by Ronie Kendig
“You mean, find out if they heard anything about Katie?”
David leaned back against the corner where the door and the seat met, his head on the cool window as he stared out over the fields. “Think I’m crazy?”
“Of course ya are—you chose to stay in Bleak Pond.”
With a snort, David smiled. Rumspringa, the Amish way of giving young people the opportunity to taste life outside the community and determine if it’s the life for them before committing to it. Tom had met his wife, an Amish girl, during her time away, and the two fell in love. When it came time, she chose Tom instead of her people and community. Tom could’ve taken the faith and joined, but…while he liked the people, he’d often said it wasn’t the life for him.
David understood. There were many times he wondered why he’d come back. His sister, Lydia, was the official reason. Though he felt some of the older elders were too hard and too traditional, David believed in the community, in the simplicity of living.
Tom and Mary had compromised. They married and moved to the city right outside Bleak Pond. She was supposed to be shunned, but the family quietly saw her once a month. The elders and bishop looked the other way, just as they had for David with his car and driver’s license to help with his sister’s medical needs. David had begun to hope that his decision to stay had been the right one, especially once Katie showed up.
She was so unlike anyone he’d ever met, so determined to get things right, to shed her old self. Over the years she’d lived with her grossmammi, she had developed into a very fine young woman, a perfect woman for any Amish man.
No, not any Amish man.
Me.
And now…
Tom guided the truck down the road toward the Gerig house. Even now, David could imagine Katie out there, her sandy brown hair peeking out of the kapp she’d worn out of respect for their community and catching the sunlight as she did her chores.
The sudden jolt of the car coming to a stop tugged David from his revelry. Heart heavy, he let Tom help him out of the truck. Situated on his crutches and still weak from whatever had knocked him sick, David stared up at the old farmhouse.
“Want me to go in with you?”
“No, it’s okay. Thanks, but this should only take a minute.” Careful with his leg, he hobbled up the path to the front porch then negotiated the stairs. He rapped twice on the door.
It took a few minutes, but finally shuffling feet approached the door. “Who’s there?” came the suspicious, cautious voice of Katie’s grossmammi.
David lowered his head, staring at the cast as he called, “David Augsburger, Mrs. Gerig. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Ach, gracious.” She pushed open the door and held it. “Kumm, David. How is that leg of yours?”
“A bit heavy,” he said with a laugh as he worked his way to the sofa. Sitting, he placed the crutches to his right. “How are you doing, Mrs. Gerig? Are you—”
“Fine,” she said. “Just fine. God’s grace gets me through each day without Katie.” Sadness lined her sweet face.
How could Katie do this? Just up and leave? Put them in danger? He itched to ask her grandmother if she knew the men who attacked them, but the police report said she didn’t. He didn’t need to hear it for himself and cause her more distress.
“Mrs. Gerig, I don’t mean to be rude,” David said as he pushed forward with the big question at the back of his mind, “but do you have any idea why Katie left? Just vanished without a word?”
“Ach, she left word. She apologized,” her grandmother said, her smile flickering as eyes that had seen a lot seemed to be dancing around something.
“Right, but—it was so sudden. And she didn’t explain why?”
A weak smile tugged at the weathered face. “I guess… I guess she was a lot more like her mamm than I realized.” She looked frail with the afternoon light filtering through the curtains.
The community knew of Katie’s mother, the elder Katherine, who had up and run off with an Englischer’s son. It wasn’t even her rumspringa. She wasn’t old enough. It’d devastated Mrs. Gerig and put her husband in the hospital…only to have him die. Some said it was a broken heart, but the doctors said it was cancer in his lungs.
But right now, the grief David noted in her face was fresh. A new wound. Gaping over a broken trust. Mrs. Gerig had allowed Katie into her home, spoken to the elders and bishop, and then Katie does this…
Even David felt betrayed by her. How many times had he defended her to his brothers? To his own daed, to whom he’d spoken of courting her once she took the faith. They’d all warned him no good would come of his care for her, though they accepted her into the community. He argued that she was a good person. That she wanted to stay.
What a fool.
“Well,” David said, lifting his crutches, “I should be going. But if you need anything, Mrs. Gerig, please know you can ask me. I will help any way I can.”
“Gott bless you.”
David thought Gott had blessed him when Katie came to Bleak Pond. “Danke. If you hear from her…”
“You will know,” she said, patting his shoulder as she shuffled to the door behind him.
Annie
Lakenheath AFB, Dover, England
28 May – 0930 Hours
Atlas did not bear half the burden Annie saw on Téya and Trace when they entered the private hangar. Sporting two bruised eyes and a split lip, Téya stiffly crossed the open area, her shoulders sagging, hair stringy, and clothes rumpled. Trace…well, he had come out unscathed. But his expression reminded her of the night in Misrata.
Annie stood from the brown, six-foot table where she, Houston, and Nuala had been waiting for the others. “There’s a change of clothes back here,” Annie said as she led Téya out of the main area into a walled-off space where a bench, two sinks, and two showerheads waited.
Without a word, Téya slumped onto the bench and stared at the floor.
Annie didn’t dare ask if Téya was okay. She didn’t look defeated. But Annie had taken it as burden. She now realized that wasn’t right either.
“He marked me,” Téya muttered. “Fed my picture to every agency and who knows where else so I’d be killed.”
Annie swallowed. “The assassin?”
An almost imperceptible nod as Téya lifted her gaze to the shower area.
What could she say? In truth, there wasn’t anything. “Why don’t you shower up and change? I’ll keep watch.”
Annie stepped outside the shower area and leaned against the wall. They’d heard through a liaison who delivered them here on General Solomon’s orders that Téya and Trace had been attacked after leaving the safe house, but that’s all they were told.
Shoes scratched on the floor—coming from the main hangar area. Trace came around the corner, roughing both hands over his face. When he saw her, he let his hands fall away. He jutted his jaw toward the showers. “She okay?”
“I… I don’t know.” Annie folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the plywood wall. “I thought she was down, but I think… I think once she works past that numbness, she’s going to be fiery.”
“When isn’t she?” Trace let out a long, heavy sigh as he stretched his jaw and placed the heel of his hand against the spot.
Only then did Annie notice the discoloration. “What happened? The liaison said you two were attacked.”
He nodded and eased back against the wall. “They were waiting for us at the train station.”
“Who?” Annie angled toward him.
“Anyone and everyone who needed to make a quick buck.” Trace flexed his hand, his knuckles forming scabs. “The Turk sold her out, and some greedy killers took the bait. Surprised we didn’t have trouble on the train. Contained environment—perfect place to take us out.” He looked at his hand and stood there for a while.
“You okay?”
He blinked and met her gaze.
Annie willed herself not to look away, but th
e tightening in her belly fought her. Things had once been different between them, but then… Six years ago when she first met the legendary Special Forces operator, she was convinced he could move heaven and earth. While she would still follow him to the grave and beyond, Annie knew to guard her heart. The only thing important to Trace Weston was the mission.
Correction: success of the mission.
He broke eye contact. “Yeah. Fine, just could use some rack time.”
“Trace—do you…” She wavered in asking the question because the very nature of it implied weakness, and he never wanted to consider that. But she was spent. “Do you think we have a prayer to find out who’s behind this and stop it before one or all of us end up dead?”
He scowled at her.
“You’ve been hunting this person down since we parted ways, haven’t you? And we have no answers, no more than the night we made the decision to go into hiding.”
Trace shifted his gaze away and down.
Annie moved closer and lowered her voice. “If you haven’t been able to find anything—how do we have a prayer? Candice and Jessie are dead. Keeley…” She wouldn’t put her friend in the grave before her time. “Every lead turns into nuclear waste. Now Téya is on the hit list of an assassin.”
“Hey.” Trace faced her, closing most of the gap between them. “Don’t do this, Annie. We’re behind, we’ve been knocked down, but we’ll get a break. We’ll find this piece of crap and end it, end him.” He leaned forward. “Every move, every attempt they make, is something we can use to track them down. They will make a mistake—if they haven’t already—and we will find and seize on that.”
This…this is why she’d fallen for Trace years ago.
His hand reached for her hair but stopped short. “I will do everything in my power to protect you, Annie.” His gaze landed on her lips. “I promise.”
Safety and security had always been found with Trace Weston. Then things changed. “You made that promise five years ago, and then you vanished.” Annie pried herself from his spell and turned.
Téya stood there, wet hair dangling darkly around her face and dripping dark spots onto her blue T-shirt. Her gaze flitted from Annie to Trace then back.
Annie froze.
“Done with the shower?” Trace rolled around Annie as if he hadn’t just been about to kiss her. “They brought in some food. Make sure to eat,” he said to Téya. “Globemasters don’t have onboard catering.”
But Téya was still staring at Annie.
Once Trace moved out of sight and the shower started, Téya came forward. Taller than Annie by four to five inches, Téya looked down at her. “What was that?”
“That was Trace being Trace.” Annie rubbed her temples then considered her friend. “Did the shower help?”
“Well, now I’m tired and wet.” Téya almost smiled, her pink lips pretty against her tanned complexion, something Annie envied about her friend. While Annie had blond curly hair, Téya had sandy-brown, straight hair. Where Annie’s complexion was a fair-to-golden, depending on sun exposure, Téya had a pretty, slightly freckled darker complexion.
“This assassin thing…”
Téya’s eyes narrowed and she chewed the inside of her lower lip. “Am I stupid for wanting another run-in with him, another chance to prove he can’t kill me?”
Annie tried to bury her laugh but failed. “Yes, that’s stupid.”
“Why?” Arms folded, chin up, Téya demanded an answer.
“I didn’t mean anything about your abilities, but that man, if Trace is right—”
“The safe house told me I was stupid for crossing paths with him.” Téya tied back her hair with a grunt. “As if I willingly did it. Where was he? Why did he come after me?”
They made their way back to the brown table where their mostly cold food waited. “Do you think he was at the café? Maybe somehow he thinks you were involved in the bombing?”
“What if he bombed the place?” Téya gingerly lowered herself onto a chair.
Annie frowned. “You hurt?”
“He bruised a rib.”
“What if he’s been monitoring Ballenger?” Nuala offered, placing condiments in front of Téya’s burger and fries. “What if he followed him there, thinking he could find out something about Ballenger, just like we did?”
“And I’m the lucky duck who sat eating a salad, nearly getting bombed, then chased by an assassin.” Téya sighed then stilled. “What happened to Ballenger?”
“We lost him in the panicked crowd.”
“You know,” Téya said as she lifted her burger. “I’m really beginning to hate Berg Ballenger. We get sent to his supposed home, and I get beat up. We go to Paris and I meet him, then I get beat up again.”
“You think Berg is doing all this?” Houston asked, his fingers poised over a laptop keyboard again.
“It sure is starting to feel that way.” Téya bit into her burger.
Trace emerged, clean and terse as usual. “If it looks and smells like a rat…”
“Then get a rat trap.” Annie scooted forward in her chair and leaned on the table, facing away from Trace and toward the others. “I mean, c’mon. There has to be something.”
Téya threw down her burger. “I have no appetite, not when some psychopath is trying to get me killed and someone else is trying to annihilate my sisters-in-arms.”
“What do we know?” Nuala said, her pale blue eyes alive. “We know that we went to Misrata to hit a weapons cache.”
“An illegal cache,” Trace corrected, “made up of U.S. military weapons that were reported to have been destroyed.”
“Who signed off on that?”
“A supply clerk,” Trace said. “He was cleared. As was his boss and his boss’s boss.”
“And the boss’s boss’s boss?” Nuala asked, her expression serious, though Annie wanted to laugh at the ridiculous phrasing.
“Andrew Goff. Unaware of the situation, and also the one I believe initiated the investigation in the first place.”
“Unaware?” Annie asked incredulously, turning to Trace. “And he got away with that?”
“You want to accuse a three-star? Think you could keep your career if you did?”
“Who was it?” Téya asked.
“Wait—why haven’t we heard this before?” Annie scowled at Trace. “You have information and haven’t shared it with us?”
“I have information that is not tenable,” he said as he threaded his fingers and rested his arms on the table. “What I have are disconnected pieces and a hefty dose of reality that if I move around—”
“We have to throw mud for some of it to stick,” Annie said, her agitation with Trace rising. “How can you keep this from us?”
“If I start flinging mud on the wall, the only thing that’s going to stick is my butt—right up the flagpole.” Trace placed his fingertips on the table as he stared at each of them in turn. “I need you three to trust that I am doing everything I can to end this attack on your lives. That I have not gone one day without searching, investigating, or hunting some element related to Zulu or Misrata.” He skated Annie a sidelong glance. “No matter what some might insinuate.”
“I believe you,” Téya said. “It’s just…hard to take.”
“What is?” he asked quietly.
“Everything connected to Misrata, to those children we killed.” Téya looked down. “And after all this time, we have no better leads? And now, I have a professional assassin—a very well-connected assassin—trying to kill me.”
“That may not be related to us,” Trace said.
“It’s very related to us,” Téya argued.
“I only meant that most likely there is no connection to Misrata, to why the team is being hit now.”
“Think someone has political aspirations?” Nuala offered. Her olive skin made her appear much younger than her twenty-five years. “And they were afraid we’d come out of the woodwork?”
“Is it possible that whoever
is behind it thinks we know who he is?” Annie asked.
“Plausible,” Trace said with a slow nod. “But the timing—there aren’t any elections coming up. You were all going about your business without ruffling any feathers. The hits feel…strategic.”
“What threat were we?” Téya asked. “I would’ve been perfectly content to stay in Bleak Pond with David.”
“Manson met my needs,” Annie admitted, her thoughts bouncing to Sam…who felt, strangely, a million miles away.
“I felt lost,” Nuala said plainly. “I didn’t fit in anywhere, and the nightmares made it impossible to be in a relationship or get a roommate.” She shrugged, her expression bland. “I’m glad to get this figured out. Maybe a resolution will bring healing.”
“Ballenger seems to be our best bet,” Trace said.
“Best bet?” Téya frowned. “He’s brought us nothing but trouble.”
“Which means he’s a hot spot. We keep digging. We don’t let up.”
“The three-star general,” Annie said. “Can we know who he is?”
Trace eased back. “I’ll consider it, check with Solomon.”
“Yes,” Téya said, picking at the burger. “What about Solomon—Francesca Solomon, I mean? She’s been stirring up trouble, right?”
“Her father is dealing with that. She’s dog-headed like you three but barking up the wrong tree.”
“Maybe her digging will unearth something we need,” Nuala muttered.
“Too bad she’s not on our side,” Annie said.
Trace snorted. “Not happening. Look, we get back to the bunker, and we dig as hard as we can into Ballenger. He gave us a name and information we can work to verify.”
“Someone up this chain of command knows something,” Annie said. “It’s time to apply some pressure.”
Sam
Manson, Washington
28 May – 1230 Hours
The familiar and oddly familial smell of the Green Dot brought Sam a measure of comfort as he held the door for a family of four exiting with their food. Sam gave a nod to Jeff before sliding into a seat at a table opposite Lowen Miles.
Sun glinted through the thin blinds, forcing Sam to adjust them.
“What’d you find?” Lowen asked in a hushed voice, his tone giddy.