Fane came to full attention, saluting the man. “Yes, sir!” He dashed off to the locker room in the building. The door closed behind him with a deafening click.
Zephyr cleared his throat, disturbing the eerie silence Fane left in his wake. “Prince Orlov, as we stated earlier in our deal, we’d be more than happy to extend our trust to you. If you would like to use Fane Anson in training your men, as the commander of this unit, I will not deter you from doing so. It looks like he may require some convincing to be stationed. He has one last medical test in two days before we can release him to your care. If you would like to discuss or reassure him of anything, that should be sufficient time,” Zephyr supplied, directing the prince out of the room.
“Get his papers ready,” the General was observing images of the targets.
Zephyr turned to the General. “What about…?” Zephyr tried to press, aware that many of the soldiers in the room did not have clearance for this conversation.
“It’ll work over long distances. We’ll have someone on the ground as backup in case we have to have an emergency pick up,” the General reassured.
“Yes, sir,” Zephyr saluted. He left the room and headed for his office. Who the hell was the General thinking of sending with Fane to keep his condition in check? The General would be wise enough to send him. As it stood, the fact that they were sending Fane out to the Punjab, away from the facility was out of the plan already. The General must be desperate, Zephyr mused.
The motive was to find something that would trigger the response, and maybe exiting this dank town would help get him over the edge.
Fane stood in the changing room, facing his closed locker. He had dumped his weapons at the armory closet on the way in. He rolled his shoulders, relieved of the thirty pounds of metal he had been carrying.
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