Saving Emmy by Rayne Lewis

Chapter 8

Slate had been gone a month. The dynamics in the office were off and everyone felt it. Like missing a limb of one’s body, the loss was glaringly obvious but nobody talked about it. Especially to King. King was a good man. The team stood behind him with every decision, but this time the fissures were deep; not everyone agreed with his decision to let Slate walk and to stay gone. He left and never looked back.

Cypher cleaned out Slate’s cage and boxed up all his belongings, which was another glaring reminder every time the guys entered the room. Slate’s cage, first in the row, sat empty. Each morning, of each day, the wound was ripped open as they filed in, putting their things in their cages. And every evening, the reminder stayed with them when they picked up their belongings and headed home. It was a reminder that their body was broken, and just like an amputee, the loss of the limb was always present.

King interviewed a few prospects to join the team, but hadn’t solidified a hire, so the possibility of the brotherhood becoming one again was slim, if nonexistent.

Slate was gone. The team was divided. And, because it was divided between Team King vs Team Slate, it went way beyond what the guys thought would be a mere spat; a lover’s quarrel. Everyone was sure that once cooler heads prevailed, Slate would return on his own, or King would call him back. Such was not the case on either side.

They’d been on a few missions since the breakup. And, that’s what it was; a breakup. One lover scorned; the other refusing to admit fault. Pride will always be the longest distance between two people. Whoever coined that phrase hit the nail on the head. And, although the missions were successful, mistakes were made and injuries resulted. Severe injuries.

The team was uneven and second-guessed each other, and although trust wasn't completely lost, the faintest hint of doubt was causing fractures to become breaks.

* * *

Cy stood outside King’s office and steeled himself to talk with his boss. After the devastating last mission, King knew he had to bring a new guy onboard, even if it was on a temporary basis, until he could permanently fill Slate’s spot.

He was tempted to call upon his friend Keane “Ghost” Bryson and his team of retired Deltas, the group he knew from his days back on the teams but instead called his friend and buddy, former Army Captain Chase Jackson, who sent one of his operators, Apollo “Creed” Winters, to temporarily come onboard Team Hellforce. Chase and his wife, Sadie, ran Zion Task Force, a private security company in nearby Killeen.

Creed knew the ropes, had team dynamics, got along with the guys, and the team was melding. But, things weren’t meshing the way they did with the old team. He’d only come on board last week, and Cy knew there was always an adjustment and break-in period when someone new joined a group; especially a group that was as tight as theirs. It had to be difficult to come onto a team where guys had previously served together, bled together and saved each other's lives countless times.

Cy was hopeful, but skeptical, things would work out. He didn’t know if it was so much the fact that the new guy wasn’t fitting in, or the fact that he wasn’t Slate. He was hoping once Slate heard King was looking to get a new guy, he’d give King a call and see if the two could come to a mutual understanding, and the Hellforce family would be reunited.

But, Slate hadn’t contacted King, and King hadn’t contacted Slate, so the breakup was still on.

Cypher knocked on King’s office door and peered in, “Got a minute?”

“Sure, got plenty of time. What’s on your mind?” King put down a folder, probably a potential case file for a future mission, and leaned back in his chair.

“Slate—”

“Don’t have time for this.” King picked up the folder and studied it.

“King—”

“Shut the door on your way out,” he ordered without lifting his eyes.

Cypher stood his ground. Taking a moment, he measured his words, “You know, King, I’ve never questioned your judgement. Never disobeyed an order. I’ve always trusted you knew what was best, and we all fall into order because you never steer us wrong.”

King looked up, meeting Cy’s stare.

“But, this time...this time, I have to respectfully disagree with you.”

King folded his arms on the desk in front of him and leaned forward, presenting a man who didn’t want to be fucked with.

“You're my boss, so I respect you, but I can’t agree with you on this one.”

“That’s fine because it’s not your decision. Doesn’t concern you.”

“That’s where you're wrong.”

King stood, arms crossed over his broad chest, his forearms straining against the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down shirt. He waited for Cy to sound off.

“You know as well as I do that we’re all affected by the decisions you make. You know the team’s falling apart. You see that the team is falling apart.” Cy’s gaze locked on his boss. For a second, King’s eyes fell downcast at the declaration of the hard truth but came back up when Cypher continued. “Mistakes are being made, King. You and I both know it. Hell, T for damn sure knows it.”

At the last statement, King closed his eyes and rubbed the tatts on his forearm.

“Look, I know your job is hard. I wouldn’t want it, God only knows why you do.” King’s eyes came back to his teammate, “It’s gotta suck to be the one responsible for the lives of all of us when you send us out. And to have that burden has to weigh heavy on you. I know it weighs heavy on you. I get it. I would never disparage your commitment to what you ask us to do.” Cypher paused a moment before adding, “but, King, we can’t continue like this. One of us is coming back under the stars and stripes if we continue on this path.”

King’s expression hardened. Cypher knew he was thinking of his former Delta team. The one on which he and Arctic served together. Seven men went out and only two returned. The other five weren't as lucky.

Five men gave the ultimate sacrifice.

Five men buried beneath the flag.

Twenty-one guns and flag-draped caskets.

Cy couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose one of the men he called brother, let alone all of them.

The two stood in silence. Cy waited for King. He’d said his peace. It would be King who’d steer the direction of the team, because Cypher didn’t know if he could continue in the same direction if things didn’t change. He wouldn’t abandon the team, but he would need to take a different position, maybe an advisory position behind the scenes, but he couldn’t continue in the field. He knew his words were true and not just a low blow, but one of them would be coming home in a bag if they continued making the drastic mistakes they’d made on the last mission.

“I’ll call Slate.”

That’s all King said. He sat and picked up the file he was looking at when Cypher first entered his office. Cy nodded and turned to leave.

As he reached the threshold, King’s voice sounded. “Thanks for your honesty.”

Cy turned around. “I know you do your best, King. I never question your integrity or devotion to us or the job. You’re one of the most upstanding men I know, and I'm damn proud to call you my brother and fight beside you.” King looked up, and Cypher continued. “I know you and Slate have pride, hell, we all do. In our profession we need it, or we’d never take on the next mission. Pride isn’t a bad thing,“ he paused, “until it is.”

King nodded in agreement, and then said the words Cypher had rarely heard him say, not because of pride, but because they were rarely true. “I may have been wrong.”

King tossed the file onto the desk, leaned back, and let out a breath. He scrubbed his hands down his face and the length of his greying beard. Leaning forward and resting his forearms on the desk, he unconsciously rubbed his left arm. Cypher knew it was a nervous habit. He rubbed his burned and scarred arm when he was deep in thought or irritated, which with the group of men he oversaw and parented, was about ninety percent of the time.

“Close the door on your way out,”

Cy pulled the door closed as King reached for his phone.