Sam didn’t have a problem knowing something to say; letters were appearing on the screen. STILL DEAD?
She smiled. Oh, friend, you and I have some talking to do. I’ve got four months of news. She rested her hands on the keyboard and continued typing, grateful she had learned to type fast over the years. YES. OKAY FROM MISSION?
A-OK. DO FAVOR? CALL KELLY—MSG: JOE OK, ILY. JILL—MSG: TOM OK, ILY. MY FOLKS—MSG: GOT LETTERS, ILY.
“What’s ILY?” Darcy asked Gabe, rapidly jotting down numbers, names, and messages. Sam was typing this? The words were flying faster than she could scrawl notes.
“Subspeak for I Love You.”
DONE. Darcy hesitated before she typed: I MISS YOU.
THANKS, D. I MISS YOU MORE.
I’M SERIOUS ABOUT THE FAVOR. COME HOME AND COLLECT.
I PLAN TO. PROMISE.
The last photo came over. She typed the direct phone number to her desk here as rapidly as she could, trying to beat the cutoff of the satellite link. It had been so frustrating to get Sam’s message on her answering machine in the States and have no way to get in touch with him. The link dropped on her before she got an acknowledgment on the transmission.
“A SEAL team sneaking into Lebanon . . . interesting,” Gabe commented.
“Did Sam get my number?”
“It’s impossible to tell. You’ll know if he calls you.” Gabe turned the other terminal screen toward her, and she forced herself to think about work again for a moment. “DIA will see if they can enhance the visuals, but they agree it’s probable. While they see if they can get a voice match, let’s proceed as if that is Dansky. Dar, print out the transcript of Battihi’s conversation with him and come down to my office. Let’s see if we can figure out what he’s planning. We may have a shot at actually getting ahead of Dansky and anticipating his next move.”
“I’ll be right there.”
He struggled to his feet. “I’m glad it was Sam.”
“So am I.”
Gabe tugged the door shut behind him.
Darcy queued the document to print.
Sam. She reached over for one of the oranges in the fruit basket on her desk. She wasn’t ready for the surge of emotions she felt. I’m so glad he’s okay. She rarely let herself step back from the day-to-day fight to take a deep breath and think about life before September 11 or what it would be like after this war was over. She still hoped for a chance to explore a relationship with Sam. The distance of several states had to be easier to manage than the present reality of countries and oceans.
She kept oranges around as a reminder of him. “Take courage, do the work, and peace will once again flourish.” Sam’s note had arrived at CIA headquarters the day after the attack tucked in a basket of Florida oranges, the package hand delivered to her by Brandon. That note now folded in her wallet had helped relieve the stress of the last few months.
Jesus, please bring Sam safely home. I want to have a night out to celebrate with him.
She tucked the piece of paper with the phone numbers and messages into her pocket. She would gladly make those calls for him.
JANUARY 16
Wednesday, 5:10 a.m.
USS DALLAS / MEDITERRANEAN SEA
The main mess area located in the center of the submarine was crowded with SEALs catching dinner in the early morning hours. Sam fingered the piece of paper with what he hoped was Darcy’s phone number. It had two digits missing, but that could be solved with a little deliberate dialing. A hundred numbers wouldn’t take that long to dial. It was a European country code prefix. Where was she? Did she realize he’d been on a sub during that conversation? He wanted to be somewhere he could call her, but that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. Dar, I hope you’re being careful. Stay safe.
“Sir? Did I get your steak too well-done? Would you like another put on the grill?”
He glanced up at the helpful sailor doing his best to make their lives easier by making sure the food was first-rate. “The steak is great. Thanks, Ensign.” It was tough to distract him from a meal, but Darcy had managed to do it.
“You got her number?”
He looked up from the paper over to his partner. “Most of it.”
“She sounded pleased to hear from you.”
“It was a pretty short conversation to draw that conclusion.” He wanted to think it would be possible to pick up the promise from that early meeting. He wanted a chance to collect that favor, spend some more time with her, find out if the feelings so profoundly stirred in a matter of days had lasted through this separation. Darcy was a lady he thought could handle being in a relationship with a SEAL, and he intended to find out.
“Be optimistic, bud. She certainly turned your head.”
Sam smiled at his friend and tucked the slip of paper in his pocket. If he encouraged his friend’s speculation, the topic would never subside. “So when do you think we’ll be going home?”
“I’m betting we’ll spend Thanksgiving in the States.”
That idea was one Sam hadn’t even let himself seriously consider. Holidays at home . . . it would be wonderful.
“Thanks for asking Darcy to call Jill.”
“My pleasure. Thanksgiving?” Sam confirmed.
Wolf smiled and pushed him the coffee. “Eat your steak, man. It’s prime rib. You’ll see Darcy sooner rather than later.”
JANUARY 16
Wednesday, 10:10 a.m.
Madrid, Spain
Darcy tossed an orange back and forth between her hands as she listened to the conversation again. They had the translation now on audio, a dubbed tape that gave them the original conversation, a pause, the provided translation, and then continued playing the recorded conversation. The overlapping playbacks allowed the emotion in the voices to still be part of the factor in the analysis. “Play that segment again, Gabriel.”
He leaned over and rewound the tape.
“Dansky doesn’t want Battihi moving the explosives through Yemen. Interesting.”
“Do you think Dansky has an inkling of the kind of network we’ve got in Yemen?” Gabe asked.
“He knows. Why else ask for this meeting to happen in Lebanon, the one place it’s hard to observe?”
“The SEALs were there.”
“But you have to admit, it was high risk to send them in.” Had Sam volunteered for that mission? She had a feeling he may have. She could remember his voice, his expression on September 11, and she didn’t think he would back away from anything that would help end this war.
Gabriel started the tape again.
Darcy was disappointed by what was not on the tape. “There is very little about an upcoming mission. Just that reference to the urgency in moving the shipment. Just before they part company, when Battihi is speaking, play that again.”
“Check out Thatcher. You’ll need to bring a deep pocketbook.”
“Who’s Thatcher?” she wondered. “The money reference suggests Battihi is suggesting someone else Dansky should look to hire.”
Gabriel checked the latest updates online from the team working this conversation. “Thatcher doesn’t show up as a name or alias of a terrorist in our database. The Brits and the Russians have checked their files and come up blank. It’s a common European name.”
Darcy peeled the orange. “Battihi is not expecting to be overheard; he’s not trying to be obtuse. It’s in the casual part of the conversation after the business concludes. We need to find this Thatcher. He sounds like another player.”
“Maybe if Dansky follows up on the suggestion we’ll be able to put a face to the name.” Gabe ejected the tape. “Dansky is planning a mission, and for the first time we’ve got clues for its setup. The explosives, Battihi. We watch them, and we’re going to get Dansky.”
“Take down Danksy, and that leaves Vladimir and Luther.” Line them up like dominoes: they would take out number three, then go after number two and ultimately number one.
“Get out of here for a couple hours and get
a break while I pull in people. We’ll talk around options for how to proceed.”
She nodded, knowing she needed the break. She hated hours like this where they had information but weren’t sure what the information meant. Jesus, I could really use some help and wisdom now. Who’s Thatcher? How do we find him?
Ten
* * *
JANUARY 16
Wednesday, 11:30 a.m.
Madrid, Spain
Darcy went back to the hotel just to get a chance to walk a bit, using her Walkman to play a tape. Listening to the opening aria for Madame Butterfly while walking in Spain—it was a wonderful break. She would tell Sam about it in a letter, but somehow she didn’t think he’d appreciate the moment like she did. She slipped off the headphones as she reached the hotel.
Her room at the hotel was a comfortable suite with a sitting area and a small kitchenette. She fixed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from her private stash sent over in a care package while she listened to the phone ring in North Dakota. She got her sister’s machine. “Hi, Amy. There’s nothing new. Just calling to say hi. I put a package in the mail to you today, so expect what looks like a box of books. It’s not books, and don’t open it until your birthday. I wanted to be early with the gift for a change. Hope you’re well. Talk to you later. I’ll have my pager with me.”
Darcy retrieved the slip of paper with her jotted notes from Sam. She poured a glass of milk. Kelly or Jill first? She had seen Jill very briefly when she passed by the wedding reception. She dialed her number first. The phone was answered after the third ring just as Darcy expected a machine to kick in.
“Hello?”
Darcy had woken up the lady. She winced. “Is this Jill?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Darcy St. James. Sam Houston asked that I call you. I apologize, I don’t know Tom’s last name. Is your husband, Tom, currently in the Navy overseas?”
“Yes.”
Darcy heard the uncertainty and fear in Jill’s voice in that simple word. “It’s good news,” she rushed to explain. “I have a message for you. It’s brief, I’m afraid. I’ll read it. ‘Call Jill—Tom OK, ILY.’” It sounded so small as she read it. “I’m sorry, that’s it. Sam was on a limited transmission.”
“Oh, if you only knew how sweet that message is.” Jill’s voice came alive with joy. “Do you know where they’re deployed?”
“On a sub somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, but I’m not sure beyond that.”
“You said your name was Darcy?”
“Yes.”
“Sam met you in Florida after our wedding reception.”
It was her turn to hesitate. “That’s right.”
“I thought it was so romantic that Cougar took off with you.”
Darcy had to laugh. “I don’t think you heard the whole story.”
“Probably not, but I heard the important details. Feel free to call with great news like this anytime. If you hear from them again, would you repeat the same message back to Tom?”
“I will.” Darcy said good-bye and hung up, smiling. She dialed the second number and was able to pass the message about Joe to Kelly. The third number gave her pause. If Jill had heard about her, what had Sam told his parents? She was sure they would have asked where he had been when September 11 happened. Sam, what did you tell them? She dialed.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Houston?” A man answered, but the voice sounded too young to be Sam’s father.
“Which one are you looking for: Ben, Christopher, or Scott?”
“Umm, I’m not sure. Sam’s father.”
“You want Ben. Hold on.” The phone was covered. “Dad, grab the phone.” The man came back on. “He’ll just be a minute. We’re working down at the barn. Are you a friend of Sam’s?”
“I have a message from him.”
“Oh, even better.”
“Hello?”
“Mr. Houston? Ben?”
“You’ve found him.”
“My name is Darcy St. James. I’m calling on behalf of Sam. He asked if I’d pass a message on.”
“Hold on, his mom’s going to want to hear this too.” Darcy could hear another phone pick up.
“Yes, hello. You heard from my Sam?”
“He’s fine, Mrs. Houston. I’ve got a short message from him for you.”
“It’s Hannah. And you must be Darcy. You really talked with him?”
“Only by text message, I’m afraid. But it was this morning. The message is very short; he was on a limited transmission. He said: ‘Got letters, ILY.’”
“Oh, this is wonderful! He got the letters. I sent a huge bunch from a local school class for all the guys. Do you know if he’s coming home?”
“I’m sorry; I don’t know his unit’s schedule. He’s on a sub somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, but I’m not sure beyond that.”
“If he can at least come home for the holidays, to Thanksgiving dinner, have him bring you with him. I always like to say thanks for good news in person.”
Darcy laughed. “He mentioned I’d like you. He was right.”
“What else did he mention?”
“Besides an aversion to snow?”
“Darcy, honey, you do know my Sam.” Hannah’s laughter filled the phone line. “And you sound like you’re a neighbor. Where did you grow up?”
“Just outside Shelton, over on the Cannonball River.”
“Our place is just north of Timber Lake. Now you have to come for a visit. The world is so small.”
“If I’m out to North Dakota to see my family over Thanksgiving, I’ll give you a call,” Darcy promised, taking the only gracious out she could come up with, knowing the odds she would be able to travel later in the year for Thanksgiving were slim.
She was finally able to say good-bye. It sounded like Sam had a wonderful family. Darcy bet before long Amy would be calling to mention she had spoken with Hannah. A couple hundred miles apart in the Dakotas meant the two families probably had half a dozen friends in common. Hannah would mention something to a neighbor, who would mention something to a neighbor, and Amy would get word.
She loved the small-town world. It was why she had moved back to North Dakota. But she could also understand why Sam might have found himself dreaming of going to sea.
Darcy knew she should catch a nap while she was able to do so. The idea was strong enough she went to stretch out on the couch.
What were the odds of Sam being able to get home during the upcoming months? He’d probably rotate home during the first of the year. If he could get home, she’d have to figure out a way to be there to see him.
She wanted someone like him in her life, who would be able to understand her unusual past and put it in perspective. As much as they tried to understand the world of working overseas, of following international diplomacy, civilians missed the ongoing intensity that went with this life. Sam spent his life on the front lines of international hot spots, he had traveled much of the world—they had a shared history in that kind of past. Unfortunately she wasn’t going to be the lady Sam remembered. The months had added a lot of gray hair and permanent shadows under her eyes.
Lord, sometimes I wonder who I would have been if I had followed in my sister’s footsteps and become a cop instead of choosing the CIA. Would I have had a chance to meet Sam? Would he have been interested if I had been a beat cop? She wished she knew sometimes if there had been an easier path in life. Amy was married and settled and Darcy still had that season in life to figure out.
She tugged over her Bible. She had begun to reread Psalms the last few months and found them comforting. Her morning had begun in Psalm 34. The verse she had underlined had been easily memorized. “I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears.”
It’s a great verse, God. You’ve delivered me from a number of nights where the stress was so heavy and the fear so great it was all I could see. I’m grateful You don’t change and that You’re sovereign
. I wish men would choose You, get to know You, rather than keep fighting. If there’s anything I can do today to help move peace forward, please let me find it.
She closed the book, the binding worn through years of travel. Faith in Jesus was the one consistency in her life. She was so thankful she had that to hold on to, could share it with Sam. At least her family and her faith hadn’t been shaken by this war.
Her mind drifted back on the subjects raised by the tape. Sam had risked his life to get that conversation. She owed it to him and the others on his team to figure out everything in that message she could. Check out Thatcher. The suggestion sounded like someone telling a pitching coach to check out an up-and-coming player. Battihi was trying to make a good impression on the man he had just agreed to work with. He was making a suggestion he thought Dansky would appreciate.
She wanted to lock up all the loose ends, and it sounded to her like another player was out there. Dansky knew what the reference meant. That was the one fact that was very clear. Somewhere in Dansky’s past he had learned who Thatcher was.
She was not going to sleep, so she got up, locked her hotel room, and walked back to work. Dansky’s habits, places he had traveled in the past, something would be the connection. She had it if she could just put the pieces together.
* * *
Two hours later, she burst into Gabriel’s office. He bobbled his soda. “Darcy—”
“A horse race.” She nearly leaned over and kissed his frustrated face. “There’s a horse race in Morocco, and a two-year-old is running named Thatcher.” She felt like laughing her joy was so overwhelming. “That’s what the reference is about. It’s a betting tip. Thatcher plus Russian vodka seals it: Dansky is the one heading to Morocco, and he’s going to stop by the racetrack. We can get both the cell and Dansky if we move fast. But we’ve got less than four days to set it up.”
They had the golden jewel of intelligence. Future knowledge of when and where a target was going to be.
True Honor Page 10