The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set)

by Carolyn McCray

“Like now!” Lopez yelled, revving the engine.

  Van couldn’t get her feet to move. She hadn’t lost a soldier in six months in the rigors of the Afghan desert. And now two in a matter of an hour? How had this happened? There weren’t even any terrorists in the immediate area. And why use a dart rather than a bullet?

  It made no sense. No sense at all.

  Brandt hauled her up and dragged her onto the bus. Lopez didn’t even wait for the doors to close behind them before gunning the engine. Shots came from the jungle, peppering the side of the bus.

  Now, that was more like what she expected. Jester taken down by an enemy bullet, not a dart.

  She made her way to the back of the bus where the bodies were laid out. Her two best soldiers dead. What could she have done to prevent it?

  In the row in front of her Neali quietly sobbed. Her head in her hands. No one seemed to come out of this unscathed. Her silk dress saturated in blood.

  No, not exactly saturated. More like streaked with it.

  But didn’t the terrorist she killed take a bullet to the belly? That should have been a wide, smeared bloodstain, not multiple arterial streaks.

  Arterial streaks.

  Van more felt than saw Neali pull out a thin reed from her pocket.

  “Dart!” Van yelled. No one seemed to understand what she meant.

  She tackled the interpreter. She knew the chick was a bitch, but a traitor as well?

  Neali must have had a knife hidden in the folds of her dress and sliced up as they hit the deck. Van blocked with her arm, keeping Neali’s wrist from coming down with the blade.

  Normally, with a man, she’d put a knee to the groin to break the standoff, but with a chick that didn’t work. Instead, she head-butted the woman. Their skulls cracked together, threatening to blind Van, but it worked.

  The interpreter shook her head, giving Van just enough window to shove Neali off of her. She pulled her own knife.

  “What’s going on?” Brandt asked from the front of the bus as Lopez took them airborne. They hit the forest floor hard, jolting them all. Van slashed, trying to take advantage of Neali’s momentary unsteadiness.

  Their blades clanged loudly. Van took her other fist and punched Neali right in the solar plexus. The woman grunted, doubling over. Van used her elbow and slammed down into the back of her neck.

  Neali was tougher than she looked as she hurled herself at Van, tackling her around the waist, throwing them both back into the window.

  * * *

  Brandt had no idea what the fuck was going on, but it had to stop. Lopez was having a hard enough time keeping the bus on the mountainside, without having to compensate for these large, sudden weight shifts.

  He didn’t know why Van had attacked the interpreter, but he trusted that she had a good reason. So he did not hesitate to pull his knife and bury it in the woman’s back. He grabbed the gasping woman’s shoulder and pulled her off Van.

  “I had it,” Van said.

  Didn’t she always? But then she pointed to the knife sticking out of the woman’s belly. He guessed she really did have it under control.

  “Want to explain?” Brandt asked.

  Van brushed back her hair from her face, leaving a bloody smear across her cheek as she leaned over the interpreter.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why did you poison Doyle? Kill BQ and Jester?”

  The woman oddly smiled, spitting up blood. “I have been a sleeper for over fifteen years. Waiting for the moment my people finally obtained a missile. You would have all paid.”

  Instead, it was the interpreter who paid as the life leached from her face. Her lips were an ashen grey and her breath came in ragged gasps.

  Van pulled her knife from the woman’s belly. It was like the blade had been the only thing keeping her together. With one last sigh, she fell dead.

  “I think she intentionally set off the timer too,” Van said.

  “Guess I owe you for two saves today,” Brandt stated.

  “Oh please, you owe me so many, I can’t even count,” Van responded.

  That pretty much summed up every reason why he’d loved her and every reason they couldn’t make it work.

  “Flying bus races!” Lopez shouted from the front. “I think I just discovered another sport!”

  Sure enough, they were airborne once more, sailing over the jungle. Now, if only they had parachutes, but of course, they didn’t so at some point they had to hit the ground again, this time shattering the windows.

  A small price to pay for getting down the mountain so quickly. Lopez made a sharp right, making the suspension scream, then bumped them up and onto an actual paved road.

  No one followed.

  Against all the odds, they were safe.

  EPILOGUE

  Van sat in a very comfortable chair outside the NMRT director’s office. While Brandt had been sent on another mission to Beirut, Van had been called from the field to attend a meeting in New York.

  She pretty much knew what it was about. She had disobeyed a direct order. While technically the UN had no say in US Army business, they certainly could make strong recommendations, including court martial. And given she’d lost two soldiers on the mission, she probably wouldn’t fight the charges. Thank goodness her father was too far gone to know that his only daughter’s career had gone down in flames.

  Of course, Neali had been one of the UN’s employees. But that didn’t matter. Van should have spotted her. She should have neutralized the sleeper agent before she could claim two of her own.

  The door to the office stayed closed, but a door further down the hallway cracked open and a strange little Asian man with heavy black glassed crooked his finger at her. “Psst…”

  Van pointed to herself, although there was no one else in the hallway and they were deep in the basement, so not a lot of passersby.

  The man nodded vigorously. Van rose and joined the man.

  “We all just wanted to say thank you personally before Qanti got a hold of you.”

  “There’s nothing to thank,” Van said as she entered the room. It was a large techie bullpen. There were, perhaps, twenty different stations, all manned by an extremely diverse international pool of techs.

  As she walked by, they each extended their hands for her to shake. Van made her way around the room.

  “I’m Gol, by the way,” the small man said. “Thank you for catching Neali and avenging Doyle’s death.”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t avenge anything,” Van stated. “I was just protecting my team.”

  “We know, that’s why we think you are so rad,” Gol answered.

  “What nationality is your name?” Van asked. He seemed Chinese by facial structure and accent.

  The man looked down, blushing a little. “Actually it is…”

  “Vulcan?” Van guessed.

  Gol brightened considerably. “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Oh please, five older brothers? And one that was tech advisor on the Trek movie? Is it short for Gol’hathin?”

  The man shook his head, “No, Gol’tresshal.”

  “Ah, from the house of Sarek?”

  “Yes, yes,” Gol stated, nodding and nodding.

  “I see you have met your team,” a loud, deep rumbling voice announced. She recognized the accent. This was Qanti, the head of the department.

  “Yes, they have been kind enough to show me around.”

  “Then let me show you my office,” Qanti stated, indicating to a door off to the side.

  Van joined the man, studying his ritualistic scars, wondering if the pattern meant something. What tale did they tell?

  “Sit,” the director stated as he pulled out his chair and sat.

  Van followed suit. This was the oddest dressing down of all time.

  “Sir, whatever punishment you have meted out for me, I will not oppose,” Van said, just wanting to get this over.

  “Do you not hear me?” Qanti said. “I have not called you here to yell at you, but to hi
re you.”

  Van blinked several times. “I don’t… I don’t understand. I don’t know anything about nuclear science.”

  “Yet, it did not stop you from deactivating a nuclear missile.”

  With his severe, stoic features, Van couldn’t be certain if he was being sarcastic or not.

  “I have long advocated that we needed a stronger military presence, but alas the Secretary General has never agreed, until now. We face an increasingly well-armed and tactically advanced enemy, we must move past our reservations of militarization and move into the future, hence why you are here. We need a new team leader and I have convinced them that you are the person to fill that role.”

  Van didn’t know what to say. Actually, she had too many things to say and feared they would all come out jumbled so she took in a breath before speaking.

  “I think you want Sergeant Brandt for something like this. This is right up his alley.”

  Qanti shook his head. “Offered and declined already. His distrust of the UN runs deeply I’m afraid. Prejudice and preconceived notions run on both sides of the fence.”

  She wasn’t surprised that Brandt turned down the gig. He pretty much had free reign in his current assignment. He wasn’t about to give up that kind of autonomy.

  “He did, however, give your name as his best recommendation.”

  Van’s eyebrow shot up.

  “He assured me that despite your age and sex that you would not be running off with the first Tunisian prince to carry his heirs.”

  “No,” Van chuckled. “No, you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “So you are taking the job? You would have to offer up your resignation to the Army, but rest assured you will be well compensated for your sacrifice.”

  It wasn’t about the money to Van, but the job. Her father had always said she was meant for something special. Not that guarding outposts in Afghanistan wasn’t important work, but it was a small task, in a small region of the world. Being the team leader of NMRT would take her all over the world, tracking down nuclear weapons.

  How much bigger of a job could she ever get? How more important of a job was there? How many people had she saved in Sri Lanka? And what if the bomb had been in a populated city?

  Was she willing to give up the life she knew and loved for this new venture?

  “How much time do I have to make the decision?” Van asked.

  “Until you walk out of this office.” Off of her frown, Qanti continued. “We get one of these calls at least once a week. I need to know if you are taking the job or move on and fill the position.”

  “That frequently?” Van asked.

  Qanti slowly nodded. “The calls usually result in far less stunning turns of events, but missing nuclear material are an endemic problem. The more countries that have nuclear capabilities, the more likely it will end up in the wrong hands.”

  Van took in a deep breath. Was she really ready to make this decision?

  Who was she kidding? Qanti had her at “meet your team.”

  “I’m in,” Van answered. “I just need to go home this weekend on some personal business then I’m all in.”

  “As long as you take your NMRT cell and answer on the first ring, you may go where you like, just have a ‘go-bag’ with you. If you receive a call we expect you in the air in sixty minutes.”

  “Of course,” Van responded. She’d been engaged to a rapid response member, she knew what that life was like and she had no one to disappoint. Not even a cat.

  “Very good,” Qanti said rising, apparently he wasn’t one to stand on ceremony. As they moved to the door, he stopped. “Oh, and one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t trust women,” the commander stated bluntly.

  “Excuse me?” Van stammered. She didn’t think in this day and age she would ever hear such a thing.

  “I don’t even think they should be allowed in the service with all of your bleeding, baby-making, and using tears to manipulate.”

  Van just stood there in stunned silence. How did you answer such a statement?

  “Neali confirmed for me this fact, so now it is up to you to prove me wrong.”

  He held out his hand. On reflex, Van shook it.

  “Good, good, so that we understand one another. Now get home and report to work at nine am on Monday.”

  In a state of mild to moderate stupor, Van exited into the hallway.

  What had she just gotten herself into?

  * * *

  Van walked into the VA hospital then stopped abruptly. She hated all hospitals, but VAs the most. Beyond the usual astringent odors there was also a palatable scent of desperation.

  After everything these troops had done for their county, and now to be stacked in the hallway? She hated it. And given the fact her father and five brothers were in the service, she had spent plenty of time visiting them.

  Standing in the entrance wasn’t doing any good so she continued down the hall. Her mind was still spinning from her meeting in New York. Had she really just turned her entire life upside down? Was she going to get to say goodbye to her team in Afghanistan? There had been so many things that she hadn’t really considered before she said “yes.”

  Just like this long, tan tiled hallway, there was no turning back on her commitment to the UN. She felt her new cellphone on her hip. That phone could never be turned off or away from her body. It was her new lifeline.

  She made a right hand turn, following the plastic placards on the wall.

  Then she was at room number 245. Van took in a deep breath before she opened the door. Her father was sitting in a chair, staring out the window into the night sky. He looked so normal. He always sat in repose when he was in the VA hospital.

  He had been injured so many times, Van couldn’t even count. Instead of getting angry or depressed, her father always said his VA time was his “contemplation” time. A great time to reflect on all the things you didn’t have time for when you were out and about.

  What was he reflecting on now?

  “Vanessa!” her mother called out, flying from the small couch and into Van’s arms. Her mother hugged her so tightly that Van squeaked. It was really, really, really bad if her mom was all huggy. Mom was not a hugger.

  She also was not a crier, yet her mom was sobbing into Van’s shoulder.

  “He got out,” her mother gulped. “I don’t know how. I had the doors double locked. They found him wandering in the street.”

  “Mom, mom,” Van tried to interrupt this impromptu confession. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s going to be okay.”

  Well, it probably wasn’t going to be okay, but Van didn’t know what else to say. How do you comfort someone whose best friend for fifty years didn’t even recognize them?

  “They say he shouldn’t go home,” her mother sobbed. “That I can’t safely take care of him, even with overnight help.”

  Van hugged her mother back. She knew that the only thing holding her together had been her father’s physical presence. Her mother had bragged that every day stateside they had slept in the same bed.

  Being physically separated was probably worse than him not recognizing her.

  “Mom, we gotta do what we have to do for dad,” Van stated, then rushed on, “You’ve done everything you could. You’ve given him the best life possible.”

  “I tried, I tried.” Her mother cried, tears soaking into Van’s uniform. She hadn’t had a chance to change yet.

  Van looked over her mother’s head to her father. “Dad.”

  Her father’s face clouded and his mouth screwed up like he’d just eaten a lemon.

  “Sorry, General,” Van said, then saluted.

  It felt weird to salute her father in private. They had never stood on ceremony in the past.

  “Captain,” her father responded, nodding in her direction, then his eyes slid right over her and back out the window.

  There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in his features. And it
wasn’t ego to say that she had always been his favorite. His mind truly was gone if he didn’t recognize his little girl. Yet, he still recognized the two bars on her shoulder. Alzheimer’s is such a bizarre, unpredictable disease.

  She hugged her mother tighter. Van feared that she had held onto some kind of fantasy that no matter how bad it got, her father would always know her. How could he not?

  Van could feel tears start to steak down her cheeks as well. Her father was gone.

  It was bittersweet that he didn’t seem disturbed by this. She knew that some Alzheimer’s patients struggled with being upset at not being able to remember things. Her father, at the least, seemed at peace.

  “He seems good otherwise,” Van whispered to her mother.

  Her mom wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled away from their embrace. “He thinks he’s here for the shrapnel in his hip. I guess it’s a blessing that he’s always considered the VA a home away from home.”

  That he had. Many victims of the disease had a really hard time adjusting from a home environment to a hospital. Her father’s though, seemed to be seamless.

  “General Trajen,” a voice called out right before a GI rolled his wheelchair into the room. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he had visitors this late.”

  The guy was right. It was after nine and given that her mother’s bedtime was eight, she must be exhausted from all the drama.

  The GI put his hand out. “I’m First Lieutenant Aidan Halker. I just heard that the general was here, and since I did one of my term papers at West Point on him, I thought I’d swing by and introduce myself.”

  “Please, do,” Van’s mother said. “He loves to talk about his campaigns.”

  “If it’s no bother?” Aidan asked.

  “None at all,” Van stated, holding out her hand. I’m Captain Van Trajen.”

  “Of course you are,” Aidan said with a smile as he shook her hand. Good grip. Solid. “In every interview ever given, he talks about you,” he explained.

  Van had to suppress a smile. It was nice to know she wasn’t hallucinating that she was her father’s favorite. “And this is my mom.”

  “Ma’am,” Aidan said with a nod of his head.

  He noticed her mother’s glance to his legs. It was never appropriate to ask what happened, yet even Van was curious.