight of Ghost, his back to her at the counter. "You're up late," she commented.
"Busy working."
His tone had her bristling. That arrogant, condescending tone that she thought would have been gone by then. "Oh? What are you working on? Didn't hear your update in the meeting," she noted pointedly as she placed her computer on the coffee table and wandered toward the counter.
"My job."
Her eyes fell on the coffee pot, but the scent of tea wafted toward her. When she looked to the side, she saw a steaming mug in Ghost's hand. It smelled like home.
Growing up, it didn't matter if it was sweltering or freezing; tea was always brewing. The moment she stepped into her Nan's house, the kettle would be boiling and the Carnation milk would be opened. What ever baking she'd done the day before would be placed on the table, ready with a small plate and fork to be dug into.
"Where's the tea?" she asked, flicking the kettle back on to bring it up to a boil.
"This isn't the commissary."
"Ghost, for fuck sakes, where's the damn tea?" she snapped, not in the mood to deal with him.
Why couldn't he just act like a normal coworker? Just be slightly pleasant?
He stared at her a moment before nodding to the cupboard in front of her.
"Thank you," she breathed in annoyance. She almost sighed at the familiar blue box, the nostalgia of home burrowing a little deeper. It was certain she wouldn't find a can of Carnation in the fridge, but regular milk and honey would do just fine.
Ghost was silent beside her, having turned to lean his back against the counter.
"What were you working on?" she asked again, this time voice curious as she prepared her tea.
"Someone still has to keep the platoon in order. Paperwork, reviews; all fun shite of being a Lieutenant."
"And that took you until," she trailed off, eyes falling to the clock, "two in the morning?"
"Didn't say when I finished work."
"Oh, so mysterious," she muttered, filling her mug with water. "You usually spend your nights in HQ?" she teased.
"When I'm not putting drunk soldiers to bed."
She rolled her eyes, passing him as she went to the fridge to grab the milk. "I would have been fine putting myself to bed."
"You probably would have went back for Pa."
She shrugged, "I don't see a problem with that," she said teasingly, adding a little bit of honey to her mug before the milk.
He huffed. "You wouldn't," he bit.
She placed the carton down roughly, head turning to him. "Are you trying to fight with me? Cause I seriously can't get a damn read on you and I'd rather not fight at two in the morning."
"I'm not tryin' to fight; I'm trying to call out your dumbass behaviour."
"Whatever." She grabbed the milk and her mug, dropping the carton into the fridge before moving to the couch.
But he felt the need to continue. "You don't think you goin' back there alone would have been stupid?"
She took a seat, pulling her knees beneath her as she pulled her phone out and leaned into the pillow against the arm rest. "Christ, it was a joke," she hissed. "Besides, you said it yourself, I'm physically capable of taking care of shit."
"I didn't mean going after a man while drunk to fight him. With his friends around."
"I'm sure I would have managed."
"And if you didn't?"
"Then I would have had some bruises."
"I doubt he was lookin' to hit you, Daisy."
His words registered and she realized he wasn't pissed off at the fact that she would get into trouble for starting a fight, he's pissed because she would be placing herself into an unsafe situation where the man might have taken advantage of her.
As if she hadn't experienced her entire life as a woman and was stupid enough to place herself into situation like that.
"Fucking Christ, Ghost, it was a joke. I wouldn't have gone back to fight him, and I don't need you to be yelling at me to be careful," she growled in annoyance.
"Don't joke about that shit."
She shook her head, done with him and the fact that he dealt with everything with anger. That he got so damn riled up over an insignificant comment that should have been brushed off. It didn't happen anyway, yet he was standing across the room glaring at her as if she'd insulted him.
So she ignored him, taking a sip of her tea and swiping on her phone.
He moved toward her, but she still kept her eyes on her phone, reading some post that a friend had made. Then he sat down on the other end of the couch, pulling his own phone out.
Somehow, despite the proximity causing her nerves to be at attention, she was able to eventually tune him out. Or maybe it was because her eyes were beginning to close heavily. She snapped them open, going back to the book she'd started reading.
But then the mug was pulled from her hand and she snapped her eyes open again.
Her head lifted, seeing Ghost placing the mug onto the coffee table. "Don't need you staining our couch," he mumbled before sitting down again.
She just nodded once, laying her head back down. It was better to sleep for a few minutes then get back to work instead of trying to force herself to stay awake.